As Brad explored the deeper, darker depths of the garbage, the mind of the fly remained by his wise, a whispering partner, seemingly offering free will while shutting down avenues that didn’t forward its own primal agenda.
Fuck. Food. Safety…
The inner debate paralyzed him but only for an instant until the fly chose, commanding him to climb inside a dented soft drink can, making him extend his proboscis, feeding a need for fuel with the instant rush from the sugar-rich residue of a sickly sweet soft drink.
The food was good, but Brad wanted to experience the insane euphoria he had gotten by coming to an intense climax with the female housefly. He wanted that near whiteout rush again.
But the fly, hungry, made him crawl over more garbage. Pizza dough soaked with rancid tomato sauce, greasy meat and fat still clinging to some scattered chicken bones, and so much more. Even the fly hardly knew what to sample first.
After a gluttonous display of crawling all over his food, tasting it with specialzed receptors in his wiry limbs, he finally sated the hungry fly’s need for food.
Sex. Brad wanted to scream at the consciousness he was uneasily yoked with in the alliance that he still thought he controlled.
The fly’s primal wiring agreed. The body fueled, passing on its DNA was an acceptable primal urge that it was ready to meet.
The scent of many ripe and ready female flies overwhelmed both their dark ids. The whirring of his wings transmitted the promise of more mind-blowing fucking to the addicted, transformed physicist.
Upward, they climbed. Toward a sliver of light they flew. The alien faceted eyes fastened on her, another male already clinging to her back, attempting the deed.
Brad shot toward the copulating pair, ramming into the other male at the fastest velocity he could manage, successful in knocking the surprised male from his female partner.
Now. Fuck. Now.
The fly need not have bothered. This was what Brad had waited for. His maleness merged with the other fly’s femaleness. A remnant of revulsion as he remembered that he was, in fact, gay got swept aside.
Steady thrusts delivered a duration of extended euphoria. As long as the union persisted, Brad’s mind was incapable of a single coherent thought. Minutes turned to a half hour and then counted down toward an hour.
He remained a slave to the female’s demanding pheromones, which needed only one thing from him, which he was more than ready to provide.
He remained united with her even as a dark shadow passed overhead. The movement of a fellow human being passing the garbage can produced no immediate change as Brad kept fucking his pinhead-sized brains out.
He wasn’t even aware that it was Mark walking past the garbage, a bag of batteries in one hand.
As for Mark, he fully expected to find his transformed spouse waiting faithfully inside the house, which greatly diminished any generous impulses he might have felt toward feral flies swarming through the accumulated neighborhood trash.
His lips curled back in a disgusted sneer when he saw two of the nasty little bugs going at it. With thoughts focused on short-circuiting the multiplying of more of the filthy insects, he casually dropped the flat of his free hand atop the two flies.
The immense pressure from the weight of the hand squished the female fly instantly. Her body, already swollen with eggs, disintegrated, spilling guts, eggs and Brad’s already deposited sperm. A panicky Brad felt himself being crushed under a heavy weight that, miraculously, lifted suddenly. Mark continued toward the house, unaware that one of the insects had survived his crude attempt at extermination.
The fly flew. It flew fast, and away from the gigantic human that had snuffed out its partner.
Go back! That’s Mark! He can change me back!
Not safe! Fly. Dark. Hide.
The fly’s primal drive for self-preservation forced the issue. The fly meant to find shelter and security, and to his dismay, Brad was forced to acquiesce.