Reunions (Part 1)

[Top: Brent on the left, Aaron on the right. Bottom: Brent’s uncles Jed and Duke.]

***

“Sure I can give you a ride…you don’t seem that happy about it though.”

“My family’s just–well, would you want to visit them, really? If they were yours and you could be here instead?”

“Why go then?”

“I can’t just not go.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I could stay the week with you, if you want. Keep you company.”

“Thanks, but that would make me look more like a fag–I’m already ‘the boy who went to college.’ They’d probably hang us up if they thought I’d brought a boyfriend.”

“I’m pretty sure they’d just think that we’re friends.”

“My family isn’t that…look, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I asked, but you really shouldn’t stay. They’ll be angry.”

“Why?”

“It’s…just…”

“Complicated?”

“Yeah.”

“Complicated how? I mean, why go see a bunch of people you hate and who hate you for a week?”

“Because they’re all I’ve got, in a way. I mean, if college doesn’t work out, what then? Where would I go? If I don’t show up, then they’ll think that I don’t love them.”

“You don’t love them though. They don’t love you either, from what you’ve told me.”

“They love an idea of me.”

“That’s not enough.”

“It’s not enough, but it’s something.”

***

Aaron’s compact sedan bounced on the gravel and into the dust, pulling up next to one of the many trucks already parked at the Taylor Men’s Family Reunion. You could tell from the rust, the missing bumpers and the confederate flag stickers that any vehicles in good condition was a sign that you were too weak to keep an engine running past three hundred thousand miles.

Brent Taylor, in the passenger seat, was five foot four and weighed in at one fifty. He was the first son in his family to go to college, he had done his best to rid himself of the Appalachian accent of his youth, he was not very smart but was smart enough to know that if he didn’t get a degree he’d be living with his family for the rest of his life. His roommate at college was Aaron Dansen, the six foot three, two hundred and forty pound linebacker of the football team. He was closeted, he’d already been featured as a rising star of football in several small magazines and he was only a freshman, and he knew several professional scouts by first name. They both got along surprisingly well during their first year, even though Aaron had beaten up bigger kids for their lunch money in high school, and Brent was suspicious of anyone Aaron’s size, and their friendship was the strongest bond either of them had made that year. Brent had already blown through relationships with two girls he met and fucked when he was too drunk to pick better, and Aaron had been secretly sucking off the assistant football coach since after the first practice, and would occasionally fuck the only other closeted player on the team, who happened to be a slightly bigger bottom than he was. Brent didn’t know Aaron was gay, but he wouldn’t have cared if he had known. Being thought a fag by his family made him more sympathetic than most.

Two men were by the vehicles in the evening light, and they approached the unfamiliar vehicle. Brent climbed out, and rounded on the trunk of the car ready to get his bag out and get away before they spoke to him. The lid didn’t pop fast enough, and he was forced to greet them. “Hey Uncle Jed, Uncle Duke.”

“Hey faggot,” Jed said. Brent smelled at least three kinds of beer and bargain whisky, not a good sign, “Thought you’d skip this year for sure, after getting into faggot college. What classes are you taking? Prissy 101? Intro to cocksucking?”

Duke looked embarrassed for his step-brother, but not embarrassed enough for them both to tell Jed to shut up.

Uncomfortable, Aaron tried to redirect their attention, “Hi, I’m Aaron.”

“You the faggot’s boyfriend?”

“Roommate.”

“They still call it that? Though you faggots were supposed to be liberated now? Gettin’ up in everyone’s faces everywhere,” Jed strutted over, but found he was four inches too short to pull of menacing, and had to settle for belligerent. “Still, if you like stickin’ your cock up my nephew’s butt, at least he’s being useful for someone.”

“Come on,” Brent said grabbing his duffel bag, “He’ll be nicer when he sobers up next week.” Jed heckled them some more as they grabbed their bags and walked to the barn. The kids usually slept in the loft, and it was much more private than the pasture where everyone else pitched their tents for the week. He climbed the ladder and found two if his cousins there already, Jamie and Will, their faces red, out of breath and pulling up their pants. They all stood in uneasy silence for a moment as Aaron hefted himself up the ladder after him, and looked at what they’d stumbled on.

“Wanna see if we can shoot a hare?” Will said, “Dad bought me a .22 for Christmas.”

