As Greg and Keith moved through the busy airport, there was a sudden surge of passengers from one of the gates. In the crush of people, the happy couple was separated from one another.
"Meet you at the baggage pick-up, boo!"
Keith headed off in one, almost like a parallel to another world as Greg headed off to the restrooms, getting a quick chill from the drowsiness of jet lag before he puts on his bright facade once again.
SPLASH!
He doused himself with Pure Britain tap water, admiring their sinks oddly enough at the stone marble layered on it-grateful at the fact that they took time to even ‘posh’ their jolly ol airport for traveller to admire.
Greg scanned through his smartphone for the latest news, stopping on a certain video recorded at an institute in California. On it was a stern pair of ladies who were being interviewed by presumably-student reporters.
“Mrs Riches and Mrs Chang, what do you think is our school’s number one problem in terms of areas of improvement?”
“There are a lot of things that need to change in this unruliness that is of school!”
“But, even both beta twin and I can agree that the number one problem would be the unruly homosexuals and their perverse ways!”
Greg paused the video and scrolled off it, shuddered at the blatant homophobia and even at the fact it has received so many thumbs ups for that! Despite the growing awareness of bullying, inclusivity and love.
SPLASH! SPLASH!
He tried to drown out the loud noise and nastiness by those ladies with cold water.
They were so...stern about it. It must be some cruddy nightmare. How can anyone be so openly rude...so homophobic and-
BUMP!
“Sorry governor! In a rush Ol’ chap!”
The suited male tipped his tall hat, almost like he came outta Victorian Britain as he firmly walked out of the restroom, the curse made sure he got a firm look of the man’s features before he left. A middle aged Britain with a a stunning visage, dressed in an incredibly dashing suit that screamed elite-aside from the politeness he exhibited of course. That was the description that summed Greg’s boner as he was secretly breath-taken by the-
Tick tock tick tock...
“Huh?!”
The sounds of a clock ticking rang in his head, snapping out of his trance...and his erection. Shaking his head as he wiped his hands dry and-
The man left a core piece of his equipment, a shiny pocket watched that seemed like it was an old antique passed down from generations. It was incredibly expensive, and the honest Greg could not help but need to return it.
Picking up it-he dashed out of the restroom and-
“Hold still Mr Goodenough.”
Pausing, he...just exited the restroom...did he?
Where he stood was a gigantic shop-one filled with dresses and suits, ones that consisted of those from the Prestigious and powerful Saville Row.
Next to him were women, dressed like fashionistas as they spread their measuring tapes across his body like an inspection. Completely experienced in their craft, and proud of it too.
‘Boy? Haven’t your American Parents taught you manners?! Apologize to the women!”
“My apologies...”
Greg was astonished, one moment he was running and now he is being commanded by this...extremely stern, wealthy...but fatherly.
And what is with his accent? What is with HIS Accent?! It sounded so posh...so mature... so...good... it was good enough....Goodenough for someone like him. But why...can he even afford-?
‘A sound little investment. After all who doesn't need a jumper mended or a fresh tie while on the go. Bloody brilliant.’
Of course he could afford it. After all, he was always here, ever since his birth, wasn’t he? He had to be like them...the cost of a suit is not an issue for him.
He had to be Goodenough. As he felt his skin refine, milky whites screaming European blood instead of that unruly American blood which he simply...
‘Americans are such savages...’
Rolled his eyes at. He was far better than America. Skin lighting to a lighter hue-before then darkening to its new native sheen, almost like concealing the mystery of his dealings behind the scenes.
As the craftswomen kept up with their tapes, stretching beyond his proportions as he STRETCHED! Alongside with them, reaching past 6ft....about 6ft 2 for a gentleman like him.
Greg embraced the need to change, to be one with Britain and its culture. But more so with the elites of the country as the tailors guided him to his destination with measuring tapes and clothing apparel-dazed by visions of The Great Britain as though he had already lived there his entire life.
“Pronto my dear craftswomen...-“
RING RING!
