Revolutionary Smut

A blog for gay male transformation from a Leftist perspective. Acab forever. Anti-imperialist. Punch N@zis, don’t fuck them.

[maracuya]

Daily affirmations

The American empire will fall

The American empire will fall

The American empire will fall

[krishnahare]

[apas-95]

[sapper-in-the-wire-old]

[midiport]

holy shit

[johnnydoe69]

Curing the Yips Part 1

I know it’s been awhile, but I do have a few ideas in the mix and we’ll see how much I can push forward at a time.

“Wow it’s so nice up here,” Ashton said, admiring the music room. It was a large, open space with high cement ceilings and windows draped in thick, velvet curtains. Only a few instruments sat in the room, including Edward’s prized cello which stood firmly in the center.

Edward tried to hide his grin as he bade Ashton inside.

“This room has the best acoustics out of the whole campus. It’s why Dr. Schinder let’s me practice up here,” Edward said, pulling up a chair across from where he’d been sitting.

“Does everybody in the music department get their own private space?” Ashton asked. 

“Just the ones that Dr. Schinder sees potential in,” Edward said, matter of factly, as he opened up his cello case and took out his bow.

“You could probably get a space to draw too, if you put yourself out there,” he continued. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Ashton said, rubbing his arm for comfort and keeping his gaze on the floor.

“I mean, I understand why you haven’t. Drawing muscled up guys having sex on the football field isn’t exactly high art,” Edward said, getting himself comfortable in his chair before moving the cello closer to his wiry legs. 

“But if you want faculty support and the potential of an arts scholarship, you should try submitting your art to one of the school’s drawing contests, with a bit of editing of course,” Edward said, pushing his music stand a few inches to the right.

Then he dug into his backpack and opened up his music book, flipping through the pages until he came upon Vivaldi’s Concerto in G Minor.

“Maybe I should, at least you have classical music to lean back on if being a business major doesn’t work out. I can barely keep a 2.0,” Ashton said with a sigh, slouching against his chair.

“All I’m saying is give it a chance. You’re an amazing artist and I’d hate for that to go unrecognized because of a few lewd drawings,” Edward said, lifting up his slender brown fingers to the cello’s strings.

But before Edward could start heavy footsteps stomped up from the nearby stairwell, echoing across the room. Before anyone could react, the door was swung wide open and a tall, muscled boy with wavy black hair forced himself into the room.

“Hey is this-” the football player stopped mid-sentence as soon as his eyes met with Edward’s.

“Oh, it’s just you,” he said in his deep rumbly voice. 

“What do you want Tyler, we’re busy,” Edward snapped, glaring at him.

A smug, light grin grew out of the corner of Tyler’s mouth, “Well, I was coming up here to fuck your dad stupid, but since he’s not here I guess I’ll settle for hanging out with you two losers.”

Head held high, Tyler strolled into the room, allowing the door to shut behind him with a solid thump as he made his way to a nearby chair. With little effort he picked up the chair and carried it over his shoulder like a water jug, before he placed it right next to Edward.

Edward looked away disgusted, the thick vein on the top of his forehead throbbing, as Tyler plopped himself down, the small wood chair creaking in protest under his weight.

“Do you really have nothing better to do than bother me and my boyfriend?” Edward asked, spitefully, re-tuning his cello. 

“You’re really hooking up with this twink?” Tyler asked, pointing over to Ashton, who did his best not to melt into a puddle.

“Yeah, so?” Edward snapped, casting a cruel glance towards Tyler.

“Just surprising is all,” Tyler said with a shrug of his massive shoulders, “you could do worse.”

Thick musk filled the air as sweat dripped down Tyler’s chest and pooled against his tight, white tank-top.

This didn’t go unnoticed, as Edward’s dick suddenly grew to full mast, straining against his tight skinny jeans. The only thing that kept him safe from humiliation was the giant cello blocking his bulge from view. With a determined grimace he tried to focus on getting his pegs in the perfect position, when out of boredom Tyler grabbed the music book off Edward’s stand.

“You’re performing Vivaldi for the big concert?” Tyler asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Give that back!” Edward snapped, struggling to reach for his book as Tyler held it confidently out of reach. 

“I thought you got sick of him years ago. Shouldn’t you be performing music from that Russian dude you were always blabbing about?” Tyler asked, before Edward successfully reached up and snatched his book back. 

“Rimsky-Kosakov,” Edward said, dryly, as he re-parted his hair.

“Yeah, that guy,” Tyler said, clapping his massive hands together, sending a thunderous echo across the room. 

“Wow, freaky,” Tyler said, admiring it.

“But seriously, I thought you were bored with Vivaldi. Weren’t you always saying that you wanted to play stuff that was more challenging? The stuff that can really put your skills to the test?” he said, performing a few shadow punches to the air in front of him. 

Edward bristled. “That was a long time ago. I’m past the age where I can take risks like that.”

“If the Tennessee Titans had played it safe and threw a Hail Mary Pass they easily could have lost with 16 seconds left. Instead, Wycheck threw a Joe Montana-like pass to Dyson that caught the Bill defenders completely by surprise! Scoring them 22-16!”  

“Life isn’t a football game, Tyler. If I stick to a piece that I can’t perform to the best of my ability I’ll lose my scholarship. I’ll fuck up my reputation. And besides, the concerto is in 2 months. I'm not going to stupidly change direction now.” 

“Well, then you’d better impress. I haven’t seen you perform in years,” Tyler snorted. 

“Since when are you going to the concerto?” Edward asked, with a laugh.  

“I’m not going for you. It’s just extra credit for my music appreciation class,” Tyler said, smugly.

“Then just show up for five minutes to show the professor you went and leave right after. It’s not like you actually want to be there,” Edward said with a huff.

“What? Mr. Perfect, doesn’t want me to show up?” Tyler asked, spitefully.

“You know what, Tyler, maybe you should show up. Bring all your little jock friends, too. This way I can show you what dedication and hard work actually looks like,” Edward said, twisting too hard on one of the cello’s pegs. There was a solid twang and the peg became trapped in place. 

“Shit,” Edward mumbled, trying to force it back to no avail.

“Hold that thought I’m getting a text,” Tyler said, slipping a phone out of his pocket.  

“Yep. My bro, Devon, just finished speaking with his music professor. I’ll get out of your way,” Tyler said, getting out of his chair.

“I’ll see you bros at the concert,” Tyler said with a wave of his hand before leaving, the wood door slamming shut behind him. 

Ashton and Edward silently listened to Tyler’s heavy footsteps disappear down the hall before they faded. 

“So about what you said earlier, does this mean we’re dating?” Ashton asked, sitting up a bit in his seat. 

“Yes? No. Look, I really don’t want to talk about it right now,” Edward said, finally adjusting the peg into place.

“Sure, okay,” Ashton said, quietly, his thoughts running wild at the romantic implications. 

Edward took a deep breath. Ever since Tyler had left the room his hands had been trembling. He couldn’t get the image of Tyler and his cronies crowding into the music hall and sitting in the front row, all to hear him struggle to get past the first note. 

Sweat poured down his back and he found the bow slippery against his hand.

Ashton offered him a kind smile, but this couldn’t alleviate his fears. All Edward could think about was fucking up, about how every precise movement of his hand could cause an entire orchestra to slip, and how one mistake could destroy his entire future. 

“Maybe it would be a good idea to take a break,” Ashton offered, but Edward ignored him, continuing to play with shaky hands and sweaty fingers. 

After an hour of hectic practice, Edward told him he’d have to wait until later for a performance. 

Ashton agreed, offering a meek goodbye before slipping out of the music room and back to his dorm. 

In the following weeks, Edward became a ghost of his former self. He spent all his free time practicing, studying the notes, and hiding from the music professors. He quit his job, shut off his cell phone, and shunned his friends. 

He would only be seen going to and from either the dorms, the cafeteria, or the music department. Soon, he started skipping classes, he was placed on academic probation, and it looked like his part in the orchestra was going to be given to an understudy.  

Ashton could only watch the carnage from a distance, but he couldn’t help but feel worried and guilty.

He decided to text Keith, his on-again off-again roommate and a quarterback for the school football team, for advice.

Keith agreed to help, but that they had to meet on the school bleachers an hour after football practice. 

Ashton didn’t argue, Keith was always in trouble with someone. The school, the cops, an ex. If he couldn’t meet Ashton in their dorm room there was probably a reason.

So, Ashton wrapped himself up in his fall casuals before sauntering down to the football field.

Keith was there by the time he arrived, already out of his uniform, tapping his knuckles against his leg. 

“Bout time you showed up. Thought I’d be freezing my pits off for nothing,” Keith said, sitting up to slap Ashton’s hand.

“Y’know you can wear a shirt with sleeves, right?” Ashton asked, slapping Keith’s hand as hard as he could to avoid looking too weak.

“So, things not going well with Eddie?” Keith asked, holding onto his knee with his thick arms.

“No, things are pretty horrible,” Ashton said, sitting in a spot next to Keith’s boots.

“He took me to listen to him play Vivaldi for the big concert when his asshole ex-boyfriend barged into the room,” Ashton pouted.

“He comes in and starts saying all this stuff about how he’s going to the concert and I think it really freaked him out. He’s falling apart and he won’t talk to anyone, not even me.” Ashton said, panicking. 

“Easy man, easy,” Keith said, sitting up and giving Ashton a comforting pat on the shoulder.

“This is just a simple case of the yips and can be easily fixed,” Keith promised. 

“The what?” Ashton asked, staring into Keith’s chiseled face.

“The Yips. It’s a mental block athletes get when they overthink their actions. Tyler’s got Eddie afraid that he’s going to fuck up in front of everybody, so now he’s fixated on every little motion of his hands. It’s a harsh situation to be in.” 

“Okay, then what’s the cure,” Ashton asked, eagerly.

“Well, lucky you, I got it, right here,” Keith said, digging into his duffel bag to pull out a jockstrap in a ziploc bag. The underwear was slightly yellowed and even from under the plastic, Ashton could see it was still dampened with sweat. 

He shivered.

“Is that?” Ashton asked.

“Yep. Fresh from the man’s laundry,” Keith replied, plopping it in Ashton’s lap.

“Why?” Ashton asked, disgusted.

“If Eddie wears his ex’s jockstrap while he plays, it’ll give him the distraction he needs to get over the yips. It’s a fool proof cure and I’ve seen it work wonders,” Keith swore.

“But you have to make sure he doesn’t wash them when he plays. Having Tyler’s thick musk and sweat on it is the biggest part of the distraction,” Keith promised.

Ashton frowned at the bag. 

“How do you know it’ll work this time? Classical music and football are different, y’know,” Ashton asked.

“Do you have a better solution? Or you just want Eddie to hate you forever?” Keith asked, raising a pierced eyebrow. 

“No, of course not. If this will help Edward play better than fine. Just please don’t tell anyone about this okay? Tyler would murder us if he knew and we don’t have the strength to defend ourselves like you do.”

Keith chuckled, “I was going to keep my mouth shut anyway, but fine. Tyler will never know pinkie swears and all,” Keith said with a chuckle.

Ashton got up from his seat, shoved the bag in his satchel, and disappeared down the concrete steps.  

When Ashton receded from view Keith laid his back comfortably on the stone bleachers. Things were all going according to plan, he thought contently to himself. 

[mens-rights-activia]

[arabnico]

today, may 15th 2021, marks 73rd year since al nakba, or “the catastrophe”, the 1948 forced expulsion of 750,000 palestinians from their homes in order to establish the state of israel. the nakba is ongoing and has not ended. at the moment, israel is committing massacres, war crimes and an active genocide of palestinians.

