Tag: life swap

A Family’s Legacy (2 of 2)

That summer, the father noticed an improvement in his son’s temperament and commitment to the family legacy. He worked out less, took a greater interest in his father’s business, and that summer, accepted an unpaid internship at his father’s suggestion. Of course, he still worked out quite regularly, but he accepted some of his father’s other advice–taming that hair of his and making it a more conservative style. Pruning back the wild beard he wore, though he insisted on keeping at least a small goatee. But a week before he was set to leave for college, his father discovered something…disturbing on his son’s computer–a very large stash of porn. Gay porn.

No–no, this would not stand. A great family required an heir, after all. He resolved to demand answers from his son, to send him for counseling if he needed it, but the time never felt…right. His son went off to college, only to return for Thanksgiving with a young woman on his arm–and assurances from both of them that his son was very much interested in her, both romantically and sexually. He thought his fears unfounded, and after he’d returned to school, he realized he’d kept the folder of porn on his own computer. He went to delete it…but instead, found himself…looking through it, curious. The photos were all of rather chubby, hairy men–ages ranging from their young twenties to early fifties. James found himself unable to comprehend how his son could have found anyone like this attractive–and found himself equally unable to explain why he, now, was masturbating to the images and videos every night.

His son excelled in college, and with each success, James seemed to suffer setbacks and distractions. The spring of his son’s freshman year, James could no longer resist his new desires–he began going out at night incognito, cruising bars and parks, sucking off men, letting them fuck him–the fatter the better. He found himself disgusting. He could barely look at himself in the mirror, he was so aghast at the state of his soul–and at the state of his body. He’d let himself go to pot, over the years, he realized. His singular focus on work and family had left him middle aged and closing in on 300 pounds. No–that he wouldn’t let happen.

So that summer, while his son toiled away at two unpaid internships, saving an hour a week to date his girlfriend, his father found himself toiling away in the gym. He’d hoped it would prove to be a distraction from his new obsession with sucking cock, but working out only seemed to make him…hornier. He began collecting pictures and videos of his own, expanding his son’s collection, finding his tastes drifting in a certain…grungier direction. Unkempt beards, musk, armpits, big cocks, dirty asses. He was down to 250, and was looking beefy. He’d decided to grow out a beard, but hadn’t kept it well trimmed. His hair had gone wild as well, but something about it–he liked it.

Then, someone caught him. The tabloids made his life hell, and the board removed him immediately. His severance was…substantial, but without work, James–or Jimmy, as he was calling himself these days, when he introduced himself to the big men he thought about constantly–found he only had two things left he wanted to do: have sex, and work out. His son came home that next summer, and announced his engagement. Jimmy was happy for him, but all he could think about was…how handsome, his son had become, in just two years. He’d packed on a good amount of weight, and he seemed so…powerful. Confident. James was all too happy to let his faggot father beg for his cock, of course. He’d have to keep his failure of a father well under control, if the family was going to survive his massive fuckups. Still, James the Third had no doubt he’d be able to rise to the challenge. The Wilheim line would ascend–just like his father had always wanted.

A Family’s Legacy (1 of 2)

“It’s a fucking embarrassment, is what it is. I mean, if I’d known this was how he would turn out, I would have made that bitch give me two, before booting her sorry ass out of my house.” James Willheim the Second, chuckled over his lunch, before wiping his mouth with his napkin, taking another bite, and continuing. “Still, you should fucking see him. I tried to tell myself that it was just a phase, that it was good to have a son interested in athletics, but I barely fucking got him into college as a legacy, his grades were so poor! Really, I’m just embarrassed that he even has my name, we’re so different.”

“Well, you could always get a new wife, couldn’t you? Try again?”

“In my fifties? I suppose so. Hell, maybe two girlfriends, and I’ll marry whichever gives me a better boy than this one!”

The men around the table chuckled, and chatter turned to other subjects–their businesses, their plans for the coming summer on Martha’s Vineyard. But James’s thoughts still turned to his son, James Willheim the Third, and to what a disgrace he was turning out to be. The Willheim line was supposed to be ascendant–his son was supposed to be the pinnacle, the one who pushed them into real wealth and power. Instead, he’d gotten a dud. All his son seemed interested in doing was lifting weights, playing sports, and running off at nights to do who knew what around town–drinking and carousing most likely. Still, he’d never once brought a woman home–something which also…unsettled him. It wasn’t that he couldn’t tolerate a certain level of…rebelliousness. It was that somethings had to be more important than one’s own selfish desires. Your family’s legacy, for instance.

The men finished their business lunch, paid the bill, and left. James ended up at the back of a group, and as he walked down the city sidewalk, a hand reached out, grabbed his cuff, and stopped him. It was attached to an old man, bent over on the sidewalk–a beggar, most likely. He raised his eyes–they were a pure, milky white.

“You shall have the son you desire, in time. But that which is given, cannot be kept. That which is removed, must be received.”

James gave a tug, but the man’s frail arm was surprisingly strong. After a harder yank, he managed to lurch away, and carried on with his day–but the encounter…haunted him. He returned home, and discovered his son was asleep in his bed–James too, felt an oddly crushing fatigue weighing on him. He made his way to bed early as well, and slept, the man’s words repeating their way through both their dreams.

You meet some of the craziest guys at the public golf courses–You’d rather play at the private clubs, but you can’t afford the membership fees–so you’re stuck playing a round with a fucking redneck. He comes over to you, smoking a cigar, well over 300 pounds, dressed in a sleeveless shirt and khaki shorts, and all you can do is make the best of it. 

He suggests upping the stakes, and letting the winner of each hole take something from the loser. You don’t really know what he means, but you accept, knowing you’ll be able to outplay this fat redneck any day of the week.

Well, you thought you could. He birdies the first hole to your double bogey, and you ask what you owe him, pulling out your wallet, but he just grins. “I don’t want your money–yet,” he said, “First things first, I want that slim figure of yours, pretty boy.”

Great, a real nutter, you think, but something is glowing–an amulet he’s wearing, and a second later, you feel different. Looking down, you’re stunned to find that you’ve somehow gained close to two hundred pounds–all of the weight the fat redneck just dropped off his body. 

“Come on, fatty–we got seventeen more holes to play.”

Unaccustomed to your fat body, you lose round after round to this crazy redneck, who starts dismantling your life. By the end of the front nine, you’ve lost your expensive clothes, your house, your car, your marriage, four inches off your cock, your college education, and six inches of your height. 

There’s no hope left for you, really. On the back nine he strips you of your ambition, your heterosexuality, your dominance, your full head of hair, fifty points off your IQ, your virility, and your job. With two holes left, you’re little more than a fat, dithering idiot, hacking at the ball as best you can–and that’s when he starts mocking you, barely hitting the ball further than you on purpose. To your surprise, he lets you win, but when he asks you want you want…you’re stumped. You’re so dull witted now that you can’t even remember what he took, and then he starts talking about his cigar, about how nice it is being a smoker, how he’d hate to give that up more than anything, you bite, and steal away his nicotine addiction.

Before the eighteenth hole the two of you nip off to the woods for a moment–you’re ravenous for a cock. In return, he lets you win the final hole as well. He suggests you take his skill at golf, but in that thick head of yours, a dim bulb still glows.

“Nuh-uh,” you slur, “Gimme yer amulet–that’s wha I want.”

Surprised, but not really minding, he hands it over to you and walks off without another word. Sure, you don’t know how to use it, but maybe you can figure it out, and steal someone else’s life before too long.