When you open your eyes, you notice your vision is a little blurry. You go to rub them, but nothing happens. It only takes you a moment to realize that the blurry obstructions are really tufts of curly blond hairs, twisting up stubbornly from your lower eyelids. You put your palms on your face, feeling many small tresses under your fingertips. Your hands feel the muscles beneath your furry cheeks tighten as you grin. Forming fists, you lower them and see the backs are covered with small tufts of golden hairs. A quick examination beneath your sleeve reveals that this becomes an ocean of fur at the wrist. Your legs, poking out from your shorts, are completely covered in dense amber fluff.
"My face! You're a fucking witch," you suddenly hear yourself say. Except you are sure your mouth was closed. Your attention shifts to the other man in the tent. Ernesto, now almost completely hairless except for a five-o-clock shadow and a slightly shaggy haircut, is grabbing his throat. "Wait... this isn't my voice... I sound wrong!" It's unmistakable - his shouts come out in your voice. You raise your eyebrows expectantly and speak. "Thank la brujería. It is your voice now," you say slowly, now speaking with a subtle Mexican accent. "Is" comes out like molasses, sounding like "ease". Your new voice, although not much deeper than your old one, sounds much more confident and smooth. As you collect your thoughts, you're interested to learn that you can think in Spanish if you try. "Mi verga está goteando," you think. Your dick strains against your moist jockstrap in confirmation. Ernesto continues yelling, although it is hard to tell whether he is happy or scared -- maybe both. You notice a battered dressing table in the corner of the room and walk towards it, Ernesto following close behind you. He's keeping you in sight, you think. He's afraid. "I'm a real freak now," you realize, "un verdadero pinche mutante".
When you sit at the dressing table and examine yourself, sudden panic rises in you. Why are you feeling like this? It's on the tip of your tongue, your lengua... Suddenly, you are calm. The answer is obvious, you're worried that you're overexcited -- you don't want to cum too soon. You clench your hirsute fist, digging your fingernails into your palm to distract you from your throbbing erection. You want to savor this.
The face that stares back at you in the scratched glass is foreign, your familiar features hidden under a curtain of fur. Your head and neck are a collection of thick whorls of hair. With interest, you notice that the hair shifts to a tawny brown around where your eyebrows and short beard were before. It makes sense, you consider, since those were always darker than your natural color. Your pelt is longer and covers you more completely than Ernesto's did, you notice happily. Perhaps it was because you switched medical conditions with the man rather than simply swapping all your body hair? That adds up -- you were already quite hairy thanks to your ring. Your hand reaches to touch your bald spot, or at least the place where it was before. The area is now as densely covered as the rest of your flesh. You laugh to yourself quietly -- that's one way to get rid of it.
As you stare into the scuffed mirror, Ernesto's reflection appears behind you. He is examining himself incredulously. He starts to cry, his mouth a quivering 'o'. You examine him too, interested to be seeing the man's bare face for the first time. Although he is not handsome now, there is a certain appeal to his hard features. His nose is a little knobby, and his forehead and mouth are lined lightly with creases. Perhaps he is actually older than 30, but not by much. In a way, though, with his dark hair, toned body, and tan skin, he reminds you of Yosef. You turn to the other man. Thinking of your lover was too much. You can't hold this in. "Largate," you say in a quiet voice, and when Ernesto looks confused, you remember to translate yourself. "GET OUT!" He stumbles backwards out of the tent, his eyes wide with fear. You tear off your sweater and shorts before he has even left the tent, allowing the muscles within your powerful arms to shred the fabric. It's only a moment before the sound of hurried footsteps fade away.
Your heedless hands tear your bra away too, finally allowing your furry tits to flop free. Only your jockstrap remains, and with one firm tug, it falls to the ground. A single look at your body is too much for your racing mind to bear. The sight causes your dick to spurt thick jets of cum all over the golden carpet of your chest . You watch the stranger in the mirror throw his feral head back in pleasure. "Fuuuuuuuuck." Your new voice moans, and the unfamiliar cries only deepen your orgasm. You rub the hot jism into your belly fur, matting it, and look proudly at yourself. Your skin is invisible beneath the dense curls. Even your six incher is coated in a generous dusting of hair that stops a mere half-inch shy of your cockhead. You look like the man from that old werewolf movie, you think, except this isn't makeup. You tug at the cumsoaked fur on your chest in affirmation, and feel sharp pain. This is real. You rub the wheat-gold tufts on the back of one hand against your nipple, letting your arousal build for round 2. You want to watch yourself cum, want to see what the magician, your lover, will see. But you're taken aback when you stare into your face in the mirror. You look so sad, even though you feel so happy. "Please. Please control yourself," a small voice inside whispers, "before it's too late." But you barely register the thought -- you have to get back to the city. Yosef is waiting.