“S…Sure…”

They darted past the older boys and out of the barn, leaving Will’s gun behind, darting between half-erected tents in the pasture and into the woods. Aaron was hard, Brent was oblivious. He dropped his bag next to a cot and told Aaron to claim one while he had a chance. The smell of three kinds of charred meat on the wind was making them both hungry, but only Aaron admitted it.

“If you want dinner, I’d head down if I were you, before Jed tells everyone you’re my top.”

“He’s a charmer,” Aaron said, wondering whether the redneck’s gut was furred or smooth. He hoped for fur. “Are you coming, or should I bring you something back?”

“I’m gonna sleep while everyone’s out–the kids stay up all night usually. I’ll pick some of the scraps once everyone’s more drunk.”

Aaron shrugged and headed back down to the barn floor. He could see Jed’s fat ass through a broken window, and he crouched down, jacking quietly, thinking about that gut a bit more, about those two cousins, about a way of life he’d never had in suburban Atlanta, always a future sports star, always destined for the top, always watched, always warned, always desperate for someone to fuck and love and family, a muddled tumor on the wall of his heart.

Aaron licked his lips, hungry. Jed would tell Duke that he was going to teach that faggot nephew of his a lesson. Jed would storm over here into the barn, and he’d find Aaron there, dick out, hard, shaking slightly in the dry straw, licking his lips. Jed would figure that one faggot cunt is as good as any other, but once he had his thick, uncut cock buried in Aaron’s hole, fuck, he’d realize that ass is better than any cunt he’s ever been in. He’d be confused first, after cumming quick, but he would keep coming back all week, first forcefully, but Aaron would break him down, Jed would love his ass, and then he’d love him, and then Aaron wouldn’t have to go back to college, to that life, he could stay here with Daddy Jed, a hot redneck cub, a drunkard, smoking cigars, cock plugged with his daddy’s friends’ cocks all day long, and–

With a groan, muffled as best as he could, he shot his load against the wooden wall of the barn, eyes closed. He didn’t need to see Jed anymore–his idea of Jed was more important to him now anyway. Panting, waiting for the throbbing shots to subside, he zipped his fly back up, feeling the last few dribbles of cum turn cold in his briefs. He wiped the cum smooth on the side of wall, until it turned tacky, and then he slipped out of the barn towards the smell of meat, and the sounds of laughter and family.

Sketch #1: On the Porch with Uncle Mick (15 mins)

A beautiful day, all told. Crisp spring summer, not too hot, but Uncle Mick, naked in the semi shade on the bench there, the sun creeping closer to him as the hours pass, sliding a bit closer towards me each time. Doesn’t want to burn his skin, he says, between spitting black tobacco juice on the stained wood.

I say bullshit.

Not out loud, I let him think he’s playing coy. Pa’s gone, off to town for a little while. Just us two here now. Uncle Mick is always lounging around naked–it doesn’t faze me anymore. Though I gotta say, that huge nut sack of his is quite the sight, along with the rest of him. My cock’s hardening in my jeans, and the head slips out a strategic rip on the upper thigh. I pick through the foreskin, slide it back and forth a couple times, milking a strand of precum onto the denim. Uncle Mick watches me.

I’m smoking. I’m not supposed to be smoking, but ever since Pa caught me trying them out a few years ago he’ll let me have them if I’m a real good boy. I was a good boy today, so he said I could smoke as many as I’d like while he’s gone. Uncle Mick was good too–but not as good as I was. The fat fuck licks his lips, black slobber, he wants it bad. He always wants it bad though.

Getting warmer–I unbutton my shirt, let my young, taut get out. Uncle Mick, he’s all soft–no form. You could probably mold him like play dough if you stuck him in the freezer long enough to get it a bit stiffer. My cock was already hard, but it’s kept growing out the hole in my jeans. I don’t think much of it. It’s sticking three inches out now, jutting out to the side. It hurts–I let it out the fly. I lean back, letting my cock speak for me, all nine inches of it. Black spit dribbles out of the corner of Uncle Mick’s ajar mouth. Yeah, he wants it worse than usual.

“What are you staring at, Unc?” I ask.

“I think you should take it all off, nephew. Take it all off and sit on my knee.”

