sjw-publishings

[sjw-publishings]

For the better, for the hetter >;)

Prodigal Son

To read the first part, follow this link.

With @sjw-publishings

Alexander Carmen nervously followed the kind pastor through the back of the church. He did not feel unwelcome by any means, but certainly like he did not belong here. It was improper for someone like him to be able to see the inner workings of a church–as a gay man who enjoyed the worldly spoils, Alexander was practically stepping into enemy territory. But he dutifully kept speed with the Korean-American man just a few years his senior. 

The pastor had a run-of-the-mill, slightly older guy-next-door look that Alexander typically would have on the street passed by without giving a second thought. But his average qualities also had a certain flair, enough so that Alexander could see himself sporting a slight boner. And he had, their initial physical touch having sent a current from his shoulder straight down to his crotch. Luckily, his dick had since deflated from its excitement, the blood flow in his moving legs helping resolve the unfortunate issue.

“Please, brother,” Pastor Bang opened the door to a small office. “Take a seat in front of my desk and we can discuss your worries.”

Placing his firm grip on Alexander’s shoulder once more, the twink again felt the shiver of ecstasy course along his vein. He did his best to hide the boner awakening underneath his linen shorts.

Following the instruction politely, Alexander placed himself in the assigned chair. Typically, he acted out as quite the brat, one who liked to mess around and avoid orders as playfully as could be. He was one to tease, coyly flirt, and craft up anything necessary that could be complimented with a reaction. As a trouper, Alexander was a natural theatric, and in turn the world was his stage. Everyone had a part to play in relation to his flamboyant protagonist.

“I’m here searching for someone,” Alexander began, his plea whiny. “I just don’t know where he is and it’s freaking me out! I mean we were supposed to meet up thirty minutes ago, and I know that isn’t too long but then when I saw that he was here I got confused because I’d never heard of him being religious before. In fact, I’ve never even heard of this church before. I mean is the Covenant of the Brotherhood new? Anyway…”

Alexander continued to ramble on, taking in the room around him as he did so. The office was small, quaint, and only really held the necessary materials. A bookshelf containing theological literature, a single monitor at least ten years old, two degrees and a number of other certificates on the wall behind the pastor. The room was practically colorless, even the sole picture of Pastor Bang and (whom Alexander assumed to be) his girlfriend was printed in black and white. Eventually, Alexander realized he was still talking, and the pastor had not yet replied to him.

“Are you, are you going to say anything?” Alexander cut himself off, toying with his rainbow wristband. He was a bit dismayed that the other man had not yet made a response. 

Pastor Bang shrugged, indifferent. “Sounds like you are worried, brother.”

Alexander blinked. He tried to hold back the burst of red that threatened to color his olive cheeks. “Did you listen to a single thing I said?” Alexander thrived off of reactions, he practically centered his life around them. It influenced how he acted, influenced the manner in which he presented himself. It was why his voice held its signature nasally pitch, why he had dyed his hair platinum blond.

And yet, Pastor Bang offered him nothing. “Clarify for me, what are you so worried about?”

“I’m looking for John Brand,” Alexander spat loudly, as if he and the pastor spoke different languages.

“No need to waste your vocal chords unnecessarily.” The command was simple and direct, silencing Alexander. He was not used to being treated this way, engaging in such a manner. And yet, something about the simple anomaly roused Alexander. It also a-roused his dick, which throbbed lightly.

“I’m an actor,” Alexander seethed. “I know how to properly dictate.”

The pastor cocked his head innocently, “I believe you’re mistaken?”

This caught Alexander a bit, leaving his reply a bit staggered. “I have a theatre degree…?”

“It’s a diploma in Bible Studies, brother,” the pastor corrected. “And you haven’t graduated yet.”

“I um…” Alexander stuttered, suddenly bewildered. Was he not only a few years younger than the pastor? He was not still in school; he had graduated, had he not? But then again, why would Pastor Bang lead him astray? The man was eight years older than him, by that math eight years wiser.

“Oh yeah…my bad haha!” Alexander awkwardly chuckled, subtly palming himself under the table. For some reason, the strange moment had only further excited him. “But please, have you seen my boyfriend?”

“Your boyfriend?” Pastor Bang's response was steady, as if the concept was impossible to him. “Do you mean your brother in the Covenant?”

Alexander's cock twitched. “Mmmyes daddy…” He moaned under his breath before suddenly catching himself. “-I mean my boyfriend! We are gay, pastor, we are both gay!”

“Brother, I know you’re happy to see me,” Pastor Bang misunderstood. “But now is not the time to use such language and act like the Prodigal Son.”

Alexander did not know how to reply without repeating his sexuality. But the words could not leave his mouth, it was too hard. His dick was too hard. Alexander could feel it writhing within his jockstrap.

“I believe you are worried about other things,” the pastor continued. “You already have a lot on your plate outside of our church. Admittedly the typical of every other Asian-American boy your age: the straight A GPA, jogging sessions, intramural soccer. But presenting for the Youth Ministry should be your passion.”

The sudden intake of information overwhelmed Alexander. The foreign existential weight piled up, burdening him under its sheer power. These new facts barged in upon the young man without any warning, forcing an evacuation of sorts within Alexander's mind. It made him dizzy. Alexander suddenly felt the need to escape.

“Uhhh, Pastor Bang, thanks for your guidance!” Alexander sputtered out, his blood coursing south as if his heart had suddenly moved to his pouch. “I have to uhh…go to the restroom, duty calls!”

“That’s alright, brother,” Pastor Bang extended his hand. “I need to practice for my upcoming sermon anyway.”

Quickly, Alexander accepted the firm shake. An electric surge shot across his entire body, delivering bliss to every one of his nerves and dulling his wristband into a modern, ordinary watch. Alexander's manhood was calling for him, begging to be touched with the hand he had just offered to Pastor Bang. Without waiting a moment longer, he made a beeline to the restroom, not questioning how he knew the way. Within moments Alexander was locked into a stall, so hot and flustered that he considered removing his tee shirt.

“Can’t resist…so good,” Alexander grunted softly. Carefully, Alexander gripped himself, the immense pleasure nearly paralyzing him. “Pastor Bang is…mmmmf…”

As if having heard his name, the shepherding tone of the pastor began to broadcast into the restroom. Pastor Bang, having returned to the altar in the main hall, had begun practicing his sermon. And with the speaker system live, his words were able to echo clearly throughout the entire church.

Alexander groaned as the paternal voice rang out within the restroom. His manhood was sandwiched between his legs, begging for release and yet not being granted it. Something was holding Alexander back, but he could not understand what. It was as if the appendages were built for other purposes, their length and lean muscle holding other obligations. His legs were meant for a goalkeeper–on the field and in real life. And the two extra inches of height that pushed Alexander over the average signified that he was meant to set an example without standing apart from his fellow brother.

“I need to…need to pull up something,” Alexander said to himself, grabbing his phone. In seconds, he had clicked on a bookmark for one of his favorite porn videos. But instead of two men wrapped together, his phone presented him with two men standing apart, fully clothed. Speaking on the roles of masculinity as determined in the Bible.

“Didn’t I have some-” Alexander could no longer identify what he had been trying to find. “-fun videos or something?”

“Brothers are expected to help one another physically and emotionally, but not romantically,” Pastor Bang’s voice suddenly filled the room. Alexander grunted, his vocal tone dropping a touch and sneaking farther back into his throat. His fingers messily tapped away at his device, lengthening into more robust digits as they searched for other materials to work with. His documents tab was filled with highly-graded papers, his emails a mix of project assignments and group collaborations.

“Don’t I have photos I could use, man?” Alexander asked himself, his voice now holding a youthful maturity that mimicked the pastor’s. He desperately continued to scroll through his phone, his arms tensing and relaxing as their muscles expanded slightly. Not to an egregious amount, but just enough to fit in with his peers, just like his clean-cut, trusty phone did.

“Man, who are these people?” Alexander blinked, his gallery filled with many of the same individuals. He was not expecting most of the pictures to be of him out on the soccer field, around a college campus, and at Youth Ministry. Nor was he expecting them to be filled with the same Asian-American men, all practical copies of each other besides the slightest differences. It took Alexander a moment to even find himself in some of them. His own lemony skin had the same hue as the rest of the men, his smaller eyes identical to the crew's. Even their frames were alike, not a single chest broader or pack of abdominals more prominent. 

“Can’t believe I forgot about my guys, man!” Alexander chuckle was friendly. “No homo though!”

The last phrase blurted out on its own, but Alexander was too captivated in his screen to realize it. His manhood enjoyed the remark however, perking up to be just large enough to fulfill its new role. Or rather, its traditional role. Consequently, Alexander’s bubble butt deflated into two flattened mounds, their responsibilities stripped away.

Eventually, Alexander landed on an album filled with selfies of him and another person. A lady friend of his own age, who with her Asian-American beauty complimented him nicely.

“Man, who is she…?” Alexander rubbed the back of his head shyly, the raven, feathered curtain bangs tickling his fingers. “She’s…kinda cute mannn…”

With that realization, Alexander’s manhood trembled in great force. He instinctively knew what to do, but as his hand made its way down to the straight-fit joggers encasing his legs, Alexander found himself lost. He needed to do something, but Alexander could not recall what. He could remember his younger peers had mentioned something before that required his hands. Was it assisting in some kind of job? Or something about being “a jerk off”?

“I gotta grip my pen…pen…!” Alexander suffered to get the word out of his mouth. It was right on the tip of his tongue.

“And us men shall be abstinent until the day of marriage with our wives.” Pastor Bang announced as he concluded his sermon.

“...gotta grip my pen-dant!” Alexander exclaimed. With one hand on his quarter-zip, he shoved the other underneath the sweater and pulled out his cross pendant, holding it firmly. With his free hand, and in pure euphoria, Alexander moved his zipper back and forth along its tread. Up and down, up and down. He could feel himself getting close, approaching something incredible. His manhood was throbbing as he approached a breaking point.

Out of nowhere, a knock came onto the stall door. “Everything okay, brother?” Pastor Bang asked.

“Mmmmf yes...Father!” A rush of spiritual ecstasy cascaded over the young man, for no physical outburst was necessary to solidify his glorious transformation. Once the wave had dissipated, the young man stood up and opened the stall door. 

“Sorry Pastor Bang,” the handsome, yet rather standard young Chinese-American man began.

“All good, brother,” Pastor Bang smiled. “I was just checking in to see if you were still worried about the presentation?”

“I was just texting my girlfriend to see if she could make it." The young man approached the sinks, checking himself out momentarily in the mirror. Carefully, he pulled his zipper up to the top of its track. After all, he had to maintain the role of a cool big brother; he did not want to be scandalous in front of the students. "It will be my fiftieth presentation for the Youth Ministries!”

Proudly, the young man left the restroom and ventured forth to his classroom. Once inside, he was greeted by his many students–a group of rowdy Asian-American boys–and Anna, his beautiful girlfriend since high school, sitting behind the teacher's desk.

“Ay-Ay Ron!” one of the backsliders shouted, and soon the whole class joined in a boisterous chorus. The young man smiled and exchanged a look with his girlfriend, knowing his Anna was not fond of the silly nickname.

“About time you got here, Aaron,” Anna greeted him with a peck on the cheek. “Leaving me all alone for so long with these guys is quite the hassle.”

“Ooommf…haha sorry sweetheart.” Aaron cheekily rubbed the back of his neck, squeezing his inflated manhood between his thighs. “Cannot help myself from being a goofball every now and then–just like my students!”

Aaron’s manly, yet cute chuckle was the kind that made everyone want to be just like him. A typical college student, one with the crowd, blending in with his brothers and talking about the simple things that excited them. Without delaying any longer, Aaron booted up his monitor and the projector, his presentation soon lighting up on the wall behind him.

“As you all know, my name is Aaron Chang,” Aaron started. “And for my fiftieth presentation, I'll be discussing: ‘Aaron Chang-ing Lives; For the Better, For the Hetter’!”

[sjw-publishings]

A-MEN brother, welcome to the brotherhood. >;)

Covenant of the Brotherhood

With @sjw-publishings

“Hello?” 

John’s voice reverberated back to him a few moments later after travelling across the empty space. The main hall was lit up, the soft combination of yellow and white lights filling the void with an almost artificial warmth. John called out again, but still there came no reply but his own. There was no one else in the large room, not even a single piece of greenery to signal any life. And yet, somehow, the space felt alive.

Cautiously treading down the middle aisle, John began his descent towards the front of the church. He scanned through the wooden pews as he passed them, each unsurprisingly empty as the previous one had been. John had lived in the neighborhood for almost eight years, having moved to his current apartment after graduating from college. He could have sworn that he knew every locale in the area, practically every character too. But John had never once before seen this church. 

It did not look new enough to have been built recently, but neither did it appear old enough to have been a historic landmark. The church was, as best as John could put it, generic. The exterior held nothing to hint at its denomination or intentions, its name “Covenant of the Brotherhood” only adding to its indistinct quality. The interior design further emphasized the blandness of it all. John inwardly analyzed how the beige-to-brown palette solidified the church as a place of tradition and conformity.

But it was not only the church’s seemingly sudden existence that bothered John. The neighborhood, an LGBTQ+ hotspot, was known for its absence of many religious entities in the first place. While some neighbors did participate in spiritual traditions, most were like John: living their loudest, happiest, gayest lives away from other-worldly caveats.

And as an athletic, muscular 30-year-old famous for his promiscuous abilities, John was particularly not in need of sexual guilt. After all, who else was supposed to top all the young twinks helplessly roaming around this side of town? And with six and a half feet, bouncy curls, and a brutishly masculine face, how would those young twinks be able deny him?

In fact, that was what John had been doing before he entered the church. The church was only a couple of blocks away from his meet up with Alexander Carmen, a man a few years younger, a few pounds lighter, and a few inches shorter than John himself. Alexander was one of John's favorite partners, their compatibility to the point that the no-relationship-nonsense John had even given away his phone number so that the two could track one another’s locations. But upon seeing the church, John had felt himself drawn in. And now, he found himself approaching the altar.

Stepping up to the glorified wooden table, John did a quick scan of the room once more. He could feel the gigantic, minimalistic cross looking down on him from behind, placing a certain weight over the typically confident male. John did not want to be caught standing behind the altar, particularly in an outfit as skimpy and tight as the one he was currently wearing. The tank and short shorts against his muscular frame was a callout to 70’s and 80’s B-horror movies. It was captivating to his admirers, and most likely insulting to the church.

With no true intentions in mind, John reoriented his focus to the altar. A gigantic book lay before him, presumably the Bible for the pastor of the church. Underneath its title was inscribed “RSAA Edition,” which frankly meant nothing to John. Carelessly, he snatched the heavy object before taking a seat against the back wall. He then swept open the cover and let the golden pages fly, their foreign wisdom fluttering before the gay man. The action was anticlimactic, but as the page was laid before him, John found his eyes drawn to handwriting beside the actual scripture.