30+ families are facing forced displacement by israeli forces in the neighborhood of sheikh jarrah in east jerusalem. their houses are to be taken over by colonial settler organizations. [x]

gaza is being bombed actively in illegal attacks and that has been going on for six days. the number of victims is as of right now, evening of may 15th, 145 martyrs, including 40 children. israel dropped phosphorous bombs on unarmed palestinian civilians. white phosphorous is specifically internationally prohibited to use on civilians because it can melt skin and penetrate to your bones. white phosphorus burns are slow, agonizing, can cause organ failure. if you don’t die, you’ll live with holes in your skin for the rest of your life. this is a literal war crime.

pogroms are going on. israeli settlers and israeli police are going door-to-door in palestinian homes, breaking in, beating, kidnapping, burning, shooting every palestinian in sight. they are marking palestinian houses to attack at night.

words are not enough to convey the horror of what’s going on. IDF soldiers detaining sedated palestinian children are joking about selling them. israel bombed an orphanage. a palestinian father found out about his four children being killed by an israeli missile in gaza. a baby was the only survivor of an attack on his family’s house. a guy reporting casualties in a hospital in gaza ended up finding the dead bodies of two of his siblings. and more. watch these videos. see the atrocities palestinians endure with your own eyes.

palestinians have specifically asked for social media activism and coverage. israel cares deeply for their international image: they pay students to defend them online, an israeli airstrike destroyed the al jazeera office in gaza which also houses the AP and other media outlets. consistency in your online activism is essential. sharing videos and posts and photos posted by people in palestine of everything that is happening is essential. israel wants a media blackout. posts about sheikh jarrah are being censored, people have been losing internet in protest sites in the West Bank, there is a threat to israeli bombardment to the main transmission tower for internet services in gaza. by being constantly and consistently vocal, you are aiding more than you think.

the situation is not “complicated”. there is no “two sides” to take into account or whatever bs zionists are trying to feed you. on one side there are colonizers, settlers, protected by an iron dome and bomb shelters that look like hotel rooms, and on another a dispossessed people who are being pulled out from under the rubble because they do not have anywhere to hide from the bombs that are raining down on them. on one side you have people going to the beach and to brunch while crying to the media about the inconvenience they have to endure, and on another you have people who are defenseless, have nowhere to run, don’t have a roof over their head, who are going through a clean water shortage are being bombed a few feet away from those same settlers. israel has killed more people in gaza the past 24 hours than hamas rockets have killed in the past 20 years.

while boosting palestinian voices and sharing every kind of content you see capturing what is happening in palestine specifically from palestinians, please take this time to learn more about palestine, and more on how to help:

decolonize palestine is a website created by palestinians to debunk myths, explain history, answer FAQs, etc. please read thoroughly through it.

support the bds (boycott, divest, and sanctions) movement: an explanation of what it is and the official site to learn more. for example: ben & jerry’s is a company to boycott, as they actively support apartheid, and profit from sales in israeli settlements. also, in 2014, when israel killed so many palestinians it ran out of morgue space, they used ben & jerry’s ice cream freezers to store their bodies.

demand your trade unions to endorse bds.

protest israeli terror. a lot of protest are happening today on the occasion of the nakba.

if you are american, call your local state reps. demand they end all aid to israel. america gives 3.8 billion dollars each year to israel.

demand your governments to stop arming israel. materially challenge the ability of the occupation to continue attacks on palestinians. for example, today in livorno, italy, dockers refused to load weapons on ship destined to israel.

if your city is doing police exchanges with the IOF, demand they stop.

donate to the palestinian children’s relief fund, which provides free medical care and humanitarian aid to youth in palestine.

share the meal is an app made by the wfp and they currently have a campaign going on for families in palestine. a meal costs less than a dollar. please donate if you can.

center palestinian voices. muhammed el kurd (@/m7mdkurd on twitter and @/mohammedelkurd on instagram) from sheikh jarrah has been the main spokesperson of this violent dispossession on various media outlets. please watch his interviews and listen to what he has to say. here’s a twitter list to follow for live updates about palestine and the occupation’s crimes. please follow it. this post is only a general overview of everything that went on the past few days, it’s nowhere near enough to be informed.)

as someone who’s been involved in all kinds of pro-palestinian, anti-zionist activism for as long as i can remember, i don’t want to be too hopeful, but it feels different now. all israeli propaganda is collapsing. their narrative is not sticking anymore. people are becoming aware of its genocidal reality. please use your social capital and voice and keep doing so consistently.

[johnnydoe69]

Beware the Evil Eye

In the peaceful twilight on the island of Euboea, a bright yellow Hummer sped down the road leading to a grand villa, Eurotrash music blasting over the speakers. 

Kosmas watched this from the front windows and sighed. The clouds of dust kicked up by the Hummer were dirtying the grapes that grew on both sides of the road. 

When the Hummer loomed from only a few miles away, Kosmas rang the service bell. At once, four other servants crowded into the foyer. 

A nervous electricity rippled between them as everyone got into position.

“You better not fuck this up,” Giorgos hissed from behind. 

Kosmas flipped Girogos a warm and comforting smile, “Oh, don’t be pessimistic. It’s always been harder to keep that boy in his clothes, rather than out. I’ll have that nazar in the palm of my hand within the hour.”

Behind his confident grin and laidback tone, however, Kosmas had his doubts. In all his years working for his grandmother, Kosmas had never seen Paul take off his nazar. It was a protective amulet meant to ward off the evil eye- spiteful magic aimed to target sources of envy and disgust- and it directly prohibited Kosmas from using his magic on him. 

If Kosmas couldn’t convince Paul to take it off from around his neck, or at least sneak it off without him noticing, there was little chance he could take it by force. The man was built like a dump truck and would break him in half if he was seen as a possible threat. With little other choice, but to go forward, Kosmas took a deep breath and opened the foyer doors. The five of them quickly trotted out the front door and down the marble staircase leading into the driveway. 

    By the time they reached the last few steps, Paul’s truck had come to a complete stop, a few feet away from the steps.

    For a few seconds no one moved. Even from inside the massive vehicle, Kosmas could see the dark blue energy radiating from underneath Paul’s tank top. 

Kosmas immediately began to sweat and had to dab himself with a handkerchief before Giorgos nudged him from behind. Paul was glaring at them from the Hummer.

    Remembering himself, Kosmas quickly ran to the driver’s side door and opened it. Paul came out with a thud, his massive feet stomping into the dirt. 

Walking back around the car he came before the servants,     a scowl prominently on his face, but before Paul could yell at them Kosmas interjected.

    “Paul, it’s so good to see you,” Kosmas exclaimed, a smile plastered on his face.

    “It’s good to see you too,” Paul said, lazily, striding past him.

    Paul turned his attention to Girgos and threw his car keys at the massive man’s chest.    

“Put this in the garage after the others get my bags. Kosmas, follow,” he ordered, walking past them and ascending the stairs.

Kosmas looked to the others for one last bit of assurance, but they had already moved on to taking care of Paul’s possessions, their backs turned to him.  

    Seeing that Paul had already made his way up several steps, Kosmas sprinted after him.     “How was New York?” Kosmas asked, panting.

    “Miserable. I was trapped on the Upper East side for six months with nothing to do but work from home and exercise in my private gym,” Paul said, glumbly. 

    “Have you tried reaching out to Dimitri and Lysandros?” Kosmas asked, trying not to trip as he shared Paul’s massive strides up the steps. “I remember you telling me about how you always had the best workouts together.”

    Paul grunted approvingly, “We did, but everyone’s too afraid to go anywhere. Lysandros promised he’d swing by Greece after his visit to the Caribbean, but that’s in two weeks. Now, look at these biceps, do you think my body can wait another two weeks?”

    Paul paused on the staircase and flexed inches from Kosmas’s face. Thick blue veins popped out from underneath his pale skin and stretched over his cannonball bicep. 

“This arm used to be at least three inches larger. I was practically wasting away back there,” Paul said.

In the past, Kosmas would have been weak at the sight of Paul’s raw muscle in his face, but he couldn’t let himself get distracted.

“What about the private gym you said you had at home?” Kosmas asked, trying not to let his annoyance show.

“Pft, I barely had any weights. I only had a treadmill and bowflex to keep me together.” Paul said, as they resumed their climb.

“Well, I’m sure you won’t have any problem maintaining a pump here. Your grandmother had the whole basement refurbished into a private gym for your arrival,” Kosmas said, sweating profusely through his white linen shirt. 

They reached the top of the stairs shortly after, Kosmas having to lean over and take a quick breath, while Paul beamed down at him without a drop of sweat on his body. 

“Some things never change, right, Kosmas?” Paul asked, slapping Kosmas hard on the back.

“Yes, of course,” Kosmas wheezed, balling his hands into tight fists. 

Paul left him there as he journeyed inside, while Kosmas once he collected himself and un-balled his fists followed behind. 

“So where is Evita anyway?”  Paul asked when Kosmas entered the foyer, taking off his baseball cap to scan the balcony above them. 

    “She had some business to attend to in Athens, but she told me to offer you the warmest greeting in her absence. She should be home by morning,” Kosmas said, still panting a little.

    Paul nodded and without another word strode into the lounge. Kosmas rushed ahead of him and quickly started getting together a bottle of bourbon and shot glasses.

    “What’s this, Kosmas? If this is from Evita’s private stash she’ll have Giorgos beat you like last time,” Paul said, taking a shot when it was offered to him, and plopping himself down on the couch.

    “Don’t worry, Paul. I haven’t forgotten about last time.” Kosmas said, with a polite smile. It was only until recently that he recovered feeling in his toes and it still hurt to curl them.

“I bought this bourbon in advance for your return home.”

    The liquor in this case had been drugged, weakening both the protective power of the nazar and increasing Paul’s sex drive. Kosmas made sure not to drink any of it himself, he couldn’t allow himself to get twisted up by Paul’s influence. It was always hard to say no to the man as it was.

He poured Paul another glass and placed it in his pitcher’s mitt sized palm. 

Paul looked around, curiously, “shouldn’t there be more servants milling around? I’d hate to think that I would have to fetch my own meals.”

“Oh, it won’t come to that, the few servants who are left are more than capable of picking up the slack after your grandmother fired most of the staff,” Kosmas said, cheerily, dying a little inside as he sat down besides Paul.

    “Wow, covid really hitting everyone hard,” Paul said, stretching out his thick arms and legs, before resting against the back of the couch.

    “Most of my friends in New York had to lay off their serving staff too. Too much risk of infection and with the stock market the way it is, it doesn’t hurt to remove extra liabilities.” 

    Paul kicked up his legs on the coffee table, forcing Kosmas to work around him as he poured him another glass.

    “Did she fire your father, too?” Paul asked, glancing down at Kosmas’s bowed head.

    “Yes, she did,” Kosmas said, gritting his teeth, handing Paul the finished shot glass.

    “Wow, harsh,” Paul said, snatching the drink out of Kosmas’s hand and gulping it down.

    “And knowing Evita, I bet she’s not giving that old fuck his severance pay,” Paul said with a chuckle.

    The dark blue aura around Paul’s neck was fading and Kosmas could feel his own powers surging as Paul’s slowly declined. He was so close to taking Paul’s body he could taste the sweat dripping off him. Kosmas slowly inched over to Paul, leaning his arm behind the big man’s neck. He was going to enjoy this.

Just before he could grab it, Paul turned to him and with a serious look in his eyes asked, “And that good for nothing fisherman hasn’t been coming around, has he?” 

Kosmas shrank away from Paul. The idea of touching him, even to steal his body suddenly repulsed him. To keep his sanity, Kosmas had banished all thought of what had happened to Andros from his mind, and Paul had once promised him that the man would never come up again.