I do as he says, stripping out of my jeans and sliding off my shirt. I walk over and sit down on his knee, lean in and lick the spit off his double chins, giving him a soft bite as I do. He shivers. Is he hard? It’s not easy to tell, between how short he is right now and how huge his gut is. One hand rests at the small of my back, the other explores my chest and gut. He pulls and tugs at my nipples, and they grow as he works them–they end up almost an inch long, and the thickness of a sharpie. He bites them. I leak everywhere, my cum dribbles into the same puddles as his tobacco spit on the deck.

It wasn’t easy for Jed, being gay over fifty miles away from a major city. Out in the sticks, well, things still weren’t quite as a forward thinking as he might have liked, but he did his best to act straight country, and he did like the look, especially cowboy hats which he wore almost all of the time, and he definitely liked country boys.

Well, country men, at least.

Yeah, he had a thing for trailer trash, and his small town had plenty of it, and a big Walmart–perfect for cruising some of his favorite guys. Sammy McKline, in particular, was one of his favorites. In his late forties, his hair and beard years uncut with a big full gut, and lips full of chaw, he was straight out of one of Jed’s fantasies. He was easy to catch too, because he did all of his grocery shopping on Tuesday nights, letting Jed show up and nonchalantly follow him around the aisles, but Jed had noticed something recently. Ever since a couple of weeks ago, when he was certain he’d been spotted, Sammy had started dressing…kind of strangely, and this week was crazy, walking around in a camo jacket, open without a shirt, just letting his big gut hang out for Jed to ogle. It was like…he wanted him to look.

Maybe he did want him to look.

Hell, maybe he wanted Jed to do more than look.

The butterflies in Jed’s gut weren’t going to subside anytime soon, and Sammy chuckled, watching the kid sweat. He could remember some of his first fantasies too, but well, the kid wasn’t his type. Way too young for one thing, and from the lack of a bulge, way too small for Sammy’s tastes, but watching the kid sweat, biting his lower lip and openly lust for his big gut was kind of flattering.

Jed was still following Sammy around the aisles, not watching where he was going, when he bumped into some other guy hard enough to send them both to the ground.

“Oh geez mister, Sorry ‘bout that, I wasn’t watchin’ where I was goin’,”

“Heh, don’t worry about it,” the older man said, and plopped Jed’s cowboy hat back on his head, “Though I think you might have dropped this. Have a good night, Jed.”

“Wait, how did you know my name?” Jed asked, but the man was already hurrying off, and he felt a strange tingle from the hat work it’s way down into him, and he felt like he was going to be sick. He dashed into one of the changing rooms, and Sammy laughed. Boy couldn’t take it anymore, and probably had to have a wank. Maybe next week he’d come in one of his jocks and leave his fly open, see how he liked that. Sammy finished up his shopping and after a long wait in the checkout line, he paid for his food and wheeled his cart out to the car, where he stopped dead in his tracks.

Leaning up against the side of his truck was the hottest fucking cowboy he’d ever seen, shirt and pantless, wearing only a jockstrap packed full of what Sammy imagined might be one of the biggest cocks he’d ever seen. The cowboy took a drag off the cigar he was smoking and grinned at Sammy. “Been watching you all night, big boy–how about you and I take a ride back to your place? It’s chilly out here.”

Principal Evans was an understanding man. He assumed that, at their core, all of his students wanted to learn, and that he could learn something from each of them, but when it came to Neil and his gang of rednecks, who spent their entire days out back in the parking lot, but Neil’s truck, smoking cigarettes and drinking, he figured he might need to make an exception to his usual nice tactics. Of course, they’d already tried detentions and suspensions–but before relying on expulsion, he would try one last heart to heart, and so he threw on his suit coat and left the school, walking over to where Neil and his redneck buddies were smoking and drinking in the parking lot.

“Boys, I’m going to have to ask you to go back to class,” he said.

“Fuck that–why in the fuck would I do that? Now go march your bitch ass back inside, cunt!” Neil said, and his friends burst out laughing.

“Where in the fuck did you learn your manners!” Principal Evans said, “Did your parents teach you anything? If you were my son, I’d–”

“You know, Mr. Evans, both of my parents died when I was young. I’ve been a fucking foster kid my whole life. Are you actually volunteering for the role?” Neil asked, grinning, “Because I know one thing for sure, anybody who’s gonna be my dad is gonna be a fucking smoker, that’s for sure.”

