Date: Fri, 20 Jun 2003 02:47:20 +0000 From: Tony Ryan Subject: Conversions This story belongs to me, please ask first before distributing or archiving. I have the copyright. This is all fiction and is not even remotely based on real life. I intend to make this a multi-chapter series, with various relationships (some incestuous, some not, some straight, some bi, some gay). Please give me your feedback if you want to see another chapter. Please. -- Fissures and cracks develop in any long-term relationship. The question is how to step over those cracks without breaking your back...or breaking your lover's back by pushing him down a flight of stairs. I'm trying to navigate those curves. My name is Roy. I used to be a semi-professional whore. Sleazy, abusive parents or the streets...I was 15, I trusted the streets more. I think I made the right decision, not that I'm going to give any speeches to students on how to sweet-talk every john into using a condom and running like hell with their cash if they don't. I worked odd jobs to put me through night classes and college. Now I'm a photographer. You may know me from one of those magazines you never read, the one with the pseudo-intellectual title. I'm 32 years old. Still a young man, right? I've got all my hair, I'm filled out in the right places. I love my friends, love to party, love to shake my ass in the clubs until my shaggy black hair plasters over my big brown eyes, silver mesh shirt pasted to my tanned skin, meaty nipples straining through the soaking wet fabric. I love to wear blue jeans a few sizes too small and do errands with a leisurely walk, making sure every passerby got a good look at just how well I pack that denim. Or at least I used to, until about a year ago. Now I just walk through the woods a lot, and jerk off. But I'll get to that later. I love my partner of 10 years, Chuck, AKA Charles. He also answers to Chuckie, as long as you can run fast and dodge sharp objects. Chuck and me (or Chuck and I, whatever) met at a friend of a friend's sex orgy birthday party. At 30, with an unbelievably massive chest and thighs swamped in blonde hair, separated by a cock that, when erect, may have sent Mr. Ed in for a penile transplant, Chuck had been many a Daddy fetishist's wet dream cum true. I wasn't the first or the last to take a ride on Donkey Dearest that day, but we felt a connection in our souls. Just this look, my puppy dog brown eyes connecting to his pair of sky blue. I remember how cold they were to so many of the men, and then when I took my turn, a blind was opened. He stared right through me. He made me believe every damn fairy tale I'd told myself wasn't true. My stallion-sceptered prince came - several times - and after we ran into each other at a barbecue a few weeks later, we became inseparable. I found out later that he was from old money, blown away by his father's savings and loan blunderings, but with just enough left over to send their youngest child (guess who) to the best law school. Charles sailed through his 4 years and like his older sister and brother, started sending money home as soon as he could. The family dynasty now lived in relative pomp, even if servants and a half-dozen yachts were out of the question. Charlie...er, Charles...had come through when his parents needed cash the most, and as a result, when he dropped in for his 35th birthday and introduced me as his "very, very good friend", not a cross word was to be heard. I'm a charming guy, especially to ladies, and I think I managed to win most of the family over, if they could concentrate on my smile and dimples, not the idea of their beloved son driving his blue-blooded meat into my other set of dimples night after night. That was 5 years ago. We're older, but not exactly wiser. Right now we're driving to the airport, and Charlie looks like he wants to knock my front teeth out every time I turn the radio on. "I'm trying to drive," he seethed. Once I would have told him those furrows on his forehead made him look sexy. Now I just sighed and left the "Charlie, I want to go to the beach this weekend." He set his jaw, thick fingers rigid on the steering wheel cover. "PLEASE do NOT call me Charlie. And we can't go anywhere while Megan is staying with us." Megan was his niece, just out of high school. The last time I saw her she had braces, acne and no chest. She must have lost and found the right hormonal combinations, because she was not a "problem child" sent for a summer visit in fresh surroundings. At one time I would have been pissed, but now I welcomed the company. "Sorry, Charlie's just the name I've called you by ever since we met. What's wrong with the beach?" "There are some habits we need to outgrow, Roy. What's wrong with the beach? Nothing but filth and disease is 'what's wrong'...and I'm not talking about the water." Had he always been this stiff and patriarchal? "I always wanted a Daddy...boy, talk about being careful about what you wish for!" Charli...CHARLES sighed and pulled into the airport. We rushed out and waited for Megan's plane to arrive. Surfer dudes, Europe-bound teens, cowboys, homeboys, Indians, Asians...this airport was a meeting place for the most tasty of the world's delicacies. I slipped on my trusty sunglasses and ogled tasty bubble butt after bulging crotch until Charles, looking up from his paper, nudged my elbow. "She's here." I bit back a grimace. Here we go with Little Miss Anarchy. Well I'd seen worse...I'd been worse at her age. At least she wasn't snorting and sucking her way through the day. "Uncle Chuck!" Chuck was her special term of endearmeant for her favorite uncle. I remembered this basic fact, along with a few others like figuring out how to pick my jaw off the ground. She wasn't some punkette with dyed-black hair and 30 piercings. She was a smiling, redheaded, curvaceous young lady. Beautiful. Fucking gorgeous. Scarlet curls