“No,” Kosmas said, weakly. “He died in prison. Covid.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Paul said, sliding his large vascular hand on Kosmas’s thigh. Kosmas felt his dick harden and he saw that even through his jeans Paul was full mast as well. 

“I know you think I’m cruel for what happened and I’m sorry you feel that way. But I did it because I love you Kosmas. I couldn’t stand anyone coming between us,” Paul said, kissing Kosmas lightly on the cheek.

“Don’t give me that. You have fucked every gay man from here to Istanbul. You just couldn’t handle me paying attention to someone that wasn’t you,” Kosmas said, bitterly. He poured himself a glass and choked it down. Fuck the plan, whatever was going to happen wasn’t going to happen with him sober. 

Paul frowned, and grabbed Kosmas by his chin, pulling him in close. His grip was strong and Kosmas was terrified the man might accidentally break his jaw. His hot breath was blowing in Kosmas’s face and he could smell the faint tinge of spearmint gum on his breath. 

“I can handle competition. What I couldn’t accept was that you would choose someone so beneath me as a rival for your affection. You easily could have picked any of my friends, any of the wealthy bachelors on the island and you picked filth scraped off the bottom of a boat?”

Kosmas glanced over at the nazar, its energy had nearly faded from around Paul’s neck. He reached for it as Paul shot him a carnivorous smile. 

“But it’s okay now, because we both know I’m the only man for you,” Paul whispered, grabbing Kosmas’s hand and placing it on the back of his neck. He leaned in and began kissing his neck, sending sharp electric pulses all up and down Kosmas’s body.

Kosmas, feeling his chance slipping away, but unwilling or unable to act, gave himself over to the pleasure of the enchanted booze and Paul’s embrace. 

Paul moved his hand off Kosmas’s chin and foisted the smaller man onto his lap. He ripped at Kosmas’s work shirt, buttons tearing off and bouncing to the floor. 

His dick shot through the fabric of his jeans, massaging Kosmas’s ass as he moaned. It had been years, since he was fucked by another man and as much as he hated him, he couldn’t stop himself.

“Wait. I don’t want the other servants to see,” Paul said, pulling away. 

“Then, let’s take it upstairs to your room,” Kosmas said, pulling playfully at the small strands of hair on Paul’s head.

Paul shoved Kosmas off him, nearly knocking him off the coffee table, before snatching him by the wrist and pulling him out of the lounge and up the stairs. 

They threw themselves into Paul’s bedroom and on his bed, kissing furiously and grabbing at each other. Paul briefly pulled away and threw off his tank top, his charm necklace now prominently displayed on his chest. But instead, of the menacing power it once had, the amulet was now powerless, all its energy being soaked into the enchanted booze that seeped out through Paul’s sweat. 

Feeling his power return to him came with a sense of lucidity as Kosmas tested out the control he had over Paul.

When Paul leaned in to rip the underwear off Kosmas’s legs he found that he could no longer move. Every muscle strained against him as his blood vessels contracted, leaving him terrified and utterly helpless. 

Kosmas overcome with his sense of success laughed at the display of the larger man hanging over him. He slid out from underneath him and traced a finger along Paul’s back feeling the many hills and ridges of his massive muscular frame.

Small, confused grunts escaped Paul’s lips as he tried to make sense of what was happening, so Kosmas decided to let the man speak. 

His body partially freed from Kosmas’s control, Paul panted and took a deep shuddering breath.

“What are you doing to me?” Paul asked, quietly, his breathing labored. 

    “Remember, when you told me that I was to be yours forever?” Kosmas asked, kicking his underwear to the floor.    

“In a way, I am going to be yours forever, just not in the way you thought,” Kosmas said. He got in the bed behind Paul, using his control over Paul’s body to make him shrug off his jeans, while he faced the headboard, unable to look back. 

    “For you see, in all our years together a resentment has been building. An intense hatred. You treated me as a plaything, because your family controlled my father’s paycheck. You hurt me whenever you wanted, fucked me whenever you wanted, and killed anyone that came in danger of severing your control of me.”

    After Paul pushed off his jeans, Kosmas decided to do the extra work of pulling Paul’s tight red jock strap off his ass. The soft fabric curled in his fingers as he pulled downwards, Paul whimpering slightly. 

    “I didn’t know he would die in there. It was a mistake,” Paul stammered, cowed probably for the only time in his life. 

    “That’s the fun bit about the magic of the evil eye, Paul. It doesn’t give a shit about accidents or circumstances,” Kosmas said, sliding the jockstrap out of Paul’s dick and ass before sliding it down his thighs. 

    “It only cares about outcomes. The outcome in this case being, the only man I’ve ever loved is dead because of you.” Kosmas said, calmly, throwing the underwear behind him.

    “So, to repay your earlier favor I’m taking your life because you stole mine,” Kosmas whispered into Paul’s ear as he rubbed his back.

    “Please, my grandmother will give you anything. Just don’t kill me,” Paul begged, tears sliding down his cheeks.

    “Oh don’t worry, you won’t die, not really. I’ll just be taking your body and your identity as my own. And don’t worry about Evita either, the other servants and I have big plans for her,” Kosmas said, plucking a baseball cap off the nightstand and placing it on Paul’s head.

Kosmas grinned. 

“There’s my favorite sports star,” he whispered, kissing Paul’s ear.   

    Paul said nothing as Kosmas gathered himself into trance, using the entirety of his magic to make his body into a superfluous membrane. 

    Within a few minutes, his body had become a clear viscous like substance. Still in trance, he pushed against Paul’s back, feeling him gasp with pain as Kosmas entered his body. 

    He slid inside the man in seconds, but he was left in pitch darkness. His form had to grow and stretch against the confines of Paul’s body, his legs inflating, his back adding several inches of spine.

    Paul bucked against this of course, frothing with rage as he engaged in a losing battle against his own body, but within a few moments it was done.

    His essence was constrained and then enveloped by Kosmas’s, sucking in his emotions and memories, before crushing what remained of his free will and sense of self. By the time he was done with him, all that was left of Paul was a library of thoughts that Kosmas would have full access to.

    Finally in full control, Kosmas allowed himself to concentrate on his body’s physical sensations.

    He felt his massive chest breathing in and out. Around his neck the nazar still hung off his neck, once again glowing with a blue intensity, but instead of the sharp pain or weakness Kosmas feared there was nothing. The nazar recognized this body as his own.

He cracked his neck and pulled his arms over his head, surprised at their weight. He pulled his arms down and opened his eyes. Crawling off the bed, Kosmas took a few unsteady steps forward and curled his toes. No pain.

He grinned.

As the years passed, Kosmas or Paul as he was known publicly, whittled away at Evita’s title and fortune using lawsuits, bribes, and blackmail until he could finally run her off the estate. 

With Evita removed from power, the fired workers were able to return and together with several nearby villages were able to operate an agricultural co-opt that guaranteed housing and jobs to the people. 

Kosmas thrived as an administrator of the co-opt, keeping things running smoothly with his eye for finances, while his well-muscled body helped out in the fields. 

He still felt conflicted about wearing the body of someone he hated, but he found ways to alter his appearance without drastic measures, growing out a beard and letting thick brown hair grow all over his chest. He was in control of things for the first time in his life and Kosmas couldn’t be happier. 

[johnnydoe69]

Sick of Bigotry Disgusised As Kinks

This post is going to get pretty heavy so references for rape, racism, and transphobia

Hi, so I guess I should first introduce the fact that I’m non-binary. I don’t talk about it much, simply because I haven’t felt the need to, but I feel it adds context for what you’re about to read because I have been pissed about this shit for years.

So, I know introspection has an antagonistic relationship with a lot of people's sexual preferences.

Like why do I like the idea of fucking a sentient tree man? Or why does the idea of a vampire threatening to turn me into one of his mindless minions a turn on? Or aliens pretending to be human firemen? And so on and so on. A lot of the time it doesn't make any sense and that's fine. Not everything has to be analyzed.

But, there's a thin line with that because as much as we want to see sexual fantasy as being completely separate from the real world it's not.

Both in the sense that our sexual fantasies are shaped by the society we live in and in the sense that these fantasies can reinforce certain world views.

For example, why are there popular male TF stories that involve trans women being depicted as aggressive rapists and male TF stories where Arab men are described as exotic and sneaky?

Why are there so many stories where poor Black men are described as “strong like a fieldhand” and then have their bodies stolen by rich white men? Why are assigned male at birth non-binary people only included in stories where they're forced to become masculine and cisgender? Or just stories where especially Black, Latinx, and trans feminine characters are humiliated and called slurs both in the story itself and sometimes the damn title?

And the answer is like it or not most of these stories are written for and by white cis people. With marginalized characters playing a subservient role to their power fantasies. And whether intentional or not these fantasies often reinforce the same attitudes that society places on people. Prejudices that exist to justify systems of exploitation.

For example, if you do a cross-section of US states with the harshest transphobic laws (think bathroom bills, student sports bans, etc) with the US states with the highest searches of fetishistic transgender porn you find that the results are almost the exact same. I’ll include the sources below.

These sterotypes exist as excuses to subject marginalized people to hyper-surveillance, poverty, criminalization, and sexual violence. Stereotypes that are fueled by mass media, very much including porn. So just because you want more “diversity” from the subjects in male TF stories doesn’t necessarily make you more tolerant or less bigoted. Or described in another way. Just because you want to fuck marginalized people doesn’t make you less a piece of shit.

The point of this isn't to say that all violent male TF stories lead to violence or that if you read a transphobic story once and got a boner that you're evil or whatever.

The point of this is to say that racist and transphobic "fetishes" are violent and I'm sick of how normalized it is within the male TF community. Im also sick of how often so many (cis white) TF writers seem to either be unaware of their biases or openly engage in them when writing.

Wow, this was a long rant. And I don’t want to do this often. I like to just stick with the stories I write and leave it at that, but this has been bothering me for years and I've seen no one else say shit about it.

Source for above:

https://hornet.com/stories/americas-most-transphobic-states-also-love-trans-porn/

Also if you want more background on how racism affects sexual desire, I reccomend Angela Davis’s “Women, Race, and Class” and the first episode of “Sex, Explained” on Netflix. The episode for a more curosry view (like 20 min at the end of it) and the book for a more in-depth discussion on not specifically sex and desire, but a broader anaylsis of American anti-Blackness that includes it.

[johnnydoe69]

I don't know where the orginal post is from, but this is what inspired me to write Apolitical lol

[johnnydoe69]

The Switch

I woke up in a forest in nothing but a medical gown, surrounded by soldiers trapped in orange slime.

Sprawled out on the forest floor, I picked myself up and stumbled out of the clearing. The orange slime twitched and moved as I walked past, occasionally gathering in larger chunks or shrinking away to let me through. Everything felt strange and I was extremely lightheaded. My feet were bruised, bloody, and starting to swell. I wandered for what could have been hours or minutes when I came upon someone’s backyard. 

I climbed the small metal fence and landed uneasily onto the well-manicured lawn. At the base of the house was a garden hose and desperately dehydrated, I wandered over and began drinking from it. After I had satisfied my thirst, I took to cleaning off as much dirt, blood, and orange goo as possible. By the time I finished, I was soaking wet and freezing, my medical gown pressed against my emaciated body. 

That's when I noticed the comforting aroma of barbecued ribs coming from inside the house. It sat right on the kitchen counter, unguarded, and drizzled with sweet honey. Still, in a daze, I made my way up to the back porch and tested the door. I found it to be unlocked and I quietly slipped inside. 

The smell of the ribs was even more intoxicating inside the house than out and I pounced on them like a wild animal. I never even took the time to chew, each rib smoothly slid down the back of my throat and immediately started to dissolve. When I finished, I slumped to the floor, taking everything in. 

