BMOC: Black Mage on Campus, Chapter 2: Lust and Vanity — “The Eye of the Beholder”

Read previous part

Time can change everything. For Damien it changed the time zone. He left the field that night without a second thought. He was quite happy to be out of the provincial little town he had grown up in, and on his way toward well… anywhere else.

For the four boys involved in the arcane incident however, time had changed just about everything.

Ben became the closest thing to catnip that the Remington campus had ever seen. It was literally like they were giving away chocolate-covered orgasms at his house. The girls on sorority row had begun to stalk him with the viciousness of lioness on the Serengeti. There were entire conversations in the faculty lounges where female staff members of perfectly reputable morality hypothesized on the size of his genetalia.

The short scrubby little Jewish kid was suddenly hotter then Colin Farrell but as easy to get as one of his video rentals.

Rob was instantaneously crowned the king of Remington Society. His became a shadow that eclipsed all of his peers. From Frat President to Homecoming king, President of The Student Government to the fast track to valedictorian, the hayseed kid from bum fuck nowhere Texas had everything he ever wanted. After years of trying to get ahead in the up-tight east coast elitism of Remington’s social structure whilst simultaneously concealing his accent, his background and his tax bracket he was quite suddenly the envy of everyone in school, and had everything he ever wanted. His thirst for recognition was unquenchable ad he was always hungry for more.

Most impressive of all Leo whose pride had never wanted for embellishment was now Remington’s official poster boy. The pride of the school itself. IT is quite rare; magical indeed when a tiny private university’s previously unknown quarterback becomes the focus of several Pro-Scouts. The bidding war that threatened to erupt over Leo’s services was so grand, that ESPN took a three day stakeout of the FRAT house. He was local celebrity. There was no greater horror then seeing a man who walked all over everyone suddenly being treated like he walked on water. The schoolyard bully that had always lived in him was now unleashed and untouchable.

The fourth boy? Young peter? Well as for young peter nothing had really changed. He was still the cloistered, compulsively shy, door-stop he had always been. But as Damien was quite aware, everything Changes. And that was about to too.

Peter rolled restlessly in the sheets of his dorm bed. The morning light was streaming through the tiny windows onto the cement walls… then suddenly it wasn’t. A large shadow fell across the light. Blue eyes, glittered at him maniacally. “Anne Frank, Anne Frank quick get up… The Nazi’s are here.”

Peter rolled back and recoiled. “Damien!”

“Well it ain’t santy Claus.”

For one instant in his tediously resolute life Peter got angry. “How did you get in here?” Peter managed to demand in a close to authoritarian voice. “You disappear leaving those …those …assholes in hog heaven. They run the damn campus, you know! Just like I told you they would.”

Damien sniffed in boredom.

His gaze shifted to the various scented candles, body sprays and hygiene products on Peter’s dresser. “You know, this room smells like a well cared for vagina.”

“Get out!”

“My thought’s exactly. Put your shoes on rabbit, it’s time for a little field trip.”

After some useless arguing and a mild tantrum, that was met with a flat glare, Peter was following Damien away from the dorms and into the residential neighborhoods surrounding campus.

Damien walked quickly. He absently shifted his gaze from house to house. “The neighborhood’s changed.”

So had Damien.

Peter remembered (peter was the only one who did remember) Damien as being a dark haired brooding ice sculpture of a man. He had been clothed in dark clothes and sporting a goatee that accentuated his sinister veneer. This guy seemed dressed like his trendy San Diego doppelganger. A fire truck red t-shirt with a generic surf board logo, stood out like a four alarm fire over a pair of neon blue board-shorts. The short cropped black hair was now streaked with lines of bleach and deep maroon highlights. The big bulky frame and wide shoulders were the same but the deep tan that now glowed on him, highlighting the vascularity of his forearms added up to a completely different man. Most disturbing of all was the smile.

Damien was smiling.

It seemed very genuine.

It was terrifying.

They continued walking in a brisk silence. Peter strained to keep up to the larger man’s wide graceful strides. “You look different…” He ventured, to break the quiet.

Damien stopped suddenly, and considered, “Do I?”


“Hmmm… How strange.” His smile was bright and amused. “I can never really tell how I look from one day to the next. When you temper reality the way I do, it tends to get decidedly squishy around you.” The smile darkened for the briefest of moments and Peter could see the Gothic in the Nuevo. “Not like I can trust a mirror to show me what I look like anymore…”

Peter didn’t understand that. He decided not to try to. “And you seem to be in a better mood… you’re not as a…ah…”

“Foreboding?” Damien offered.




“Frosty with condescension and contempt?”

“You got it.”

“I was in a down phase of my cycle, last time.” Damien explained with a good natured shrug of his big round shoulders. “After I cast that spell I got a real fix. I’m in the middle of a manic one now. And WHOA, I gotta tell ya I’m chasing the dragon.” Suddenly the smile was chillingly delighted. “I’m a little unbalanced.” He said in a loud comic whisper.


“Oh yea. That’s why I needed that notebook, my little rabbit. I was hoping it could help me you know… level out… You see I’m a wee bit too powerful. Need to loose a little of the hocus in my pocus before something bad happens.” Twinkling crystal eyes glinted at him.

“Did it help you?”

Damien’s big masculine jaw descended in an exaggerated pout, “No. That stupid spell I cast on those meat sacks is still whipping around out here and stealing my focus.”

“That’s why you came back.”

“Bingo.” Damien stopped in front of a large dilapidated house. An empty Keg sat in the front yard, and was surrounded by a ring of lawn chairs and piles of discarded party supplies. “I just need to tie up a few loose ends.” He looked at the torn screen door and cracked his knuckles purposefully.

“I’ll wait for you out here.”

“Oh no you won’t rabbit,” Damien said shoving him forward.

“That’s Ben and Holt’s house!” HE squealed in terror. “I can’t go near those guys… they’re assholes… they’ll fucking kill me…” He wiggled out of Damien’s grip, “you’re fucking nuts.”

Damien’s eyes grew distant with boredom, “Yes. We’ve already established that. I have reached the border of insanity and am accelerating towards the horizon with blatant disregard. Now move. ”

Peter lurched forward. He was dragged by an unseen force towards the door, as Damien knocked.

Sweat beaded and raced down the back oh his neck. The door opened.

“Sup D-man!”


Craig Holt stood in the doorway and grabbed Damien’s outstretched hand. They greeted each other like old friends. Peter’s head hurt.

Craig Holt. And they were going into his house. Craig Holt.

Damien paused long enough to turn to him and whisper in a friendly tone, “One hint of a panic attack from you, and you’ll be breathing out of a respiratory… not a paper bag.”

Peter was now in Craig Holt’s house. A spotted diseased looking carpet stretched across a living room that was decorated with a heavy emphasis of pizza boxes and beer can’s. There was a very familiar pungent aroma wafting over the also very familiar pungent aroma of male body odor and garbage.

So here was the big deal about Craig Holt. He was the one who made the big “deals.” He was Remington College’s answer to Bad, Bad Leroy Brown: The Baddest man in the whole damn town. In the Lexicon of college slang, there is a term known as the “super” senior. A Super Senior is a guy who has managed to stretch his college idolatry into 5 years instead of the standard four. Holt was not a Super Senior. He was a Superfluous Senior. He had been in and out of Remington for more years then anyone could remember. Legend had it that he remained in the sleepy college town because if he left, there would be no man who could fill his place, or fill the co-eds he was notorious for hunting. Being on a college campus more then half a decade garners you two very important things, one a reputation and two the best marijuana connection in town.

He was hot too. He was masturbation Hot. Peter blushed thinking about how he had more then once imagined…

“You hot buddy?” Holt asked in a gravely tenor voice. “I could kick on the air.”

Peter blushed further, “I’m fine.”

The heat was emanating from Holt. His dirty blonde hair was pulled back underneath a red bandanna that matched the torn Slipknot t-shirt that left his bunny trail exposed. His low rise, torn and tattered jeans rose low enough to expose the top of his viciously cut Adonis cleft. Peter was doing everything he could to not look at it.

“Let me go get your shit.” He said, his rough weather-worn, suntanned face smiled so invitingly…

Peter looked quickly down at the floor, but looked up in enough time to watch his high tight ass walk away. He sat down with a lustful sigh. Then stood back up, kicking a video game controller from his seat.

“This is definably a bachelor pad.” Peter winced.

“I’ve seen worse.”

Peter looked at Damien questioningly. “Pleather couches… Wicker tables…” He said rattling off faults, “…dead body in a corner…”

“Dead body in a corner?”

“Ya, I only dated him for a week.”

Peter coughed uncomfortably. “I can’t believe you brought me along to buy pot.”

