The next morning, Evan looked at himself in the mirror, at his slightly taller, slightly more muscular self, and tried not to be sick to his stomach. Had he really done that to Curtis? Turned him into a sex-addicted little twink? It didn’t seem possible. Maybe it had all been a dream or something, the whole day...but he knew that was a lie. He could feel the spirit in him still, biding its time, waiting for someone else to trigger the curse. Waiting to change him again, into some new homophobic nightmare.
He tried to get his mom to call into school and say he was sick, but she refused--he had never been that good of an actor, unfortunately. So he got his books and notes together, and decided the best thing he could do would be to just play hookie, and find somewhere safe he could hang out and try and figure out what to do next--but he hit the sidewalk outside his apartment building, and there, waiting for him, was Curtis. Curtis wearing a bright pink tank top, barely long enough to cover his waist, a pair of short jean shorts, hair bleached and coifed, lips pouting, and Evan’s cock throbbed.
“Took you long enough, hot stuff,” Curtis said to him with a smirk, “You never replied to my pic last night.”
“Oh, yeah, I saw it this morning,” Evan said, looking around him, seeing who might see them. With his curse, he couldn’t afford to be around Curtis looking like this--it was an insult waiting to happen.
“Well if we hurry, we can get to our usual spot, come on.”
Usual spot? As they walked--well, Evan walked, but Curtis strutted--he felt memories filling in the gaps. He and Curtis were, for lack of a better word, fuckbuddies. Their usual spot was an abandoned alley on the way to school where Curtis would usually suck Evan off--or if they were feeling bold and extra horny, he’d fuck his tight hole instead. Evan was horrified, but he was so horny, and he could feel the spirit warping things so that when the time came, he wouldn’t be able to resist.
And so, it was a bit of a relief, in some ways, that they passed by a crew of construction workers renovating a building along their route. Talking to themselves, but loud enough that Evan could hear, one of them said, “Look at that kid--those faggots get to them early now. Remember when men were fucking men, like us?”
“Yeah, might as well be a bitch. All the boys these days are just sissy little cocksuckers like that.”
Evan prayed that it wouldn’t affect him, since technically they’d been talking about Curtis, but apparently, to the spirit, any homophobic remark made around him was enough to satisfy the curse. Curtis just flipped off the workers and kept on strutting, while Evan grabbed his stomach, lurched against the wall, and then into a little doorway of a business that was still closed. It was the same as when he’d changed at school the day before--the heat of his muscles expanding, the hair growing in all over him...but there were differences too. He packed on a substantial gut for one thing, and this time, he also grew a thick beard all over his face. The clothes he had on shifted, becoming a grubby, dirt covered shirt and hi-viz vest, some patched up jeans held up by suspenders, and a pair of work boots that had definitely seen better days.
“Fuck! Nah, come on, I ain’t some fuckin’ dumbass worker like them!” he said, looking at himself in the glass, hardly even recognizing the face looking back at him. It was a good mug though--little worse for wear over the years, and missing a couple of teeth, but it gave him character. Let everyone know he was a real man who didn’t turn away from a fight. Evan was receding into the back of his mind, clawing at it, but helpless as the spirit gave him a new reality. He was in his mid-forties, and unlike the rest of the guys on the crew, a confirmed bachelor--not that he didn’t sleep with bitches on occasion, of course. He just preferred life of his own--just him and his trailer in a mobile home park a outside of the city. He told himself that he just didn’t want to deal with women--but the truth was, he much preferred the times he got his cock sucked at the rest areas on the highway, years ago, while he was truckin’, before he got fired for drinking on the road.
Evan hiked up his pants, gave his ass a scratch, then put on his hardhat and walked back to the work site.
“Where the fuck ya been Evan, you lazy fuck?” Robbie said. He was the one who’s insulted them first--and Evan could sense he was the main target of the curse. If he wanted his old body back--he was the one he was going to have to change...somehow.
“Lazy? The only weight you pull ‘round here is that gut of yers,” Evan said, watching Robbie’s stomach balloon out with another fifty pounds. Maybe if he was quick, he could get it over with, and move on.
Before he could do anything else, though, the foreman hollered at them to get back to work, and his persona took over, Evan receding into the background, but never entirely gone. He spent the whole day on the site, part of him loving the work, happy as could be doing manual labor like real men were built to do--but inside, he seethed, and the spirit laughed. When work was over, he tried to catch Robbie alone, but found him with the rest of the guys on the crew getting ready to go out for a beer--it was Friday after all. Evan’s guts churned a bit--if he didn’t change Robbie tonight, he wouldn’t see him until Monday--and that meant a whole weekend spent in his trailer, drinking beer...and probably calling over one of the single hags for a fuck, so he could feel like a man for a bit.
So he went out with the boys, and stuck close to Robbie the whole time--plying him with extra booze, calling him a “lightweight” and getting him plastered. When he called it quits, Evan offered to take him to his truck--but instead piled him into his own, and drove off--already knowing where he was gonna take him, and what he was gonna do to him.