I suddenly realized that what I had just done should have been biologically impossible and yet, the bone, meat, and sauce, was absorbed into my body within minutes, providing me with a shockwave of energy.

Testing my limits and vaguely remembering using my arm as a sword against the soldiers, I willed my fingers to fuse into something sharp. In seconds, the fingers of my right hand became one and sharpened into a blade the color of rust. 

Terrified, I quickly asked my hand to go back to normal and it obliged, the sword separating into fingers and returning to my natural skin color. 

Below me, there was the squeak of feet on hardwood and the sound of footsteps heading upwards to a nearby door in the kitchen. I dove behind the counter, my heart rate pulsing. 

The door opened and a man shuffled out.

 He wore nothing but a tight-fitting lavender polo and a silky drawstring thong, looking very clean despite just cooking with barbeque sauce. He blearily looked to the counter and his eyes opened wide.

“What the fuck?” he stammered.

 He ran over to the pan and examined it. Cold sweat dripped down my back and I did my best not to breathe. 

“Nate? Baby, did you come home and finish all these without me?” the man asked, nervously, searching the room. 

His bare feet edged inches away from where I hid and before I could think I grabbed his foot on impulse. From the palm of my hand, tendrils made of ooze penetrated the man through his foot and inserted itself directly into his bloodstream.

He gasped, but before he could scream or move, a paralyzing agent was introduced to his body, pacifying him. Moving with the paralyzing agent were the tendrils themselves, growing and expanding as they rode the current of his circulatory system before reaching his brain. From there it quickly gained control of his entire body, inserting itself into the many grooves of his brain, until his every heartbeat, breath, and thought was firmly under my control. 

I pulled my hand away and the tendrils connecting us severed. The man wobbled on his feet, eyes rolling to the back of his head, before finally falling hard on his back, with a silly grin plastered on his face. 

I stood up. The man remained silent, his breathing slow and relaxed. Despite removing my hand from his form I could still feel deep inside him, the ooze communicating back to me every function that was being conducted in his body. 

Taking a deep breath, I kneeled back down, and using the influence of the ooze in his body, I looked over some of his surface memories.

The man was Max Larsen. 29. Ex- fashion model, now a computer programmer. Married to Nate. Living on the outskirts of Benton in upstate New York. The date was March 7th, Nate and Max's 3rd wedding anniversary.

I looked up and sure enough a bright and sparkly banner with the words “Happy Anniversary to Us” spanned the kitchen. 

I sighed. Nate would be home in an hour and there was no telling when the reinforcements for the military unit I devastated would arrive. 

Acting partially on instinct, partially on intuition, I placed my hand on Max’s foot again. Establishing a better connection with the ooze in his body, I willed my body to take on Max’s form. 

The first thing to change was my arms. They inflated with muscle, tissue pulled, and past their normal limits to match decades of exercise. The next thing to change was my skin tone, shifting from a fluorescent white that hadn't seen the sun in years, to a healthy tan that had just left the beach. Accompanied by the skin color change was a light dusting of blonde hair that started from my arms and began growing over my once hairless body. Then my chest enlarged with muscle, my pecs growing to the size of milk jugs, straining the fabric of the ripped medical gown. My neck and shoulders quickly followed, adding more weight to a body that was now more than a little too top-heavy.

I fell over, panting from the strain, my hand still firmly on Max's foot. I relied on my newfound upper body strength to keep me upright, but soon my lower half began filling out to pick up the slack. From my waist down muscle and a thin layer of fat were added to my body as I felt my dick grow several inches, my balls dropping against my skinny legs. From there my legs ballooned to accommodate the rest of my body and a perky bubble butt replaced my bony ass. Soon I was able to support myself by just kneeling again and picked myself up.

Then I felt my face begin to change, bones cracking and breaking to fit a new shape, making me wheeze with pain. Once that was finished, hair sprouted on my face and the top of my head, growing thicker and heavier as the seconds trickled past.

When all the pain in my body receded, I grabbed Max’s phone off the counter and checked for my reflection in his camera. I was his spitting image, albeit covered in barbeque sauce and a ratty medical gown that was now two sizes too small. 

Then I went to work on Max. I needed a decoy to throw my assailants off my trail in case there were more of them, so I began shifting his body to take on my old form. 

I knelt back down to the floor as Max’s good looks and health quickly receded from him like a desert storm over a savannah. Never losing the smile on his face, his body deflated, years of exercise and healthy eating replaced with the look of someone fed on nothing but an IV tube. His skin color shifted to a pallid white as his healthy golden locks of hair thinned and shrank before disappearing completely. His face hollowed and his boyish good looks and charm faded.

When I finished, I stared down at the man before me and was horrified. It looked like staring down at a corpse. 

I took a deep breath. I tore off my medical gown, slightly ripping it, and got to cleaning myself off in the kitchen sink, too terrified to waste time going upstairs and cleaning myself in Max's bathroom. 

Once I was clean enough, I moved Max behind the counter and stripped him of his polo and thong, taking time to undo the many strings of his underwear and weirded out by the sensation of gripping what had once been my balls, now on another body.

I put the clothes down in a pile and did my best to slide Max into the medical gown, careful not to rip it any further, to prevent him from being completely nude in the woods. Once that was finished I noticed the two thick gold rings on his now too skinny fingers. I easily slid them off and applied them to my hand, careful not to put the wrong ring on the wrong finger. 

Then I put on his polo shirt, soft against my hairy chest, and then stuffed my new dick and balls into the silk thong. Despite the weight of my heavy balls, the thong was a smooth fit and accentuated them perfectly. 

Firmly taking Max’s place in appearance I noticed the blinds on his kitchen door and shut them, casting the kitchen in darkness, before I got to work taking his memories. I spent the next 45 minutes soaking up as much information as I could, anything that would convince people, but especially Nate, that I was Max and always had been.

When I was satisfied, I wiped my old body's mind clean and replaced them with only my memories of waking up and wandering in the woods. I made sure to withhold any memories of finding and going inside Max's home, leaving him a nearly blank slate. 

Then, still unsure, but willing to test the extent of my power I willed the ex-Max to enter a dream-like state where he would not remember anything for the next hour and commanded him to find a new shelter, far from here.

His eyes snapped opened and a part of me was afraid I fucked up and would be conscious, but he calmly ignored me, pulling himself off the kitchen floor and stumbling to the door. He pushed his way outside and quickly disappeared into the woods, letting me breathe a sigh of relief.

Satisfied, I took Max’s phone and sitting in his living room scanned the news for any word of what happened in the forest. 

I did that for a few minutes and found nothing when a car parked in the driveway. It was only then that I remembered that Max had promised to make barbecued ribs for Nate and that I had devoured it only an hour before. I cursed myself and ran to the front door. When Nate let himself inside, I embraced him in a bearhug, kissing the back of his neck.

“And hello to you too,” Nate said with a laugh. 

Feeling him take a step towards the living room and beyond that the kitchen, I spun him around and met my soft lips against his.

His shoulders relaxed, but he still kept moving to the kitchen, so I went further, slipping my tongue inside his mouth, accidentally cutting it against his teeth. From Max, I knew that he had been looking forward to those ribs for a while. I had to distract him with something else to keep him from asking questions. 

As I kissed him, I placed my hand on his lower back the way he liked and succeeded in leading him out of the doorway and up to several of the stairs. 

Nate dropped his briefcase on the stairs, letting it tumble to the bottom when he pulled away for a moment.  

“Wait, don’t you have a meal waiting for me?” Nate asked, confused, looking behind him. I grabbed him by the chin and gave him a big smile.

“Come upstairs and I’ll make a meal out of your ass,” I said, playfully, remembering how much Nate loved getting his ass eaten.

“You’re the best boyfriend ever,” Nate said, kissing me sweetly on the cheek before we went up the stairs together, the sound of military helicopters gathering in the distance.

[johnnydoe69]

Return?

So as you can guess, times have been tough for me since the pandemic hit.

I'm in a better place now, living with a friend, but getting evicted, my housing insecurity, and my unreliable health care coverage have made it hard to be able to concentrate on writing.

I do have a few projects I'm excited for and one story that should be coming out soon, but I don't know how regular this is going to be.

I'm also taking a break from the Old Wars, New Faces stories. I know a lot of people like them, but there's a lot of lore and it's too much to manage right now.

-Johnny

[mrcavanaughtf]

There is no room in the transformation fiction and art communities for racism.

There is no room in the transformation fiction and art communities for complacency with racism because it’s not happening to you.

To my fellow transformation blogs, writers and artists: it is highly likely that you have a following. Use it for good. Amplify black voices. Link people to places that will educate them. Show people where they can donate or sign petitions. Encourage people to vote. If you have a platform, please use it. Your silence says everything.

If you’re at all offended with me posting about #BlackLivesMatter on my blog or think that politics shouldn’t be discussed on TF blogs then please unfollow me right now. 

If you’re the type to respond to these discussions with #AllLivesMatter or #BlueLivesMatter then please unfollow me right now.

If you’re planning to turn your head and stay silent about what is going on in the world then please unfollow me right now.

[johnnydoe69]

While, I agree with almost everything expressed here I would argue that voting, especially in anti-Black imperialist nations like the uk and us is not going to end anti-Black violence. Capitalism is fueled by the hyper-exploitation of Black people both within imperial states and in African nations and the countries that benefit the most from this are not going to stop unless they are confronted through direct action. 

Statues that have, in some cases, been standing for centuries that have glorified slavery and colonialism are being taken down, the police who have killed and targeted Black people for centuries are having their power ripped away, and murderers who in other circumstances would have been free to commit anti-Black violence are being charged. None of this happened because people voted or waited for the right politicians to vote out the worse ones. 

Only through direct confrontations with racist, imperial states have led to these changes. 

I agree with the rest of the points here as education, giving material support to Black people and bail funds, fighting anti-Blackness in our own communities, and amplifying the voices of Black revolutionaries fighting against the system are extremely important, but so is the knowledge that liberation will not come with a mark on a ballot, but by fighting the financial and political insitutions that rely on anti-Blackness to survive. 

[johnnydoe69]

Old Wars, New Faces Part 5

So, this piece is not the angry one promised earlier. It’s coming, but a little later than first expected. For now, its back to your regular sexy fanfare, though with a a different POV. I hope you enjoy.

Myron stared out at the beach from his shady spot at a nearby tavern. Muscular men in skimpy outfits worked under the intense heat of the early morning sun.

It was April in Mykonos, meaning the sun would only get more forceful and blazing with each passing hour. Despite the lack of shade and protective clothing the men worked with little complaint, setting up what appeared to be a sound stage on the beach.

They never stopped for breaks or even to drink water as they lugged heavy machinery and supports across the sand.

Myron, meanwhile, sat under an umbrella, sipping overpriced drinks while waiting for Paris to arrive. He tried to look as inconspicuous as possible dressing in a plaid button up shirt, cargo shorts, and dockers he could easily slip in and out of. Hidden in his satchel was a small obsidian blade, gifted to him by Aphrodite, Greek goddess of love and his mother. She had told him to lure Paris to a secluded spot on the beach and use the knife to sever his soul from the mortal body he had stolen. If Myron failed, Paris would cause a civil war amongst the gods and throw the world into further chaos. 

Myron had been uncertain at first about the certainty of such predictions, but his mother hadn’t been wrong before. However, until Paris arrived, he was more than satisfied drinking on the beach and watching the beautiful, if strange men at work. 

In the distance there was a car slam and the peeling of warm bubbly laughter coming from the parking lot. Myron took his eyes off the construction crew and turned to face a trio of muscular men traipsing towards the beach. Each one was beautiful, the one in the middle with short blonde hair and big pillow-like lips was obviously the leader. His voice echoed over theirs and they kept their eyes firmly on him and not each other. 