“It’s not for me. It’s for Alyssa. She smokes more pot then an entire hippy Commune full of glaucoma patients.”

“You talking about Alyssa?” Holt asked sauntering back into the room with a big bag of weed. “Tell her I said, hi.” HE added with a snake like smile.

“That’s how I know Holt. When I was in college here, he was constantly trying to fuck my sister.”

Holt grinned happily, “Me and every dude on Campus. But she’d never give it up.”

Damien nodded and grabbed the bag from him, “And she never will.”

Holt laughed uproariously, “Ya… but nobody must have told that to poor Drake.”

“What.” The Tone in Damien’s voice could have cut glass.

“You know Drake.” Holt said obliviously packing his bong, “He’s that guy you always hung out with. You guys were always buying half’s from me… for like a whole semester. I thought you were tight.” He looked into Damien’s blank expression and shrugged, “Well anyway he’s dating Alyssa now.”

The silence was scary.

“Wanna hit the bong.”

“Oh fuck ya.” Damien was face down in the two-foot bong before anyone could notice the angry look in his crystal eyes. He passed it to peter, who shied away, “Hit the piece and hit it like a man princess, don’t cough. Or you’ll be sorry.”

In terror Peter leapt from Dorm room shut in, to bonafide College life.

“Are you guys smoking?”

Ben came stumbling down a structurally questionable staircase. He was in sweats and a beanie. Nothing else. His body was ripped. Well, it was underneath a forest of dark curly hair …but it was ripped.

“Wake and bake.” Holt said.

Damien’s whole body language changed. He went from comfortably relaxed to intently interested.

There was a terrible clatter from the stairs. A much disheveled girl tumbled forward on precarious heels.

“Jesus Christ Jess why don’t you wreck the place?” Ben snapped, not looking to see if she was okay.

“My name’s not jess.”

Ben lazily ignored her and hit the bong again.

Holt on the other hand got up and offered the messy girl a hand. “Here sweetheart, let me walk you out. I think I gotta move my motorcycle so you can get your car out anyway.”

When the door closed behind them Damien gave Ben a flat stare, and asked “You didn’t know her name.”

Ben laughed conspiratorially, “I should give em nametags. How am I supposed to keep track of every chick that does the walk of shame outta here?”

Damien got up and looked out the window, “she seems to be getting along with Holt pretty, well.”

“Whatever. They’ll be another one tomorrow night.”

“Holt’s still the same dog he was when I went to school here.” Damien was digging at a very specific flaw.

Ben got up and shook his shaggy mane loose, then replaced his beanie. “Whatever. I get as much play as he does… more actually.”

Damien gave him an amused look, “That’s why they call you the Love Troll.”

“What the fuck!” Ben spat spinning around.

To the untrained eye it probably seemed like Damien was casually moving around the garbage strewn apartment. But Peter could see that he was moving with purpose toward a spotty mirror near the door, and being very careful not to get caught in the reflective glass.

Ben followed him pumping for more information, “Who called me a love troll.”

“Oh you know the guys around campus… Alyssa told me.” He was now leaning against the wall next to the mirror. “They just can’t seem to give you any respect. But I guess “Love Troll” is much better then… “Special sauce.””

Ben’s whole face went beat red.

“They’re just jealous…” he stammered.

Damien laughed lightly, “You might be dipping your wick in every chick on campus Ben, but they’re not the A list Hoes … that guys like say…HOLT bag.”

IT was true Ben had slept his way through all the hand me down hoes on sorority row and half the Beer Goggle freshmen. And after two months of that he was getting decidedly bored. He never thought he’d get sick of a new body on his mattress every night, but lately it had seemed like more of a chore then a sport. Thrust, wet, pump, tight, cum … sleep. IT had all become pretty routine…

Damien saw Ben’s weakness and dug in like a seagull prying open a clam, “You know if you put in a little more effort to your appearance…”

“Ya.” Ben agreed absently

“…you know I’m no expert on these things but with some work you could be the hottest guy on campus … the kind of stud that even Holt would have to admit it…”

Peter silently watched Damien turn the worm with morbid fascination. Something caught his eye. Right on the edge of the mirror near where Damien was standing… a shadow… No it was too dark to be a shadow… It was an abyss of impossible darkness right on the edge of the frame… right where Damien’s reflection should be. It was blacker then black. Peter had the gut wrenching feeling that what ever it was, it was aware.

“Damien…” Peter croaked. Desperately trying to warn the mage.

“…Shhhh rabbit… momma’s Cooking…” Damien snapped, still watching Ben gaze at his reflection.

Ben looked at the ragged slacker underneath the dirty glass and said, “I wish I would do that…”


Damien snapped his fingers.

Ben froze like a statue. His eyes were fixed on his reflection with a madman’s intensity.

“Mirror mirror on the wall,” Damien whispered playfully, “Awaken now and Heed my call”

The air crackled and snapped with energy.

“As Helen learned when Venus Told Her,

Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.”

The darkness of the moment was broken by the slamming of the screen door and Holt reentering. For a moment he and Ben stared at each other in the frame of glass. Their eyes locked… “What’s going on guys?”

Damien briskly changed gears, “We were just getting on our way. You know how it is. Places to go, people to kill.” He made a quick gesture motioning peter to follow.

“I’ll see you later Holt.”

“Later man. Make sure to tell your sister I said hi.”

“Why are you so obsessed with her?”

Holt considered, “She’s got big hair and a hard body.”

“I’ll tell her.” Damien turned to Ben and said conspiratorially, “I leave you to get your beauty rest.”

The screen Door slammed behind them.

Holt gave Ben a suspicious look, “what were you guys talking about?”

Ben was still transfixed by his reflection, “Apparently my Frat Brothers are calling me “the love troll” behind my fucking back.”

Holt gave him a quizzical look then shrugged and returned to his bong. Happily sedating himself into oblivion.

Ben ran his hands through his mop of curly dark hair. Love troll? They were just jealous. Jealous mother fucking assholes. He had been up to his ears in pussy since the beginning of the semester. The chicks around campus were on a waiting list for him to cum in them. Jealousy. Just that.

And where the fuck did that Damien guy heard that nickname. “Special sauce.” Ben suppressed a shudder. He hadn’t been called that since freshman year. It was his pledge name. The brothers had had all the fucking pledges do a circle jerk over a pizza. The last one to bust a nut had to eat the pizza. For the rest of the year he had to live with everyone calling him that. They had even gotten them to call him “special sauce” When he tried out for the Olympic gymnastic team.

Those bastards were always trying to humiliate him. “Love troll?” Fuck them.

Ben had learned early on that the best way to get them to leave him alone was to act like he didn’t care. It almost killed his Jewish mother. He still practiced gymnastics’ but he made sure not to stand out. Now he just went with the flow, occasionally went to class, and used his generous allowance to keep everybody high as kites. And when the occasion arose he made it clear he would beat the shit out of anybody who made him a joke. His knuckles were regularly sore from bar room brawls and casual beatings administered to pledges.

Now he was a love troll?

Ben fished into his back pocket. HE fumbled through his wallet and found the shiny silver card he had never used. If his buddies knew he had this… Ben had made a huge show of not being the rich Jewish kid from Connecticut. He kept his bankroll to himself, it would make him standout. All he needed was for those white bread wasp mother fuckers to start calling him a JAP.

Holt finally arrived back on earth. He sat up from his spot the couch, his shirt clung to the bottom half of his lightly furry chest. “HA Ha, he barked “love troll”.”

What made Holt so special? He got laid sure. But dame he had word of mouth. For being a professional senior and part time campus security officer, he sure was the hottest dude in town. What Ben got in quantity, Holt made up in quality.

“Fuck off holt.” Ben spat. He grabbed the Bong from his roommate.

Sure he was tall. Ben’s teeth grated on the word, tall. He was never going to be tall.

Holt was constantly as dirty as Ben was. No one accused him of being a troll. Holt had a craggy worn face that was curtained by shaggy blonde bangs and adorned by a smile that gleamed with the pride of devils and the sin of angels. God the man was handsome. All scrubby, shifty working class with an old Hollywood lothario’s head shot.

His body all gristle and sinew. Holt avoided sports but he was known to brawl in the local townie bars. It was all just so easy for him. He was 6’2 and built like a Viking warrior with no body fat.

Ben himself wasn’t any slouch. He still practiced gymnastics and was second in state last year in wrestling. If it weren’t for his height he would have been the hottest…. Oh fuck that. The chicks didn’t seem to care that he was short, and hairy. He knew that some of the guys in high school had snickered and called him a hobbit. The chicks didn’t care that he was constantly stoned and could go days without changing his clothes. They were eager and ready to be split and pumped. Fuck them if they wanted to call him…

Holt was still giggling from his lounging position on the couch, “love troll.” He laughed again.