Thou shall be faithful to the Covenant.

It was a simple message, and yet almost cryptic. It was like John understood the meaning of it, but the wrong one. He repeated the phrase out loud, cockily with an edge of snark. The Bible held no response, silent upon the cradle formed by his crossed left leg.

“Thou shall be faithful to the Covenant. Thou shall be faithful to the Covenant. Thou shall be faithful to the Covenant…” John rambled to himself, slightly disgusted. Each announcement took on a different character as he tested the statement.

Typically a strong, proud male, John found himself attempting to compensate for not understanding the phrase. The statement had him feeling emasculated, the church’s indifference to the world outside it only bolstering John's awkward state. He was dwarfed by the giant empty space before him, looked down upon by the wooden cross above his head in the place he called his home. 

“God, this stuff is so idiotic,” John proclaimed, giving up before flipping to a new page. With his eyes drifting across the verses, he did not consciously recognize that his large cock had awoken. Absent-mindedly, John freed his right hand to alleviate the tension, his rough palm moving back and forth through the mesh fabric in an all-too-familiar pattern.

“A reading from the First Epistle to John, chapter two, verse six,” John mocked. Its scripture was straight-forward: “Whoever says he abides in Him ought to walk in the same way in which He walked.” But it was the commentary scribbled beneath that was more intriguing. 

One shan’t stand out above your fellow brethren, just enough to lead when necessary and attract them for our cause.

The analysis was not unnecessarily correct, but John could sense a lingering irk behind the writing. It should have made him uneasy, but after saying it aloud, he felt slightly more relaxed. 

Within moments, John had shifted to a new section. “Another John,” he noticed. “‘Truly, I say to you, whoever believes in me will also do the works that I do; and greater works than these will he do’.”

Still unaware of his right hand’s fondling, John traced the arrow down to the accompanying notes.

You have to flee from temptation, brother. Submit and become one with the flock.

The words echoed within John’s mind, their callout dissonant against his own mentality and causing his forced smirk to falter slightly. In an attempt to regain his former confidence, he added a corny “Amen!” It did not lighten John's mood.

“‘Do you not know that you are God's temple and that God's Spirit dwells in you?’” John quoted, having again run away to a new book in the Bible. He adjusted himself in his seat while doing so, dropping his leg and giving his pouch some room to breathe. In turn, this action subconsciously evicted John's right hand from its position, forcing it to find something new to hold. To John’s chagrin, he found this new scripture came with a similar message to the previous passage’s.

Thou shall be a body worthy of God’s temple. And only a brother’s body is worthy of such divine glory.

In response to the reading, John’s dick pulsed, the shock of this alien form of ecstasy forcing a soft “...amen…” to moan through his lips. After an embarrassed flush, John began to subtly bounce his leg before continuing to read, the rubbing friction enough to do the trick. The texture of his shorts was soft, but it eventually changed into a stricter nature. Starchy, unrelenting, one John had to work against if he wanted to engage in certain behaviors. The new suit trousers were not meant for the unorthodox activities John was attempting to engage in.

“Perhaps something else?” John asked to the abyss, the tapping of his smaller feet shifting to the duller clunk of well-used dress shoes. Each bounce sent a microscopic wave up his legs, adjusting them accordingly. A hefty number of inches were erased away as the legs became leaner and more compact. They now reflected a cycle of exercise attuned to the average human amount, rather than a tailored schedule. Slimmer, yet toned thighs led down to decent calves, which by then were partially covered in thick wool socks. 

Having flipped around to the Book of Job, John learned that: “‘The Spirit of God has made man, and the breath of the Almighty gives man life’.” The following comment was similar to the rest:

The Covenant will make the brother, the Covenant will give the brother purpose.

John did not hear the “Amen” leave his lips, or notice that his steadying breath deflated his muscular chest into a flatter terrain. Straightening his back, he continued to absorb the material. His shoulders rolled back in response, slimming as they conformed to the tightness of the suit jacket materializing on top of his lengthening shirt. John was lost in his own thoughts, the handwritten messages almost whispering to him. It was as if whoever had written the notes was providing instruction. Shaping a conductor of sorts, a conductor of souls. 

With his grip on the Bible still firm, but not as desperate, John envisioned himself as the conductor. His arms had to hold just the right amount of strength, eradicating any superfluous musculature to only leave behind what was necessary for guidance, not appearance. His left hand would continue holding His holy book, each finger shrinking into a more appropriate, conservative size. And John envisioned in his right hand the baton that would lead his people. 

Suddenly drug out of his thoughts, John realized he was already holding his baton. He opened his fingers to reveal a small cross pendant in his palm. John did not know where the necklace came from, or why he was wearing it. But something about the pendant made him prideful, excited, and joyously flustered. In response, John properly shut his legs out of respect, squeezing his other, anxiously throbbing baton between his legs.

The next page John landed on, he did not bother to read the typed words. The handwritten letters were more intriguing to him now.

One must stick to the roots of tradition, whilst conforming to social norms like every other Asian-American.

“Amen,” John replied as a belt slunk through his trousers' loops. Once it had circumnavigated John’s waist, it harshly tightened itself, forcing John to belt out a stronger “A-men!”

The belt’s tightening sent a corresponding signal to John’s buttocks, which instantly closed their doors.  The closure sparked pleasurably. “So good…ugh…” John grunted as the baton between his legs shrunk from the pressure, resulting in a more average-sized, family-friendly instrument. His right hand began to soften its grip on the pendant, hoping to squeeze his precious jewels, but something was holding him back. 

“Must obey…scripture…” John muttered, his eyes reading along.

One must only produce for the sole reason of producing.

John had to bear his own cross, literally. The crimson flush that had taken over his skin rushed rampantly across his frame, the tanning heat delivering additional waves of melanin. An amber hue settled in quickly and adjusted his features as needed, restructuring his face with a smoother, masculine glow and softening his curls into a sleek, straightened substitute. 

Pent up and approaching euphoria yet no touching his manhood, John's eyes befell an unusual nuance in the scripture. Instead of an accompanying physical note, there was only a simple line emphasized. The words were highlighted, underlined, and circled, not a single comment made. John understood that this scripture was of the utmost importance, their meaning requiring no interpretation.

“Thou shall not…want mphhh…” The words could not leave John’s shaking lips.

“Thou shall not want mmm…mmmmmf…mehh…” John attempted again, a bit stronger this time. His confidence was building.

“Thou shall not want…men.” John announced, his voice clearer. But he knew he could do it better. He had his baton. Now he had to act like a conductor.

“Thou shall not want men,” his voice was ringing. His pouch was pulsing. He had to be a conductor of souls. He had to speak like a pastor. “Thou shall not want men!” 

John repeated the words over and over, each statement more powerful then the last, each statement solidifying its truth. His truth. The fifth time he chanted it, John remembered all the Sunday School teachings. The tenth time he chanted it, he remembered his undergraduate degree in Theology and Masters in Divinity. The twentieth time he chanted it, he remembered the engagement ring stowed away in his desk.

Eventually, the outside world had entirely faded from view. John could see the vision before him. The church, the Covenant of the Brotherhood, filled with people. The congregation from the front pew to the back, out onto the streets, out across the world. “A-Men,” these women and men, these Christian women and men would reply to him. “A-Men!” these Christian, Asian-American women and men would reply to him. “A-MEN!” these heterosexual women and men would reply to him. John wanted them, he wanted to be with them, he wanted to be them. 

John stood up and with a gasp proclaimed a defiant “A-MEN!” His eyes rolled back momentarily as the newly abstinent being experienced a spiritual ecstasy, his reality reoriented towards a new goal, a new purpose. Once the rush dissipated, he proceeded forward to the altar as if nothing had happened, replacing his Revised Standard Asian-American edition of the Bible back in its home. He then tucked his cross pendant back underneath his shirt and adjusted his suit. He had to appear presentable after all, for he represented the Covenant and the Brotherhood.

“Hello?” A voice called out from the back of the church. “John? John Brand? Are you here?”

A young, effeminate man scurried down the middle aisle, soon approaching the only other soul in the room. 

“John?” the young man questioned, noting a strange familiarity with the Korean-American pastor before him. “Is that…you?”

“Apologies, my brother,” the charismatic man calmly began. “It's Jo-Han. Pastor Bang Jo-Han, but you may address me as Pastor Bang.”

The young man was confused, unaware of how to describe his situation, or his relationship to whom he was searching for. “But my phone says my boyfrie…uhh…someone I like was last active here?”

“Ah but brother, you are in the right place! I like any son of God!” As if to reassure the young man, the pastor gave his shoulder a rough squeeze. Although they were of the same height and only a few years apart in age, the paternal gesture was received appropriately, as the young man relaxed under the grip.

The gesture was also received inappropriately, for the young man realized the pastor, while a bit average looking for an Asian-American, was quite attractive. “Of course I like you, you are a part of my youth ministry are you not?”

“Youth ministry?” the young man’s heart sped up again. “What do you mean p…pastor?”

Pastor Bang’s smile was warm, fatherly even. “Let’s go back to my office, I’m sure I will be able to clear some things up for you there.”

[sjw-publishings]

Hey everyone,

This is an update to my post I made recently about Dumb and Jocked’s sudden departure. If you haven’t read that, it will be over: here.

Before I begin though, something I discovered is that for some of the reblogged dumb and jocked stories with the ‘read more’, the rest of the story can be viewed in your drafts if you choose to reblog it but do not post, and also through the edit button.

Not necessarily the best way to read stories and also not all stories can be read via that way, but some are possible. So I recommend doing so and saving your favourite writer’s stories in drafts as you will never know what may happen in the future.

—————————————————————

I am grateful to the messages and responses people have given me in light of the situation.

I generally don’t tend to talk to many people on tumblr as my stories can be rather controversial and niche, and I'm very appreciative of the support and information people have given me in light of Dumb and Jocked’s disappearance. Thank you.

As of then, there is a mention that Dumb and Jocked has written a post that he needed time off from Tumblr before he deactivated his account.

However I cannot confirm this as there were no screenshots/reblogs saved/provided, and even if Dumb and Jocked posted that, he could’ve easily reconsidered it and just closed his Tumblr himself.

While it does bring some slight hope, there’s no guarantee he would ever return.

However there’s good news regarding archives for Dumb and jocked’s stories. Which Im grateful for the Tumblr community taking steps to reblog/like/save the posts via different means.

Special shoutout to both @imsrtman and @user211201, who have posted several of Dumb and Jocked’s stories, on Tumblr and their blogspot.

@user211201 has saved multiple of Dumb and Jocked stories, including the Protocol one which had been gone a while back even before Dumb and Jocked left tumblr. I also reblogged his re-post on Branded on my tumblr account, as it’s one of the stories where you cannot access it via editing it in your drafts.

He also continued to post more of his stories and has a list of them on his tumblr post over: Here.

Do check the other pinned post on his tumblr page for the table of contents as for what stories he has already posted too.

@imsrtman has managed to archive most of dumb and jocked stories, including making the effort to put the Tumbex links of Dumb and Jocked’s stories into an excel sheet, and most importantly archiving them before they got removed on Tumbex.

I cannot express how thankful I am to him as I thought I had missed my chance in saving the stories on Tumbex due to my exhaustion. Thanks to him Im able to save both Breeding Grounds stories.

He also a blogspot consisting of various of Dumb and Jocked’s stories and he is planning to add more of Dumb and Jocked’s stories in the future. You can find the link to his blogspot post over: here. (Edit: Imsrtman mentioned in the replies/notes of this post that it is not his blogspot and he has a different blog, @dumb-and-jocked-archive)

Please give both of them many thanks, as well as anyone else who has archived/reblogged/saved stories on behalf of the community. Without people who archive, many of the stories of blogs that are gone would be gone forever.

That’s all for my update. If there’s any crucial information that I may have missed out on, do reply to this post for others to know.

-SjwPublishings

[sjw-publishings]

Hey everyone! @user211201 made copies of some of dumb and jocked’s removed stories. Be sure to reblog and save them!

Branded

---

Originally posted on 2020-05-27 by dumb-and-jocked

Unfortunately dumb-and-jocked's account has been deactivated.

If the original author ever reads this: thank you for all your works!

---

Zane wasn’t particularly excited about going out to his uncle’s ranch. The two had never really known how to connect, with one being from the East Coast and the other in rural Wyoming. Zane had grown up privileged in the urban lifestyle, with many stores, jobs, and more progressive influences around every corner. His parents were also a little richer than most, so he was able to enjoy a luxurious apartment all to himself while he attended Yale. Well... not all to himself. His boyfriend Kaeden visited so often he was practically a second resident, but Zane didn’t mind--he loved the attention.

Zane practically adored his modern lifestyle, and made sure to show it by never leaving a five-mile radius. This caused his parents to worry, assuming if he didn’t start now he’d never know how to go out on his own. Trying to help (like all parents did), his father spoke with his brother and the two set up a little spring vacation for Zane. When Zane’s father had proposed the idea, Zane didn’t exactly jump in excitement. In fact, he didn’t seem excited at all.

“Really?” Zane asked coarsely. “Spring break is for beaches, coasts, actual fun!”

“Zane,” his father replied coolly. “I didn’t raise you to be a leech off of my own money. Go out to your uncle’s ranch and give him a hand; earn something for once. And anyway, Wyoming’s great this time of year--you might enjoy it!”

“Can I at least bring Kaeden with me?”

His father’s eyes went down for a moment. Zane always had a lurking feeling that his father wasn’t truly alright with his only son being gay, his Western Christian roots molding him that way, but his dad always acted like he was accepting. Proving Zane’s point, he swore he could’ve seen his dad’s ears perk up a second after the proposal was made.

“That’s a great idea!” his dad cheered, almost too enthusiastically. “Now someone can relish in the same pain you’ll be experiencing.” Zane rolled his eyes in response to the sarcasm before walking out to his car.

Reflecting back on that moment, his father did seem a little more eager than usual, but Zane didn’t care. It was too late now, as the old pickup truck was pulling into the driveway of the ranch. A huge arch loomed above them, displaying “WELCH” in iron letters across the top. Back when it used to be his grandparents’ ranch, Zane’s father loved this place. He used to thrive as a cowboy, but once he got a taste of the other side of the Mississippi, he left the lifestyle behind him. The rest of the family seemed alright with the transition, with Zane’s uncle being the older brother anyway, meaning he would be taking the ranch, so they decided to let him roam. His uncle had now been running the ranch for almost ten years, just him, his wife, and a small crew to help with the daily tasks.