They walked past Myron and to the construction crew. The leader stopped a large burly man, one of the construction crew, and stood on his toes to whisper something in his ear. The man nodded and discreetly nodded in Myron’s direction. 

Myron immediately looked away and fumbled with his satchel trying to make it look like he decided to pull out a book to read instead of staring. He plopped the book down on the table at a random page and did his best not to stare as the three muscular men walked towards him. 

Two of the men turned left and walked to the bar, while the leader bounded to where he was sitting. “Mind if I have a seat here,” the man asked, flashing a warm white smile at Myron.

“No of course, sit.” Myron stumbled, slamming his book shut. 

The man gave a loud sigh and sat across from him, his bubble butt causing the wooden bench to creak as it strained under his weight. 

“As beautiful as it is, the Mykonos sun can grow tiresome at times, don’t you agree” the man asked, wiping sweat off his brow. Every inch of his body was tanned, as if he never spent a day out of the sun, but Myron didn’t say anything. 

The men sat in silence together, until the blonde man’s friends returned bearing two of the same fruity drinks Myron had been sipping. They put one before the man and one before Myron, who tried to refuse, but the man shushed him.

“Don’t you worry, your pretty little head. This drink and any you order from the bar is on me. Is that right, Boris?” The man said, looking over to the bar.

Boris, who stood cleaning shot glasses, gave them an enthusiastic smile and head nod. 

The man turned his attention back to Myron, “Y’know it’s funny. All the time I hear from friends is that the Greeks are such an angry people, but flash some cash their way and everyone’s your friend.”

Myron nodded, staring down at his glass. “Is this your first time visiting Greece?”

The man shook his head and sighed wistfully, “No. I came here once for a wedding, but it didn’t end well.”

He almost seemed saddened for a moment, but his face quickly brightened, “But enough of ancient history, I came to you to offer a business opportunity.”

“Can I get a name along with this business proposal, I just met you,” Myron said, growing agitated. 

“I have a feeling you know more about me than you’re letting on Myron Thoma, son of Dimitri and Aphrodite Pandemos,” the man said, taking a sip of his drink.

Myron scowled outwardly, but was internally charmed at the man’s confidence, “So you must be Paris, then.”

“Well, the mortals here know me as James Wilkersin from Indiana, but yes, I hope to once again become known as Paris. Mostly for branding reasons, I mean who wants to go to a party hosted by some guy with a last name like Wilkersin anyway. The Paris name has so much recognition and positive synergy these days.” 

While Paris spoke, Myron kept his eye on his satchel which sat on the table for Paris to see. The knife was stuffed underneath a beach towel, but considering Paris already knew he was coming, then he probably knew about the knife, Myron reasoned. So he decided to do his best to listen to Paris’s pitch and wait for a lack of witnesses to strike. 

“So, Myron,” Paris said, taking Myron’s hands into his, “How would you like to be a god?”

Myron stifled a laugh, “A god? You may have escaped Hades, but you do not have the kind of power to rival the gods.”

Paris grinned, “Not yet, but in time and with your support we can bring a new golden age to this world. Myron, for millennia I have watched gods and empires rise and fall, great cities reduced to ash, and insignificant villages turned into centers of commerce and culture. Never before have I seen the living exist on such a knife’s edge of drastic change and in this time of conflict, I seek to create a world in my own image. I will create legions of devoted followers and through their love I and a select group of advisors will achieve immortality and rule over them.” 

Paris’s eyes were wild with excitement and his trembling arms radiated pure energy that at once terrified and turned Myron on. His dick got a little hard in his cargo shorts and he was starting to sweat. Myron could almost see Paris becoming a new god of this world, almost. 

Myron took his hands back from Paris’s and shoved them in his pockets, “So you seek to rebuild a new Troy for the one you lost.”

Paris shook his head, his boyish blonde hair covering his eyes, “Of course not. Troy is dead and buried. What I seek to build is something much longer lasting. For example, you’ve noticed the men working out on the beach over there, but have you wondered what they happen to be working on?”

Myron turned his gaze on the men working once more, as Myron concentrated he noticed the promotional material being added, as well as speakers and electric wiring. 

“A little early for a Mykonos beach party, isn’t it?” Myron asked. 

“Of course, this is just a test run, I intend on launching far more beach parties and events during the summer months to gather more followers. Mykonos will just become a base of operations for me.” Paris said, taking another sip of his drink. 

“So, you’re going to buy the love and admiration of humanity through muscle daddies and beach parties?” Myron asked, trying to desperately ignore his rising heartbeat and rising desire to be bent over the table and fucked by Paris. 

“Well, that would help yes, but it’s obvious I know far more about humanity than you do. Now are you okay, Myron, you look a bit flushed?” Paris said with a coy smile. 

“I’m fine, just get on with whatever you’re going to say,” Myron said, trying not to pant like a dog. What the fuck was happening to him, he wondered frantically. 

“Think about it this way, why did you wear Dockers on your outing to the beach?” Paris asked.

Myron shuddered at Paris’s warm and thick voice, “I don’t know they looked nice, so I picked them.”

“No. It’s because you spent years seeing constant images of happy and attractive men wearing those exact same shoes in magazines, billboards, and commercials. They made you feel that if only you bought those shoes you would look just as stylish as they did. However, unlike those ads I intend on giving something much more fulfilling.”

Paris got up from his side of the table and sat directly next to Myron. Myron tried to move even a few inches away, but Paris simply moved closer to him. Paris was hot and sweaty, even in the shade, releasing an intoxicating aroma that made Myron’s dick feel like a clogged hose waiting to burst. 

“Before I left the Underworld, little Myron, I made sure to procure a special box from the queen of the underworld. Inside, was a part of her essence that while deadly to everyday mortals, could bestowed unimaginable beauty and power to those who could wield it.” 

Paris grabbed Myron’s chin with his hand and stared deeply into his eyes, making Myron feel like he would simply melt into the man’s big arms and cold, calculating blue eyes.

“And it is a power that I can bestow lower dosages upon to those who will serve me. Are you ready to take that plunge, Myron, and become stronger than you could ever imagine?” Paris asked, though he already knew the answer. 

Myron nodded enthusiastically, “I’d be honored to join you, Paris, anything for you.” 

Paris smiled and stood up, raising Myron with him. He released Myron’s head from his grip and they waited for Paris’s attendants to arrive and grab the satchel that held his attempted killer’s weapon. 

If Myron wasn’t a son of the goddess of love and beauty Paris would have slain this man himself, but Myron had untapped potential both as a mediator between Paris and Aphrodite and as a seductive force of his own with the right molding. 

With the venue on its way to its first test and his attempted killer as subservient as a dog on a leash, Paris took his attendants and his new pet back to the car. It was going to be a fun few months until the summer began. Then the real work would begin. 

[johnnydoe69]

Old Wars, New Faces Part 4

It had been several weeks since Odysseus/Kevin had started working on the farm. Kevin for his part had never felt more relaxed, his insecurities melted away by the day as confidence and strength coursed through him. Things were changing so drastically and so fast, he was quickly losing sight of who he was. At one point, he had called his parents and told them that he was gay and never coming back to Boston and right as they started screaming, he just hung up the phone. The old Kevin never would have been able to tell his parents off, let alone be in a relationship with another man, but he had done both.

A few days after they got together, Dryas offered to let Odysseus stay with him until he got back on his feet. Odysseus at first was content with finding a solitary cave or a canopy of trees to sleep under, rather than intrude too far into Dryas’s life but Dryas quickly convinced him out of it. It was during this time that Odysseus learned of the primary way Dryas made his money and kept his job on the farm, sex. Dryas was fucking one of the overseer’s sons and in return, if he didn’t piss Markos off too much, he was forgiven for mistakes that would have gotten others fired. Odysseus was fine with this; on his voyages across the Mediterranean his crew would sleep with a prostitute or two if they were in port and Odysseus would have gladly joined in if not for his devotion to his wife. Yet, there was still jealousy in Odysseus’s heart. He didn’t understand why he kept getting rejected by other men and sought Dryas’s insight.

He decided to ask Dryas this, after a passionate night of cuddling and making out. They were both sweaty and satisfied, their naked bodies curled up around each other, as the cool sea air licked their skin.

“Dryas, you always tell me that I’m more attractive than you and yet, you are the one who has men waiting for you. Whenever I flirt with a man they ignore me or threaten to kill me. I know things are different on Kefalonia compared to Ithaki, but I never expected so much hatred and disgust.”

Dryas rested his chin on Odysseus’s shoulder and sighed, “I don’t know what kind of crazy shit they do on Ithaki, but the rest of Greece is simply like this. With how open you’ve been, it’s a miracle you’re not dead. Granted these big muscles are probably a big help.” Dryas gave one of Odysseus’s biceps a tight squeeze.

“A lot of the men I sleep with are closeted. They only meet me through group chats or word of mouth. Most of my business takes place during the Spring and Summer months, when businessmen from the mainland come to escape their wives and gay tourists arrive after not being able to afford the big parties on Mykonos and Santorini. It helps that tourist season is when all the gay bars are open, but for the rest of the year nothing is.”

“Surely, there are other gay meeting spots on Kefalonia than what’s open for tourists?” Odysseus asked.

“Well, there is one place, but its kind of pricey and seedy. I’d probably just stick to online hookups instead,” Dryas said with a yawn.  

“No. That’s too much of a risk. I would rather meet the man in-person first,” Odysseus said firmly. Despite, the time of bliss he spent with Dryas he couldn’t risk being caught off guard by a servant of Paris.

“Alright old man,” Dryas said, rolling his eyes. “There's a small hotel called Odysseus’s Palace, its right off the beach, you can’t miss it. Inside the main lounge is a bar where some of the more well off and older gay Kefalonians like to meet up. I only go when I’m desperate for cash, they tend to be douchebags.” Dryas furrowed his brow and bit his lip, “On second thought, maybe you shouldn’t go to a place like that, Arsenios.

Odysseus moved his meaty arm behind his head to use as a headrest, “I’ve handled far more dangerous places in my lifetime, I’ll be fine.”

Several nights later, Odysseus decided to make his move. He left work late in the evening, took a shower, dressed casually, and texted Dryas letting him know he’d be out. 

There were only a few men at the bar. All of them much older and less attractive than Odysseus hoped. They gawked at his presence like dogs to a piece of meat. Odysseus ordered a round of tequila and was quickly joined by the other men at the bar.

Dryas had been right, the men were wealthy professional types, mostly lawyers and doctors with a handful of retired landowners thrown in. They laughed warmly at Odysseus’s stories of prior hookup attempts and admired both his physical beauty and youth, but then one man asked what he did for a living. When he answered honestly, saying he was a farmhand, the mood in the room suddenly shifted.

They started asking him if he would suck their cocks in the bathroom for 50 euros, or bark like a dog for 70. They asked if he had a pimp or if he was freelance. In another time Odysseus would have stomped their bodies into dust for badgering him about his sex life, but Odysseus feared that the control over his body was only temporary and a massive fist fight could awaken Kevin to the truth.

So instead, he took to ignoring them and slowly they melted away to their own separate corners, grumbling to themselves about how he was being a tease before Odysseus was left alone again.

It was then that Odysseus noticed another young man come to the bar. He was as big as he was, yet far more agile and light on his feet. The man drifted in and out of conversations with ease, his voice shifting so quickly to appeal to a different audience he sounded like a brand new person with every man he interacted with. 

 As the night wore on and most of the men had drifted home the stranger sat next to Odysseus at the bar. “How about a cup of Ouzo for this generous man and a cup for me as well,” the man said to the bartender. A minute later the bartender poured out two cups of white wine.