Fuck! Ben’s mind howled, and then his hand did. He looked down and realized he was bleeding. The neck of the bong lay in shattered pieces around his feet. Cuts from the broken glass zigg zagged up and down his fingers.

“You broke my fucking bong!” Holt roared and jumped from his leisure. Ben dropped the broken glass, just as he was pressed like paper against the wall. Holt’s face was right up against his. Sweaty hot breath brushed his cheek. He suddenly understood why all those girls whispered and giggled about the guy. Holt’s weight pressed him firmly and his callused hands held him in a vice. “I’ve had that for years you little fuck!” IT was the eyes. Holt’s Green eyes were all animal rage. Smoldering primal fury. He was like a caged beast.

“Sorry man… it was an accident…”

“I should take your fucking ass apart.” Holt growled, instead he punched the wall behind Ben. Holt stomped off to his room. As he went, Ben watched the taller man’s hairy calves flex up and down rhythmically as he climbed the staircase. Ben just stood in shock. He was in such shock actually that he barely noticed he was ramrod hard.

God those eyes. They were so intense.

Later that night Ben’s dreams were filled with Holt’s blazing eyes and his words lingered in his mind. Hard bodied…big hair…

Fuck the alarm.

Fuck the alarm.

Shit why is that thing going off -I don’t have class till 12.

Oh fuck the alarm.

I reached out and grabbed an empty beer bottle. The bottle flew outta my hand and smacked against the wall. “HOLT Get UP!” Go to work you stupid mother fucker. I’m tired of covering your rent.

Christ now I’m awake.

I’ll just grab my bowl. Smoke. Go back to sleep.

But instead I was up and moving before I knew what I was doing.

I was jogging toward the gym before my head had time to settle into full consciousness. I remembered vaguely that this used to be my routine two years ago. Between wrestling practice and Gymnastic finals, jogging in the morning and lifting before breakfast used to be my regimen.

AT the Gym I met up with Rob and Leo. Leo was barking about how he had just been interviewed by one of the City papers and how he was most likely going to make the front page.

Rob was making some flirty talk with a cute girl on a treadmill until he started spouting his red state rhetoric at her and she jumped off in a huff.

I couldn’t focus on their conversation with me though. I felt grubby in my sweats. I felt like everyone was laughing behind my back. Everyone calling me “love troll”. And having a good laugh at Ben.

Everyone who walked passed me seemed to have smirk on their face. They were all judging me. Mocking me.

I was in the middle of a bicep curl when my temper finally snapped and I threw down the weight angrily. “Fuck this.” I shouted.

Rob got off the military press, “hey man calm down.”


Rob laughed and gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder, “Geez chill out special sauce.”

Before I knew it I had Rob by the throat and jacked up against the wall. “You ever call me that again man and you’ll be picking up your teeth with broken fingers. You preppy Prick.”

His eyes bugged in shock. I let go of him and retreated out of the gym and toward my car.

Damn, what the fuck was I going to do about this “love troll” shit.

I fingered my Limitless credit card in my nervous hands. The conversation with Damien had haunted me for days. No amount of being stoned could fix this fixation.

This was a solution though. I had driven like a man possessed. I knew what I needed wasn’t going to be found in the small town of Remington. What I needed was cosmopolitan. I drove the two hours and now stood anxiously in front of the first place I saw that provided both things I needed.

I steadied myself and walked into the salon.

It was all steel and white Walls. It was a little like a dentist’s office. “Yo, dude I ain’t got any change so you can just get out.”

A short Spanish guy with tightly lacquered hair crossed the expanse of the shop. “I got a two hundred and forty pound boyfriend upstairs who’ll kick your ass back to the shelter.” Total fairy. And not just because of the glitter.

“You man I just need a haircut.”

“Oh…” The little flamer considered me for more then a minute. “Okay, get in the chair.” He lisped imperiously.

I groaned to myself. I didn’t want this fairy spending all afternoon with his manicured fucking prissy nails in my hair.

But I also didn’t want those guys calling me a love troll either.

“What exactly do you want me to do with this?” He asked disgustedly, when he pulled my skull cap off.

“I just need a cleaner look.” I mumbled. Fuck how was I supposed to know? He’s the fag. He should know what to do.

Then a thought occurred to me. “Can you make it, you know…big?”


“Yeah like big hair?”

He pressed his lips together in thought, “hmmmm…Big hair huh?” He twirled a brush in his hands thoughtfully. “I’d hair to relax your hair…cut down the sides….get you some gel…” He smiled brightly. “But I know just the thing.”

“I’m not going to look stupid, am I?”

“Oh honey, Gabriel won’t steer you wrong.”

He did steer me though, for about three hours. First he put this smelly chemical in my hair that was supposed to take out the curl. Then he spent like a half hour shampooing me. I gotta admit it was kind of relaxing. Just floating their while he massaged my scalp. He cut my hair like a sculpture. I didn’t even notice how much time had passed before he had me sit up and pay attention to how he was gelling the long mass of my bangs into a high mound on my forehead. My dark black hair practically gleamed like plastic.

“Now that is smooth.” Gabriel purred, admiring his work.

I looked at the over stylized, gleaming black pompadour and instantly hated it. It wasn’t my style. It was too obvious. Made too much of a statement. And frankly made my already pretty face seem kinda…gay. But there was this irritating feeling that from now on I was going to wear it like this. Like it or not. And that I was going to be getting up early every morning to make sure it looked just right. “Shit dude I gotta go I’m going to be late to class.”

“Alright sugar, but if you wanna come back sometime and let me take care of those eyebrows. Let me know.”

Eyebrows? What was wrong with my eyebrows?

I was scrambling for my keys in front of my car when I got my first good glimpse of my hair. A shiny pompadour with long black stylized sideburns. It was big. Big hair.

I was hard the whole way back to campus.

Once I got back to class it was like twenty times worse.

I just couldn’t stop playing with my hair. There was so much of it and it was all piled so high on top of my head. The fringe hanging in my eyes was begging to be twirled. I paid no attention what so ever to the professor in my economics class. It was difficult to keep my hands dry, with all the grease holding the pomp in place.

Plus everyone was staring at it. Their attention on it made me focus my attention on it. And then when I did mess with it, I felt this compulsion to pull out my little comb and fix anything I had done.

“Nice hair cut.” Leo barked laughing.

“Who are you supposed to be Elvis?” Rob asked from behind his laptop.

“I’m trying something new.” Shut-up dickheads.

“You look like Elvis.” Leo said.

“Wow you really think so?” I asked, looking at my big hair again in the reflection of a nearby window.

When I turned around they were both staring at me like I was crazy. “I…uh gotta go.” Man what’s they’re problem? Holt thought the pompadour looked good….

Back at the house Holt and I were getting high, “you going out tonight?” HE asked me.

I unconsciously averted my eyes when he handed me the bowl, something about looking him in the eye made me uncomfortable. “ahh… nah, Just gonna go to bed.”

“Ha, tired of chasin the pussy wagon James Dean?”

I got suddenly heated. “Why’s everybody gotta be raggin on my hair. You guys were the ones that said I should take better care of myself.”

Holt put up his hands in apology, “Hey bro, I think that pomp’s bad ass. You know I dig the retro. IF I can ever get that 56’ Chevy outback running, I’d be toolin in that instead of my bike. 50’s hipster is real big right now.”

Weird. Holt telling me he liked my hair…made me feel relieved… and my stomach was all uneasy…like before a final or a big match. “Thanks.”

Holt smiled and he put his callused hand on my shoulder. …He put his hand on my shoulder…. It was heavy and large. I was leaning into the touch… savoring it. “I think you look good.” I got hard.

I coughed and made a B line for my bedroom. What the fuck is wrong with me? Shit, I know I was taking a break from all these fucking sorostitutes outta boredom, but what the fuck is wrong with my dong. Getting a chub cause Holt was paying me some attention. Shit, must have been the weed.

The pounding of Holt’s bed smacking against my wall woke me up in the middle of the night.




Christ, the guy was a fucking animal.

Moaning and mews came from a high pitched voice. “Oh Holt. Oh Holt!”

Without even realizing it I was stroking my dick and spitting on the palm of my hand for lube.

“Oh Holt… Oh Holt!”

“Shit baby you gotta hot body.”

“Oh Holt…oh Holt.”

“I love your tight body, baby.”

“Fuck me holt. Fuck me.”

I shuddered and came all over my sheets.

The next day instead of blazing my bowl and eating three bowls of cereal, I woke up and went to workout.

