“Yes, daddy! Right there! Yes!” Tim moaned in ecstasy.
Jack grunted as he thrusted faster and faster until they both came, tensing then releasing. He slipped out of Tim, lying back on the pillow and allowing him to snuggle up close to him. Tim’s pale, hairless arm was almost translucent against Jack’s muscular tanned skin. The twink grinned as Jack tousled his short brown hair, his biceps dancing as his arm moved. He didn’t care that Jack was twenty years older, He was kind and strong and he took care of him. Tim had tried to sell his painting with no luck, and being with Jack allowed him not not have to worry about his finances.
Plus, Jack was sexy as hell. He was rocking the Bruce Willis bald look, but the pelt of hair that lay in a thick tangle over his hard muscles was such a turn-on. Tim wished he could grow hair like that, but alas he was cursed with porcelain skin as smooth as a baby’s bottom.
“Timmy?”
“Yes, daddy?”
“Get off me. I need to go to the mall to pick up a new belt for work. Wanna come with? I’ll get you something nice.”
“Of course! Let me get dressed!”
Jack gave Tim a playful smack on the ass as he dashed into the closet. Five minutes later, they were in Jack’s pick-up truck listening to an old Lynyrd Skynyrd tune. Tim would’ve rather listened to Katy Perry, but he liked how happy Jack looked as he hummed along with his deep, gravelly baritone.
In the mall, Tim gleefully clapped and ran over to watch the puppies in the window of the pet store.
Jack chuckled, “Timmy, this isn’t what I meant when I said I’d get you something nice.”
“Come on, daddy, let’s just look at them.”
“No, we can’t have a dog scraping the hardwood. And if you want to go inside, I might be tempted to pick up a muzzle.” He pinched Tim’s ass playfully as they walked away, Jack’s arm over Tim’s shoulder.
“How dare you!” A cry cut through the mall’s hubbub. “There are children here!” They looked up to see a clean-cut businessman with his wife and son. “You can’t flaunt your sin in a public place like this, you deserve to burn in Hell!” The man marched off in a huff, dragging his son away. Jack swelled with rage, but as the blood rushed to his head he became dizzy, the world spinning around him. He tripped and accidentally knocked Timmy down, sending him crashing to his knees through the open door of a nearby store.
Stumbling and trying to clear his head, Jack stepped through a doorway and into a cool, dark room where loud music was blaring.
“Sir, are you OK?” An employee walked up to Jack, her nametag reading “Angel – Hot Topic.” Jack looked up at her, preparing to answer, but stopped when he saw her face. Had ever seen anything so beautiful? Her dark straight hair had a steak of pink and her lip was pierced with a pair of rings. He felt a sudden blush rise in his cheeks, stammered “I- I’m alright.” and quickly dashed further into the store.
What was all that about? Jack had been with girls in high school, but ever since he realized he was into guys, he… He shook his head to clear it, leaning on a rack of 5 Seconds of Summer Shirts. He looked a the screen-printed boy band. Normally that sight of that young, firm flesh would turn him on, but… His brain suddenly felt like it was being squeezed in a crushing vise and he pushed the rack away.
No! He hated boy bands! Girls were always so obsessed with them that they ignored real men like him. What would a girl get from those pansy-ass pretty boys anyway? He wished girls like Angel would stop paying attention to those fags and go out with him. That is, if he ever built up the confidence to actually ask a girl out…
As he walked deeper into the store, he saw a rack of FallOut Boy wristbands, and grabbed one. He tried to snake it onto his wrist, but it wouldn’t budge around his large, veiny hand. He grabbed another, not noticing a sign that read there were all the same size, and slid it on. It fit like a glove. His skinny wrists looked out of place beneath his meaty biceps, but the muscles began to shrink back into his skin until his arms were two bony tubes. The wristband slid down his arm as he reached up to adjust his hair. Black strands were surging out of his follicles, cascading down his forehead and over his eyes in a sleek swoop.
As his hair got longer and longer, the pelt of fur on his chest began to retract. One by one the curling hairs were siphoned away, leaving his chest bare. He began to shiver as his pecs shrank and his abs receded into a flat, pale stomach. He reached over to a nearby rack and grabbed a Good Charlotte hoodie he pulled it on, flipping the hood over his long hair as blood red color spread from the tips of his bangs.
A twinge of pain flared through him as the sweater snagged against his nipple, which now sported a silver ring. He felt another pair of twinges in his lip, and turned around to look for a mirror. He found one on the rack behind him, but it was about a head shorter than his six-foot stature. He stooped to peer into his reflection, but suddenly realized the mirror was actually above him. He straightened up, his face now exactly lining up with the mirror. He examined the black spider bite rings that graced his lips, smirking.
“I look so hot,” he said to himself, pulling a tube of guyliner off a nearby rack and expertly darkening his eyes. His jaw itched as dots of black stubble lined his chin. His body may be hairless, but he works it where he can. Jackson turned from the mirror and started thumbing through a box of vinyl emo LPs. They had everything. He was in Heaven!
---------------------
“Daddy?” In the scuffle, Tim had been thrown to the ground, and he whimpered as he got up and dusted himself off. He suddenly realized he had tumbled into a store and looked up. Rows and rows of knives stared at him from glass cases. Bowie knives, hunting knives, skinning knives… Wait, since when did he know so much about knives?
He approached the glinting case, his clean-cut visage reflecting in a large machete. As he turned away, he did a double take. One long, scraggly hair was growing from the bottom of his chin. Gross! He grabbed the hair and tugged on it, but it only split in two. So now he had a pair of greasy brown hairs dangling from his chin. Now what? He winced and gingerly tugged at them, but the force only caused a small patch of hairs to emerge from the follicles around them.
OK, this was getting ridiculous. Tim got a tight grip on the patch and yanked with all of his might. Pain wracked through his face and a messy string of hairs cascaded down from all over his chin, unfurling from his cheeks and lip to form an unkempt beard. He was still seeing stars from the pain, and it reminded him of the time he accidentally got an assful of buckshot while on a hunting trip with his cousin. As the pain subsided and his mind cleared, he carefully appraised the knives. He wanted only the best for his next kill.
He reached up to a tall rack, his legs and spine stretching as he grew to a height of six feet. His T-shirt ripped at the sleeves as his arms ballooned with muscle, tucked under a layer of hard fat. The color of the fabric faded away, coming a grubby white wifebeater.
As his muscles relaxed, his stomach expanded to become fill out the material, becoming a thick, round gut. He patted it contentedly and belched. A cascade of thick, greasy hair spiraled from the place his hands had touched. His pelt climbed up his chest, which slowly settled over his gut in a pair of fatty but firm pecs.
The back of his neck tickled, but when he reached up to check, all he found was his normal hair, the mullet curling around the back of his skull in a greasy spray. His mind returned to the knife rack and he made his selection, reaching up to grab the very top item.
Sweat poured from his armpits, which sprouted thick tufts of curly black hair as he stretched. The sweat trickled down his chest and into the waistband of his boxers, sending a scattering of pubes along his crotch. A bead of sweat rolled down his flaccid member, approaching the tip, which expanded further and further away as it rolled. Finally it stopped at a hefty ten inches. As the sweat rolled over his engorged tip, his cock expanded until it was as thick as a beer can.
Tom adjusted his package as he made his way to the cashier. He made his purchase and headed out the door, bumping into a skinny emo kid who was emerging from the dark, noisy interior of the store next door.
“Hey, watch where you’re going, punk” Tom growled. Jackson cowered and waited until the lumbering beast of a man went on his way before heading to his next destination: Spencer’s Gifts.