“Alright, boys, enjoy the trip,” the man in the front grunted as he halted to a stop. Kaeden and Zane slowly jumped out of the truck, grabbing their bags as they looked at the massive farm. Zane swore it looked bigger than the last time he was here, but that was to be expected. The last time he was here was a decade ago for his grandparents’ funerals, so there was probably going to be change. While Kaedan gazed around in awe, Zane spotted what--or who--he was looking for. Leaning against one looming building was a tall man wearing a blue button-up and worn-out jeans. His large boots were placed firmly on the ground and a barn wall, while a beige hat rested proudly on top of his head. He looked like a more muscular, worn-out version of his father, his similar salt and pepper stubble pulling the whole look together.

“Zaney boy, is that yeu?” the man asked in astonishment, the southern accent as prominent as ever.

“Yeah, Uncle Treyton.”

Zane tried to sound enthusiastic, but he never felt like family with the redneck. Not only did the two have completely different perspectives, but they didn’t even look related. Zane didn’t share the same muscular body as the silver fox, but instead had a little too much meat on his bones. He also didn’t get the Welch height, with Zane’s lime-dyed hair barely even reaching his uncle’s neck.

“And this must be Kaeden Sargent, put it here!”

Zane’s uncle shoved a meaty hand in front of him and Kaeden quickly accepted. He was always more optimistic than Zane, putting his best foot forward into every situation. The tall, lanky man took the other’s hand and shook it vigorously, so much in fact that his ginger curls bounced in a rhythm. Fortunately, the baby fat surrounding his face allowed him to act a little childish.

“Firm, that’ll go a long ways here, son.”

“Thanks, sir.”

“Ah, y’all can call me Treyton.”

Kaeden and Zane exchanged looks at each other. For a Christian cowboy, he was awfully accepting of their relationship. Neither of them expected Zane’s uncle to be so understanding.

“Where’s Aunt Joelene at?” Zane inquired as they hauled their bags inside.

“Her and the lady folk already had a vacation planned, so she ain’t gonna be here this week. Just some good ‘ol male bonding!”

He led them to two guest rooms on opposite sides of a hallway, telling them to toss their individual bags into one or the other. Zane and Kaeden exchanged looks again, although this time it was for a different reason. They both knew they might be staying in different rooms, but not sleeping.

All of a sudden, the doorbell rang from the front of the house. After dropping their things, Zane and Kaedan followed Treyton back out to the front door. The trio wandered out to the foyer to see another cowboy smugly standing on the porch.

“Harry!” Treyton shouted as he swung the door open. “‘Bout time ya got here--the nephew’s in town.”

Harry looked over at Zane, inspecting him and then Kaeden with hawk eyes. His tight black shirt didn’t hide the impressive muscles from years on the farm. The same could be said for his faded jeans and massive belt buckle, both of which did nothing to camouflage his gargantuan pouch.

“Is yers that paddy?” he remarked with a deep voice, his accent as thick as Treyton’s. “Or the fag.”

“They’re both fags,” Treyton corrected. “The paddy’s his ‘boyfriend’.”

Kaeden patted Zane’s shoulder in a comforting way. Treyton’s language had just confirmed that they had signed themselves up for a long vacation.

“I don’t mean to be abandonin’ y’all so quickly, but the town’s rodeo’s goin’ on tonight and I’m a volunteerin’,” Zane’s uncle began. “Everythin’ there is free, so I expect to see y’all out there. It’ll be a great time!”

The two hicks strutted over to Harry’s old pickup truck, the engine roaring mighty proud as it came to life. Zane and Kaedan wondered how they hadn’t heard it coming down the driveway.

“Keys are on the counter!” Treyton hollered as they drove off. Kaeden smirked lowering his hand from Zane’s shoulder to his butt as they watched the other pair leave.

“Might as well taint your uncle’s house before we go to the rodeo.”

“You really want to go to that thing?” Zane whined, missing the hint.

“No, but we should,” Kaeden replied. “Until then, let me keep you entertained.” He then started kissing Zane’s neck passionately, dragging him down a hallway.

“Alright!” Zane giggled, following along. He loved his boyfriend.

— —

Kaeden and Zane hesitantly pulled into the parking lot, the dirt flying into the air as they parked the rusty pickup near the back. The whole event took place in some kind of stadium, but instead of a neatly trimmed field with shiny seats, there were wooden bleachers and a dirt floor. They weren’t particularly excited, going from hardcore sex to this dump, but as long as they were at each other’s sides they’d make it through. At least, that’s what Zane kept telling himself.

The two cautiously jumped out, wearing sweatpants and matching concert tees from an event they went to on their fifth date. Zane had thought that if they wore their most casual clothes, they’d blend into the crowd, but it turned out this was truly his first rodeo. Walking up to the front gate, they saw a rainbow of button-ups scattered among the stretched and stained tees. Hicks and cowboys galore excitedly hollered as they entered the rodeo grounds. The strange thing was, it seemed like people were gathering by color. Zane and Kaeden watched the red button-ups slowly separate from the yellow tees, who themselves avoided the purple plaid-clad group. Even with the odd formation, the pair stuck out like two weeds in a freshly-planted garden.

“Alright next!”

Zane and Kaeden had been so perplexed by the entire situation that they hadn’t noticed they had crossed the parking lot, gotten in line, and made it to the front.

“Zaney boy, ya made it!”

Zane’s uncle proudly stood behind a booth, waving as the boyfriends walked up. Harry was placed on the other side, his look much more calculating than Treyton’s inviting smile.

“Are y’all excited?” Uncle Treyton asked, his accent coming out stronger with each syllable.

“Totally,” Kaeden answered, assuming his other half wouldn’t.

“Let us just stamp y’all and yeu’ll be on in.”

“Wait, why are we the only one’s getting stamped?” Kaedan observed. Zane hadn’t noticed, but all the other attendees had gotten in without a mark.

“Remember how I said y’all are gettin’ in free tonight,” Treyton explained. “This is yer free ticket.”

They nodded their heads as Kaeden extended the back of his hand out to Zane’s uncle. Treyton solidly pressed a stamp down on his hand, the blue color left behind sinking deep into his pale skin like a tattoo. Zane proceeded to do the same for Harry, who marked his hand with a black darker than the night itself.

“What do the colors mean?” Zane questioned.

“Whatever ink we’re usin’.” Harry snarked, sending him on his way. Zane sighed as he strolled through the gate.

“I’ll be at a food stand later tonight so make sure to come and visit me!” Treyton shouted as they disappeared into the crowd.

“We can do this,” Kaeden whispered, grabbing Zane’s hand and dragging him to the stands. He sounded reassuring, but Zane couldn’t tell if it was for him or Kaedan himself.

“It’s just for tonight,” Kaedan continued, “After that, we won’t have to deal with Harry, or anyone for that matter. Except for your uncle of course.”

Zane grinned--his boyfriend always knew how to cheer him up.

“And besides,” Kaeden continued. “Look at how much we have to explore!”

It might have been a bit exaggerated, but there was a some space to venture. Besides the stands, there were a few porta potties, some food stands, and a big tent filled with gear for the local country radio station. The tent was their first destination, looking through all the merchandise and advertisements. Although they both hated country music, they had fun exploring the booth, even signing up for a raffle to a Chase Rice concert. Did they know who he was? No--but they didn’t care. Even though they got a few sideways glances from passing families and couples, they were actually enjoying their time at the rodeo. Zane and Kaeden were there to have fun just like everyone else.

9.8 SECONDS! THAT WAS A GOOD TUSSLE, DAVE!

The pair watched on as the participant was whipped off the horse’s back. The first few rounds had looked painful, but Kaeden and Zane eventually stopped flinching after every contestant. It was the sport after all, so they shouldn’t be worried unless everyone else was worried. The uncomfortable thing was, everyone at the rodeo did seem slightly on edge, but it wasn’t over the participants. Unsurprisingly, it was over them.

“Hey,” Zane said, elbowing his partner to grab his attention. “Is it me or is there something strange about the crowd here?”

“You mean how they’re all looking at us like we’re sick?” Kaeden asked, not tearing his eyes away from the next contestant.

8.7 SECONDS! IMPRESSIVE GRIP FROM HANK!

“Well, yeah, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“I don’t know, I mean…” Zane stumbled off, noticing Kaeden was still focused on the riders.

9.4 SECONDS! NICE JOB MARV!

“Earth to Kaedan!” Zane snapped, finally snatching the other’s attention. “For example, did we miss out on some color-coded theme? Why is everyone segregated?”

Kaeden glanced around the stands, noticing what his boyfriend was talking about. Although everyone was clumped together, there were noticeable separations. It seemed like groups of men, women, and children were organized by the shading of their clothes. It was peculiar, but so were most small, rural towns.

“Calm down, babe,” Kaeden replied nonchalantly. “It’s probably just some cheerleading thing, you know? Like someone’s family wears orange because their their fanclub.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” Zane conceded.

10.1 SECONDS! I’D EXPECT NOTHING LESS FROM RYLAN!

“You’re probably just paranoid from all the homophobia around here,” Kaeden reasoned. “But luckily, I know what’ll cheer you up.”

“Oh really,” Zane responded coyly.

“Definitely, meet me at your uncle’s food stand and I’ll get us some snacks.”

“Alright, but I’m gonna head to a restroom first.”

“Miss me!” Kaeden exclaimed as he rushed down the risers. Zane grinned, knowing he was lucky to have snagged his boyfriend.

— —

“Ah! Sorry,” Zane grunted as he shimmied out of the porta potty door, noticing the growing line that had assembled outside. He thought he hadn’t taken too long, but when one’s bowels beg for release, one has to give in. Walking with a little pep in his step, he eagerly bounced his way around the rodeo grounds to find his uncle’s food stand. Kaeden knew Zane had a soft spot for food, which was pretty evident by the soft spots around his hips. He was excited to see what he had gotten for him. After wandering around for a minute, he finally spotted his uncle stepping outside an old trailer.

“Uncle Treyton!” Zane shouted as he approached.

“Eh, Zane! What’s up? Enjoyin’ the rodeo?”

“I guess?” Zane replied honestly. “Have you seen Kaeden?”

“Ah yeah, he was my last customer for the night. I saw him walkin’ over to the picnic area,” Treyton grunted, locking the door to the trailer as he closed up.

“Thanks!” Zane responded, beginning to walk off.

“Hold on there, cowboy!” Treyton demanded, chuckling at his own irony. “I’m gonna be headin’ back to the ranch, gotta long day of work tomorrow, so make sure y’all don’t stay out too late.”

“Sounds good, Uncle Treyton!” Zane started again, desperately wanting to get back to Kaeden.

“AND!” Treyton emphasized. “Harry wanted to see ya ‘bout somethin’ before ya left. He should be at the stables.”

“Great, thanks!” Zane tore off, almost kicking up the dirt behind him as he darted back towards the porta potties. He made it to the picnic area in record time, almost panting as he slowed down. The so-called “picnic area” was really just a group of tables resting behind the bleachers, with no real purpose besides having a surface to eat at. Zane searched for Kaeden, but it seemed like the place was totally empty. The only person he saw was a man sitting alone, ravenously scarfing down an order of nachos. He was wearing a blue plaid button-up and the same straight, overused jeans as every other man at the rodeo. He also adorned a cowboy hat, a quite brawny body, and a bulge much larger than both Kaedan and Zane’s combined. The cowboy looked to be in his late 20’s, but his brunette chin strap and mustache combo made him seem older. Zane approached the other man delicately, noticing the redneck’s very large boots tap eagerly as he chowed on his food.

“Um, excuse me…” Zane mumbled quietly. “I was wondering if-”

“Zane!” the man jumped up from his seat. “I was worryin’ ‘bout you! Thought you might’ve gotten stuck er somethin’.” Zane shook his head, confused at who the low-pitched, southern gent was exactly.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Zane, it’s Clayton!” he paused, waiting for Zane to remember.

“Clayton Sherman?” Zane was still bewildered, until something clicked in his head.

“Wait, Kaedan?”

“No, Clayton. Didja hit yer head or somethin’?”

Zane felt a little crazy, but something supernatural was pulling him towards this stranger. He didn’t know what the force was, but his curiosity guided him.

“One sec, just let me check something.”

Zane grabbed Clayton’s right hand swiftly, finding the same blue stamp that his boyfriend had received earlier. Although it had faded dramatically, it was good enough proof for Zane.

“Kaedan, what happened to you? How did you become like this? What happened after you left the stand?” Zane must have been hallucinating. There was no way his long, slim, ginger lover had become some horse-kickin’, tobacco-spittin’ cowboy, right?

“First off, it’s Clayton,” Clayton responded calmly. “And I did exactly what I said I would. I went to yer uncle’s stand and got us some food. He told me he’d give us ‘somethin’ special’ and slapped my hand, saying it would be on the house. Can you believe it? These darn nachos were free!”

“Alright,” Zane quickly remarked. “Then what?”

“Well, I waited for ya, but the nachos kept lookin’ at me. So, I thought ya wouldn’t mind if I took a bite. One bite became two, then three, and now we’re here.” Clayton showed Zane the empty box, beaming a childish smile.

“Kaedan, I don’t under-”

Suddenly, Zane grabbed his head as he felt a shock go through his skull. He grimaced as it coursed through his brain, causing him to shake momentarily before regaining his thoughts. As fast as the pain had come, it had disappeared too.

“Y’all ok there?” Clayton asked, patting Zane’s shoulder in a brotherly way.

“Yeah, I think so,” Zane blinked. “What were we talking about again?”

“How I ate all the food!” Clayton hollered, laughing at himself in a low guffaw. “We oughta get back to the rodeo though, Little Petey’s going up soon.”

“Little Petey?” Zane mumbled to himself as the two hoisted themselves up. At first, he didn’t recognize the name, but the more he thought about it, the more memories that seemed to appear. Little Petey was Clayton’s little brother of course! Both Clayton and Pete Sherman were expert horse riders, having both broken records for steer wrestling and bull riding. They’d also been the star quarterbacks for the town back in their prime, but now with Pete turning 26 and Clayton having his second kid on the way, they were ready to settle down and start (or continue) their families.

“Yeah! I gotta run on back to Cassie and Trevor. Nice seein’ ya round these parts again!”

Clayton tossed the empty carton into the trash and ran off back to the stands. Zane watched the man dash up the wooden bleachers to his wife and first boy, embracing them as he sat down to continue watching the show. He sunk right back into the cluster of blue, completely camouflaged by the other people in the crowd. Zane didn’t really know Clayton, just remembered him as someone who worked at his uncle’s farm. He seemed nice, but definitely not friend-material. He had a little too much homophobia and country in him. Zane stopped for a moment to correct himself. Clayton didn’t have a little too much; he had a lot of too much.