Principal Evans’ next inhale was full of smoke, and he nearly hacked up a lung, but he couldn’t pull the cigar that had appeared in his mouth out–he needed it. He needed the smoke so fucking bad. “What–what did you–”

“I also know that no dad of mine would be some slim, smooth fuck like you. He’d be fat as hell, and furry all over the place, with a great big beard.”

The principal felt his whole body’s balance shift, and he had to lean back to accommodate the gut rapidly growing out of his slim midsection. At the same time, he could feel hair spriouting all over his body, and especially his face, where a new beard filled in and grew out nearly an inch. He turned to run, but two of Neil’s burly friends had circled around behind him, grabbed him by the arms, and shoved him into one of the folding chairs they’d been sitting in.

“You know what else? No dad of mine would be working as a principal–I bet my dad dropped out of high school. He probably works in construction, getting a sweaty and dirty every day. He also wouldn’t wear a suit, he’d be a denim guy, and probably wear a Stetson.”

“What are ya…how’r ya doin’ this tah me?” Evans asked, looking down as the fabric of his suit shifted into a denim shirt and jeans, both of them caked with mud and grime from his job digging ditches for the city. Still, he wasn’t smart, so he didn’t exactly have many choices when it came to work, did he?

“But most importantly, any dad of mine would want me to be happy. He’d do anything I tell him to do–in fact, he’d probably be a slut for my cock, and for all of my friend’s cocks, begging us to fuck him and abuse him all day long. Because if your boy’s happy, you’re happy–right Pa?”

“F–Fuck, I…I mean, yeah son, but…” Evans said, but Neil already had his thick cock out, and after taking a big draw off his cigar, he got down on his knees in front of his boy and gave him a blowjob, massaging his own cock through the front of his grimy jeans, feeling Billy, one of his son’s friends, slip a hand down the back of his pants and slide a finger up his fat ass.

“Yeah Pa, that’s it–you’re gonna take real good care of me from now on, won’t you? You and all my other friends I’ve been making over the last few months. I have a feeling we’re gonna be one big happy clan before too long, right?”

Evans just nodded and looked up into his son’s smiling eyes. He loved making his boy happy, it was all he cared about in the whole world.

The Fourth Day of Christmas

It was the smell of smoke that woke him up in bed, and Marty thought something must be on fire. He got up and hurried out of his room, but there weren’t any flames in the living room–but there was smoke, and he saw that it was coming from a smoldering cigar on an end table next to the Christmas tree.

He just stared at it for a moment, not entirely sure what to think. He lived here by himself after all, and he wasn’t a smoker. In fact, Marty was pretty boring all around–he didn’t even have a girlfriend, didn’t drink, just went to work, came home watched TV, day in and day out, but that was good enough for him. He wasn’t the kind of person who craved excitement. But then where in the world had the cigar come from, and if it was still smoking like that, wouldn’t that mean that someone would have had to have been smoking it in here…recently?

He looked around the apartment but there was no one there, but the smell of smoke just wouldn’t leave his mind, and part of him really wanted to try it. He didn’t know why really–it seemed like such a dumb, impulsive thing to do–but the more he tried to resist, the more he found himself looking at the cigar, until he picked it up with a shaking hand, put it to his lips, and took a tentative drag.

The sensation of the smoke was overwhelming, and somehow…liberating. It was like the smoke worked it’s way inside of him, loosening him up, undoing the restrictions he’d placed on himself all of these years, and then he was coughing up the smoke, and set the cigar down, he head spinning. “Fuck, that’s some crazy ass moutherfuckin’ shit,” Marty said, using more curse words in one sentence than he’d used all year, and ran his hand through his beard.

His beard?

He felt his face again, and found a thick beard had grown in all over his face, nearly an inch thick, and looking down at himself, that wasn’t the only thing that had changed. He’d packed on quite a bit of fat as well, and he looked hairier as well.

“Ho, ho, ho–so I did leave my cigar here, eh? Looks like someone took a bit of an interest in it, eh Marty?”

He spun around and saw that the sexiest Santa he’d ever seen had somehow materialized in his living room. No, not sexy, what was he thinking? He’d never been into guys, but damn, the way the harness was stretched across his gut…“How–how did you get in here?”