Like it was totally normal. Like it was my routine. Ya I went to the student gym when I was training for something or hanging out with my frat brothers but this morning I was possessed.

I was throwing up weight that I would never have tried before. And I wasn’t tired. Maybe all the pot smoking does make you lazy? Muscles are funny things. All those years from training on the bars and the rings, came back to me in minutes. As I was looking at myself in the mirrors… which I seamed to do after every rep… I realized I even looked bigger, more pumped then usually.

My Delt’s were cannonballs over a tiny torso that lead up to two cut and lean pecs. My chest angled out over the expanse of my flat stomach. Shit I did look bigger.

I could see it in the mirror too, I was mesmerized by the way my triceps would spring and rebound like big thick snakes.

I couldn’t help staring at my big calves.

I was fascinated with my reflection. Why hadn’t I noticed this before?

I was anxious to get off the weight floor though… I wanted to do my hair.

I was styling and gelling my dark tresses into a high proud bread loaf that crested my forehead when Holt wandered by. He was going about his own workout.

“Damn Ben,” He whistled, “You’re looking swoll’.”

I instinctively pushed my chest out. “You know it bro.” I flexed a rock hard bicep at him.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “You’d actually look real good if it weren’t for all that fur.”

And then he was gone.



It wasn’t more then two hours later I was bagging another class and back at Gabriel’s Salon in the city.

“You’re whole body?” The hairdresser asked stunned.


“Your whole body?”


Gabriel gave me a really weird look, “You haven’t pissed someone off recently? Have You?”


Gabriel went about his salon, gathering wax from every hair dresser’s station. He kept looking back at me suspiciously, “You haven’t pissed off a skinny kid with long dark bangs and crystal blue eyes have you?”

What a fucking weirdo. “No.”

Gabriel shrugged, “just curious.” He handed me 2 purple pills.

“What the fuck is this?”

Gabriel smiled, “Vicaden.”

“Look dude…”

“Trust me. You’re going to need it.” He pulled a large swath of waxing tape to demonstrate his point, “Now, get comfortable. This is going to take awhile.”

It was dark outside by the time I got back to Remington. I was sore. So fucking sore. My skin burned like fire. But I was smooth. I can’t remember why that was so important.

I parked my car and got out. Holt was in the front yard working on his caddy. Sweat rolled off his bare torso and his blonde hair was matted to his head. Streaks of grease and grit decorated his tan skin.

“You been gone awhile.” He grunted

My whole body hurt. My stupid hair felt heavy. I had skipped two days of classes. I didn’t even know why. Couldn’t explain why. But I was still doing it. And I knew with a certain amount of dread that I was going to go inside grab my gym bag and head toward the gym.

Even though I didn’t want to. I was going to do it anyway. I was so confused and exhausted I blurted out. “I went and got waxed.”


He was interested. He put down the greasy auto part he was holding up and inspected me in the garage light.

His interested thrilled me. It filled me up and gave me a weird exhilaration. I was so giddy I lifted the shirt to show him my red and tender, but completely hairless chest.

“Wow.” Was all he said?

I flushed with embarrassment.

“You look really cut.” He said as I tried to escape past him towards the house.

My fucking dick twitched.

I continued on hurriedly but not before he said, “You should probably start wearing something other then baggy ass stained sweats.” He saw my horrified and confused expression, and shrugged. “Might as well get your money’s worth.” And went back to working on his truck.

I instinctively reached into the back pocket of my jeans and felt the credit card. I knew with a sense of desolation that I was going to need it tomorrow.

I dropped my bags and ran out the back door. I had already worked out today but I was eager to watch my swollen muscles bulge and flex, now that they were smooth.

After I got back from what seemed like an eternity at the gym, Holt was on the phone loudly talking to some chick he used to fuck. Her name was daisy and she had moved to the city after graduation. I stepped past him sweat covered and tired. My body now glistened like polished wood. The absence of hair gave me this weird plastic look. When I was lifting I could see what a huge difference it made. Every taunt muscle and tended stood out with exertion. It was an amazing difference. I actually took some time in the locker room flexing and scanning the rippling muscle now fully exposed. I looked at the microwave clock. Shit 12:30? I had been posing in the locker room for myself for like two hours. My mind screamed in frustration what the fuck was wrong with me!

I went to the fridge to grab a beer but instead grabbed a protein shake. As much as I wanted to booze I couldn’t bring my self to do it. I crumpled to the kitchen table in despair.

Holt’s voice floated from the couch into the dark kitchen, gruff and hungry. “So Daisy baby whatcha wearin?” he was on his cell phone, lounging on the couch.

“It’s not a stupid question.”

“Cause I wanna know.”

He laughed a hard rough chuckle, “What if I am, would you mind?”

He was masturbating while she talked to him.

“Really? You know.... we used to call you daisy duke because of that. Cause you were always showin off them legs in cutoffs. You still wearing thongs baby?” He purred. “Ya I remember all those tight little g-strings you used to sport keeping your jeans low enough so we could see the waist band… and I swear you didn’t have a top the didn’t show at least half your tits… Ya baby…. Fuck ya baby…”

I ran to my room trying to escape the sound of Holt’s sexual release. I could tell by the time I had shut my door, when I hear a low deep and animal growl that he had cum. I looked down at my wet sweatpants and realized I had too.


There’s something really wrong with my roommate.

Now Ben’s always been kinda odd. He’s a bit of a pot smoking loner, and he has a temper like you wouldn’t fucking believe but lately… He’s been like a different person. He was about as concerned with class as I am. Living with me, isn’t I guess the best influence but he skipped a whole week altogether. Instead of going to class he’s been living at the gym and doesn’t come out of his room. When he does come out he just runs to his car and goes on these long trips to the city. HE seems to be spending daddy’s money like water. He comes home with all these shopping bags from places like “diesel” or “A&F”. This is a kid who went a solid week in a pair of jogging shirts and an old jersey.

And I swear he’s Ben going back to that hairdresser’s. His skin’s all smooth and if I didn’t know better I’d swear he was using make-up. His fucking face is so perfectly bronzed and his lashes are so dark and long… Fucking weird.

Weirdest of all I was sitting in my Economics class when he came in to day and you could have fucking knocked me over with a fart. I’m just sitting there reading an issue of maxim inside my econ notebook when in struts Ben.

And he did strut.

That new cut of his was huge and glistening black over his immaculately kept face. His dark sideburns were meticulously shaped into jagged curves that looked like to thick black lightening bolts against his jaw.

Worst of all he was in some weird…. Fucking… I don’t know costume? I told him when he got that greaser cut I thought it was retro and cool. I didn’t know he was GOING TO TAKE IT SO FAR…

Ben’s muscled and shaved body was squeezed into a wife beater that looked like it would be baggy on a ten year old. His jeans were so tight I could see the crease of his cock on his pant leg. They were stone washed and frayed. They were rolled up into tight cuffs that exposed his ankles and the red banded tube socks that were sticking out of his… penny loafers?

The white fabric of the beater was stretched thin over his round pecs and there was a skull and crossbones necklace dangling right in the crevice of his big chest. Thick punk wrist bands hugged his forearms making the veins in his arms bulge and striate.

He had a pen behind his ear and nothing else, resembling class work.

He didn’t make any eye contact with anyone, just looked straight ahead and sat down in front of me. I was so fucking floored I didn’t even say hi. I stared at the muscular ridges and lumps of his exposed and overly tan back all through class stupefied… I mean what the fuck?

Ben most have felt my eyes on him because he shifted his weight forward and the beater rode high up his torso exposing the smooth unblemished muscle of his lower back. My eye got huge when I notice the thin red strings peaking out of his jeans, and the undeniable deep cleft they were indenting.

Dude was wearing a thong. No seriously dude was wearing a thong.

And he knew he was exposing it to me.

Man whatever you gotta do to get action is up to you, but what the fuck?

The whole thing worked I guess because after class half the chicks were hanging around talking to him about his new look. Which was awesome for me because it let me get away without having to grab him by the shoulders and yell “What the fuck?”

I didn’t know what the fuck I was going to say to him when he got home. Hopefully he’d be in bed but no. He came bounding in sweaty and pumped from another long session down at the gym. His glossy hair was held back with a folded bandana making the big hair seem even taller on his head, and he was wearing some thrift store second hand gym uniform. It was like the old school high school gym uniforms you’d see in the 70’s. The shirt was too small, it left his belly button exposed and his swollen biceps stuck out cartoonishly from the sleeves of the yellow faded material.

He skulked past me and I noticed that the little short shorts were so tiny that the split seems on the side didn’t even reach the top of his thigh. His now unnaturally tan legs erupted in pulsing muscle all the way down to the white yellow banded tube socks that were pulled up all the way accentuating the swell of his curved calves.