8.3 SECONDS! LET’S HEAR IT FOR MIKE!

Deciding he had nothing else to do, Zane started heading back towards the parking lot. Although the event seemed kind of interesting, Zane was too lonesome to really find any joy in the situation. Even his uncle’s presence would’ve made him want to stay, but with no one there by his side, Zane decided to head out. Right as he stepped through the gate, he suddenly recalled his uncle saying something about Harry wanting to see him. He didn’t like Harry, and he assumed it worked the other way around too, but Zane knew he should respect his uncle’s wishes.

8.9 SECONDS! DANNY’S HERE TO STAY!

Zane stumbled into the area housing the horse stables, the place completely deserted besides the rolling tumbleweeds. Strolling past a few horse-buses, it didn’t take long to find Harry. He grinned as Zane approached, holding a lasso in one hand.

“‘Bout time you got here, thinkin’ you got lost er somethin’.”

“Wish I would have,” Zane mumbled to himself as Harry tossed an arm around his shoulder. Harry suddenly seemed more cheery than he had been before.

“Did yer uncle tell ya what yer doing here?”

“No, but I hope it’s not too long; I’m getting tired.” To emphasize his point, Zane faked a huge yawn.

“Not that, fag,” Harry chuckled, dropping down one end of the rope. “I mean this vacation.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Back in high school, yer pops, uncle, and I used to be the studs of the town. Valuable players, intimidatin’ cowboys, 100% corn-fed beef. But when yer pops was offered an education out east, the three of us fell apart.”

“Yeah, so what?”Zane was uninterested, finding the cowboy’s bulge as the only thing appealing about Harry. Zane had a bad habit of checking out other men when he was single.

“Well,” Harry continued, dragging Zane into a stable. “When yer pops saw how off-track he had raised ya, he called up Treyton and I to put a little country in ya. We knew we were gonna have fun, but when ya brought along that Irish laddy too, that was just a cherry for the top.”

Zane shook his head in bewilderment. Who was Harry talking about? He had obviously come here alone.

“See, originally Treyton wanted you as part of his ranch, but when yer boyfriend came he decided to pass the sweeter treat off to me. I think yeu’ll really-”

“Woah, slow down a moment,” Zane rubbed his temples, losing track of everything.

“Ah, I fergot about the mental stuff,” Harry contemplated, thinking about how to explain everything. He had to find a way to explain it all to the boy.

“Remember how everyone in the stands was segregated by their clothin’ color?”

“Yeah?” Zane clearly remembered, as he had stuck out like a sore thumb, but he didn’t understand why this was important now.

“Well, they’re all branded to some ranch, that’s why they stick to one color.”

Harry’s answer made sense to him, but Zane was still visibly perplexed.

“Look at Kae- I mean Clayton Sherman,” Harry started. “He works for yer uncle’s ranch. What color to they wear?”

“Blue?”

“Exactly!” Harry slapped Zane’s back, knocking the wind out of the other man.

“Every color here is for someone’s ranch. Blue is Welch, green is Smith, white for Johnson-”

“How... how many are there?” Zane stuttered, the pieces gradually coming together.

“10, ‘cluding myself,” Harry responded proudly.

“So what you’re saying,” Zane reasoned. “Is that these ranch owner’s ‘brand’ people to be part of their ‘ranch,’ claiming them as their property?”

“Eeyup.”

“And why are you telling me this?”

“Thought you oughta know beforehand.”Zane was about to ask what that meant, but before he could speak, something clicked together in his head.

“You own one of these ‘ranches’?”

“The stunnin’ Mueller Ranch.”

“And what color are you?”

Zane already knew the answer, hoping to distract the other man, but he wasn’t fast enough to dodge Harry’s launch. The older cowboy tackled Zane to the ground, the stench of hay and manure infiltrating Zane’s lungs as his face graced the dirt floor. Zane, not one to be athletic, surprisingly twisted himself out of Harry’s grasp, rolling sideways before getting up and escaping. He started running to his truck, desperately shuffling through his pockets to find the keys. Frantically scurrying away, he didn’t even notice his foot slip right out from beneath him.

“Gotcha!”

Harry cackled heartily as he looked upon his captured prey, who was clawing at the rope helplessly. It seemed like a scene from an old western cartoon: the fool stepping into the lasso and getting caught. Harry had already tied the other end of the rope to a stable post, approaching Zane with a face gleaming with malice. Zane trembled in fear, giving up hope on flight and nervously accepting the fight. As Harry took the final steps, Zane's cowered timidly as he gave up. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but he knew something was going to be over. Then, to Zane’s pure surprise, a hand stretched out to help him up.

“Come on,” Harry welcomed warmly.

Zane’s heart stopped. Was Harry… serious? Was this all some prank just to scare him? Zane didn’t know what was going on, but he decided that once he got out of this mess he’d stay in the sweet shelter of his uncle’s ranch. After the week was over, he was never coming back to this pathetic town, or Wyoming for that sake.

“Are ya gonna take it or what?”

Zane sighed, clasping his hand into Harry’s. As soon as they connected, Harry’s flowery smile instantly twisted back into the thorny smirk.

“It’s just too easy.”

Before Zane could react, Harry flipped the other’s hand over and tapped the black stamp. Instantaneously, time stopped around them. The whole moment felt electric, almost as if everything in existence had shifted, but it was simply only a light touch. Zane gasped as he got up, struggling to speak.

“What… what did you do?”

“Eh, nothin’ yeu’ll remember,” Harry chimed. Zane investigated the back of his hand, noticing a slight pulse as the black stamp began to fade. He was shocked to see the color slowly draining from it into his veins, noticing the same inky shade pumping into his bloodstream.

“Oh no,” Zane cried as a small crackling came from his knuckles. It sounded similar to an orchestra of crickets, the hundreds of minuscule pops signifying the growth of his average hands. Zane’s palms grew thicker at a sluggish pace, bloating with meat as his fingers grew into calloused sausages. Zane groaned in pain while his hands became paws, now feeling like he was wearing bulky, leather mittens instead of skin.

The raven color flew through Zane’s arms, gliding across his chest before venturing vertically. To Zane’s dismay, his unused tendons stretched intensely, expanding as they made room for the arriving muscular tissue. Biceps proudly emerged as their brotherly triceps erupted from underneath Zane’s flesh, causing him to writhe. His forearms gained some meat too before a tan wave swept across the surface of his skin. The classic shade darkened Zane’s pale skin as a field of hair was planted on top. Before long, Zane’s arms looked like an avid gym-goer’s, yet for some reason his mind told him they were from the farm.

After improving the upper appendages, the ink moved downwards, cutting through Zane’s chest. His deltoids pushed outwards as his collarbone expanded, barely extending his traps as his torso began to shift into the shape of a “T”. His pectorals ballooned outwards, forming into meaty packages with two perky nipples, obviously erect underneath his shrinking tee. After the pecs squared out, Zane moaned as a sturdy six pack pounded in, each abdominal packing a punch as it pushed forward. A light covering of fur erupted from his chest while the tan wave made sure to paint itself once more. Zane began panting for air violently, each breath sucking in a little body fat. It didn’t remove all of his fat, but enough to maintain something barely below a body-builder’s standards. His shirt also stitched itself back together, having been torn apart seconds before. The cheap concert tee grew black as it painted itself back onto Zane’s torso, the dusky color hiding its overuse.

Following were Zane’s legs, as the black blood dove deeper. His juicy thighs began to tighten, retaining their above-average size, but now containing more muscle than meat. After his quadriceps had hardened, his knees cracked violently, stretching out Zane’s calves to max him out at 6’2. The bottom of his sweatpants violently tore to reveal two meaty forelegs, both veiny, firm, and covered in a lathering of hair. His pale skin darkened as his legs were covered in a loose denim, locking away his lower appendages.

With Zane’s lower body now covered in an old pair of Wranglers, the ink took hold of his feet, which were currently snug in a pair of Sperry’s boat shoes, the only shoes he had brought with him. In an instant, the leather and cloth tore apart in the middle, blossoming open like a flower to reveal gargantuan Size 15 feet. Zane was appalled to see the hairy, meaty, and awfully rank monsters attached below his ankles, but to his luck, the shredded shoes began to reform. The leather gracefully became cowhide as it expertly resowed itself around Zane’s feet, traveling up to his midcalves to create two authentic cowboy boots. Zane however didn’t feel relieved, in fact all he could feel was the sweat of his massive feet filling up the shoes. His socks hadn’t reformed, so it appeared he was going commando in his boots.

The ink swam up to the top, touching up on any missed spots. After filling in Zane’s pits with a hearty amount of hair, the black blood filled in his neck, adding girth to support the maturing Adam’s apple. Vocal chords stretched as the Zane’s register reached new depths, causing him to violently cough and sputter as he adjusted, allowing the ink to shoot upwards. Zane cried out in pain as the black blood clutched his skull, pulling apart at the bones to give him a thicker head. While the baby fat was removed, his jaw was stretched horizontally, giving him a prominent chin just large enough for a cleft. His lips shrunk while his nose expanded, filling in along with his expanding brows. Zane’s eyes shifted from a bland brown to easy-going blue as his hair shaved away, leaving a no-effort buzzcut where a manicured mane once laid. The vibrant green color rapidly faded, giving way to a light brown that easily shaded in Zane’s new haircut and thickening chinstrap. Across his body, his skin tightened barely as his body packed on a few extra years. It wasn’t a noticeable difference, but Zane no longer had the same glow of young adulthood.

“Ah Lordee,” Zane grumbled, getting up as his language center reorganized itself. “What’d y’all do to me?”

“Well, there’s still one more thing to go,” Harry replied, watching Zane shakily ascend. When the other man stood straight, he now faced eye to eye with the other cowboy.

“What in tarnation is left?”

“Just give it a sec-”

“I ain’t got no time for games, I’m gettin’-”

Suddenly, Zane felt an electrifying pulse throughout his groin, the rest of the ink finally reaching his reproductive center. The black blood infiltrated his testicles, killing off the weak sperm as it overtook his pouch. Zane’s balls bloated as they became heavy with cowboy sperm, dropping dramatically due to the increased weight. The ink traveled into his medium-sized penis, engorging it almost instantly. At first, Zane felt like he was having the most powerful boner of his life, but he began to realize his dick was in fact growing. His member began pulsating with the foreign blood, elongating as it grew to a mighty 10 inches. In the back end, his buttocks blew up into two massive, hardened globes, pushing against the confines of one end of the jeans while his pouch took the other.

Losing all sense of reality, Zane furiously palmed himself through his jeans, the feeling of his newly-materialized boxer shorts rubbing against his sensitive tip driving him crazy. Precumming in seconds due to the pent up stress, Zane was too horny to realize what he was doing, or what he was losing. His prized Yale education evaporated like powdered milk into his ballsack. Next went his East Coast upbringing, his progressive ideas and urban lifestyle disappearing into the void that was his semen. In tow was his homosexuality, which was thrown into the fire inside his testicles. Even a sizeable chunk of his IQ was tossed into the mixing pot. Everything about Zane was sucked down into his sperm, ready to be expelled permanently.

“C’mon boy,” Harry shouted eagerly. “Ya know what ya want to do!”

Zane grunted as he groped himself once more, feeling a burst of static electricity coarse across his body. Grabbing a nearby fence, Zane steadied himself against the stable wall as he felt the rush coming.

“Wow-ie!”

A huge load of sperm coated the front of the Wranglers, causing the area beneath the giant belt buckle to darken dramatically. Not bothering to clean himself up, the young cowboy basked in the afterglow of ejaculation, truly content with himself. He adjusted his pouch one last time, with his other hand still secured to the fence.

“There ya go, that felt better, didn’t it?” Harry slapped a hand around the other man, securing the black cowboy hat on top of the other’s head while doing so.

“Ah yeah, Sir, that one was a goodie,” the other replied, the two slowly making their way back to the main grounds.

“Tell me, Wayne, where the wife and kids at? Shouldn’t they be at the rodeo?”

“They are, Sir,” Wayne responded quickly. “They’re sittin’ near the back of the bleachers with the other ranch families.”

“Ah I see.”

10.5 SECONDS! PETE’S WOWED US AGAIN FOLKS!

Harry paused in front of the main gate, shuffling his hand through his pocket to find his keys and some Copenhagen chew.

“I best be headin’ out,” he stated. “We got a long day at the ranch tomorrow, lots of hay bale shipments to move out.”

“Sounds good, Sir.” Wayne extended his hand out, “I’ll see y’all bright and early tomorrow mornin’.”

“See y’all then, Wayne.”

The two vigorously shook hands, with Harry delighted to see the disappearance of a certain black stamp. They waved each other off as Harry walked back to his truck. After watching his boss leave, Wayne was elated to go back to his family, with one beautiful wife and three handsome sons to entertain. Turning 29 in a matter of days (his birthday shared with Pete Sherman’s, or “Little Petey” as the town called him), Wayne had already accomplished his major goal in life, growing the Woods family. It only seemed like yesterday that he and his wife were high school sweethearts, but now they owned their own little home with three rowdy chaps running around everywhere. It was going to be Wayne’s job to teach them the right morals just like how his father taught him. Over the years, he’d teach them about Christianity, voting Red, being country men, and how to swoon ladies. But, with the oldest one only in first grade, he thought it might be best to wait a bit longer.

Inspecting the bleachers, it didn’t take Wayne long to find his family. He ran up to them and sat down immediately, ready to keep enjoying the show. He quickly explained to his wife what his boss had wanted him for, saying Harry had just wanted an update on the coming fourth child. Wayne then kissed his wife passionately before giving his attention back to the rodeo, applauding as the last participant finished off the night.

10.3 SECONDS! CHRIS ENDED THE NIGHT STRONG!

ANOTHER GREAT YEAR WITH A DARN GREAT CROWD! THANKS FOR COMIN’ OUT FOLKS, WE’LL SEE Y’ALL AGAIN NEXT YEAR!

[sjw-publishings]

Hey Everyone,

I don’t tend to write these kinds of posts on my tumblr page, however I feel this is necessary.

In the event you are not aware, Dumb and Jocked, the main person I do collabs with, and also who is someone who most people might consider to be one of the backbones of the Tumblr TF community, has deactivated his account and left us last week.

Most of the people and I do not know exactly why or how this happened, but it's the reality of the situation unless he somehow does return in the future.

Some tumblrs might still have some of his stories reblogged, including mine, however some of which cannot be accessed as they are stuck at the ‘read more’ page. Notably his longer stories ‘Branded’ and both parts of the major collaboration we did together in ‘Narrow residences’.

If anyone has any of these stories saved somewhere, it would be great if you could either link it to me or post it on Tumblr.

