Hi. Love your work. It’s my Birthday today. Any chance of a story turning me into a younger, cigar smoking jock from my 40 year old white collar suburban everyday 9-5.
love your work even if not :)
You open the door, startled by such a forceful knock at this time of the day. Looking around, you see nobody anywhere nearby, if anything, an unnerving quiet had fallen over your neighborhood as if you were the only one around for a mile. Just as you were preparing to shut the door and return to whatever you were doing, you feel the tip of your toe hit something as you retreat back into your home. Looking down, a small package in nondescript brown packaging sat ominously at your feet.
No label, no return address, nothing. It was your birthday, so you thought to yourself that perhaps one of your neighbors was being kind and wanted to do something nice for a change. You pick up the box and gently shake it. Something loose inside of it rattles about, clearly not heavy, nor breakable. You take the box inside, sitting down onto the couch and begin to tear the brown paper from it. Atop the taped cardboard box, a small note was attached.
"Happy Birthday. Hopefully this brings you memories of a simpler time. Enjoy." The letter was unsigned, written in inhuman, clear lettering. Intrigued, you open the box. Inside, rolling around was a single cigar. You pick it up, feeling the smooth cylinder glide between your fingers. Smiling, you light it up, ready to unwind for just a moment. It is your birthday after all.
Taking one deep drag, you lean back into the sofa, exhaling a huge cloud of thick tobacco smoke. The cigar tastes funky, salty almost. The unexpected flavor takes you aback for a moment, though even stopping for one moment made you crave one more drag. Bringing it to your lips, you take another inhale, feeling your chest rise and fall as the cloud escapes your lips. The cigar feels at home between your lips as they plump up and stubble begins to crawl down from your sharpening jaw to your chest.
You rub your itching pecs as they begin to grow, your shoulders widen and square out with thick deltoids and traps. You take another drag. The sensation of smoke flows deep into you, coursing through your veins, filling your expanding biceps and rock hard forearms. Between your callousing fingers, worn from hard labor and barbell scratches, you roll your cigar and savor the newfound vitality which overwhelms your thickening muscles.
You slide your pants off as your quads inflate, setting off a stirring in your groin. Your balls grow heavy and pendulous, filled with thick, juicy, potent seed. Pre begins to leak out of the lengthening shaft, your new funky musk wafting from your damp pits and sweaty balls drives you wild as you begin to paw at your rock hard bulge. Slipping your increasingly moist boxers off, your 11" cock slams against your cum gutters throbbing with each burst of muscle growth in your calves. Taking it in your hand, you beat your musty donkey dick as you feel your toes strain against the confines of your socks, sweat pouring into the cotton fibers before the loud tearing sounds of the fabric giving way notate their inevitable demise.
You stroke faster and harder, your balls swinging and jumping with every tug of the meaty member. Your slick cockhead slipping in and out of the sticky foreskin inches you closer and closer until you can't contain yourself any longer. With one final slamming down of your fist onto your groin, ropes of sticky, thick cum shoot out of your cock like a geyser. Every shot your face grows younger, fuller, sharper. Your brows fall downward into a permanently furrowed look as your hair curls wildly, becoming a sweaty mop atop your chiseled skull.
Breathing out, you exhale the last remnants of yourself. Sitting there, covered in your own splooge, you chuckle to yourself as you rub the baby batter into your skin. You crack your toe knuckles and jump up, slipping on your favorite pair of Wrangler jeans and your ripe Timberland boots. Being sure not to forget your gifted cigar, you sauntered out the door, looking to find a good time to make your perfect birthday complete.
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Candy: Here's your birthday card.
Nathaniel: Aw, thanks, love.
Nathaniel:
Nathaniel: Did you write "ahsdjsksdbsk ily" ?
Candy: And I meant every word.
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Sexy Ray Toro Dream: Happy Birthday King
I was on a couch with Ray, we were just friends at the start of this, he was taking up way more of the couch space than he should’ve, considering we’re both big, but he wanted to lay against me so I was fine with it. He wanted me to read a short story that was initially on bar napkins but eventually became an ancient newspaper clipping, it was a short story with three riddles in it and as we were both reading it he got closer and closer and my hand was stroking his upper back and I began kissing his upper arm, noting the freckles there, eventually his mouth latched onto the side of my neck, just below my ear, and he just sucked at it gently, while I was still trying to read. Shit like that drives me insane, especially if someone is behind me, I just, mmph, anyway. I just laid there, squirming and moaning just from his mouth on that small bit of skin, and he started kissing more of me and called me a stack of pillows, so comfy, and I rolled underneath him so he was fully on top of me, and I could graze my teeth against -his- neck, I licked against his pulse and I could feel his hips roll down against mine and it was fucking Heaven, eventually I held the back of his head, my fist in his hair and dragged my lips over his and he buckled, moans ripped from his throat like he couldn’t help it and then it was just surges of lightning, fully surrendered to teeth, lips and tongue. My hips rolling up to meet his.
And then I woke up because my brain is cruel. I’ll never recover from this and I need a shower
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