Fuck that.

He wants to leave the house looking like some kinda hipster, that’s his business… but this fucking outfit? How fucking stupid must he have looked in the gym like that?

I was trying to be supportive of the little brute since he was finally startin’ to give a shit about how he looked but this was fucking nuts.

He’s just fucking begging for attention.

He walked past me, ignoring the bong and gulping a protein shake.

“Nice outfit.” I smirked.

He whirled around quickly a look of total excitement on his face. “You like it?”

I laughed at him, “Ya all you need is a tattoo and you’ll be a regular Danny zucko.”


“You sure this is safe?” I asked Gabriel.

My little Spanish friend nodded fervently, “If you’re going to get ink done… you want David to do it.” He said the name David strangely. Like Dah-vide. Or something. The hulking form of the big swarthy Puerto-Rican tattoo artist loomed over me. The needle in his big hand purred loudly.

It was strange to think of Gabriel as my friend. But he was… I guess. HE was really trying to help me now. He gave me tips on keeping my skin, even and glowing. How to use a subtle line of eyeliner here or lip gloss there. He didn’t give me any weird looks like my frat buddies were giving me. He was actually really nice, for a total fairy.

When I asked him about a tattoo artist, while he was giving me a manicure, he said he new just the guy. His boyfriend David.

“Don’t worry man,” his caramel skin broke out into a pristine white grin. “I’ll be gentle.”

He patted my knee reassuringly. I could feel my cock twitch in its silky thong confines. The feel of my denuded skin against the soft tight fabric of my delicate underwear made me strike a bone at the oddest times. I was still questioning constantly what was wrong with me. Why was I doing this? What the fuck is happening… but I was so caught up in the whirl wind of praise and looks and stares…

The needle penetrated my bicep and cut into the skin but David had a deft touch. I spent half the time of the tattooing admiring my reflection in the shop mirror and discretely watching David’s sensual Latin muscles ripple and wave as he repositioned himself around me. Gabriel smiled and went back to the front of the shop.

“Tell me something benji..”

“My name’s Ben.” I corrected angrily.

“Uh-huh, Do you know anyone named Vaughn?”

I was busy trying to fix the fringe of my bangs one handed, and stopped to consider. “Well… ya.”

David gave me a sympathetic look, “did you piss him off?”

“Him?” I shook my head. Damn! That errant bang was still out of place. “No I know a girl named Vaughn. Alyssa Vaughn.”

“Oh,… never mind then.” He was still bent over his work. His big lush lips pursed in thought. He smiled to himself and readjusted his angle. Now his big leather covered thigh was positioned right between my own tightly encased denim jeans. I could feel the heat from the heavy quad that was bouncing back and forth between my inner thighs. His knee was brushing tentatively against my junk. Behind the denim I could feel my cock squirm against the white thong I was sporting today. I lost myself in the sensation. Until all at once the noise of the tattoo gun stopped. David leaned in close his heavy shoulders shadowed me. I thought he was going to kiss me. My heart was racing my gut was turning. But all he did was whisper in my ear. “All done baby.”

I turned to the shop mirror and saw that large, pop art, cartoon Cherries were red and angry on my swollen bicep.

I swiveled the chair back to thank him and shrank back because I was face to face with his leather clad crotch.

“Sorry… man.” He apologized standing back.

“You’re hard as a fucking rock.” I blurted out.

A ravishing blush crept across the handsome thug’s face. “Ya well I bet there ain’t no man alive would be able to stay soft in a room with you.”


“Christ Benji, you’re like something out of a Tom of Finland calendar.”

“Ben..” I corrected still staring fascinated at the huge erection I had caused. I’d gotten hard before but I had never gotten someone hard. It was crazy here was this huge hot guy and he was getting a stiffy just being near me. This must be the power chicks feel. The idea that you can turn a man on. It’s not like turning on a woman where there’s nothing but acknowledgment. Here was concrete fucking proof that you were hot. That someone wanted you…your body. A big thick shaft of engorged flesh that protruded out like a flag saying, “you’re so fucking hot.”

I was thrilled with sexual prowess. This dude could have any woman he wanted, but here he was stiff as a teenager from just touching me. His big thick Latin cock wanted me. And from the way his pants were straining he wanted me bad.

“How much do I owe?” I almost squeaked tearing my eyes away from his bulge.

“On the house.” I could hear the lust drip off every word. I felt bold and euphoric at the realization that he wanted me so bad he wanted to give me shit. That’s how bad he wanted me.

His dick was still hard.

If I could just see it.

I just wanted to see how hard I made him.

My own ram rod hard cock had jutted past its silken hammock and was scrapping angrily at my jeans.

I was breathing heavy.

So was he.

He moved to step away. My curiosity was to powerful. My hunger was to powerful. I grabbed his belt. “Let me pay you back.”

“You don’t have to mate.”

It sounded like a stranger’s voice that demanded, “I want to.”

That’s all the encouragement he needed. He unzipped the leather pants and a huge bar of solid honey colored cock bobbed up and down in front of me. IT was huge and engorged. All because of me. I’d have had girls go down on me when it was there first time. They’re delicate and tentative. They’re scared of the rod about to fuck their mouth.

I wasn’t.

I was eager to feel the weight of another mans desire closing up my throat. I attacked the big dick like a ravenous slut. I could feel the heat of his need burning across my tongue. I could feel the twitch of his pulsing need across my lips. He bucked and moaned but I was so enthralled with the power of his cock in my mouth, the control of his pleasure. I teased, sucked and let him fuck my face.

I could smell the confined sweat of his groin, the musky hot reek of a man against my nose. He tasted like sweat and soap.

My own dick slapped wildly against the silky thong. It turned me on even more. The idea of me on my knees in front of this big macho Latin tattoo artist with my hairless cock raging hard in a pair of silly pink thong panties. I juiced all over them without touching my cock once.

Afterwards, I thought I’d feel ashamed. Embarrassed. I didn’t. I felt awesome, like I had just learned some big secret. I could make a man hard. I could make a dude buck and yell and beg.

David was buckling his jeans and smiling at me. “Shit pal, you know how to pay a man back.”

“Thanks.” In the mirror as I was fixing my hair I could see the satisfied grin on my face.

David’s big handsome face smiled at him. “Just let me know when you want more ink, I think you’d look real hot with some more tats.”


The walk home was like a new day on a strange planet. For the first time in my life I noticed people looking at me. Not just looking. Staring. Leering. My tight hi huggers silhouetted my movements like snake skin, and the nylon pattern t shirt gave everyone an eyeful of my tapered waste and plump pecs. I could see myself in their gaze.

I collected every hungry look like a prize. Even the looks I got from men. Guys would turn their heads in lust. My over made-up appearance making their mouths dry and their palms sweat. Or they would give me dark angry looks, jealous of my hotness and arrogance. I flicked the fringe of my Pompadour like a lion swishing his mane.

I felt like a different person. One guy with his gym bag on his shoulder and a fresh burst of work out sweat on his glowing young skin seemed to linger behind me for blocks. When I got to my car I dropped my keys, so that I could bend over and give him a good look at the pink-triangular-back of my trashy thong.

I was out drinking… late. I was putting back a few watching the UFC championships down at the bar. It’s not like I could watch it at home. It used to be that I and Ben would watch ‘em together…. But that wasn’t going to be happening anymore.

Ben always said he wanted to take a couple mixed martial Arts classes and maybe try to join an amateur fighting club. Now he seemed too worried about getting his pretty face messed up.

It sucks when you don’t want to go back to your own apartment because your buddy’s gotten all weird. Ben and I used to spend all our time together, blazing, drinking, fighting and hanging out. Now I can’t find anything to say to him and he always seems to run to his room as soon as he gets home.

It just blows.

When I got home, I was feeling buzzed and sorry for myself. This shit always happens. Other roommates had done the same thing to me. Their senior year starts looming ahead and suddenly they decide to grow up or change. Leaving me still here, in Remington.

Oh well. Fuck.

I walked through the door and there was Ben sitting on the couch. He was polishing a pair of very shiny vintage motorcycle boots. He was actually trying to see his reflection in them.

“Shit dude,” I gasped.

“What?” he asked? His big brown eyes demurred like a flirty girl behind long mascara exaggerated lashes.

“Where’d all those fucking tattoo’s come from?”

I was looking at the sleeves on both his arms. From wrist to elbow on both arms were solid sleeves of pop Art color. Playing cards, skulls, dice and flames decorated his roommates’ forearms.