Below will be my farewell to him, in the event he ever does somehow read it. This probably is not the best farewell letter, but it's the best I could do in such short notice and also posting it publicly. —————————————————————

Hey Dumb and Jocked,

Thanks for reading this, and I'm sad to see you go.

We’ve worked on various collabs together and it was fun throughout the years discussing various ideas here and there with you.

Unfortunately, after you left, it just feels really upsetting looking at the stuff you wrote. Even those that were saved from reblogs and reposts from other blogs. While I do want to keep them for memories and also because I did collaborate on some of them, it just feels much sadder trying to indulge in your stories or continue in sequels of it.

I was shocked that you would leave us out of the blue, however a part of me anticipated this.

I'm mostly speculating, but this is a hobby that can be rather controversial and you contributed a massive ton, likely without any compensation. You were quite private in general and talked about stories and bounced off my ideas now and then.

You sort of have a clean gateway if you decide to ever leave for good, as you probably are not really close to anyone here other than writing TF stories.

Some of us hoped that you might return, and speculated maybe it's tumblr accidentally banning you and you would get your account back, but as the days went by, it only reaffirmed that my anticipation was likely correct.

I myself mostly continued on tumblr for you, and I'm not sure if I would continue now that the main reason and person I stuck around for has left without letting any of us know. It is something I will have to decide for myself in the future.

If you ever do return to Tumblr or decide to message me privately to talk about things, that would be great. I do hope you return, even if you don’t write stories that frequently or even at all, so we could talk for a bit.

However I know that I won’t wait forever.

That’s all I will write in this letter. It was fun writing and discussing TF stories with you while it lasted.

-Sjw Publishings

[sjw-publishings]

Radical! Yeehaw! And FATHER!

Totally Normal

The things @sjw-publishings brings out of me

“Welcome back to Totally Normal, the online show where we narrow down the one thing that makes us all meet that standard!”

The host then hit a button on his laptop, releasing an audio for an uproarious round of applause. With his entire audience streaming in live, he had to make due with tracks. He didn’t mind it though; he could always predict what his viewers were thinking. It was like they shared the same mind.

“My name’s DJ, and before you ask, yes I have a side gig in music.” A laugh track obnoxiously inserted itself. “I don’t dabble in the typical jazz; I remix these men back to the tunes they oughta be singing.”

Another fake round of applause. The host smirked before continuing forward with the rules.

“The point of the game is simple: Figure out that one thing that makes someone totally normal. Through a series of questions, I’m going to chisel away at our contestants until we get to the base. For every wrong answer, a vibration will be sent out to their device until they head back on the right track. We want to find out that one thing that solidifies them as an average joe, but we don't exactly know what that thing is."

The host then took a scripted pause. "Well, I know what that thing is.”

Another laugh track entered before the host silenced his imaginary audience. “So, let’s get down to it. We have our men here, but ARE THEY NORMAL?”

The last three words were all enunciated with the typical gameshow pazazz. The host even had an accompanying audio that made it seem like there was an audience chanting it with him. 

On cue, the livestream booted up a panel of the three contestants. The first was a shy young man, who by his age looked to be in college but by his height possibly younger. The second was the typical corporate homosexual, the breed who was already happily married and wore tight, designer clothing. And last but not least, the third looked just a little older than the first with an office that displayed the inner workings of a minor start-up.

“Help me welcome our first contestant, coming from the cool waves of Cali, here comes Cody!”

Corey opened his mouth to kindly correct the host, but was immediately silenced by the massive track of applause. A small and nervous 20-year-old, Corey was an academically-fine student at a state school. He worked as an IT intern, helping others work through their issues in a manner where he didn’t have to fully engage. Yet he knew he would probably have to work through this introvert problem if he ever truly wanted to make a loyal boyfriend from the crop of surfers across the street.

“Up next is our cowboy-tootin’, bullet-firin’ family man, Norman!”

Nolan made a face of disgust, but he too didn’t stand a chance against the fake cheers. He’d settled down with his husband just about 10 years ago in the suburbs. Working for a Fortune 500 company, he had everything a man of his caliber could want. Great company, great style, great pets instead of real children. Nolan loved his little metropolitan life.

“And finally, the privileged heir to the corporate throne, it’s Asher!” 

Aaron rolled his eyes as the artificial eruption burst through his speakers. He assumed that this narcissistic jock host had gotten all of the contestants names wrong. Aaron had built his own business up from the ground, an independent hard-worker with no one tying him down. It wasn’t that Aaron didn’t want a boyfriend, he just needed to focus on himself. That’s why he was keeping it casual, hooking up with boys a little younger and less responsible. He absentmindedly pawed at his crotch a little as the douchebag DJ started the game.

“Now,” the host cracked his knuckles dramatically. “Let’s start off with some easy questions, just to make sure those devices are working after all. Cody, you’re looking comfortable out on that beach!”

Corey looked around the library he was sitting in confusedly, neither comfortable nor on a beach.

“I think you’re mistaking me for the surfers across the street,” Corey tried to joke, but his feeble demeanor spoiled the comeback.

“Men…you all ought to be where all the other guys of your kind are at.”

All three of them put on bewildered faces.

“Cody, what’s holding you back from embracing that Cali life?” the host asked.

“I…I mean there’s the obvious fact that they aren’t keen on ga-”

BZZT

“Ah!” Corey ripped his hand away, the "vibration" more of a literal sting.

“Cody, what’s holding you back?” the host asked again.

“Dude,” Corey uncharacteristically responded. “I don’t know if they will accept me, man.”

“Bro, what’s there NOT to accept?” the host chuckled. “You fit right in!”

Corey looked over his short frame, his pale skin, his shrimpy figure. He appeared better fit for the library than the bea-

BZZT

“You’re right DJ! I'm a gnarly guy like them brahs! They’ll totally accept me!”

Corey looked over his tall frame, his tanned skin, his toned figure. He appeared better fit for the beach than the library–that’s why he was on the beach after all!

“Alright alright,” the host nodded with approval. “Now Norman, let’s talk about your life in the countryside.”

“‘Countryside’?” Nolan interjected. “Do you consider Houston-”

BZZT

Nolan flung his hand back, “HOWARDWICK the countryside? You bet! Population 402, the two being me and my husband.”

“And what massive land you got behind you, I’m assuming you and your male fling built that together.”

“My what?” Nolan peered behind him, noticing his garden he’d built with his hus-

BZZT

-the ranch he’d built with his hustle. Well, not technically–this land had been managed through the traditional good ole ways of his parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents. He’d just been fixing it up here and there.

Nolan stretched his thickening fingers, hoping to desensitize them from the pain. “W…What in tarnation is goin' on ‘ere?”

The host continued on, mocking the Southern accent he’d implanted onto the second contestant. “A place fittin' for a cowpoke like y’all’s self! Ain’t no city folk allowed; you don’t want nothin’ queer intrudin' your property, right?”

“Queer?!” Nolan spat back. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’-“

BZZT

“Darn tootin’ straight! Ain’t nothin’ strange gonna be happenin’ on this ‘ere land.”

With the second contestant’s location rightfully reoriented, the host moved onto the third.

“And onto our Ivy League, let’s discuss ascension…I mean, ‘climbing the corporate ladder’.”

Aaron shot the host a dirty look through the screen. “You don’t think I worked hard to earn this position?”

“Well, you certainly didn’t do it all yourself.”

Aaron held his breath. He was a decently attractive man with his slim figure and responsible will, and even his anger made him appear wiser than his years. But Aaron's best feature was his independence, and he wasn’t going to let anyone taint his name over that.

“What, do you think my current boyfri-”

BZZT

“-my dating his-”

BZZT

“-my friends with benefits were involved?”

Aaron’s fingers tingled with energy. His body tingled with fury.

“Well,” the host snickered. “If by benefits, you mean…”

“What’s all this!” Aaron flipped. “This is simply…p…preposterous!”

“What are you talking about?” the host egged on. “It's simply normal for a man with your caliber to have such an ‘inheritance’.”

The other two contestants watched on with intrigue.

“I…I may have a b…benefactor,” Aaron suddenly revealed, as if something had just been placed upon his chest. But he was still independent, right? “But that has nothing to do with it!”

“Benefactor? Do you mean your DADDY?”

The fake audience suddenly burst into a chorus of shocked “Ooooohhhh”s. Aaron’s usual calm nature was flatlining, being replaced by a more quickly-agitated behavior.

“We may be really closely acquainted!” Aaron backpedaled. “But it’s nothing of that kind of sort!”

The other two contestants smirked as the growingly-pompous bastard was taken down a peg.

“Sounds pretty queer to me, man,” Corey interjected confidently, scratching at his defining abs.

“Yeah, Ah reckon that fellas a little less normal than us folks,” Nolan added, adjusting the large hat that had secured itself upon his head.

“SHUT UP SWINE!” Aaron spat, his face gaining back a little of his baby fat as he absorbed more child-like aggression. “I'm perfectly normal!”

The two men laughed alongside an obnoxious laughter track.

“He’s right folks, we men are on the right side of history.” The host knew he needed to move on, the show only had so much time of course, but he was having fun. “Surely that father-figure is just some kind of…relative?”

“Just a relative, brah?” Corey asked as his trim cut bloomed out into luscious blond waves.

“Seems closer than that, partner.” Nolan quipped as a graying stubble crawled upon his widening jaw.

“A….A relative?” Aaron stammered, a higher youthful pitch lightening his tenor as this benefactor became clearer in his head. “He’s…he’s someone who I f-“

BZZT

“Father! He’s my father: Asher Osvald the Third!” Aaron screamed, his blond locks gelling up into a refined style that didn’t match his own personality. “And you all better remember it when you see our company in the headlines!”

Both Corey and Nolan took their respectful back-offs, but the host could only smirk with pride. After a moment of self-congratulation, he noticed some slight hesitation from the first candidate.

“Dude…” Corey started. “Can’t you just see he’s messin’ with us, man? Don’t you guys feel kinda strange-“

“Aren’t you supposed to chill, dude?” The host immediately cut him off.

Corey’s mouth went flat, his chin taking the opportunity to curve out a little further. “How can I chill with-“

BZZT

“Without the support from my brosettes across the screen, duuuuude!”

The host watched on with glee as the female portion of the livestream burst into a flurry. Lots of hearts and kisses and even some eggplant emojis were flooding the chat. And the comments were getting suggestive too. One chick wanted to know why he was wearing a dorky button-up, and she was soon exposed to his lean bod and treasure trail. Another suggested he should flex for the camera, and Corey was happy to oblige, each of his muscles pumping larger as he did so.

“Now, Cody,” the host coyly asked. “I’m sure the fans would like to know what you do for work.”

“I uh…I work with coding.”

“You are studying IT?” the host replied, incredulous. “Sounds complicated man.”

Corey beamed at the compliment, an excited fever entering his voice. “Yeah, but I sort of have a gift for-“

BZZT

“IT...like as in ‘it’ man...not ‘eye-tee’ or whatever.”

“But it has something to do with a code, right?”

“Well…yeah man…” Corey’s lifeless vocal fry responded. “But it's not that nerdy crap…something more…uhhh…”

The host graciously provided the answer, “Manly?”

“Yeah man….’it’ is the uh…bro-code brah.” Corey fiddled with the cross necklace that had materialized around his neck, trying to structure his thoughts. Corey felt like his head was spinning in a light vertigo, but not out of stress. Rather, a pleasurable confusion. Cali dudes don’t think that much right? They just go with the flow, so why shouldn’t he man? Wasn’t that what was normal?

While Corey processed his internal dilemma, the host reconnected with the second contestant, noticing he too was becoming a little self-aware.

“Hey Norman, you’re really rocking that fit.”

Nolan was honestly surprised at the comment. He knew he looked good in his tight, patterned three-piece, but he didn’t think the ultra-straight host would notice that too.

“Those shoes must be great for the ranch.”

Nolan laughed. “These ole’ things? They’re Prada from last season-“

BZZT

“Uhh…Ah mean these boots are from that one brand-”

BZZT

“Ah’ve had these kickers for years, fella!”

The host observed quietly as the rest of the second contestant’s clothes altered. The suit jacket and vest disappeared completely. The pants grew out into a straight pair of jeans that had been worn continuously for many seasons. The shirt rolled it sleeves and loosened some buttons, darkening to a dusty black that was meant for hauling hay rather than implying gay. But as the outfit masculinized, there was one item that stubbornly fought back, unlike the man who wore it.

“And that belt, how long have you had that?”

Nolan evaluated the expensive snake leather. “Oh yeah, this ‘ere was a gift-“

BZZT

“What in TARNATION was that for?!” Nolan yelled, the vibration noticeably more painful than the previous blasts. The material of his belt quickly grew cheaper, a massive longhorn buckle blooming forth above his blooming pouch.

“S…Sorry y’all,” Nolan collected himself. “Ah don’t know what’s gotten ovah me, or why Ah’m speakin’ so-“

“Enough apologies,” the host gagged. “You are a man, are you not?”

“Yessiree, but that doesn’t mean we men ain’t got to be sens-”

BZZT

“Ah reckon yer right there, partner!” Nolan puffed out his chest, carrying his emerging muscle gut with him. “We men oughta be tough! The MAN of the household.”

The host snickered, his eyes meandering around the second contestant’s body as additional muscle and bulk was piled onto his frame. “And men like you ought to have a body like that, don’t they?”

The cowboy huffed, his torso heavy with Southern pride. Nolan had worked his muscular frame up over all these long years, from sunrise to sundown. At 6’4, his big hearty body was always devouring meat to stretch out everything from his big strong biceps to his huge Size 15 clompers!

With the first and second contestants almost there, it was time for the host to catch his third man up to speed. He had already advanced mighty far, his skin having cleared up a bit and a few arrogant gold trophies having appeared in the office background, but the host had some additional notches yet to secure before the final round.

“Now Asher, let’s get real here.” The host put on his classic douchebag smile for the audience. “Any ladies tickling that fancy lately?”

“What?” Aaron scoffed. “Are you dense? I'm into g-”

BZZT

“Girls…no…wait what?” Aaron felt strange. Why did the host ask if he liked…girls? And why was the thought of girls suddenly something he…liked?

“Listen ere’, partner,” Nolan suddenly interjected. “Yer talkin’ 'bout women like they’re nothin’!”

The host, displeased, fought back. “Aren’t you married to one, partner?”

Nolan couldn’t believe the disrespect. “Me? Married to a woman? Yeah right-”

BZZT

“-Ah am! Ah’ve been married to my lovely wife for darn straight twenty years! Ain’t nothing QUEER happenin' on this ‘ere normal ranch. I got youngins to raise after all!”

As Nolan became bombarded by memories of his new flock of children, the satisfied host switched back to his third contestant.