flowing over her shoulders, her lower half remained hidden behind a flowing peasant skirt. Her voluminous breasts spilled out of a tight yellow top. Her smile lit up the harried terminal, and as she ran into my arms, I marveled at her open affection. "I hope you're taking good care of him." "I try," I muttered, cutting my eyes at my lover while his niece kissed me on the cheek. To my surprise, I actually blushed. Her chest heaved when pressed against mine. It felt strangely right somehow, and...I gently pushed away from her before she realized just how happy I was to see her. After gathering up her bags, we drove home. Charles thought Megan would need a long nap after the flight, and Megan seemed to know better than to argue. She was a surprisingly keen observer of body language, not that you had to be a genius to figure out a couple who never touched, talked or looked at each other during a 45-minute car trip were having some "issues". Megan lit up a cigarette from her purse and drawled out her question between puffs. "What's happened to you guys? Fuck, you were the happiest couple in the whole family. Now my toes are practically frostbitten." Since we celebrated our 5th anniversary, Charles has lost his father and a great deal of hair. I've always wondered which of those caused our move last year from San Fransisco to a more conservative part of Oregon. And why Charles now refused to even speak to the men and women who'd been his - our - best friends through every little crisis. Maybe Megan could pry those answers out of him as well. Right now, I feigned sleep and tried not to listen to his lecture on manners, tact, and the importance of clean lungs. Several days passed. Megan settled in fine. She loved the house -- hell, I loved the house too, as it was more like a mansion that Charles had gotten cheap during a ridicululously horrible time in the market. We had regular breakfast, lunch and dinner, just like a normal family. Charles barked at her and while I cringed she barked back - just like a normal family. She bristled every time Charles came near her. I swear she even began smoking more just to spite him. One morning I walked into the kitchen wearing only my tight, fire engine red boxer briefs. I usually sleep nude, but Charles (who had gone over the past year from sleeping nude to practically wearing a three-piece suit) said that wasn't the best idea. Yet I felt even more naked than if I had actually been naked as a feminine hand squeezed my butt. I have a very sensitive bubble butt, and the feel of her long fingers and pointed nails digging into my creamy flesh made me pop a boner. As if my skin were not even redder than my undies, she got a glimpse of my package, smirking at me as I covered my erection as best I could. "I guess Uncle Chuck's gonna get a biiiiig wakeup call this morning." She leaned over and brushed her full lips against mine. The contact was brief, but tantalizing. Her lip gloss had the taste of honey and lemon. Her body was poured into white cotton panties and a tank top. I hadn't thought of sex with a woman in years, I hadn't touched a woman in so long...I couldn't tell her she was giving me a boner, not her uncle. She mock-gasped as she flicked a spoon against her cheek. "Oh wait...Chuckie already has a stick up his ass. He doesn't need another. Sorry!" I very quickly walked back to my bathroom and whipped off my shorts. Stroking my thick-as-a-baby's-arm, fully hard 9 inches, the precum dripped steadily on my fingers. I tasted myself as I picture her hands, her soft lips, her womanhood, on my shaft. I was so fucking horny I didn't even try to last. I just blew my load right there, all over my belly, biting my lip to contain the scream. In my rush, the door was half-open. I wondered if she had spied on me, if she was touching herself now. God help me, my cock twitched at that thought. A few days later, Charles flew out for a week-long trip with a Very Important Client. Megan spent a lot of time with the smarmy, sneering pizza delivery boy (cute ass though), but mostly Megan and I were alone for the first time, and since I had promised myself to keep my fantasies a fantasy, it was fine by me. Certainly fine with her. We went to a few local sights and generally just had fun. Lots of talking and laughing. I tried to censor myself around her, but just couldn't. I told her so much about my past and she nodded along, fascinated. She had that sparkle in her aquamarine eyes, just like Charles used to. This particular morning, she was wearing a minidress with yet more gaping cleavage, sucking down her 3rd unfiltered cigarette of the day. Sick of the smoke, I casually leaned over to stop her from lighting yet another. "What the fuck? How puritanical are you old folks?" She was only kidding of course...well, half-kidding. He-man impulses overtook me and I pulled off my shirt, beating my chest. Instead of laughing, Megan stared. At me. At my body. My nipples were puffing up in the cool air, and I imagined her teeth on them, my mouth on her succulent breasts... "Megan, I-I..." In a flash her eyes were a stormy sea, a window of her inner passions as she leaned over to rub at my thighs. I felt her hands on my waist, tugging at my shorts. I was so horny, I didn't stop her. I couldn't. I closed my eyes. I heard her gasp at my size and width. I felt the gooey plop of my manhood slapping against her girlcheek. I shuddered at the softness of her touch, her taste. I was breaking every rule in the book about monogamy, about homosexuality, and I didn't care. I blocked out my thoughts and centered on that tongue, that girl. A wave of fear and pleasure course through my buckling hips as I wondered what the rest of the day would bring. I forced myself to open my eyes as I stroked her hair, urging her onto the last half of my meat. Whatever happened next, I was ready. -- Please give feedback at HotStoryLvr@hotmail.com