As Lennard and Danielle continued downward, unknowingly baptising a trail of were breeders via word of mouth and digitally through their church’s youth ministry’s social media account. They felt prouder and prouder, noticing how man and women kiss lovingly throughout the park.
Literally forgetting the ex-homosexuals existence as they passed on by and met a church going couple, Peter and Mary, welcoming the business duo as they recently moved to this state, opening another fine jewelry shop where ‘the grass is greener’.
Lennard and Danielle were overjoyed to hear more of their kind overtaking the dreadful ‘curse’ in this country. Not even realising the irony and hypocrisy in them.
“Hey Dani-bunch, gonna check the stalls for a moment, be right back in five.”
Said future husband had a sudden urge to enter the restroom, almost as though he sensed someone or something loitering there that he had to steer in the right direction.
Kissing his fiancée on the cheek, he-a bit unwillingly-let go of his future wife’s soft and delicate fingers. Not wanting to ever be apart from her but he had to for a while.
After all, when missionary calls, missionary calls.
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“Ugh...FUCK this.”
Dante splashed water on his face, upset with the turn of events and the fact that his supposed date totally ditched him without any trace. Having waited for over an hour for him...and to no avail.
Nuthin’
Said homosexual male was 5ft 6, an olive skin tone with his hair tied up into a man bun. Pudgy nose and caramel eyes, thick lips and brows, all simultaneously furrowing into a glare, it was clear this guy was upset.
Dressed in a lightly colored, soft felt tee, the American Italian with strands of hair trailing down his moderately-proportional sized arms and legs, he was not that bad looking...was it his height or race that steered them away?
“Why can’t I just stay in a committed relationship for once...”
He voiced out, his dark olive skin and member beneath his beige khakis, a thick girth, like how his feet was 9’’. Not as big as a jock’s, but thick for him. Was it his feet...? The gay guy felt down in the dumps...he wanted to wail after two awful breakups and a complete ditch from that hottie he chatted online...
Not to mention, that whole conspiracy theory about an Italian mafia pulling the streets and crashing the stocks, calling the literal shots from behind the scenes. He had known about a Mexican gang before but literally had no idea how the shift primarily focused on his race seemingly overnight when there was supposedly no such thing days ago.
It was almost as though the mafia their whole legacy out of the blue.
As his palms were pressed against his cheeks. The creaking of the door signalled an incoming handsome male that would ease all of his problems, who instantly felt nudges to console and impart wisdom onto the guy so he would feel better...and with these ofd feelings, he had a feeling what this guy had an issue with.
“Let God lead you down the straight and narrow.”
And by easing it, the curse meant. Basically infect the guy so he would turn into a were breeder like himself. Further infecting others to continue the cycle or seal them for its master agenda.