“Look, I think we should respect women.” Aaron tried his best to sound mature, now finding it extremely difficult to maintain. “In fact, I think we should respect all others appropriately-“

BZZT

“And by appropriately, I am referring to overlooking these swines of colleagues who cannot afford a top notch education adjacent to my own.”

The host queued up a laugh track for his next one-liner. “They weren’t kidding when they said someone with your prestige had everything handed down to you, including bad manners.”

Aaron felt his anger rising once again, it easily filling his shortening body as he squared out to an average 5’9.

“Well excuseeee me! I am my own person with-“

BZZT

“My father is a reputable man who would wish to-”

BZZT

“DADDY!”

Aaron stomped his foot, bewildered at this idiocracy. Why was he continuously interrupted? Why was he not given the required recognition? He was captain of the country club’s golf team, rowing team, youth league, and the youngest member on the executive board for Christ’s sake! He studied at an Ivy League! He was everything!

As Aaron tried to understand why none of these other men appreciated the absolute honors of his merit–which he refused to ever admit weren’t even his own–a small alarm went off from the host’s computer.

“Like what was that, mannnn?” Corey’s face furrowed into an all-too-natural look of dumbfoundment.

“Yeah,” Nolan reared. “What's y'all gonna do next?”

“I demand to know it this instant!” The host was surprised at the third contestant jumping in, but he assumed it was just his way of trying to maintain his (nonexisting) position on top. “Or else I’ll tell my father about this-!”

An insane uproar of artificial laughter echoed throughout their ears, startling and silencing them.

“Alright folks, you know what that sound means!” the host grinned. “It’s almost time to wrap up our show, and because our contestants still haven’t figured out what makes them 'Totally Normal', we’re going to have to speed things up!”

“But can’t there only be one winner?” Aaron whined.

“Technically, no,” the host responded honestly. “All of you can be winners if you find out what makes you totally normal.”

For the first time since the game had started, all three of the contestants fell silent.

“I mean, let’s look at our surfer stud Cody,” the host started. “You are almost there, but you gotta loosen that one thing that’s still pent-up, man.”

“Brah…” Corey complained. “What else is there?”

As if by some subconscious command from the host, Corey began dumbly palming himself, a light drool dripping from the edge of his lips. The constant cycle of tits and feminine bits in his mind bombarding all over thoughts.

“A totally gnarly surfer focuses on working out, banging chicks, and chillin’ dude.”

Corey guffawed with a stupid relaxed expression, casually groping as the host moved on.

“And Norman, you’ve worked hard for your position in life, haven’t you?”

The Texan father nodded in cold agreement.

“So what would pride a totally traditional cowboy more than his ranch, his woman, and his legacy?”

Nolan groaned as he instantly unbuckled the massive lock hiding his mighty steed. Huffing loudly, the Southern Baptist’s lil’ pony was wrangled into a full-fledged stallion, the kind that was built to produce offspring. And the kind that got worked up over anything that could threaten the generational uniformity his family, religion, and nation he swore to protect.

“And you, Asher,” the host swiped over to the final contestant. “What’s stopping you from becoming the total Harvard bastard?”

Asher’s face went red and his cock went hard.

“I’m talking complete corruption, pure privilege, Daddy’s little-”

The host was suddenly cut off by a loud holler, the exclaim like the crashing waves of the ocean. Immediately, the comment section blew up as the host, players, and audience watched the surfer jock release a blast of his sea salt spray.

But before the host could congratulate the first winner, the southern father turned around the corner. With one hand whipping his meat and the other held tightly onto his hat, it was only mere moments until the inevitable:

“YEEHAW!”

Once again, the audience burst into merriment over the propagating blast. It was then that Aaron’s anger truly took the best of him. He couldn’t be beaten by two no-names! He was the top of his class, an heir to a Fortune 500 company, and a totally normal man for Christ’s sake! Gripping his pecker and shining it furiously, Aaron accepted his heterosexual rage and vowed that he would win and please his…please his…!

“F…FAAAAATHERR!”

A loud, pretentious yell echoed out of the Harvard student, an endless splurge of funds dumping out of his mighty account. It was just one of the many things his heritage’s estate had granted him.

The host didn’t try to hide his devious sneer as the viewers erupted once more. He’d loved his job because everyone won every time. And now, seeing all the new stereotypical straights he’d created, the host couldn’t help but feel his own massive sausage chub. But he laughed the feeling off, knowing beating off over these other men wouldn’t have been “totally normal.”

“And it looks like with just a minute left on the clock, all three of our contestants will be going home as winners today!” The host then added his artificial rounds of applause. “So, did you three ever figure out what makes you ‘Totally Normal’?”

“Isn’t it obvious, brah?” Cody replied, the typical airhead more sure of himself now than when he had dropped out of high school. “It’s that we’re straight, mannnn…”

“He’s right, partner!” Norman added, his fatherly conviction always strong and steady. “Ain’t none of us are them faggots. If Ah do say so myself, we are all what the mighty Lord named men.”

“Well, if that is what common plebians such as yourself are called, then you shall address me as ‘I-V’,” Asher Osvald IV’s voice was doused in entitlement and a lack of understanding for anyone but himself. A pair of offscreen hands adjusted his tie just to prove his privilege. “After all, I do attend Harvard. I guess you could say I was destined for greatness since birth.”

“Yes, Asher, everyone here knows you are a prick.” The host immediately followed up his quip with a laugh track. “But that’s all we have for today’s show. Signing off, this is Host DJ!”

“Hang ten and surfs up, dudes!”

“The biggest rodeo’s the family and kids y’all!”

“I’m probably way richer than you vagrants, so don’t bother.”

“And don’t forget to ask yourself,” the host winked before adding in the final audio. “ARE YOU NORMAL?”

[sjw-publishings]

Just two bros giving the other a Bro-Job ;)

Bro-Job

This lovely piece was brought on by the equally lovely @sjw-publishings

BRRRRRRING!

Rodney paced awkwardly in front of the door, two voices in his head battling viscously for control. The first, which begged the question “Why am I here?!” over and over was the more persistent. A 5’5 skinny gay psych major on Greek Row? Yeah, that voice was definitely winning. The other however, the one prompting the single response of “Money.”, was enough to make Rodney stay.

“Hello?” Rodney called out, his bright tenor a little too nasally. He had come in response to a job offer put up on campus. He didn’t actually know what the job was, but it promised “All dudes welcome, free food and drinks.” The free amenities would certainly help pay for his student housing.

After still hearing nothing, Rodney decided to investigate. Someone had to be home, it wasn’t like all the frat boys would already be out and about town. Actually, that possibility didn’t seem too far-fetched. With a huff, Rodney marched his way around the massive frat house, following the driveway to the backyard. Three frat boys were parked by the detached garage, their muscly forms on full display.

“Uh,” Rodney started out. “Excuse me?”

The three men, in a heated argument over big tits or big butts, turned to face the boy half their size. Two of them wore a face of disgust, but the third popped a smile of delight.

“What can we do for you, little man?” the third greeted with two Natty Lights in one massive mitt.

Rodney gulped, noting the major size difference between him and them. “I’m uh…here for the job opening?”

The other two frat boys smirked at that response.

“Hey Chet, looks like someone finally replied,” the first chuckled.

“Cheers to that, broski!” the second, who would make any excuse for a celebratory swig, cheered.

The third, Chet, couldn’t help but chuckle. “Alright little man, let’s head in the frat house and get this interview started.”

Rodney nodded, surprised at how simple this whole ordeal was. The much larger jock tossed a bulky arm around the gay nerd and led him to the mansion. Rodney tried to hide his blush at the physical touch, praying that the frat boys wouldn’t see his small, but very present boner.

“First things first bro,” Chet started, tossing Rodney a beer. “We gotta get you a little more comfortable.”

“'Comfortable'?”

“Well sure dude,” Chet laughed, falling back into a crusty couch behind him. “I’m already four deep, so we gotta catch you up.”

Confused, but desperate enough for a job, Rodney cracked open the cold one. He took a timid sip, much to the disapproval of the frat boy.

“Nah bro, don’t be a fairy about it.” Chet shook his head as he patted for the nerd to sit behind him. Trying his best to ignore the previous comment, Rodney placed himself beside the jock. Immediately, Chet grabbed the can and lined it up to Rodney’s mouth, forcing the smaller boy to chug the rest of the beer.

“What the…!” Rodney sputtered, catching his breath. “What was that for?!”

Chet handed the kid another beer. “That’s how you smash, bro! Alright, next one.”

Rodney hated this situation, but he knew he would more despise a situation with no money. After some slight hesitation, Rodney pounded the second beer. Chet made him move through one more, joining the nerd with his own can, tacking their totals to three and five.

“Ahhh…” Chet moaned, patting the stacked eight abs underneath his sweaty tank. He then belched proudly, letting the alcohol take its course. Rodney could only watch on in amazement and an embarrassing amount of arousal.

“Now,” Chet tossed his meaty arm back around the nerd. It took Rodney a second to realize the warm, wet liquid coating his shoulder was sweat from the frat boy’s jungly armpit. “So the job-”

“Oh yeahhh...” Rodney followed with a short giggle. He guessed the alcohol was beginning to assimilate into his system.

“That’s what you’re here for!” Chet exclaimed. “It’s so easy, there’s really only so much you have to know and do.”

Rodney took a swig of his fourth beer, copying the movement Chet had displayed with his sixth can. “Well, what’s to know?”

“There’s that confidence, bro!” Chet took the arm wrapped around the nerd and gave him a playful noogie, the tangled mess cropping up into a neater bro cut. “I was wondering how long it would take for that beer pressure to start hitting you!”

Rodney wanted to correct the jock’s expression, but instead he let out a solitary hiccup. That was followed by a second swig as he watched Chet open into a grand explanation of the job’s responsibilities. 

There was a lot to take in, more than Rodney had thought there would be. The exercise standards, the room-and-board requirements, the daily bonding with bros. And while Rodney listened to everything Chet said, he didn’t realize he was also paying attention to the frat boy’s mannerisms. Rodney was so entranced at every movement of the broadcast. Every scratch, every subtle flex, the way the Adam’s apple bounced with every chug. Even Chet’s dazed-out dumbness and increasing amount of slurring was absorbed by the nerd.

What Rodney didn’t realize however was that each time he picked up on one of these moments, he mimicked it as well. The behavior was being digested into his psyche, the frat boy’s macho ideology sinking down into his core with each new swig of beer. 

While Chet discussed the height requirement, Rodney’s frame shifted underneath the jock’s grasp to notch him up to a proper 6’3. When Chet mentioned the necessary sizes of the biceps, triceps, and quadriceps, Rodney failed to notice his own arms and legs bloating out to gigantic muscular portions. And with each and every swig of beer Chet took, Rodney copied and pasted.

BUUUUUUURRRRRP!

“Ah yeahhhhh!” Chet proclaimed, dropping his seventh empty can. “Let’s see what you’ve got in there, bro.”

With a hearty swat, the frat boy smacked Rodney’s small gut. His torso immediately deflated under Chet’s touch, sharpening out into eight stacked abs that fit perfectly underneath his cushy pectorals.

Buh-UUURRRP!

“Huhuhuh,” Rodney chuckled, not noticing his voice was morphing into Chet’s silky-smooth baritone with every syllable. “Like…that felt sooo gooood.”

“Of course it did, bro!” Chet obnoxiously replied. “That’s how frat life always is!”

Rodney watched as Chet groped himself with his free hand. Although it was more than that really: tugging at his massive cock and balls. Rodney then noticed the swath of pubes spilling out over the waistband of Chet’s tiny shorts, realizing the frat boy was going commando.

This typically would’ve excited him, almost to the point of bursting right there, but Rodney's meager dick had surprisingly gone dormant. Rodney rationed it was the alcohol, noting that he’d already started his sixth can. And he was thankful for the lack of attention anyway. If Chet would’ve seen him get hard over another dude, that would’ve been awkward. Yet Rodney couldn't exactly figure out why...

With one hand still handling his boys, Chet suddenly grew quiet and leaned in close to Rodney. His breath was warm and laced with alcohol, each tickling Rodney’s neck before climbing down his shirt, the shirt that had removed its buttons, expensive material, and sleeves.

Rodney watched as Chet got his hand out of his shorts and began feeling up Rodney, piece by piece.

“These arms, brochacho…” Chet murmured, wiping his ball sweat across Rodney’s thick, tanned canvas. Small hairs poked up in Chet’s wake. Chet then lifted one of Rodney’s arms and took a sniff, as if inspecting for quality. Sure enough, a rotten smell emerged from the chestnut groves that had erupted within Rodney’s pits, yet that was the fresh quality Chet had been looking for.

After a quick swig, which was repeated on Rodney’s part, Chet’s massive hand swooped down towards Rodney’s legs, evaluating the meat. Rodney only watched on with a lazy smile, propping his legs out into a typical, bro-ish manspread to accommodate. Without warning, Chet’s hand then launched underneath Rodney’s buttocks, giving one of his cheeks a sharp pinch.

“Hey! Watch it, homo!” Rodney shouted, not catching the slur or the fact that his exclamation had come out with complete clarity.”

“Woah woah, broooo…” Chet slowly pulled his hands back. “I’m just checkin’ if we’re sealed shut dude, wouldn’t want the fairies intruding.”

Sinking immediately back into his drunken haze, Rodney nodded along pleasantly. He thanked his bro for watching out for him, his hole silently shutting tight in response.

Chet let another belch loose before continuing, “Minddd if I tell you a secret, brooo?”

Chet got closer to Rodney, even going as far as to place his sweaty, socked, Size 14 feet on top of Rodney’s.

“Yyyyyeeah dude…” Rodney slurred back.

“Huhuhuh,” Chet started. “See the sorority…rity next door brah?”

Rodney shifted a bit in his seat, slightly turning his own sweaty, socked, Size 14 feet.

“I just banged like…” Chet had to take a second to count. “Ten…eleven…eleven…twelve of those chicks last week. I set…like…a completely new record brochacho!”

The pair burst out into a massive drunken laugh fest, tossing their heads back in an exaggerated manner. Rodney chugged the rest of his beer messily, some droplets splashing onto the bushy mustache crawling over his upper lip like a caterpillar. They both tossed their sixth and eighth behind them.

“Nowwwww…” Chet slowly started again. “We’ve discussed the bro-knows, but now we oughta get to the bro-dos of the Bro-Job.”

“Brahhhh…” Rodney echoed. “The way you’re sayin…sounds kinda gay man…”

Rodney didn’t even consider why this could be a problem.

Chet moved on, “Brah, how I handle my initiations…it's gotta be personal.”

“Init…inuiti…initiations?” Rodney tried to ask, struggling on the word.

“These Bro-Jobs dude…” Chet tried again, screwing off his backwards cap before fixing it onto Rodney’s head. “They're serious busy-nesss….”