They both thanked the bartender and the stranger took a sip from his drink.

The man’s twinkling brown eyes glanced into Odysseus's, “From what I’ve heard from the regulars you are quite an interesting man Arsenios. A strongman who can’t get laid, a farm worker who spends his earnings on men who wouldn’t put a euro in a beggar’s cup. Just when I thought I’d be stuck with dull pretentious bastards until the day I died,” the man said with a laugh.

“Funny, I thought the same about you. Coming in two hours before closing, you moved like Hermes himself from one man to another, and despite seeming to not like the men you drink with they seem to trust you very well” Odysseus said, sipping his ouzo. “Though I still don’t have a name to your face.”

The stranger smiled warmly, “My name is Diomedes of Argolis. I'm here on business, not pleasure. This hotel has water damage and I was brought in to access the situation. I came to the bar out of boredom. Not much to do here, but fish and drink is there?

Odysseus cracked a smile, “You’re not completely wrong in that. I’m not from this island either. I’m actually from an island next door, Ithaki.”

“Hmm, I once knew a man who lived on Ithaki. Looked a lot like you actually,” Diomedes said curiously.

“What do you know of this man from Ithaki,” Odysseus asked leaning forward.

“He was a stubborn, arrogant, pain in the ass. Loyal to his friends, cruel to his enemies. He had a massive muscular body just like yours, though I usually remember that egomaniac smeared with olive oil to show off his figure.” Diomedes took a swig of his wine, savoring the taste before continuing.  

“He was a good friend, even when I wanted to kick the fucker’s teeth in. I only wished I did more with him when he was still alive.” Diomedes said with a sigh.

Odysseus nodded. “I’m sorry for your loss. He sounded like a good man.”

Diomedes smiled sadly, “Would you like to come up with me to my room? The neon lights of the bar are starting to give me a splitting headache and my place is only the floor above us.”

Odysseus nodded and they both got up from their stools. Odysseus tried to pay off the combined tab from everyone at the bar, but Diomedes wouldn’t hear a word of it. He simply plopped down his credit card and paid it off before Odysseus could refuse.

Afterwards they walked down the twisting corridors of the hotel to Diomedes’s room. It was a simple hotel room, similar to the motel room Odysseus had been living in with less filth. It was pristine, no swarms of cockroaches or lingering black mold anywhere in sight. When they crossed the threshold, they started making out.

They peeled off their clothes like second skins and embraced on Diomedes’s bed. As Odysseus felt Diomedes's warm tongue down his throat, he recognized the similar buzz of energy that ricocheted from Diomedes’s muscular frame, a buzz very similar to his own. Odysseus didn’t mind this and kept going, pushing Diomedes flat on the bed, and squatting on Diomedes' hard dick. He wheezed at the pain, they hadn’t used lube and there was no substitute in sight, but Odysseus made do.

It was Kevin, who was nearly pushed to the edge of oblivion by Odysseus, who was truly becoming aware of what was happening. His eyes widened at the warm glow that emitted from Diomedes' skin and became aware of the glow that came from his own. When Diomedes opened his eyes, it was full of an ancient knowledge Kevin couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Fear gripped him, sending waves of adrenaline up and down his spine, and yet this only made him grind deeper and faster on Diomedes’s dick, moaning harder and louder with every panicked thought.

Eventually, Diomedes came hard inside Odysseus/Kevin coating their insides with cum. Odysseus slowly raised himself off Diomedes’s dick, while furiously pulling at his own. Diomedes after taking a short breath, took Odysseus’s hand off his dick and massaged himself, using his thick fingers to coax the semen out of Odysseus’s hard dick and onto Diomedes’s flat stomach.

Then Odysseus collapsed onto the bed, both men panting heavily. After a few minutes of rest, they wiped themselves off and fell asleep. Both slept well into the night, even as Kevin’s brain raced at the possibilities at what was happening. Had the glowing been an illusion? A trick of the light? Did this man have something to do with the drastic changes to his body and attitude?

When Odysseus finally woke up the next morning, Diomedes was already out of bed and in the bathroom. Still exhausted from the night before, Odysseus staid in bed and stared out at Diomedes. If it was one of his enemies, Odysseus would have been dead already, but the stranger hadn’t revealed his identity divine to him earlier.

Diomedes caught him staring from his reflection in the mirror, “Before we had sex, did you really think I was some silly young twunk working a simple insurance claim?”

Odysseus laughed. “I suspected, but I wasn’t sure. Now who are you really?”

“I wasn’t lying when I told you I was Diomedes of Argolis,” Diomedes said turning on the faucet and washing his face.

“And that friend of yours that you spent all night insulting was supposed to me, right?” Odysseus asked, rolling his eyes. Diomedes didn’t answer so Odysseus continued, “Everyone in this country names their children after heroes and gods. Is Diomedes the name of the body you inhabit or was that by choice?”

Kevin squirmed internally, confused and terrified at the strange words leaving his lips. He tried to exert control over his own body, only to find he had none. Odysseus sighed.

“This is my own form, Odysseus. Purely immortal. Though, not enough to enjoy on Mt. Olympus it seems.” He said, taking out a toothbrush and cleaning his teeth.

“Your worship did fade out when the Romans lost interest in you” Odysseus said, trying to ignore Kevin twisting against his will.

“And my name was never as venerated as yours, hero of the Odyssey,” Diomedes said spitefully. 

Diomedes was the wisest of the men fighting Troy and yet strangely to Odysseus one of the heroes least mentioned in the mortal world. It was strange that such a hero could be largely forgotten. 

“Why didn’t you reveal yourself earlier to me at the bar?” Odysseus asked, sitting upright in the bed, arms crossed over his powerful chest.

“You were never as sly as people seemed to think you were. Or have you picked up the manners of your American body?” Diomedes asked.

“Honestly, I don’t know. It's strange being in another man’s body like this. It feels like mine and yet, completely alien to me.” Odysseus said looking at his hands. They were big, but nowhere as large as the mitts he had used to string a bow with. 

“But you didn’t answer my question.” Odysseus said. Diomedes gave his arms a casual flex in the mirror before returning to his bed and sitting next to Odysseus. 

 “Well, since you were honest, I have to say that as blissful as the Isle of Pleasure was, I was bored. My worship never recovered when my hero cult fell into obscurity and who knew how much time was left before my soul faded as well. Might as well come back and make a name for myself.” Diomedes got back off the bed and went to a dresser, pulling on a long-sleeved shirt and undoing the wrapped towel, letting it fall to his ankles.

“Besides, where would you lot be without me? Probably pissing yourselves outside the walls of Paris’s villa,” Diomedes said, pulling out a jock strap and a pair of jeans.

“Lot? There are more of us coming?” Odysseus asked, leaning on his side.

“Yep. Not much of a war with only 2 people, is it?” Diomedes asked, putting on his jock strap.

“You know where Paris is?” Odysseus asked. 

“Yeah, that guy does not keep a low profile. Here’s his Instagram account,” Diomedes said, tossing Odysseus his phone. Odysseus caught it with one hand and had a look.

 “He’s utterly defenseless,” Odysseus said, getting up from the bed.

“What you don't see is all the security cameras, bulletproof windows, and the fact that he is constantly surrounded by people who would die to defend him. You don't need to wear armor as obviously as we dod in the old days,” Diomedes said, pulling a tight pair of jeans over his legs and ass.

Odysseus paced around Diomedes' bedroom; his dick stuck hard to his thigh. “You’re right, we need allies and weapons. It would help if we could locate some of the other heroes back from the Underworld to aid us. Then we’d have a chance.”

“Well, I found you dumbass. It shouldn’t be hard to find some of the others. Not that I’ve been looking very hard,” Diomedes said, sitting back on the bed.

“Hey,” Odysseus said, dropping his phone back in Diomedes’s lap.

“Oh what? Don’t act like you haven’t been enjoying your time with mortals either,” Diomedes said. Kevin continue to struggle against Odysseus’s power, exhausting him to the point that after a few minutes of pacing Odysseus had to already sit back down.

“Yeah, I think the mortal whose body I picked up is becoming aware of my presence,” Odysseus said, panting.

Diomedes nodded. “Give yourself time to readjust. If you haven’t already, try giving the man whose body you inhabit a different personality to enjoy.”

“What does that mean?” Odysseus asked.

“You already call yourself, Arsenios. I’m guessing different than the body’s original name, try creating a persona for that. In that way you can cross into autopilot when you need, without worrying about internal resistance. It will be hard, but I know you can manage it.” Diomedes said, “Now get up, I have work in a few hours and I’m sure you have other places to be as well.”

Odysseus nodded and got out of bed, giving Kevin an internal kick, quieting him enough so Odysseus would have enough strength to get home. Things would be hard, Odysseus grimaced, but he could manage. A thought that made Kevin internally scream with rage.

[johnnydoe69]

Old Wars, New Faces Part 3

For weeks, Odysseus goaded Kevin through a rigid exercise program. As his body grew stronger, Odysseus pushed Kevin to accept more rigorous training methods; boulders stacked on carts that had to be carried up and down a hill, scaling the tallest of trees, and using what he knew of hand-to-hand combat to build up Kevin’s reflexes and muscle memory. Odysseus was hesitant to train Kevin in the art of archery or sword fighting, because as confident as Odysseus was in his own power, he was still afraid that too many out of character changes would shock Kevin into questioning what was happening and lead him to fight back violently. His mission was too important to let a simple mistake end his journey before it could even begin. 

For Kevin’s part he was deeply enjoying the changes, watching as his body ballooned to body builder status in the time it usually took to only put on a pound or two of weight. He was more energized than he had ever been and his reputation in town was no longer one of disgust, but of curiosity. Under the persistence of Odysseus, Kevin quickly adapted to the modern Greek language and tried to limit his English where he could. When his pronunciation was perfected, people forgot about the strange American tourist with an obsession with the old stories and began to wonder where this massive Greek man came from. 

However, as Odysseus worked on Kevin’s mind and body, he had neglected Kevin’s finances. One day he jogged up the stairs to his apartment to find an eviction notice taped to his door. Odysseus had never had to worry about money when he was a king and even in disguise, hospitality rules commanded people to open their doors to all who came to them. However, when Odysseus tried to offer his help around the motel in exchange for being allowed to stay, he was refused and told he had two weeks to vacate his room. 

Later in the day, he asked around the neighborhood looking for jobs, but many people couldn’t afford to hire someone at the tail end of the tourist season. Eventually though, he was able to find a woman who worked at a nearby farm where they were still looking for workers and who drove the carpool for people in town. The job was for 3 euros an hour collecting olives, killing weeds, and cutting vines. He would have been paid more, but Kevin didn’t have the legal papers needed to work legally as a non-EU citizen and the farm only took on undocumented workers if they agreed to get paid less than minimum wage. 

After three days of grueling work in the olive groves, Odysseus and Kevin first met Dryas. Odysseus was high in an olive tree cutting down branches when he heard the deep booming voice of his boss Markos screaming nearby. Markos was known as a terror of the vineyard, docking pay for smelling of cigarette smoke after breaks or taking too long in getting back to work. Odysseus knew if Markos screamed at him for any bullshit he would strangle the bastard, so he was relieved when Markos stomped right past him to the olive tree on his right. 

“Dryas!” Markos yelled at the foot of the tree. “One of the managers caught you coming into work nineteen minutes late, what could you find that was more important than doing your job?”

Dryas came down the ladder in a black t-shirt, ugly grey sweatpants, and a smock all the farm workers had tied around his waist. 

“Nothing Markos, that’s why I took my time coming here. I figured it was better to be well-rested in time for my shift rather than exhausted sprinting here so I could have the energy needed to be more productive.” He said with a shrug. 

