As attracted as you might be to Jake at the moment, you still aren’t entirely comfortable with all of
these...new feelings you’re having, and think it might be best if you take it a little slow...for now. “I
think we should just go watch the game for a bit...and maybe, you know...” you say, blushing a bit. Damn, Jake
is hot, you’ve never been bashful like that around him before.
“Hmm...alright, if you think you can wait...” Jake says, giving you a kiss and sending your heart a flutter.
His breath is gross and yet, his dirty mouth tastes so good.
“What’s it going to cost me?” you ask, grinning.
“You’ll find out downstairs, come on, you big slob--we probably missed most of the second quarter already.”
You follow jack back downstairs, where the TV is still on. Sure enough, in the time you’d been up in the
attic, the halftime show was already over, and the third quarter was just starting, but Jake seemed more
interested in you than in the game for the moment. He pushed you down on the couch and started tweaking the
gun. “We’’, aren’t you going to tell me what this costs?”
“Nah, I’d rather see the surprise on your face,” Jake said, winked, and fired.
The ray enveloped you for a few moments and then disappeared, and you didn’t feel different...but something
hazy was floating up past your face, and it took you a few moments to realize a fat cigar was stuck in your
mouth, and you were puffing it deep into your lungs like a man who’s smoked for years.
“Fuck, cigars? Really?” You say, taking a deep inhale, “Does taste damn good though.”
“Hey, you’ve smoked them for years now--couldn’t quit if you wanted to,” Jake said, “I mean it--you’re going
to be chain smoking cigars for the rest of your life--you’re a full fledged addict, but a damn sexy one too.
But that’s not all--notice anything else?”
You took the cigar out of your mouth, noticing that the spot it landed between your fingers was stained yellow
from years of smoking, looked down and gasped--your gut was bigger, bulging out from under your crusty shirt,
probably twice the size it had been, but very firm. “Damn, that’s quite the gut you gave me.”
“Ha, yeah, it sure is,” Jake said, then picked up a glass of some clear liquid and handed it to you, “Now take
a drink.”
“What is it?”
“You tell me.”
“It’s not piss is it?”
Jake laughed, “No, not yet, but it could be if you want...”
You shake your head no, take a sip and spit it across the room. “What the fuck is that? That’s disgusting!”
“It’s just water,” Jake said, smiling, and you gape at him.
“Water? No fucking way, I don’t believe you.”
“Go on, fill the glass from the tap yourself--it’ll be just as awful, trust me.”
You get up, trailing a thick plume of cigar smoke now, and head into the kitchen, where you fill the glass
again, take a sip, and spit it out once again. It was awful, just the worst taste in the world, but if you
couldn’t drink water, then...you were thirsty all of a sudden. Thinking about never drinking again does that
to someone you suppose--what had Jake done to you?
“Here, try this,” Jake said. He’d walked over to the fridge and taken out a cold beer which he tossed to you.
Hesitantly, you pop open the can, take a sip, and instantly you feel better. You down the whole can in a
series of gulps before letting out a happy sigh, followed by a massive belch.
“Fuck, what the hell dude?”
“This is the price--from now on, you’re a cigar smoking alcoholic. You can’t even drink water anymore--beer is
your only liquid of choice, well, and whisky or rum if you want something stronger.” He walked over and gave
you a kiss while you had the cigar in your hand, “Fuck, I love the taste of beer and tobacco on a man’s
breath--sexy as fuck.”
“Jake, I can’t drink that much beer, I’ll die.”
“Please, you think I’d let that happen?” Jake said, lifting the slobifier up, “I got it taken care of. You’re
body can handle it--same with the smoke.”
“But, I can’t be drunk 24/7, what about work? My job?”
“Man, you have so much to learn,” Jake said, pushing up your shirt and rubbing your taut beer gut, “You’re a
slob now--we don’t work; that’s what welfare and food stamps are for. Now let’s go watch the game, get drunk,
and see what happens once we lower those inhibitions of yours a bit more,” Jake said with a wink, and pulled
you back into the living room.
Over the rest of the game, you worked your way through three cigars and a twelve pack of peer, enough to have
you tipsy and feeling real good, as you made out with Jake on the couch, rubbing each other’s hairy bellies.
Neither of you noticed the end of the game, or really cared about who’d won, but damn if you weren’t ready for
something new. “So, what now?” you ask.
“I don’t know, you tell me--that’s the game,” Jake said, “Hmm, let’s see. If you’re hungry I could order us
some food I suppose. We could also watch something a little more...exciting; you know, to set the mood. Or
hey, whatever else you might want to do,” Jake said, smiling, “But remember, it all comes with a price.”