Rodney snickered at the odd pronunciation, his jaw and browline growing more pronounced after each chuckle. He then tossed back the rest of his beer, crushing it in one of his massive paws.

“Brah…I need more beeeeerrrr, stat.” 

“Heh, don’t we all bro,” Chet crushed his own empty can before adding it to the disarray of the messy house. “But you gotta pass the initiation man! Your next beer can is your own!”

The frat boy said it in a way where even though the statement made no sense, in their drunken comradery it held like a secret code. 

“Wha…bro…arrrrre you sayin’-?”

“No homo man” Chet immediately quelled the alarm that had been arising in Rodney’s system. “It’s just a part of the Bro-Job…gotta…gotta add more of that frat sauce to the brew or somethin’...”

Both of them stuck their hands down into each other’s packages through their tiny shorts, which Rodney didn’t remember his own had been long slacks before. Or that he had been wearing underwear before. But what did strike Rodney as odd was the manner of this exchange. It still felt off.

“But…” Rodney tried to find the clarity he needed through his drunken incoherent mass of thoughts. “Kinda...gay brah?”

The not-so homosexual man flinched, his lingering sexuality slowly succumbing with the strangely tough pulls that enlarged his precious tap forcefully. It wasn’t long until Rodney’s pride and joy were surging with the same potent and propagating brew of the frat boy who was pumping him. His manhood was now a giant spout, with his swollen balls filled with the pure, raw hormones that ensured his kegs were always juicing.

“Dude…” Chet chuckled. “It’s not gay if you’re thinkin’ of all the chicks that will be beggin’ to ride this thing.”

After a hefty amount of thought, Rodney realized Chet was right. He wasn’t thinking about dudes or bros or nothing. None of the homo crap was even in his mind. In fact, the very idea of being a faggot disgusted him. All Rodney could think about was chicks. Tits and pussies and breeding them one by one with his vaccination shots. Except these shots weren't protecting these babies from anything. Rather, he was contaminating them. And that made Rodney feel good. Absolutely frat-tastically good.

“Ahhhh….brooooo…!” Rodney moaned. “I think I’m gonna blow!”

“Then do it, dude!” Chet replied.

“NO HOMO BROOOO!!!” The frat boys shouted in unison, their gigantic splooges pouring out into their bro’s hand. After the ecstasy had released, they both removed themselves from the other’s shorts and returned the babymatter to their owners, wiping each other’s work on the other’s tank top.

“God dude,” Chet replied. “Nothin’ beats THAT part of the Bro-Job.”

The newly-minted frat boy could only guffaw. His dreams, aspirations, and uniquities were completely gone, let alone his intelligence deteriorated down to the bare minimum. He was now only gifted with the simple desires of a sexually-overdrived culturally-accepted delinquent.

“I never got your name by the way,” Chet laughed. “I’m gonna need it for the prez so he can register you for the frat.”

“Hot Rod,” Rodney replied, the nickname coming out as if it was a programmed response.

Chet gave Hot Rod a brotherly swat before lifting him up off the couch. “'Hot Rod', huh? I think that will suit the other bros well once you finish the last part of the job.”

“There’s more, dude?” Hot Rod asked, following the other frat boy out to the front yard. “We both know I’m perfect for the frat life!”

“Well of course!” Chet then grabbed a computer and handed it over to Hot Rod. After looking for a little too long, Hot Rod eventually realized it was an online job board.

“I gotta get a job, bro?” Hot Rod asked, somehow making the dull timbre of his tone sound even dumber.

“No, dude!” Chet rolled his eyes. “The last part of the Bro-Job is recruiting the next member.”

Hot Rod’s empty expression signaled his lack of understanding.

“I just completed the Bro-Job,” Chet explained. “Now it’s your turn.”

Again, after a little too long of a pause, the pieces finally managed to place themselves together in Hot Rod’s head. With a thick guffaw, he made the job opening available once more before closing the laptop. He then placed the device behind him and took a seat at the end of the driveway, twisting his cap and assuming a cocky pose.

“What are you doing, bro?” Chet laughed.

“Sittin’ pretty, brah,” Hot Rod shot back. “Wanna make it easier for the next fag that rolls around.”

[sjw-publishings]

Lit Gud Streamin

With much encouragement from @dumb-and-jocked

>First Time Streamin’ bro?

The house husband blushed at the first comment coming to respond to him.

Carson Green was anxious…he’d heard of streaming but never tried it until some pestering from his Gaymer group as of late.

The stay at home husband wanted to help with the finances, hence why he even considered it in the first place. Sure it was nice being a homemaker, and definitely had a flair in cooking, but he wanted to do something different.

“Y…Yeah, it’s my first time.”

>LOL K

He was relatively unsure of this, but he had known and spoken to several of the guys a week ago, and though he could have sworn they talked about a different topic entirely, he recalled about many of them bragging about ‘raking in the dough’ for gaming.

True enough, many of them are not only being paid handsomely in royalties for streaming, but they have a surprisingly large fanbase!

Admittedly, he was sort of shocked…and sort of jealousy that many of them are quite popular online, almost like they reached stardom within a week or less.

But regardless, his group also promised that they will help out with ‘assimilating’ him into the platform and moderate his stream. So surely he would reach a certain level of success with their guidance.

Though he’s still unsure how exactly will do they so.

“W…What games will we be playing?”

>Dis the game dude

>Ur in it, brought in da Boiz to watch the stream.

With that, the number count rose exponentially, from single digits, to doubles.

The house husband blushed, twiddling his thumbs at being watched by wide audience. Is it like a reality show game? Or is it something different entirely?

Granted, there weren’t any instructions or briefings given about it. Maybe it is a more on the spot, spontaneous kind of thing?

“D…Do I need to do anything in particular?”

>Just be yourself , LOL

>You gotta impress us Noob.

He…kind of doesn’t like being called a noob, but he is new to streaming after all. So he ought to listen to them, no matter how they are like.

>Dude, ur Tagline?

Tagline…?

Oh yeah! All the cool streamers he watched had one.

Wait? Since when did he watch…well he is a gamer after all, so it’s only natural that he DID watch streams, at least some of em by proxy. He is rather connected to the other guys.

“Ummm…ok LOL, what kind of tagline. Do you all have any suggestions, dudes?”

>Just Lit Gud man.

>Yeah RAT

He thought maybe it’s tough love or something…though it really feels extremely rude. Almost draining even, like yeah it was exhausting trying to keep up with his group’s gaming shenanigans, but even in their streamin’ advice?

C’mon Man!

Plus he’s just got married not a while ago! They could’ve at least be NICE to him since he’s now tied down! Like don’t get me wrong, he loves his husbro, but when all is said and done, he does miss the glory days of being with the rest of the guys.

“Look, I-D-K if Lit Gud Noobs is such a nice tagline?”

Desperate for a win here. Yeah, he may be getting quite aggro. But it’s justified! Bro.

“And who you callin’ Rat, RATZ!”

His mouth slurred at that remark, a very sleazy…immature slur as he quickly covered his mouth in that regard.

Though admittedly, he kinda liked that.

After all, if he was the rat, then these noobs are his goons. And while he usually isn’t the dominant one in his relationships, admittedly he kinda liked roleplaying as one of the typical bros, even if he wasn’t THAT asian compared to them.

>RAT BOD

>You lift Bro?

“My body…its not that well off-“

>Get lit or get Shyt on

He’s gotta get LIT.

Watching as his weight sizzle away down, melting away the bubbling tummy fat into a faint trail of a six pack, straining loosely on the shirt being his college grad pectorals.

Gotta show off after all. Specially during the bachelor’s party!

His diet consisted of pizza, soda and chips. And so ducking what? Body trim as DUCK, that’s how he lived and how his rats loved it. Some people said it was his GENE-tics or some shit that he had this bod, but you know what he says to em’?

Get lit or get Shyt on!

But even so, da shyt? Why did these bastards gotta treat him like that? Weren’t they all buds or somethin’?

“You RATZ are always so rude.”

>We rude? KAPPA

>Haha Noob!

With every interaction and vocabulary pollution, hunching lazily towards the screen, eyes entranced by the masses of comments.

LIGHTING and EMPHASIZIN’ random words, like an obnoxious mixture tainting his patience. Persistent name calling and being on the receiving end of the relationship kinda pisses him off.

>LOL K, How’s the stream?

But admittedly, a growing part of him is really getting pumped, while irritated, a small part of him liked broadcasting to these gamers.

If only they had some MAN-NERS, sheesh!

“How the streamin’ goin? Dude IDK, just a Jerkin’ stream today, nothin but insults.”

> Git Gud

> Just Git Gud

> Noob

Chat, filled with your run of the mill, cloned responses. Your typical mocks and insults, passive threading onto aggressive, a fine balance of being slightly very aggro but chill, producing RUDE DUCKIN’ INSULTS.

Each one after another, a shytposting blend that makes the stupid obnoxiousness rise higher and higher. Calves toning out from jumping upwards in sports as his body shrunk downward, making sure he sees eye to eye with dem BOIZ.

One liner aggressiveness alongside swarms of memes and complete nonsense. Idiotic behaviour, fitting a ‘RatChat’. Blending in with the other dudes, speakin’ their language, participating campus exercises and roughing around with the other bros!

Like a game, course, they are gamers after all. They know the COMBO, dissecting their streamer bud like it’s nothin’! Insults kicking right from the beginning!

He wanted to beat them at their own game!

Be hetter-BETTER! Calson Greo wanted to be a PRO.

“Alright RATZ, What’ll make me less of a noob and g-”

>Git Gud Noob

“GIT GUD?”

His voice slurred, eyebrows raised as he slumped back in his gaming chair. Like a simple command burning into his skull.

He just gotta GIT GUD! No instructions needed, except you gotta be IN DA LOOP. At TOP! As his buttocks clenched at the refusal of being BOT! Cheeks meant for exercise and gamin’.

He had to GIT GUD! And that’s being on top of his game always!

>You gotta be LIT Fam

“LIT?”

A delicious fuming rage erupted from his screen, as a multitude of laughing frogs and emojis filled his entire chat.

Igniting a fire within, his skin tanning till its just RIGHT. Made for a BOI who spends time gamin’ both online and in sports. Just like every other of his classmates back on campus.

>Stop being such a QUEER

“QUEER? Da SHYT?”

SHYT, these men tryin’ to get under his skin. Really making him all pent and rock solid. NO HOMO!

Wait WUT?

DUDE! LIEK…man he’s really even sounding immature in his thoughts? Wasn’t he some sort of QUEER? DA FK? He was g…a…guy, A GUY! YEAH! He was a guy like em!

“Thought you all stand for GUY RIGHTS?”

HE ALWAYS TOPS! Yeah so maybe he had a PHAG, but it was clear they are ‘sabotaging’ his GAY STREAM and tryin’ makin’ it the way it ought to be!

Full of SHYT-talkin’, assholes are dragging him down to THEIR level. A more rodent, nastier bunch instead of friendly GHEYS! But alright! If these idiots want to game, then they gonna-

>Look PHAG, if you want to WIN you gotta stop sucking

“SUK DEEZ NUTS!”

GOTTEM

An obnoxious Tenor bursted out from the man, retaliating like an immature douchebag as he finally sunk to their level. Height stooping at an average 5ft 9, GPA scores barely scrapping by the median. A fellow backslider like the crowd.

And HE was going to let these DOUCHEBOIS get it HARD!

>Just Chillax Gay Boi

“I AM CHILLAX!”

He sneered, as his voice rose into a stupidly obnoxious loud tenor, allowing that youthful tone engulf him in an asian tan like his peers, makin’ sure he is part of the Hivemind that is Snitch culture.

“No Sweats allowed…Just CHILLAX man…”

Feeling his mind sinking into the mass rebellious conformity that is his gamin’ community, his voice cooled slightly, gifted the flexibility to yell when he WANTS to BOIIII!

His buttoned down fused, as the simple white tee clung over his frame with slackened glee, bluntly accentuating his pectorals, as a typical print was plastered over like another typical meshed up shirt that the zoomers would wear.

He was NO SWEAT, Trousers shortening up to his thighs, lightening up into a more mesh, flexible material. Hanging loose L-sized on his waist are his flaming red basketball shorts, stickin’ out like a sore thumb whenever the dude stands up or goes for a bathroom breaks.

>Yo streamer, you a player?

“Am I a play-yer?”

The young man slurred, smirking as he acknowledged that remark, teasing those thirsty PHAGS and RATZ like he always does.

ResidentSnorer and various funny frogs spammed the chat box like no other, skyrocketing his view count to the thousands.

The young Boi loved every minute of it. He was getting the fame, boi.

“Course I am, ain’t easy being this good…”

>u dating someone?

“DAY-TING?”

Slippers took a hit in their quality, soft material becoming a pair of stretchable basketball shoes. Made for the kind of guy who keeps his options open.

Both in da basketball court, and in da bed. And yeah, it was technically his home. Well, he and his GAY fiancé’s. But it’s mostly a BRO thing! Roommates with benefits!

“Boiz, I have a fiancé , but..”

>Sounds Sus

>you gay or what?

His eyes widened, SHYT, he wasn’t supposed to say that. Not that he minded the older man…except when he was being GHEY-but weren’t they a couple…of MEN.

But aren’t they together? Da SHYT! He was a playah! BUT what about that time when they cuddled-BRUH that’s GHEY! BUT WHAT ABOUT-YOU GHEY BROSKI? BRO? B-

“BUTT-FK! I mean…I MEAN my BOI-FRIEND!”

>MEGAFAG

Fiddling the ring, the band stretched beyond the size of his palm, turning into pure eleastic as it slid down his right wrist, loosely fitting like its part of some showoffy trend.

As the chat continues to spam various emotes, including a distinct rainbow head, don’t these douchebags know he’s single and ready to mingle? Why are they thinkin’ he’s gonna be bangin’ it with some dude?

“Who you noobs calling GAY? It’s just ONE night!”

> QUEER ALERT!

> GAY GAY GAY

One hand palming below, the other one flippin the stream. Colson Groh’s darkened hair flicked down the side, his new asian ethnicity fully taking hold without remorse, blending in with the group of bullies pickin’ on him and his-FAG!

“One night of PRANKIN FAGS!”

Picking on em hard, he wasn’t one of em, but man is it HOT setting them STRAIGHT! The twenty two year college dude smirked, as PHAGS couldn’t resist starin’ at his clean-shaven slack-jaw and risen cheekbones till they get completely RAT PRANKED.

GGEZ

>Ayyy LIT

>Lets go BOI

>AFKin’ RAT!

“Bet you all can’t get ladies to your doorstep.”

>Check GayPay

GayPay my arse, StraightCoin’s the deal bro.