“What’d ya mean?” Ben asked, His eyes getting bigger giving me the impression of Betty boop and Elvis.

“You’ve got about 3 days worth of ink on your arms.”

He smiled a bright flash of white on his unnaturally tan face, “I’ve always had these Holt. Are you high?”

I sputtered. Confused.

“I did just get this one today though,” he beamed. Ben displayed one round cut deltoid and bulging tricep toward me. Two big cartoon cherries stood out against Ben’s tanorexic skin.

First I told him he needed a haircut and then suddenly he’s the Fonz.

I told him to workout and he’s living at the Gym.

I jokingly told him to get a tat and now he’s got solid sleeves…

It’s like every time I make a suggestion about the way he looks…

A really nasty idea began to form in my drunken mind. The more I turned it over the funnier it seemed. Maybe it was the booze or how ridiculous Ben looked their all done up and totally different… but the idea was making me hard.

“Yo Ben,” I said plopping down next to him, reaching my arm behind him to rest on the back of the couch. His whole body language changed. He had been relaxing, now he was tense and I could see his breath coming in jagged anxious knots.

I’d seen this kind of behavior before, when I was putting the moves on some silly freshmen girl. Ben was getting a faggy attitude to go with his faggy appearance?

My tough as nails, athletic, rough and tumble UFC, pot smoking, drinking buddy was acting like a love sick chick. The dude who I used to go toe to toe with was blushing and smelling my sweaty body like it was perfume. Ben had a bad attitude and the balls to back up his back talk, but now he seemed ready to bend over and let me rape his cocky ass.

My idea was making me harder.

“Have fun tonight.” He practically stammered.

Time to test my theory. “Ya I met this chick down at the pub.” Jesus Christ he looked so dejected and disappointed, well it’s now or never “Ya man you should have seen her, she had the hottest ass.” Ben didn’t even seem to be paying attention. “She had this hot butt… big and round, total bubble butt; made for taking it doggy style … ya know what I mean? I might have thought it was way too big at first but it was firm as hell.”

Ben couldn’t contain his irritation any longer. Me talking about some other chick was making him jealous. My buddy was jumping out of the closet and he wanted to land right in my lap. I wouldn’t mind listening to the self-important little prick scream on my baby maker, just to teach him a lesson.

Ben got up to leave, “See ya in the morning.”

I decided just to pass out on the couch. I wandered if my drunken theory would work? I was so smashed I’d probably forget by the time I woke up.

It was the first thing I noticed. I got outta bed, my shiny silver thong glistened with a nights worth of wet dream. I padded to the bathroom to start my morning ritual. I felt kind of off balance. My muscular stride seemed to sway from side to side like I was seasick.

Exfoliate; shower, moisturizer, base, bronzer, gel, pomade…. HOLY FUCK!!!

In the bathroom mirror I saw the reason for my fucked up balance. MY ass was huge! The tanned cut muscles of my hamstrings reached up to grasp two butt cheeks the size of watermelons. The muscles of my glutes stuck straight out from the small of my back and formed two huge globes of solid ass meat.


I kept turning back and forth to make sure what I was seeing was real. I turned too quick and one side of my thick ass smacked a shelf knocking down all my shaving supplies. It was so big it was just two centimeters from being comical…

With a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach I reached behind myself and put a shaking hand on the expanse of my swollen rear end. It wasn‘t soft or flabby, thank fucking god. It was hard and supple. A perfectly oversized man butt. The skin was supple and lush but it was as solid as my bicep underneath. It was just …huge. The back of my thong was lost in the massive cleavage created in the crack of my now inflated ass cheeks. Just the merest hint of the silver showed over the high mounds.

I slumped down on top of the toilet with my head in my hands. I was giving head in tattoo parlors… getting lots of tattoo’s…dressing like a gay boy fashion plate… wearing man make-up… now my ass …. God I readjusted my seat and actually felt the difference. MY posture made the curve of my back rounder as I tried to compensate for the big pillows that were now underneath me.

What was happening? My head was swimming. I wanted to throw up…or cry or…laugh?

Looking at my ass in the mirror, I calmed down. It wasn’t bad, exactly. I had a butt you could eat breakfast off of. The kind of big bubble butt that only came through good genetics or a life time climbing stairs. It gave my body an erotic muscular hour glass figure. When I moved, it twitched from side to side making my walk sensual and inviting. My thoughts cooled and I accepted my big ass as normal barely noticing it as I applied bronzer to the bridge of my nose. My only fear was trying to fit into my tiny 30in waist jeans.

The tight fit of my jeans against the expanse of my ass was causing a huge stir as I sauntered across the Remington Quad. I was wearing tight spaghetti strapped 2-exist tank top that snaked up my torso when I moved. I really had no intention of going to class; I just wanted to give everyone a good look at me.

I was doing my second lap, eating up the jealous looks from the dudes and the eager smiles of the girls when I ran right into Rob and Leo.

Rob was in the middle of an animated discussion with a young hippy girl. His tightly cropped red blonde hair gleamed in the sun. His tall lean 6’4 frame with its broad shoulder’s made me envy him for a minute. But I realized no matter what physical attributes he possessed he’d never be able to work them as well as I worked mine. The girl seemed to be getting very angry and eventually through a pamphlet at his face and stalked off muttering to herself about egotistical republicans.

Leo turned to watch her go. His imposing musculature undulated underneath the football jersey he was wearing.

They both caught sight of me and their mouths both dropped open in suitably satisfying shock.

“Yo guys.” I raised my hand to give them a high five. Neither of them reciprocated. “Sorry I haven’t been spending a lot of time at the Frat house lately I’ve been kinda busy.”

Leo stood up and gave me a steady unfriendly look, “Just what the fuck have you been doing. You look like a fag.”

Rob was giving me the same look of disgust. “Yo queer bait my face is up here stop staring at my fucking crouch.”

I felt my whole face flush a deep red. I had felt so proud of the stares I was getting and here Leo was calling me a fag. “You guys were the ones who said I needed to take a little more pride in how I looked.” I spat.

“Yeah we didn’t say “yo dude how bout you totally fag out”.”

That was it.

Something inside me roared up, unused and forgotten the past couple of weeks my anger bubbled over. A reached back and swung on Rob. He was a lot taller but I managed to clip him right beneath the jaw. He tumbled back, shocked and out of breath. Leo immediately decided to bum rush me, which I expected. I sidestepped him and kicked him in the ass with my shiny polished motorcycle boot.

Leo went down.

But Rob had recovered. He had thrown down his pamphlets in a shower of paper and was angrily racing toward me, massaging his jaw and clenching his fists.

Rob towered over me but I feinted back and took his feet out from under him with a low roundhouse. He crumpled backward.

Leo was right behind me using his huge arms like a vice. It was a tight hold but I slipped out of it and flipped him with his own momentum. Now I was behind him and had the upper hand, I head locked him and squeezed for all I was fucking worth. My long hours at the gym had made me a lot more dangerous. “Keep squirming dipshit.” I whispered between clenched teeth, “I‘ll break your fucking neck. You know I know how to do it.”

Then suddenly there was a hand on my shoulder. “Ben… let him go man.”

Holt stood behind me with a look of awe on his face.

I let go of Leo and back off panting. One of the straps of my tank had ripped in the scuffle and my hair was a mess. “Fuck these dickweeds.” I spat and stumped off. I reflexively pulled a small back comb out of my pocket and began to rearrange my pomp.

It was dark by the time I got back to the house. The lights were off. Thank god. AT least I wouldn’t have to talk to Holt about the fight.

I shut the front door behind me and was about to pull off my big boots when I heard the familiar noise of a bubbling bong, “Hey tough guy.” Holt rumbled from somewhere in the dark living room.

I flicked on the light, “Hey.” I mumbled.

He was sitting shirtless on the couch. “Been waiting for you to come home.”

I suppressed the small flutter of excitement I felt at his attention, “Ya you wanna take a few potshots at me too, call me a fag.”

“For a fag you’re still one hell of a fighter.”


“You really had Leo on the ropes this afternoon,” he chuckled. “I was kinda worried that…”

“That what? I fagged out too much to know how to fight?” I spat.

Holt grabbed my wrist, his calloused weather warn hands covering up a pair of flaming dice tattoos.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Look I know what you meant,” I tried to shake his grip but he wouldn’t let go, “I just want…”

He growled, “I know what you want.” HE spun me around and pinned me against the couch. “I wanna look at you. Strip.”

I was nervous but beyond thought. I did what he told me. Watching myself in the mirror across the room. Obeying him with a terrible sense of anticipation. My heart was throbbing in my ears. I slid off my tank top and pried the extreme fit jeans down to my ankles. I was grabbing for the elastic strings of my thong, when he grabbed my hand again, “no leave it.”