The man answered with the flick of his wrist, not even noticing the phone voluntarily upgrading itself to the latest model of the ever so elusive Cisdroid Prime.
“Charles I just missed ya! Saw ya walkin down the airport jus now’”
As the ladies undressed the pride-embracing male. Unfazed by the fast pace in changing events-he stood tall and stern as the ladies undressed his previous attire and tossed it out of the history books.
Whatever they were...they were simply not as important as the time he has now...
Tick Tock Tick Tock
Almost like an acceleration, as he delivered lines of dialogue, trust building and connections with ‘Charles’, the tailors worked in pursuit to his attire.
After all, no time can be wasted when Mr Goodenough has entered into their domain.
His bare feet were of a far greater size for this growing patriarchal boss, rising up in office were these silk-stitched, tailored navy socks with a Wolf insignia that now coated his neatly trimmed-size 14s.
Tracing up his legs with measurements , his thighs and knee swelled with a routine. A carnivorous dexterity laced those toned calves and thighs as they were displayed for all to see-
“I am in charge after all, Charles”
Being in charge, his member surged outward, testosterone laced dominance showed through the silk boxers that he now possessed as the tailors had no choice but to...’feel’ his lower area for ‘material inspection’
“Material inspection indeed...”
The growing carnivore smirked, relishing in his power in the food chain as his buttocks squared firmly as they were neatly ‘pressed’ against by female fingers. Which he recalled a certain pair of twins in the video he had seen earlier, his hard-ass hardening up as he recalled their words.
“Glad my dear ol’ Sisters in law who are currently at the states know what they are doing!”
Sliding up a sleek pair of black dress pants, he could not bear the thought of those homosexual blokes even...CARESSING his body! Sure Americans may be ‘savages’, but faggots are a whole new level of unruly! At least in his growingly conservative mind.
The large man landed a STOMP! As the ladies barely managed to slide in newly-polished, black pointed dress shoes for the occasion. It sparkled against the light-like a mischievous and cunning individual with a plan.
Cringing at the thought of unruly Dangly bits that infiltrated the investor’s mind, as an incredible arrogance looped around the man’s lean waist. As the belt buckle, shaped similarly to the animal insignia on his socks, clicked, it sent a ripple of masculinity up his core-tightening his abdominals into a firm well-maintained six pack.
His back STRAIGHTENED in pride, rippling wings arching like a true master as all those gay mannerisms were a disgrace to the Goodenough family tradition. Men should be with women and treat them like Queens! Posh and perfect, bloody brilliant.
“If only they were trained in the Goodenough household...” His Number One Branded Cellphone held up to his ear as he said those words.
His arms were stretched out, long and wide with biceps swelling the essence of posh masculinity, as though he were inviting investors and ‘sons’ in to his ‘home’.
The remaining bits of the gay Gregory shuddered as he went into the mansion, his strong fatherly hands now wrinkled slightly with age and excessive typing and calculations. Gripping a hold and hugging tightly against the ‘confused’ boy, a silver lining was looped around his ring finger.
SLAM!
The doors out of the Mansion was shut.
“I would lecture them...I would ‘lecture’ them indeed...”
Mr Goodenough tightened the embrace, forcing ‘Gregory’ into his chest, which grew larger and larger as his pectorals ballooned outward and sandwiched as the gay boy’s face, almost like suffocating him...but not quite. Absorbing his old gay persona in as his torso and legs struggled to kick free...pushing him all the WAY in, growing his large-but well maintained figure so that he is not a brute.
Far from it, as Gregory’s feet tried to kick free, his pinky toe spreader across in a small dark-colored circle...an erect pair of nipples for his prominent pectorals which had submitted to the will of their master.
Relishing the touch of women as they begged to be groped by a certain special matriarch.... but these peasants will have to do for now, as they slid on a newly well-ironed bleached color dress shirt. A stylish tailor made vest was made cupped against his strong core-working out finely with his moderately tanned intentions was concealed under ‘white purity’.