“You know, you really shouldn’t go sucking on things that don’t belong to you. Still, since you started it, you might as well finish it, eh?”

Santa walked up to Marty and pushed the cigar into his mouth, and he reflexively took another inhale, the same sensation sweeping through him, undoing all of the control he’d worked into his life, and this time he drew it in deeper, before he managed to pull himself away from it. “Fuck, what the hell is in that thing? Makes me feel fuckin’ nuts,” Marty said, but his voice sounded different all of a sudden, with a subtle country twang.

“Yeah, that’s got you looking better already,” Santa said, “You should take a look Marty, I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Santa pushed Marty towards the bathroom, and when he saw himself in the mirror, his jaw dropped. His beard had grown longer by a couple of inches, and his hair had grown out as well, the front still short, but in the back it was down past his shoulders. He was even fatter and hairier than before, but none of this could be possible. “Ah don’, Ah mean, this can’t be right, Ah don’t wanna look like this…”

“Oh Marty, you really ought to lighten up–you think too hard, did you know that? You really need to appreciate the simpler things in life,” Santa said, spun him around so they were face to face, and locked lips with him, blowing a huge amount of smoke into Marty’s lungs, deeper than it had gone before, and when the separated, Marty felt like his whole head was full of cotton. He’d changed again, his beard and hair now not only longer, but greasy and unkempt. He was missing a few teeth, and the ones he did have were stained yellow from smoke, and he felt a wet fart rip out of his wide ass, but it felt good. It felt good just letting go, not thinking at all, except about how much he wanted in Santa’s pants. “Fuck Santa, yer so damn sexy…” he said, unable to resist the attraction any longer.

Santa had him on his knees in a moment, his cock shoved down Marty’s throat, and he knew there was something wrong with all of this, but he was just enjoying himself too much. When Santa finished all over his nasty beard, he let Marty take the final draw on the cigar, and he knew what he’d been missing. All this time he’d wasted working, he should have been on a Harley, riding around the country, sucking cock in every rest area, fucking truckers in the backs of their cabs–he’d missed so much! But no more. Santa helped him up, and Marty wasn’t naked anymore–he was wearing his muddy biker leathers, and when Santa handed him the keys to his bike and a few cigars, he grinned. He was just a cigar smoking, cocksucking, redneck biker now, and he’d never wanted to be anything else.

Lyle and Sirius were outside of the bar, having a smoke, when the burly biker rode up and parked his hog out in front, and got off. He was a large man, well over six feet tall with a thick gut, wearing leather from neck to boot to glove, his face and head shaved to shining with a thick ring in his septum. Still, Lyle and Sirius had dealt with worse before, and when the guy gave them both a side long glance and smirked, Lyle let loose a stream of tobacco spit towards him.

“What’s so funny, fucker?”

“Don’t fuckin’ mess with us,” Sirius added.

The guy stopped and turned to them both and said, “Heh, not making trouble guys, I was just wondering if you knew that your friend there is a total faggot.”

Before they could reply he’d stepped into the noisy bar, and both guys felt their anger boiling.

“Fuck that fucker, callin’ you a fuckin’ faggot–let’s go kick his ass,” Sirius said.

“No fuckin’ way he’s getting away with calling you that,” Lyle said at the same time.

The two guys stopped and stared at each other then, and they realized that they had no idea who the guy had been talking about–but he’d clearly only been talking about one of them. They never did go find the guy in the bar–in fact, neither one of them said much for the rest of the evening, just throwing each other sidelong glances, and drinking more than they should have, before hopping into Sirius’ truck and heading back to the trailer park they both lived.

It was the dead of night when Lyle burst into Sirius’ trailer, mumbling, “No fuckin’ way am I the fuckin’ faggot around here, I’ll show that fucker–” but Sirius was waiting for him, and he tackled his friend to the ground. It wasn’t an easy fight, but Sirius finally pinned his friend down and started pummelling him with his fists until Lyle was pleading with him to stop, and then Sirius rolled him over and raped his ass for the first of many times until the next day, when they went back at the bar.

Sirius was drinking and smoking, as usual, but Lyle, eyes black and ass raw, was kneeling next to him, head down, when the biker arrived again. “Nice faggot you got there,” he said on his way into the bar.

“Actually, I was wondering if you’d like him–no use for a faggot myself. Not really my thing.”