He spun me around and inspected me. I inspected him back. For the first time I marveled at the beauty of a man’s body. The strength, the sheer enormity of the span of his back the stretch of his legs. His wide hands on the small of my back. Holt was physically larger then I was but I had him undone by muscle mass. I could feel the width of his shoulders as he moved behind me. The long streaks of sweat running down his forearms as he encircled my waste.

Fuck I was ramrod hard.

I couldn’t help but feel like a total sissy against his rugged musky skin. Here I was, manicured and primped within an inch of my life, hair done, muscles pumped and rock hard in a silly little thong.

He was just grit and sweat and masculinity. I remembered vaguely that that was how I used to be but as his dirty callused hands explored the ridges of my lower abdomen those thoughts vanished. I wanted his big fingers to pull on the tiny straps of my thong. I wanted him to tweak the erect nipples on my pecs. I wanted him to take me. To use me. To thoroughly make me the bitch I looked like.

This must be what women felt like. Holt’s breath was ragged and frightened on the back of my tan neck. My big ass instinctively sought the bulging erection in his jeans. The power of the tease thrilled me. The euphoric control in it made me nuts. My big bubble butt and his hard crotch, scraping against one another. He wanted me. It disgusted him but I was so fucking hot he couldn’t help it. I wanted him too. BAD. I felt more like a slutty chick then some cock crazy fag. I wanted raped bad. I wanted to feel him hard and hungry on top of me. I wanted to feel the rigid hard shaft of his lust pound and own me.

“You want my cock in that big gay butt don’t you…pretty boy.” Pretty boy. Something inside me clicked and I thrust my ass back at him and steadied myself on the back of the couch.

“Stop talking about it pussy,” I almost yelled, “And fucking do it.” I wanted him to fuck me and call me pretty boy. I wanted it bad. So fucking badly.

His lips were rough on the back of my neck. His mouth was hungry and angry tasting the sweat of my upper back. His hips thrust me forcefully into the back of couch, crushing me against it with the weight of his lust.

His hands slid down my tattooed forearms and held my wrists tightly in place. His bigger body engulfed mine and he began to tear at my ear with his teeth. His groin rocked back and forth, pummeling my big ass with gentle vibrations. I could smell the stink of his day washing off of him as he tasted the curve of my jaw. He smelled like wee and beer and sweat. It made me ooze precum.

“You did all this to get my attention, didn’t you?” His breath was hot on my neck; his big hands rubbed my forearms.

I was beyond lying. “Yes.” I practically barked.

His hand moved from my arms and slid up my torso until he was cupping my pumped up pecs, the way he would have held some chick’s tits. My mind was on fire. “The hair…the working out… the tat’s… You really want my cock that bad?”

I did.

His course thick fingers circled my erect and aching nipples, “Ya know I’ve jerked off with guys before.” He said casually, “I even let this one kid blow me at Camp once.” The hands moved again tracing the line of my oblique until resting in a triangle that held the shiny flimsy cloth of my thong. “But I never thought about fucking a guy until now.”

My heart leapt in my throat, and I moaned in anticipation.

“Not until I saw you this afternoon. Here you were this tough shit talking rough neck, all done up like some model and I knew that if I told you to, you’d stop beating on those guys and bend over like a good boy and cram my dick up that ass of yours.” His voice was deep and excited.

MY whole body twitched and I could feel sweat drip down my naked smooth thighs. “You want to be my good boy don’t ya?” He grabbed my throbbing dick, pulling the silky material of my trashy panties aside. He stroked me. “Little bully wants to be my pretty boy and clean my cock.”



I stayed pinned against the couch, but I could feel him undressing behind me. In moments he was naked. It was a shock to feel the intrusion of his sweaty dick against the cleft of my ass cheeks. He rubbed against me and I could feel the course wiry touch of his pubic hair. HE spat on his hand and rubbed it into his dick. Then there was the barest moment of hesitation and he dropped to his knees. I had only a moments warning before his big hands grasped my big butt and spread the two huge muscular globes. His face attacked me hairless hole with a crazy intensity. I could feel the stubble on his chin against me as his tongue flicked in and out of my ass. He was spitting on my whole and I was hunching up and down on his face like a bitch getting her pussy eaten. I was in ecstasy it seemed like he was down there for hours massaging my big glutes and eating my ass like a lunatic. As he slurped and drooled on the tan flesh, I writhed and moaned uncontrollably. I arched up on my heels and felt my toes curl in hysterical desire.

I was begging him to stop. I was begging for him to not stop.

Finally he gave my hole one last long tongue bath and stood up. He had lubed me up good.

“Tell me if I hurt you.” He warned.

Fuck that I wanted him to hurt me. His hands pressed against my shoulders forcing me down toward the couch. The hard cock that had begun to rule my life and dictate my decisions was inches away from finally claiming me. Holt put me in position, spreading my thick thighs with his wiry and hairy legs, and then he grabbed hold of my pecs pinching the nipples with his fingers. I was totally possessed by his flesh.

He leaned into me, muttering something I didn’t understand. I felt a slight pressure and then I was screaming in pain.

His thick hard cock split me in two. It was rigid with lust and it pulsed inside my untrained cavity like a live angry wire. He leaned in closer holding me tight and telling me to relax. He began to pick out a steady rhythm of pounding, letting his groin smack against the broad expanse of my big butt with a sexy repetitive “thwack.”

After I got used to the violation, it was hot as fuck. I felt a man's Cock inside me and it made me spasm with pleasure.

I bent over further, giving him more purchase on wich to fuck my ass silly. I found myself pushing back, fucking back on his big cock. Using my butt like a pillow to push at his crotch. He was sweating I was sweating. Holt slowed for a minute and I wandered if he was close to nutting, but he pulled me tight against his chest, so we were standing. My ass still crammed with his cock and his mouth on my ear, “I think it’s fucking hot Bengi.”

“My ass?” I rasped with a dry throat.

“Ya and your ripped body.”

I wiggled promiscuously on the hard pole abusing me. I could see myself in the mirror across the room.

“Keep your eyes over there,” Holt encouraged. “I want you to know how you look with my fucking cock up your slutty butt.”

My body was tense and sweaty. My mouth hanging was slack. MY pretty face contorted in pain and pleasure. My muscles jumped from strain.


“OH…Shit Fuck ME.” I screamed wildly. I felt his jack hammering hit somewhere inside me. The thick bulb of his rod crushed against my prostate and my dick leaped and began leaking cum and pulsing… without me even touching it.

Holt was quick though. He reached around and began to milk my spasming dick with a meaty fist.

“I think it’s hot that a bad ass like you wants to be my little pretty boy …Bengi.” His strokes inside me were coming long and gentle now.” I think it’s hot that you’re this tough guy but here with me you’re just a sissy ready to please me. A bitch for my boner… a lisping faggot pretty boy for. My…fuck…oh…shit….for my….” He pulsed and throbbed inside of me. I instinctively clamped my ass muscles and held on to the root of his baby maker. It twitched inside of me like an unrestrained fire hose, spraying my guts with his seed.


Peter was again found himself standing outside Holt and Ben’s house. HE once again found himself following the brisk foot steps of Damien Vaughn. The yard seemed cleaner. No trash anywhere.

“Do you need more pot?” Peter snapped.

“No. Just making a house call.” He cracked his big knuckles, “I want to see how the patient is responding.”

Damien knocked on the door.

They waited.

“Come in.” Holt’s voiced yelled from somewhere inside.

They walked inside together and were floored by the sight of the floor. It was clean. The whole house was Clean. It looked completely different, from the trash heap that had greeted them last time. Holt was spread idly over the couch, watching TV with his bong in his hand. He was shitless and wearing only a pair of grey sweats.

“What’s up guys?”

Damien was craning his neck around the house looking for something, “hey man…”

“If you’re here to grab some weed for Ally, Don’t bother. She was here earlier got it herself.”

“OH…” Damien murmured, “I just stopped by to…”

“Holt do you know where the Fabric Thoftner ith?” Ben came down the stairs with a pile of laundry. He set it down and Peter actually yelped in surprise.

Ben’s huge tanned muscles glistened with a thin flattering sheen of sweat. His hair was in an immaculately styled pompadour and his side burns accentuated his femininely high cheekbones. What made Peter yelp and his cock respond however, was what he was wearing. For a guy who had nearly killed him for being a Fag. Ben sure had changed his tune. He was topless leaving his big smooth chest to heave and bounce for them to goggle. His big thick legs however were encased in a pair of ripped fishnet stockings that reached out of his big clunky motorcycle boots to the middle of his chunky quads. His Huge ass peeked out from underneath a pair of cut off shorts that were so inconceivably tiny that the huge rotund cheeks of his hard ass hung out. The glittery mesh of a gold thong peeked up over the fly of the cutoffs that were too small for him to even zipper.