In contrast, a silk black tie was slid on and tucked beneath his vest, showing his real motives as a matching colored suit jacket complimented his whole ensemble, with a white pocket square with that familiar insignia over on his jacket. His clothes were a representation of the black and white ideology of the family. Speaking of family...
Wasn’t there someone he was supposed to meet...peering out of the shop...a clear view of the location before-
“BLOODY FAG! MOVE IT WILL YA! SOME OF US AVE’ PORTANT’ MATTAHS TO TTEND’!” Mr Goodenough noted, the tailor woving his incredible suit unfazed-as though it was a norm.
Shouting a nerdy looking guy who was consistently obstructing his view for his...target. Ironically forget that said nerd guy was originally that one who he was looking for.
“Ain’t a bloody wanker now are ya?”
‘He was no bloody wanker.’
His stern, commanding business... yet fatherly voice surged through his core and vocal chords over on his thickening neck, disciplining his core over generations as niceness gets melted into cold hard iron intentions of the Goodenough family.
The amount of tobacco mixed with those rich ingredients was just....Heterogeneous....da way he liked it. As his adam’s apple roughened in delight with the coursed gravelliness he possesed, whilist echoing that natural-attractive, British accent. His voice indistinguishable from those middle aged upper class snobs from within the country.
“Sorry dear chap! Ya know when I see a fag I turn beastly!” Mr Goodenough noted. “Wish it were the 50s...like my dear old pa used to say, the grass is hetter on the other side.”
As an incredible surge of arrogance...fury, overtook the man. Greg believed money was not everything. But Mr Goodenough says otherwise. Love is money, time is money, happiness is money as images of wealth and luxury That sweet persona of Greg had been buried over a cold steely exterior of Greed, wealth, and power.
The love of money is the root of all evil. And he was deliciously evil the way his wife liked it. As Greg’s innocent smile smirked into a cunning wolf, as he tented even greater as he continued to devour his victim like how he and his wife had done ever since they partnered.
“Ya know I’d do anythin’ for ta good of ma wife’s company.”
The men in his late forties smirked wolfishily, his facial features matured until he is every bit of the man his wife desired of him. Slight wrinkles to emphasize his experience in life, his nose wrinkled in a prominent hook to represent the wealth the Goodenough family is destined to rule.
His hair lost that silly bun as it trimmed far too conservatively for a gay man as it trimmed shortly and stylishly at the top, as it gets slicked and combed handsomely at the back..
His eyes narrowed fiercely in his beliefs, twitching his nose as a stereotypical villainous banker’s stache decored up his upper lip as the rest of his facial hair appeared as aftershave.
Smirking wolfishly, a ruthless cutthroat system in differentiation of his ‘unification’ of Britain, making his stylish brows furrow in fake innocence, while his eyes portrayed that of a cunning wolf of pure dark brown.
Narrowing in suspicion at the secret spies that tried to fish out any ‘corruption’ from his bank. What poppycock! Pot calling the kettle black is what his sisters in law would say!
Nevertheless, the investment banker was too clever for that. As he ended the call and headed off.
“Anyways gotta meet up with my wife in a bit, talk to ya later ol’ chap!”
Placing a large top hat over his head, as he hung up the phone call. Snagging a stylish gold rimmed cane as the British banker walked out of the tailors, tossing a heft load of cash way above whatever the tailors could have asked. Smirking at how they leaped after those green bills...like moths to the flame.
Stopping outside the tailor shop which is known as Prominent Wolf, he headed off to the destination, knowing his wife merely had to powder her nose and enjoy those delicious gourmet meals until she was once again, perfect for Great Britain as he , Dr Gregory Z Goodenough, PhD Finance, was.
Though simply Mr Goodenough or Gregory by his closest allies would suffice.
Swinging HIS pocket watch left to right like a pendulum, passed down from generations of HIS family’s bankers. Charles may be his colleague and all, but let him not forget how the Goodenoughs took his family by stride all over Britain. The only one who could potentially stop em’ was-
“Tick tock tick tock...Ah...she has arrived.”