The biker walked over and gave Lyle a look over, roughly shoving a few gloved fingers into his ass before handing over a couple hundred bucks to Sirius. He collared Lyle up and dragged him into the bar behind him, Lyle only looking back at Sirius once, and the look chilled him a bit, and he chugged the rest of his beer.

The glare had said this: “You were lucky–this could have been you, if I’d beaten you. If I’m a faggot, then you’re a faggot too.”

Riley was on an adventure, and he was just going to let the road take him wherever it wanted. He’d always wanted to go on a long road trip, but being poor on cash and rich with time, he decided that the best idea would be to simply hitchhike around during his summer break from college. Everything had gone well so far, but the next person who stopped for him was in a beat up, rusted out pickup truck, and the hick rolled down the window, letting fly a stream of black tobacco spit onto the ground inches from Riley’s foot. “Where ya headin’, boy?”

“Oh…uh, anywhere, I guess…” Riley said, but he didn’t really feel like getting into the truck with this nasty fat man in grimy overalls.

“Heh, well, I’ll take ya anywhere ya wanna go, if ya suck mah dirty cock fer me.”

“I’m not a faggot, and I’m not that desperate,” Riley said.

“Heh, yeah, I reckon ya ain’t–how’s ‘bout we change that?”

Riley felt something shiver it’s way through him, and he dropped his pack to the ground, looking down at his shirtless chest and torso, as it started to sag out with a soft layer of fat, his skin growing rough and wrinkled–and covered with grey hairs. Something brushed against his chest, and reaching up, he felt a thick beard descending from his face, his hair growing out wild and unkempt into a huge, curly mass and fell back past his shoulders. In a panic, he spun around to the shop window, where he could make out his reflection in the glare–no longer a fit college athlete traveling the country, but a destitute old man. New memories flooded into him, how he’d been homeless for decades now, relying on the kindness of strangers for shelter and food, traveling the country before any place could get too sick of him. He was trying to move on out of town now–and while it wouldn’t be the first cock he sucked to get a ride…no, not this guy, he’d done something to him, changed him.

“What the fuck did you do to me!” he shouted at the man.

“You want a ride or not?” the hick said.

“Fuck no, not with you, no fucking way.”

“Heh, guess yer still not desperate enough–we can fix that though.”

Riley felt a second shiver deep in his gut, a new need stirring within him, and he licked his grimy lips. Fuck, he was hungry for some cum–he hadn’t sucked any dick all day, and he was desperate, and he bet this guys cock was good ‘n ripe, just how he liked them–the filthier the better.

“Sure man, I’ll ride with ya, ‘n I’m happy tah suck yer cock too,” Riley said, throwing his ragged pack in the back of the man’s truck and walking around to the passenger seat, his head down in the fat farmer’s lap even before he’d gotten the truck moving, the farmer grinning from ear to ear as he headed off down the road and onto the highway with his passenger.

The tattoo artist took one look at Lucas shaking in the chair, a scrawny eighteen year old kid getting his first tattoo, and just shook his head. “Man, I can’t put anything on your skin if you don’t sit still.”

“Sorry…I’m just nervous,” Lucas said, blushing a bit. He’d always wanted a tattoo, and it was going to be his present to himself for graduating from high school last week, before going off to college.

“Look, you want me to give you something to help settle you down?” the artist said, smirking.

“I don’t do drugs.”

“It’s not a drug, just something to keep you still.”

Lucas relented, and took the pill the artist handed him, but after a few minutes he stopped shaking. In fact, after a few minutes he couldn’t move at all–he was frozen in the chair, and the artist’s smirk was looking a bit more sinister, and he called someone on the phone and said, “Pass it on, we’re havin’ an auction tonight.”

The shop closed down for the night, but men were still filing into the room. Lucas was still frozen in the chair, and looking at the collection of tattooed bikers and trailer trash eyeing him up and down. He didn’t know what was going on, as the artist started the bidding, and a short older man with a big beard and long hair, covered in tattoos won the auction, and they started the consultation, planning what to do with Lucas’ tattoos–and his body.

By morning, the older man was dragging a very different Lucas out of the tattoo shop, his chest and arms covered in crude tattoos, his young slender body covered with fat, his hair long greasy and unwashed. His new daddy raped him for the first time in the back of the truck–well, it wasn’t really rape by the end, with Lucas begging him to plow his fat ass harder, and they drove home to the trailer park, the old daddy very happy with his new tattooed son.