Ben’s arms were a mosaic of colorful tattoos from elbow to wrist.

He looked exactly like a Tom of inland Model. Like some hyper sexualized and ultra manicured 1950’s gay pin-up.

A huge blush crept up his bare neck. His face didn’t get very red though, because the layer of cover up was too thick. Ben’s face firmed into a sensual pout but his gruff bass voice said, “Thit holt! You thould have told me that there was people in the houthe.” He planted both of his fists on his exposed and exaggerated hips in a fighting stance.

“Oh don’t worry,” Holt slurred, “They don’t mind do you.” He gave Damien a knowing grin.

Damien arched an eyebrow, “Not at all.”

Ben relaxed his big round shoulders, “Oh cool, Thome people wouldn’t underthtand.” His deep masculine voice lisped defensively.

“You’d be surprised at what I understand.” Damien answered.

Craig sat up and gave Ben a strange look, “How many times do I have to tell ya Bengi? Nobody’s gonna say shit to you about anything.” His eyes actually seemed to get softer, “I’m going to take care of you. The way you take care of me.”

Ben’s pretty face became a scowl, “If anybody Thayth shit to me, I’ll fucking Thmath their Fathe in. What are you guyth doing here anyway?”

“You haven’t been to class in awhile,” Peter practically gurgled.

“Oh that.”

“Come here Bengi…” Holt cooed.

Ben lumbered over to him in his clunky boots, his heavy thighs and huge ass pumping awkwardly. With a lisp like that, and an outfit like that, you expected him to mince or prance but instead he trudged with the same masculine trot he always had.

He sat down on Holt’s knee and Holt gave them a look like he was showing them his favorite trophy.

“I dropped out.” Bengi explained.

Peter’s eyes bulged. “You what?”

“I dethided I wanted to take thome time off.” He shrugged. His deep masculine voice was at sierious odds with his emasculating speech impediment,“I got thith friend in the thity, he’th helping me get an agent tho I can thtart modeling. Until that taketh off I’m working in hith thalon.”

“You’re going to work at a…salon?”

“Well I have to. My dad cut off my credit cardth.”

“oh.” Peter was watching in fascination as Holt traced his hands over the line of Bengi’s tattooed forearms.

He was really turned on.

Everyone in the room was really turned on.

Damien cleared his throat, “I think we better get going,” They made their way quickly to the door.

“Hey Damien. If you see Ally, tell her…” Damien turned to see that Bengi had turned to straddle Holt on the couch; on the small of his back was another tattoo. It was right in the spot that callous frat boys affectionately called a “Tramp stamp.” On Benji’s taunt lower back the words “pretty Boy” were written in feminine cursive writing. “Tell her she doesn’t have to bother calling.”

The door shut behind them with an expressive thud.

“Wow.” Peter said

“Wow.” Damien replied.



“Well,” Damien breathed loudly, “It always amazes me.”

Peter adjusted his uncomfortably rigid dick, as they walked out of Holt and Bengi’s house. “I’m pretty damn amazed myself.” He muttered.

“Well yes that…” Damien agreed with a lust filled glance over his shoulder, “Was pretty spectacular. What I meant though, is that it amazes me how Spells evolve.”


Damien slipped on his sunglasses with a quizzical nod, “Yes evolve. When you cast a spell, you have some idea of your own intentions…” He made a hand wave of dismissal. “But that’s completely futile when you get down to it. The spell grows on its own, changes… grows momentum…” Damien gave him a very direct look, emphasizing the importance of his statement, “You have to be careful the spells you cast. You really don’t have any control over them. Magic’s a living thing with a mind of its own.”

Peter gave a short barking laugh, “I know what this spell has on its mind.” He couldn’t help but think of the tan expanse of Bengi’s big ass curving out from the tops of the fishnets…

Damien considered. “That’s very true… and if it’s this powerful on its first victim I have no idea what it’s going to do to Rob or Leo…” There was a moment when he looked almost concerned. But he shook it off with a Cheshire grin. “Should be quite dramatic… and relatively immediate. Now that it’s got real potency.”

“The spell’s getting stronger?”

“Of course it is… We just fed it Ben. It’ll be hungry again soon.” He talked about the magic like it was some ravenous jungle beast that he had loosed on Remington campus. His tone was a mix of self satisfaction and reluctance.

Damien licked his forefinger and then put it into the air, as if he was testing the wind. “Tomorrow… At the Steel mill Gym… Ten o’clock.” He foretold.


“That’s when it’s going to strike next.” He slapped his hands together and rubbed them excitedly, “Oh this one’s a wild bugger… That’s what you get with wishes… Powerful magic… wishing...” He fixed Peter with an implacable stare that broached no excuses. “Meet me there tomorrow.”

Peter shook his head violently in agreement.

“Presently, I need to go home and … masturbate.”

“Do not move Damien Vaughn.” The command ringed like crystal bells. Alyssa Vaughn stepped quietly into view. She had been waiting patiently behind a nearby parked car.

Damien gave Peter a rueful smile and turned around, “Fancy meeting you here, Alyssa.”

“Not quite as fancy as the boy I saw inside.” Peter had never seen Alyssa angry. It made her seem even prettier. She looked like an insulted Goddess or an avenging angel. She was dressed in a simple white baby doll dress and her long golden curls rippled over one exposed shoulder.

“I stopped by this afternoon to pick up an 8th and … Ben kept me busy for two hours asking me questions about shopping and hair dye… all the while staring into a mirror.”

Damien betrayed no emotion but crooked an eyebrow, and said “Admiring my work?”

“Assessing the destruction.” Alyssa spat. She pulled herself together and then in a voice like a judge’s gavel cracking down on bone, she hissed, “What have you done?”

“I granted his wishes.”

Ally smiled, it didn’t touch her eyes “And what a beneficent Djinn you must have been.”

Damien sighed heavily feeling the weight of an argument that the two had contended over years.

Peter couldn’t help feeling like an intruder on a private scene. The two of them stood like contending monarchs. Regal and cool, one aristocratic Vaughn faced the other, without any sign of emotion or retreat.

“I think he looked very happy.” Damien said pleasantly.

“I think he looked like some Queer Fetish model.”

“True. But a happy one.”

Damien wasn’t the only one in the family who could make his anger freeze like the arctic. The Vaughn’ cold fury was also invested in Alyssa. She began her argument slowly but it eventually evolved into a wintry gale of venom. “So now Ben,”

“Bengi,” Damien corrected mildly.

“So BEN, Is now going to drop out of school… model and sweep up hair at a salon to support Holt?”

“Absolutely Dickensian wouldn’t you say?” Damien mused

“He’s dressing like a total fag!” she raved. “He spends more time in a mirror then narcissus and the way he leers at the guys on campus…… “She fixed him with a stone cold gaze, “I know what evil you’ve been up to.”

Damien was not amused, “Evil’s just a buzz word people throw around to garner a reaction… like “Terrorist” or “bisexual”.”

“What would you call that… abomination?”



“They were going to beat The Poor little rabbit over there to death,” He said motioning to Peter. “So I’m giving them some repercussions.”

“You can’t go around meddling with people’s lives. It’s wrong.” Alyssa pleaded. “Time’s have changed. It’s a modern world. It’s not some archaic “witches versus the world” scenario anymore.”

Damien smiled. “You’re so nice. You’re not good. You’re not bad. You’re just nice.”

Alyssa motioned to argue, but Damien silenced her.

“I’m not good. I’m not nice. I’m just right.” His smile melted, “I’m the witch… you’re the world.” He threw up his hands in frustration, “Oh why bother…” He turned to walk away.

Big blue eyes quivered with rage, and sadness. “You’re going to end up just like her.”

He stopped. The muscles in his back tightened angrily. “You were very young when that happened. I’m not quite interested in a child’s perspective of those events, Ally.”

“This is just what she was like before…”

“I SAID ENOUGH!” He swung his hands in a wide arc. Everything flew back in front of him. It was like a wind machine hand just flipped on. Mail boxes tumbled, trees bent, newspapers flew past Alyssa’s head. The tidal wave of wind swept over her, knocking her to her knees and snatching at her purse.

Ally and peter struggled to stand. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” She almost howled.

Damien smiled blandly. “One down…”

By the time she was able to stand, he was gone.

“What did you mean ‘end up like her’?” Peter squeaked.

Alyssa brushed herself off. “He’s going to end up just like our oldest sister… Our dead sister.”

Read next part