Nick woke up, his slim frame curled up in the love seat that had formerly been the sofa in his man cave. He thanked his lucky stars that at least his wife had been far too mad at him last night to let him sleep in their bed, so at least he wouldn’t have to sneak out. And he was still wearing the Simpsons boxers, so he wasn’t naked like yesterday morning. All in all, things were looking up, although it was true that the boxers with sticky with, well… He didn’t want to think about that.
He heard the sound of a souped-up motor speeding away and peered out of a pane of glass in the garage door. A tall greaser who he didn’t recognize was walking up the driveway. Without warning, he fell on all fours on the lawn as the cocky grin slid off his face and he shrank back into a slim, dark-haired youth. Ah, so Christian had been gay after all.
Nick felt a sudden twinge of regret. He knew it wasn’t his fault. He’d been unwillingly dragged into this too, but he felt a certain responsibility, like he was an AA sponsor or something. He was this kid’s tour guide into the world of being a were-breeder. He stepped outside.
“Hey, Christian.”
Christian stopped in his tracks. “Who the hell are you?”
“My name is Nick and I know what happened to you last night.”
“I’m listening.”
Christian sat down in the love seat while Nick explained everything he knew about James, the machine, and the way the curse worked.
Christian gaped. “So any time I get horny, I’ll change? I’ll be gay my entire life but never get a chance to actually be with a guy?”
“It seems so,” said Nick, solemnly, “but I haven’t had a chance to experiment with that yet.”
“And can I trigger it on purpose? I have an audition this afternoon, and it would really help if I could… channel it.”
Nick sighed. “You know, there may be a way to answer both of those questions. It may involve me becoming your father again, which God knows I don’t want to do. But I owe you. Do you want to try?”
“I’ll try anything,” Christian nodded desperately.
“Alright. Unbuckle your pants.” Christian did so and Nick dug his fingernail into his thigh, attempting to stave off his own arousal for as long as possible. He took Christian’s cock into his mouth and began to handle it expertly. The young man’s dick rose to the occasion, elongating by several inches and forcing Nick to adjust his position.
Christian’s legs extended, sending his crotch and Nick’s mouth further into the air. He groaned with pleasure in a voice that cracked and dropped, becoming deeper, more insistent.
“Oh, Mandy,” he grunted, his eyes closed with pleasure. The Dockers that were crumpled around his ankles rippled and became soft leather. With a loud rip, Christian’s biceps tore through the sleeves of his button-down, sending them fluttering to the floor in tatters. His bird tattoo reappeared as his shirt once again became black, sleeveless cotton. His hair hung limply down off his head again, but crawled several inches further along his neck until he expertly swept it back into an even taller black pompadour, eyes still closed.
He pulled a toothpick from his shirt pocket and put it between his gleaming teeth. With two pops, his glutes ballooned back out into a perfect bubble butt. Nick’s tongue tickled as dense black pubes erupted around the root of Christian’s cock, spreading into a thin dark treasure trail. Stubble dotted his clean-shaven chin. With two more thrusts he lost himself and orgasmed, shooting gobbets of cum down Nick’s throat.
Nick was pleased to see that he could at least trick the curse into gay sex acts before his own cock rose and his surfer mind was obliterated once more. Christian opened his eyes and jerked his leather pants onto his hips.
“Where’s Mandy? Who the fuck are you?”
“I-“
Christian deftly pulled a switchblade out of his pocket and brandished it. “Get away from me, ya filthy faggot!”
Nick drew himself up to his full height, which hardly reached Christian’s shoulders. He growled,” You will not talk to your father that way, boy. Now get the fuck to school before I beat the Dickens outta you.”
Confused, Christian looked around, then decided it was best to pocket the knife and get out of there, which he promptly did. He took off down the street toward the high school, slipping on his leather jacket as he did so.
“Kids…” Nick muttered as he scratched his ass and walked back into the garage, where the TV and the love seat were ballooning back into their man cave proportions. He flopped himself onto the distressed leather and popped open a beer, flipping through one of the Penthouses during ESPN’s commercial break.
The couch sighed and sagged as his taut frame expanded, jiggling with newfound fat. The soft fuzz of his pubic hair crept up his gut and jiggling moobs, down his ass, and up his back as the blonde surfer hair faded out of existence, his horseshoe baldness returning. A couple more greys flecked into what remained of his black hair and a spray of bristles erupted from his nose. He farted as he guzzled his Bud.
A car door slammed and a motor started up. Good. His wife had gone to work. He walked into the house and pulled a bucket of leftover fried chicken out of the fridge, then headed back to his man cave for another day of sports, beer, and centerfold babes. By the time he closed the sticky magazine pages and collapsed into a deep sleep, the sun had already begun to slip over the horizon.
His wife had evidently decided to continue her silent treatment. No complaints there, but Nick had slept through dinner. When he awoke at three in the morning, his gut fading into nothing and his hair slithering back out of its follicles, his stomach was growling. In his own form, it was much easier to slip inside without being heard. He pulled a tray of lasagna out of the fridge and attacked it with a fork and knife.
A motor rumbled outside as whooping teens dropped off his former son. Good. Nick wanted to discuss the curse with him. However, when Christian came back in he was still in greaser mode, running a black comb through his pompadour.
“Christian?”
“The name’s Criss. And didn’t I tell ya to get outta here, ya fairy faggot?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m going. So what happened? Did you get the part? Why are you still like this? Did you get horny again?”
“For your information, fairy boy, I did get the part. I’ve got all the theater poon I can handle comin’ at me fo’ free. And as for your second question, fuck off, ya little queer. I was with my boys all night fixing up a cruiser. Now split, before I make mincemeat of your face.”
“Alright, alright,” said Nick. He walked out onto the moonlit street, groaning at the stickiness of the two-day old boxers as they clung to his leg. Couldn’t he at least have showered? Straight men were so gross.
As he walked, he pondered what he had learned that day. Apparently, if you returned to the same form twice, it got even stronger and more stereotypical. He didn’t remember Christian talking like that before, and the stubble and the switchblade were definitely new. He didn’t even want to think about some of the things that he himself had done that day.
The second thing he’d figured out was even worse. If somebody swallowed your cum while you were transforming, it looked like you got stuck in that body permanently. The cum must be where your old self was expelled. No more cum, no more you.
He wandered down the street, wondering what it all meant and where he should go next.