When I saw him go intah the bar, I knew I had tah have him. Still, he was a straight, hot jock, ‘n I was just a old, redneck pig, headin’ intah town fer a hot manfuck like I usually did once a month. It was hard findin’ a good fuck out in the country where I live, but I hated the idea a livin’ in the city. Usually I’d spend the weekend in a bathhouse, fuckin’ the nights away, but this time, well, I figured I could jus’ have a looksie fer a bit, before gettin’ on mah way.

I still don’ know what happened, really. I was sippin’ mah beer in a booth, watchin’ him ‘n his friends at the bar, when he went ‘n tried tah chat up some chick a few stools down–she didn’t take it very well, tah say the least, ‘n everyone heard what she shouted tah him:

“Maybe not everyone you’re attracted to finds you the least bit attractive–did you think of that? Maybe we should see how you like being treated like a piece of meat!”

I don’ know what came o’er me, but I was up, hikin’ up mah grimy jeans, and saunterin’ o’er tah where he was standin’ at the bar. I was tryin’ tah stop myself, I didn’ know what the fuck I was doin’ but then the words were fallin’ outa mah mouth, tellin’ him tah be a good boy ‘n stop harassin’ the pretty lady ‘n git back over tah the booth with me, and he fuckin’ followed me! The chick and his friends gawked, but they couldn’ do anythin’ fer some reason, ‘n I proceeded tah git the boy plastered before he could change his mind.

Now I tend tah be a bit of a bottom in the sack, but with the boy, fuck, I wanted mah cock in every one a his holes all night long, callin’ him all sorts a names, watchin’ him squirm under mah big gut, ‘n I gotta admit, I liked it. Needless tah say, he came home with me, like a good little bitch, ‘n we cut off that mangy hair a his, and got him dressed up in overalls like a proper hick, ‘n he’s already forgettin’ that he used tah live in the big city. Ah don’t know what that witch did, but I ain’t complainin’. I found mah boy, ‘n I ain’t ever gonna let him leave.

(A ghost story a bit too late for Halloween. Shut up, I know.)

They said that the woods were cursed, but Jules didn’t believe that one bit, and he’d gotten the five acres in the countryside at a steal. However, as the first summer wore on, even he had to admit that some strange things were happening, and that prompted him to at least look into the rumors that some of the long time residents liked to tell. Apparently, there had been a father and son who’d lived on the property years earlier, and the father had abandoned him. The son, unable to bear the thought of living without his father, had run off into the woods, and everyone assumed he’d died somewhere nearby, and haunted the property to this day, looking for his father.

Jules wasn’t sure what to make of that, but whenever he was outside, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched, and sometimes there would be a clear knock at the door, and he’d hear a young man’s voice calling for his Papa, but whenever he answered the door, there was no one there. Still, it was enough that Jules started to have some doubts, and was wondering if he was going a bit crazy. He decided that a vacation would probably do him some good, and so he made plans to spend a few weeks away from home.

However, as he started packing his things up, he started noticing that bags would spontaneously unpack themselves when he left rooms, and the knocking and voice was growing more insistent. A few times, outside, he’d catch a glimpse of a young, chubby man in overalls in the woods, but by the time he got there to investigate, he’d be gone. Still, Jules was leaving for a while–nothing was going to stop him.

The tickets were purchased, the taxi service was scheduled to arrive the next morning, and everything was finally packed, ghost or not, and the knocking wouldn’t stop. Jules was awake in the living room, scared out of his mind, and finally he went to the door and flung it open, and shouted at the woods, “I’m leaving, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me!”

“No Big Papa, you’re not leaving this time. You’re going to stay with me forever,” the voice said behind him, and he spun around, and there the young man was, feet away from him, and Jules let out a scream, and then all was still.

The taxi drove up the next morning, but there was apparently some sort of mix up. The man living there said he’d never planned on leaving for the airport–who would take care of his son? He couldn’t leave his son, not ever. In his mind, Jules tried to speak, tried to tell the cab driver that the ghost was keeping him captive, but it was too late. He was trapped–doomed to be the young ghost’s big papa for the rest of his life, and most likely in death too.