Markos fumed and turned a bright red, “Listen to me you arrogant little shit. I can fire you and replace you with a homeless man who will work for pennies. I decide what you need in order to be more efficient at work, not you.”

“But look at how many olives I managed to collect in the few minutes it took for you to get here,” Dryas said, gesturing to the nearly full bushel of olives next to him. 

Markos peered inside and some of the red coloring left his face, leaving his cheeks a flushed pink. He glared back at Dryas, “Just get back to work, but if you ever so much as show up a minute late I will have you fired. Do you understand?”

Dryas nodded, “Perfectly.” He said with false sincerity. 

Markos grumbled and stormed off, a string of obscenities following him as he left. Dryas watched Markos go and when he was finally out of distance began laughing. It was then that he reached into the bushel and pulled out several pairs of folded clothing and someone’s work boots. Only the top layer of the bushel was covered in olives and without the clothes adding to the volume of the barrel it was practically empty. 

Odysseus laughed as he descended the ladder, “Your cleverness easily surpasses mine Dryas. What’s your surname?”

Dryas first looked at Odysseus startled, but then quickly relaxed.

“My name’s Dryas Morata and I always appreciate a loving audience.” He said with a bow. “So what’s your name big man, or are you going to remain mysterious to everyone?”

Now it was time for Odysseus to be startled. He had avoided telling most people Kevin’s name as it immediately pegged him as a foreigner, but he knew Kevin still struggled with using the fake name as his own. 

“Arsenios Xevros”  Odysseus said flatly, trying not to let the fear seep through. He felt Kevin rumble with confusion inside him, as he didn’t seem to understand why he wasn’t using his own name.

“Hmm” Dryas said. “Not many Kefalonians have that surname. Where is your family from, exactly?” he asked, hands on his hips.

“Ithaki” Odysseus said confidently, staring directly into Dryas’s small green eyes.

Dryas nodded. “Beautiful place Ithaki. Not too many people though.” He said, bringing his stand directly next to Odysseus so they could work on the same tree. Odysseus and Dryas then climbed their ladders together and went back to work, but continued their conversation. 

 “So what brings you to this little slice of hell?” Dryas asked, dropping an olive into his bushel. “Being surrounded by nothing but goats and fish get boring for you?” he asked. 

Odysseus felt his blood boil, he knew the extreme disrepair that had fallen upon his island home, but did his best to stifle his pride and rage and kept working. 

“I’m here to find a man, but I need some money first before I can go find him.” Odysseus said dropping two olives into his barrel. 

Dryas laughed. “Aren’t we all, big man, aren’t we all?” Odysseus noticed Dryas’s voice was very high-pitched and feminine, very different from most of the men on the island who did their best to masculinize theirs. His skin was smooth and largely hairless, except for the short well kept brown-blonde hair on his head. The only thing that showed wear on Dryas’s body was his knuckles, covered in blisters and deep cracks, possibly from a lifetime of working in the fields. 

It was while they were talking that Odysseus had an image of Dryas, clothed in only his underwear and leaning against an olive tree. 

Odysseus hadn’t been with anyone besides his wife, Penelope. He had devoted himself to her, cherished her, but it had been so long in the land of the dead that they felt anything but coldness for each other, not in mind but in body. Even, with their souls in paradise her skin felt like ice against his skin and lips like sandpaper. 

Internally, Kevin tried to shake the thoughts of Dryas away in a way that shocked Odysseus. Odysseus knew the body he inhabited was one sexually attracted to men, yet Kevin resisted, bringing to mind beatings and mockery he had suffered from for just looking or sounding too gay or effeminate, let alone having sex with a man. 

Odysseus agreed not to push his desires to calm Kevin down and for the next few weeks, he kept his attraction to Dryas a secret. 

Despite the strange looks they received from time to time they spent most of their time together laughing and talking. Of course, when they were warned that Markos or another manager was near they moved to separate trees, but when everyone relaxed they would move their tree stands back next to each other again.  

Dryas turned out to be of immense help in teaching Odysseus about the current state of the world. It was Dryas who explained to Odysseus that their jobs were only temporary, when the olive picking season ended in a few months, everyone was getting laid off- save for those who had been on the farm for years, like Markos. 

“What will you do when the season ends?” Odysseus had asked while cutting down vines. His overalls were tight and squeezed his crotched. He was down to using donated clothes from the local Christians, as most of what he had no longer fit his massive size and no one wanted to buy Kevin’s ugly clothes. Dryas was more comfortable, in tight jeans and a white t-shirt stained with olive oil. 

“I’ll just go back to performing odd jobs, same as everyone else. Then when Spring comes around and the locusts return all the resorts, taverns, cafés, and restaurants will open their doors for us to flock back in.”

Odysseus frowned at this and kept cutting. When Odysseus was king the vast majority of his people worked the same profession and the same land their family worked for centuries. The idea of constantly moving to new jobs, of constantly being displaced without any certainty of a roof over one’s head or food in their stomach confused him deeply and he had to take a break.

Odysseus left Dryas and walked to the equipment shed. Once inside he took to a small seat by the window and leaned his head against one of the wooden walls. At least in the shed Odysseus wouldn’t get yelled at for missing work. 

A few minutes later Dryas entered, but jumped when he saw Odysseus. 

“Shit. I didn't know you were going to be in here.” Dryas said. He walked deeper into the small, narrow shed and reached for a bottle of weed killer on a high shelf. Kevin’s anxieties immediately began to overwhelm Odysseus as his mind became awash with the potential consequences of being alone in a small space with Dryas. Dryas’s body was slick with sweat, his shirt and apron clinging to his back, showing his hard slender back.  

So Odysseus stood up to leave. “I’ll just see you back at the tree.” he said. 

Odysseus tried to move past Dryas, but his large frame and the small space made it impossible to move without touching him. With Odysseus’s waist up against Dryas’s strong high ass, his dick immediately got hard, stretching against the fabric. Odysseus grimaced and did his best to pull away, desperately hoping Dryas didn’t notice his dick riding up against Dryas’s ass.  

Once Odysseus made it to the door, Dryas turned to him, “You don’t have to go Arsenios. If you lock the door behind you we can have a few minutes to ourselves before we have to go back out.” 

Odysseus and Kevin stared at the door, both uncertain as to what to do, but eventually one of them took the initiative and locked the door. Dryas smiled and ran into Odysseus’s arms and began making out with him. Odysseus’s body reacted naturally, settling into a comfortable rhythm with Dryas.  The space in Odysseus’s overalls for his cock evaporated and he quickly unbuttoned his overalls from under his smock and allowed them to drop to the floor. 

Dryas’s tongue was steady and warm in Odysseus’s mouth making smooth, steady motions inside of him. Despite being much smaller Dryas pushed Odysseus up against the work table and was the first one to grab Odysseus’s dick through his pants. Odysseus pulled back from kissing and moaned as Dryas rubbed it.

“As good as this feels” Dryas whispered, “Try to keep quiet. We could both lose our jobs.” Odysseus meekly nodded and they went back to making out. 

Up against the table Odysseus decided to keep improvising and shoved all the gardening equipment and bags of seeds to the floor. Dryas laughed, “We’re going to get in so much trouble,” but gladly let himself get lifted up by Odysseus onto the table. Dryas undid his smock as Odysseus undid his and they both threw them to the chair Odysseus had been sitting in. 

Dryas wrapped his legs around Odysseus's waist, his ass against Odysseus’s hard dick. Odysseus kicked off his boots and pulled down his pants and underwear. Dryas released his grip on Odysseus’s thighs, letting the clothes drop to the floor. 

Odysseus climbed on the table with Dryas and slowly peeled back Dryas’s pants and underwear as Dryas kicked off his muddy boots. Odysseus went to flip Dryas on his back, but Dryas stopped him. 

“Before you do that, grab a bottle of olive oil above your head to use as lube. My ass can take a lot, but a thick cock in my ass still hurts without lube.”

Odysseus nodded and while Dryas laid down flat on his stomach, Odysseus grabbed the bottle, uncorked it and began rubbing oil on himself. The olive oil felt good going up and down his thirsty cock. Then Odysseus massaged the oil onto Dryas’s wide ass cheeks and deep in his hole, making Dryas moan with pleasure. Odysseus shoved his dick inside Dryas and started fucking him. Dryas arched his back like a cat as Odysseus pounded away, all the fear about repercussions and violence melting away. Even Kevin, started to relax at this, still terrified and confused at what was happening, but enjoying the deep fucking he was doing to Dryas’s hole.

When they finished, Dryas and Odysseus laid flat on the table that shuddered under their weight. “To think, I actually thought you were straight,” Dryas said, laughing. He kissed Odysseus’s ear, “I’m so happy I was wrong.”

“Am I your first?” Odysseus asked with a grin and Dryas playfully rolled his eyes. 

“I wish. The first boy I ever had sex with was with a German businessman on a pier.” Dryas sighed contently and curled into the crook of Odysseus’s muscular arm, “This is much nicer, even if it was on a rickety piece of shit table.”

“Oh, don’t hate the table. It was able to handle all our fucking, wasn’t it?” Odysseus asked.

Dryas nodded sleepily, “Yeah, it did somehow.”

Odysseus wanted to bask in this moment for as long as possible, but knew anyone could come knocking on the door and demand to be let in. 

Odysseus rolled off the table and stood up, “C’mon, Dryas, let’s go.”

Dryas moaned, “Fuck, can’t we stay here a few more minutes?”

“No, we have at least another hour or so and who knows when Markos is coming back.” Odysseus shrugged on his work shirt and Dryas sat up on the table, staring at Odysseus with glazed eyes. 

“Are you like a god or something?” Dryas asked and Odysseus froze. He had no plan for what to do if any mortal saw through him. Would Dryas cower? Run away? Try to kill him?

Dryas yawned, “Because honestly, I get fucked all the time and that was the best sex I ever had. Even with all the cum in my ass and the fact we didn’t use protection I still want to do that again.” 

Odysseus sighed with relief and got back to pulling up his clothes. Dryas joined him and once they had wiped themselves up, they got to work cleaning up the shed. They put the bags of fertilizer and seeds back on the tables, put the tools back on their hooks, and hid the half-used bottle of olive oil in a small alcove in the shed. They could dispose of that later. 

They decided to leave separately, first Odysseus who had been gone a long time already and then Dryas. 

On his way back to the olive grove as the sun began to set Odysseus felt a sense of calm and joy he hadn’t felt in millennia. As he felt the warmth against his skin as he walked, Odysseus remembered that this time of peace would not last. War was coming whether he would like it or not, but for that moment Odysseus allowed himself to enjoy the sun and the memory of sex with Dryas. Kevin remained conflicted about the experience, terrified about the repercussions, but feeling a sense of joy and contentment that he had never felt before. Whatever repercussion coming his way couldn’t take that from him. 

[johnnydoe69]

Old Wars, New Faces Part 2

Kevin woke up confused and naked. He didn’t remember coming home, he didn’t remember how he ended up nude in his bed, and he didn’t remember when he ate all his leftovers. Yet, despite the holes in his memory Kevin felt better than he had in months, energized even. He sprung out of bed and went to the bathroom to wash his face. Looking in the mirror, he even looked healthier, the dark circles under his eyes were gone and his face was free of blemishes. 

While Kevin admired his changed face, Odysseus felt the immediate change in Kevin’s mind and realized he needed to act fast before Kevin started asking too many questions. He was still getting acquainted to Kevin’s body and mind and Odysseus didn’t have enough strength to take either over yet. So Odysseus decided to distract the boy with tasks that could benefit both of them. Odysseus suggested that Kevin could use this new strength to clean his room and get his life in order.

Kevin, unaware of Odysseus’s presence, believed the thought had come from his own head and did as Odysseus asked. He gathered everything that could be thrown away in trash bags and organized and everything that could be saved. Kevin was left with two garbage bags worth of trash and Odysseus pushed Kevin to make an exercise of it, jogging down the three flights of stairs and down the driveway to deposit the trash and then jogging the full way back up. Kevin first immediately shot down the idea, he got exhausted just walking upstairs let alone jogging, but Odysseus pushed harder and eventually Kevin gave in. 

Kevin put on his usual dress shirt and cargo pants and left his apartment with trash bags in both hands. Odysseus missed the days where he could use his own body to carry boulders and logs on his shoulders, up and down the hills of Ithaca, but he knew he had to be patient. Even with the added energy, Kevin struggled with the bags, panting and sweating heavily as he made his way down the stairs. Odysseus tried to push him faster down the stairs, but Kevin would freeze up anytime one of the fellow renters came near him. He would slow his pace, limit his breathing, and keep his eyes on the floor rather than risk seeing disgust or pity in their eyes. 

By the time Kevin had thrown his trash into a nearby dumpster, he was exhausted and disheartened. Odysseus didn’t prod Kevin to push himself harder on the run upstairs, allowing Kevin to take breaks and not chiding him for mistakes. Odysseus, not sure if the body’s weakness came from his body or his insecurity asked Kevin to take a shower. Kevin agreed with little pressure, shrugging off his already sweaty clothes and getting in the bathroom.

When Odysseus was king, he knew that while he was bathed in the finest perfumes and sweet smelling herbs, that most people made do with animal fat and a nearby river or ocean current. So at first Odysseus was a little giddy at the idea of taking a shower with warm water from overhead and packaged soap, but Kevin was not living the life of a king. The shower head was covered in brown rust and dripped a slow stream of tepid water onto Odysseus. The many soaps Odysseus had learned about were more luxurious than Kevin could afford. Kevin had taken to using soap meant for dirty dishes and rags. 

While Odysseus was distracted with the disgusting nature of Kevin’s bathing arrangements, Kevin began to notice as he applied dish soap on himself that his pecs had gotten bigger, at least by a few inches. The more he soaped himself up, the more toned muscle he found on his body. Kevin was only this fit when he was on the track team in highschool, and even then, those muscles had taken months of hard work and dieting to form. Not to mention the fact that the muscle that did form, felt nothing like runner's muscles, but something closer to a burgeoning bodybuilder, thicker and heavier than what would do a runner good on the field. 

Odysseus was able to pull his mind away from his disgust and notice the new changes on Kevin’s body as well. The changes were happening far quicker than he anticipated and it was obvious that Kevin’s poor performance on the stairs was more from an intense feeling of shame than anything else. He made it his plan to keep Kevin’s work on his body away from people, far in the hills and away from judgemental eyes that could hurt Kevin’s growth. 

After Kevin had gotten out of the shower, dried off, and gotten dressed he decided to order in for his first meal of the day. He ordered from a nearby deli to have some gyro wraps delivered and lay on his bed to wait.

 When the delivery boy arrived, Odysseus tried to get Kevin to speak Greek, only to find that despite living in the country for almost a year Kevin only knew basic phrases. The delivery boy did his best to accept Kevin’s mangled speech and tried to answer in his best English, but it just led to the both of them getting more confused until Kevin gave up and just gave the kid his money. 

The delivery boy smiled awkwardly and left Kevin with his food, which Kevin immediately dug into. After Kevin devoured the meal, Odysseus went to work trying to convince Kevin to go back to the hill to hike and work out. Kevin was concerned about the possibility of being seen and mocked by the people who lived nearby and Odysseus couldn’t dismiss that as a possibility, but he reasoned that everybody started somewhere and as long as he didn’t get in anyone’s way he should be fine. 

So Kevin set out for the hill once more, but this time decided to dress for the weather, putting on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. He didn’t go as far to the ruined temple this time, only a few hundred feet away from the main road. There was a small rocky area that Kevin could work out in peace, without being too afraid of smacking into a tree or boulder. 

Still anxious about the whole experience, he started with a few simple stretches. Kevin kept his eye out for anyone who might have wandered too close and as much as Odysseus wanted Kevin to stay calm and focus on the workout, he couldn’t help but be vigilant for danger as well. Now would have been the perfect time for Paris to strike him down, while he was defenseless and in a weakened state. 

Despite the paranoia Odysseus allowed himself to lean into control of Kevin’s body as he went through his exercises. Kevin did not realize he was losing control as he developed a groove with his workout. 

Odysseus did a few pushups, feeling the strain of the muscle and the pain of his firsts on dirt and rock reminding him of the joys of being alive. After Odysseus did some work doing pull ups on a nearby tree branch, struggling after a few reps, but pushing through to 20. When he finished with that he got to jogging up and down the hill, making motions to weave between boulders, dodge low-low hanging branches, and jump over shrubs and roots. 

His body quickly adjusted to the workout, slow at first but gaining speed and agility as Odysseus got a better hold on it. He even took to doing some exercises that Kevin wouldn’t have even thought of doing, pushing himself into a handstand and teetering to a nearby tree a few feet away. He did this a few times, his arms shaking heavily and threatening to snap, but Odysseus kept going until he was satisfied. 

By the time he was finished, he let Kevin back into full control of his body, sweaty and wheezing, but significantly stronger than before the workout. He dragged himself back to the motel, still tired but feeling better after the walk back. The manager at the front desk raised an eyebrow to Kevin as he realized the American looked far larger than he did the day before. Was it possible that this man was the same frail and out of place tourist who had checked in months before?

Kevin ignored him and walked back to his room, making it up the three flights of stairs and collapsing in his bed. He hadn’t even realized that Odysseus had him take off his shirt, mid-workout, so he was just walking around with his bare chest exposed. Odysseus, exhausted as well, took pride in the work he had put this body through, but this was just the beginning.

[johnnydoe69]

Old Wars, New Faces Part 1

When Kevin first booked his flight to Athens he thought he would finally get inspiration for his novel. Four years as an English major and two spent working on his MFA had gotten him nowhere, but in Greece, the land whose stories of gods and heroes pushed him to want to be a writer in the first place was going to be different. 

He went to Cephalonia, an island off the mainland Greek coast. Lacking the funds for an apartment in the main port city, he took to renting out a small motel room that sat on the edge of a rural village. With no car and no decent public transportation to take him to any place of interest, he spent his time reading the classics. Reading night and day the works of Plato, Hesiod, Aristophanes, and Euripides; Kevin hoped that he could find inspiration for his own writing or to find a reason to justify his continued stay there. His parents had stopped sending him money months ago, the manager at the motel was threatening to evict him, and the tourism season had ended taking with it all the jobs. 

So one night, sick of his crumbling bedroom and the constant reminders of his life’s choices he took a pen and some paper and set out into the nearby hills. He spent an hour pushing through the brush until he came upon a small clearing. Lined by broken stone columns wrapped with vines, it appeared to be an ancient temple, but of what god Kevin did not know. There were no engravings he could read or statues he could use to make an educated guess. There was only a stone altar that overlooked the sea. 

Kevin entered this space with his head bowed. He did not know how he had managed to stumble upon this place, but felt honored that he might have been the first to enter it in centuries. How many people had walked past this spot and missed this temple completely he wondered as he walked to the altar.

There was only a thin layer of leaves and dirt on the altar’s surface which Kevin was easily able to wipe away. When the altar looked clean, Kevin sat before it with his legs crossed figuring that if he was ever going to write it would be there. As he tried to write, simply putting down whatever came to him Kevin felt a strange warm sensation curl around his legs and feet. Terrified of losing momentum in his writing, Kevin ignored it, even as the energy bound itself to his lower appendages and moved upward, forcing its way into his torso and dick.

Kevin yelped with confusion, pleasure and pain. He tried to stand, but his lower half was stuck to the ground. He reached out for the altar, trying to use it to stand, but the energy had wrapped itself around his hands and fingers, making them curl back against his own will. He screamed, but soon the energy inserted itself into his head and he lost consciousness, crashing into the dirt. 

A few minutes later, Kevin’s eyes snapped open but it wasn’t Kevin who saw through them. 

Odysseus took in his surroundings. He was lying face down in a patch of grass and dirt. The sound of ocean waves crashing against the shore and the smell of cold sea air told him he was near the coast. He pulled himself off the ground and wiped the dirt off his face. 

Noticing the stone altar in an empty field by the sea, Odysseus chuckled. Of all temples he found a vessel in, it had to be one devoted to Poseidon.

 At the very least he could admire how far the sea god’s worship had fallen on the wayside since he was gone. His altar was without sacrifices, what was probably a floor of stone or marble was now dirt, and what remained of the building itself was the sturdiest and ugliest of columns. 

Odysseus made a mental note to offer a fresh goat to Poseidon when he got the chance, if not out of respect, than out of pity for the old god. Curious as to how much control he had over this new body, he made a fist. His new fingers strained with the pressure he had placed in his palms and he let go. Odysseus wondered if this body had ever gotten into a fight in its life, its hands were free of all calluses or scars. It would be a challenge to make this body battle ready and there was no telling how long he had until that rat Paris found and killed him. 

He shook his head, he could look over the body later, he first had to make it to shelter and food. His journey from the Underworld and the energy needed to inhabit a body left him famished and exhausted. Odysseus scanned the boy’s memories for his home and learned it was only a few hundred feet away at a nearby inn. No one would trouble him, as people did not seem to hold this boy with much regard, giving more than enough time to adapt to the living world. 

Still unsure of his control over the body, Odysseus took a tentative step forward, half-expecting the boy’s soul to fight back. Instead, his foot simply landed on solid ground. Satisfied, he made his way through the woods and down the hill. 

He came upon a road and walked along it until he came upon the inn, a small building with peeling yellow paint, surrounded by desert plants. Odysseus entered the building, partially expecting trouble from a servant of Paris, or possibly Aphrodite, only to find a man asleep at a desk. He walked past him, a little disappointed at the lack of action, but happy that he wouldn’t have to fight with such a weak body. He came to the staircase and scaled it with ease. The power of Odysseus surged through Kevin’s body, allowing Odysseus to make it to the 3rd floor without breaking a sweat.  It was then that Odysseus let his body move on memory. He reached into his pocket and took out a key before going to the last door in the hallway. He used the key to open the door, but before he could enter Odysseus was shocked out of muscle memory by a rancid smell coming from inside. 

Odysseus gagged and had to take a step back. The hideous stench escaping the boy’s room made him nostalgic for the swineherd’s hovel, at least that man had the good sense not to keep pigs in his home. Not willing to sleep outside in the open, Odysseus forced himself inside. It was a small narrow space with only a bed chamber, a washing room, and a balcony. 

Containers of strange greasy food sat rotting on the tables, while books and papers lay scattered all over the floor. The bed wasn’t much better, free of most books and food, but covered in strange stains and crumpled up pieces of paper. Odysseus wanted to fling the filth from the balcony, but he was too exhausted and overwhelmed by intense hunger to do so. He moved to the disgusting containers of food and began eating. 

He dug into what was left, choking down charred souvlaki, soggy gyros, and cakes so sweet they made his teeth ache. By the time he was done, the room was only a little less messy in that some of the trash was now in his stomach. 

Disgusted, Odysseus climbed into the bed. He flung off all his clothes into a pile and kicked the blanket with all its papers, pens and what he hoped were not cum stained rags to the floor. Odysseus then closed his eyes and allowed Kevin’s memories and the 2,500 years of history to flow through him. By the time he woke he would have plenty of information to consume Kevin’s life and get on with killing Paris.