Though speakin’ of ladies. Hot damn…is he THAT dry? Cause he’s having that fantasy every straight, gamin’ charged college guy’s has.

Surrounded by hot ladies.

Then again, he’s always THIRSTIN’. Course, a guy like him can get a bunch of women in a flash. But he totally can jerk like a maiden-less douchebag like a bunch of the idiots watchin’ him.

Makes him relatable to his RATZ, yeah? Sides, nothin’ wrong with a lil jerkin’ on cam, nothing GHEY bout it!

>Yo RAT, check out your numbers

>BRO past 7k

>NO CAP

LIT_GUD: +7k subs

“Nggh!”

Rapidly vibrating his 7 inch joystick, brows raised as they thinned out. The last bit of hesitation melting away, making way for youthful gamin’ bravado as a seedy wide grin beamed in the stream.

“How to LIT GUD getting chicks?”

>PRO-DUCTION BRO!

>GIT LIT STREAM!

>YEEEEAAAAH BOI!

Comments flooding all over his stream, a mass mindset and mentality calling all to pump. PUMP! Pumping his POG-O STICK to the MAX! The Go-To-Game for men of his kind.

The HIGH score, as his eyes narrowed in utmost dumb simplicity, tilting his head upward to the ceiling as he grinned wildly as he thought bout’ that simple fantasy!

All da LADIES comin’ at him. YAAA BOIII!

“JUST LIT GUD BOIIIIIIIIIIIIII!”

Colton Goh no scoped all over his boxers, slumping back as drops of youthful rebellion spluttered all over, mucking it with obnoxious bully testosterone like he always does.

Feels so LIT! Being able to climax whenever the heck he wants, why abstain when he can just LIT GUD MAN! All those goody two shoe brethren back at campus grounds are really missin’ out.

But of course, he’ll scoop the remaining wads of mayo to his jerk off bottle later. He may be a backslider, but he gotta be up in his production game, beat his last record and all that shiz.

Speakin’ of which.

“E….Z….”

7k’s still just rookie numbers for a guy like him, but considering he got it all in a bunch of hours, he’s as good as the pros like the rest of em’!

“Yo…and that’s how you dudes get the ladies, man.”

>AYYYOOOO

>MY STREAMER!

>YA BOIIIIII

“Boiz, if you see any gays going all homo on ya. You gotta give em the LIT GUD!”

Normally he would collab with his streaming buds, but he really oughta help his Bromies out by teachin em.

Especially ratting out GHEYS until they turn into a couple of rats like he is. And what better way than to create his own Streamin’ channel? All he got to do was be himself bro.

Brings in the subs, and sides, hot chicks dig him, and fags thirstin’ over him get weeded out until they are a bunch of rats like he and his gamer crew.

‘[TOP] Gay Dude Joined the stream’

Speaking of fags…

“Ayy, a new fag joined the stream, sweet.”

Not sure how did ‘Gay Dude’ squirmed into his ‘TOP’ friends list, but he must’ve added him during that stupid RNG game he tried last night while he drank Heteroade with the bois.

But honestly, heh, he doesn’t give a Rats arse bout em’. After all, he needed someone to dunk on to celebrate his 7k Subs, so why not make sure the fag gets the whole RatChat streamin’ experience?

Heh, this will be hot.

“Give em a couple of Lit Guds in the chat, noobs.”

[sjw-publishings]

Driven to Serum-Production ;)

Simply-Driven

Part 2

Thanks to the splendid @sjw-publishings

Find Part 1 here!

Obviously, sharing a meal with his roommate and all the neighborhood dads had been a mistake. Actually, if Mickey Hockley fully considered it, coming to this festival had been a mistake. He didn’t fit in at all with anyone in the neighborhood. All identical to one another in their painfully average, simply-driven ways. In fact, Mickey couldn’t even explain how he had ended up rooming with the walking-Asian-American-dad stereotype in the first place. But there was one thing for certain: he was regretting it.

Luckily, the festival had finally come to an end and all the fathers were heading back to their quaint, stepford neighborhood. It took a bit for Mickey to drag Joel Huang out of a conversation around sports and jorts (a favorite among these men), but eventually they had hopped into the sedan and were on their way home. Once Mickey got back, he planned on hiding in his room for the rest of the night, maybe even bagging a twink if he was lucky.

“You’re awfully quiet back there, kiddo,” Joel chuckled from the front. Ever since Mickey had moved in, Joel and his wife had always referred to him as “their kid”. Mickey took it offensively every time.

“Tired, I guess,” Mickey blew off, feeling a little angst.

Joel looked through the rearview mirror and tried to meet eyes with the younger man. “Son, you should get a haircut.”

Mickey frowned, meeting the older man’s eyes. Why did Joel suddenly have an opinion on his brown wolf cut? He’d had it for a few years now after all. 

“No Joel, I like my hair this way.”

A slight breeze went across the back of Mickey’s neck, causing him to shiver a bit.

“Well, Asian-American men look nicer with shorter hair.”

“I…umm…” Mickey was at a loss for words, deviant of his usual quick nature. He rubbed a hand behind his head subconsciously, feeling the short follicles tickle his fingertips like a cheap rug.

Joel’s tone grew a little more stern. “It needs to be short.”

“It is short, mister!” Mickey shot back, surprised to hear himself add a title.

“Short as your good ol’ man’s?”

Mickey rolled his eyes. That was another thing, Joel always wanted Mickey to follow in his footsteps. His plain, unremarkable, heterosexual footsteps. Sure, his hair might have been the same length, just fluffed differently in the front, but that was about as much in common that the two men shared.

“You need to drop that complicated attire too. You don’t need to be dressed weird to get my attention.”

Mickey wanted to make a more progressive point, but for some reason a more immature answer came out. “Guys can dress well too if they want!”

“Not a boy of mine, so drop it.”

Mickey could practically feel his clothes shifting to a blank black tank top underneath his d...the older man’s direction. Rolled up to his thighs were a pair of mesh red athletic shorts like many in his closet, and down below were his trusty pair of well-worn sneakers. Mickey kind of understood Joel’s point…it felt easier just blending in, nothing too complicated. Plus, it was simpler buying clothes like these seeing as how his favorite department had plain and simple men’s clothes. Maybe men didn’t have to stand out anyway?

“But Joel-”

“No butts son, or else intruders will enter your behind.”

Mickey flinched, the blatant homophobia always caused him to react as such. But the thought of his behind being pierced did unnerve him. He was the one who liked to do the penetrating after all, so underneath it all Joel did make a point.

Seeing he had won that battle, Joel moved onto something a little more cheery: “Now sport, did you see my friend invite on Humblr?”

“Humblr?” Mickey questioned. “W…what’s that d…mister?”

A flash of embarrassment crossed Mickey’s face, but luckily he had been able to catch himself before he actually said what had almost come out.

“Haha!” Mr. Huang heartily laughed from the front. “Good one son! Everyone knows Asian Americans your age use Humblr!”

“W...What? But I'm not an…”

But the words from Mickey’s mouth stopped as he spotted his reflection in the rear view mirror. His fair, yet distinctly Eastern hue shone forth, alongside the dark, Asian-genetically coded bangs like every other man of his kind. He had the almond-shaped eyes, the deep raven hair, the soft boyish looks. Mickey guessed he could be considered Asian-American.

The more Mickey thought about it, the more it made sense technically. Technically, regardless of how different they were, he and Mr. Huang were related biologically, although he couldn’t exactly recall how. That was the only plausible reason as to why he would even be living in the same house with this man, right? For some reason, the thought of living in that neighborhood seemed foreign and yet still, like home?

Though then again, were the two really that different? Checking his phone, Mickey noticed the boring yet essential Humblr app plastered at the top right of his screen. It was one of the most essential apps after all, beside his online Bible, his school portal, and a calculator. Wait…a school portal? Wasn’t he in his late twenties? Why did he have a school portal?

Suddenly, a bright red notification popped onto the screen. Mickey’s thumb instinctively pressed the app and, forgetting his previous train of thought, accepted Mr. Huang’s family request. On cue, Mickey’s feed launched into action, displaying family photographs, Bible verses, and the “Dad Joke of the Day”.

“How was soccer practice yesterday with your friends?” Mr. Huang asked, bringing Mickey out of his concentration.

“Soccer practice?” Mickey questioned. “My friends don’t play soccer.”

“Stop pulling my leg, kiddo!” Mr. Huang reach back and patted Mickey’s leg to emphasize his point. With each contact, the fatherly hand strengthened Mickey’s thighs and calves. “Asian-American sons always play soccer, which also happens to be all of your friends!”

Mickey scoffed. He could’ve sworn he had a larger variety of friends. But as he imagined all of their faces, he realized it was like looking right into a mirror. A crew of Asian-Americans with no particular member having characteristics that could be differentiable from the rest. Everything was normal as Mr. Huang has said. 

Mickey began to wonder why he was questioning Mr. Huang so much. The older male obviously knew what he was speaking about, and he was the one who had put him on that team anyway. His relative had wanted him to be with the same kinds of men he was exposed to on a regular basis; in the house, in the streets, and at school.

“Well,” Mickey began, the practice suddenly coming to him crystal clear. “it was nothing special. Our team scored a couple of goal, but nothing as strong as our goal to get straight As!”

Mickey clasped his mouth, the lame pun unlike anything that had ever come out of his usual collected, witty being. Yet, he could barely hide his grin at the awfully weak remark he had made. For some reason, Mickey felt an immense elation in mimicking Mr. Huang and his horrible, clean and catchy humor.

All Mr. Huang could do was throw his head back and laugh. “Haha! Good one son!”

This accomplishment had Mickey feeling as if a major weight had been taken off his shoulders, both in progressive maturity and in independence. But hey, who cares man? He just turned 19 this year! Mickey still had a whole life ahead of him, so it was appropriate that he needed to chill out more. To emphasize that point, he spread his athletic legs apart and sat back in his seat, taking up far more space than needed. Mickey was related to this guy after all, so it was appropriate that he would take after him. 

Mr. Huang was practically a father-figure. He was stern at times, but he meant well. And as long as he kept up his grades, he didn’t have to worry about a social life. He already had enough like-minded peers, so Mickey didn’t need anything stressful or complicated. That’s what his Mr. Huang said at least; “Stick to the straight and narrow!”

“Any girls interesting?” 

“W..What! No I uh…”

Mr. Huang’s question popped Mickey’s bubble. For some reason, he wanted to protest. Something about that statement felt incredibly wrong. Yet at the same time, Mr. Huang was always on to something. Mickey just had to trust him with what he thought was the truth, right?

“I’m ga…g…a gu-?”

“Son…” Mr. Huang’s tone immediately switched. No more was the amiable nice guy. Now, it was only the firm discipline of a father. “Do we need to have this talk again?”

Mickey didn’t know what to do but blindly listened.

“You are not gay, just confused.”

Mickey sputtered a rebuke, but struggled. “But dad…! I’m…uh…?”

“Where did you learn that word again?”

“I…” It was like the word in question evaporated from his vocabulary. “Not sure man…but it does feel kinda wrong.”

“That’s good, kiddo,” Mr. Huang affirmed. “You don’t have to worry about it because you are into girls!”

“R…Really?” Mickey replied. A slight surge of energy pulsed through his meager package in response. Hadn’t it been larger, much larger? “I…I’m not sure. I guess some of them are cute though-”

“Precisely! You can’t stop talking about your girlfriend!”

Everything felt hazy. It was like Mickey couldn’t remember anything until the father confirmed it. With a smooth swerve, the family sedan was pulled into the driveway. Once the vehicle was parked and turned off, Mr. Huang turned to face the young man behind him.

“Do I need to teach you how to aim straight again, kiddo?”

Mr. Huang gripped Mickey’s pouch firmly. The warm, fatherly touch just about sent him over the edge. Mickey’s eyes slumped back as he became completely obedient to the father’s words.

“Now, I'm going to need you to repeat after me, kiddo.”

Mr. Huang kneaded Mickey’s pouch, garnering a groan of confirmation.

“‘I'm not gay, I'm just confused’.”

Mickey took an exaggerated breath of air before repeating.

“‘I'm into ladies, just like the other boys in school’.”

Mickey practically moaned on the word “ladies” and felt a wave of normality pass with “like the other boys”. Both him and Mr. Huang were surprised when he said the next phrase all on his own.

“...I have a girlfriend.”

“Yes kiddo!” Mr. Huang cheered, giving his son a congratulatory squeeze. “And how does it make you feel knowing you are ready to take the next step?”

Mickey could feel his breath quickening. “‘The next step’?”

“Well sure son,” Mr. Huang confirmed with a fatherly smile. “You’re going to propose.”

And with that sweeping realization came a rush of pure, unadulterated bliss. Although the rush itself was fairly meager, it still carried a massive wave of enlightenment.

“Now that looked like a big production!" the father congratulated from the front seat, causing the young man to blush.

“Thank the Lord it won’t show,” Micah Huang smiled. The Lord had a strange way of distributing his gifts. Micah was unfortunately blessed with muscles a little larger than his companions, a noticeable fault when regarding all the other 5’6-5’8 men. Fortunately however, he was blessed in his more private regions with extremely modest bearings, those of which were already perking up at the thought of his upcoming proposal.

“Are you ready, son?” his father asked out front as they entered the house. The smell of food cooking meant Micah’s mother was in the kitchen.

“Yes, but when do I propose to her dad?” Micah pleaded.

“Just let your instincts lead you son,” his father replied with a sharp spank.

Micah didn’t respond with anything fancy, just a polite nod before saying, “Ok dad.” In moments, he was already in his room and bashfully video chatting with his girlfriend. 

“Hey Jessie…” Micah was so anxious that he felt like he could explode. “I’ve got something to propose to you during service tomorrow…”

[sjw-publishings]

What a Dad-pendable Father ;)

Simply-Driven

Part 1

Thanks to the splendid @sjw-publishings

“Look, I’m gonna try and find the other guys, is that ok?”

“Sure babe, but don’t take too long.”

Jonathan and Mickey Hockley surely were not the favorite couple in the new neighborhood. When they had originally toured the place, they hadn’t asked much about the neighborhood. The president of the local association had said it was a great place to live, and they had taken the Asian-American dad’s word very seriously. What they hadn’t realized was that he had meant it was a great place to live for other simply-driven Asian-Americans. 

Jonathan and Mickey were the only white couple in the neighborhood, a surprise to the two who had primarily grown up without much minority exposure. They were excited for the opportunity to grow and learn though. They were also the only gay couple in the neighborhood, but that didn’t come as much of a shock. That being said, the backhanded comments and not-so-subtle homophobia were quite the displacement. None of the neighbors seemed to enjoy their company no matter how hard they tried. So when they were invited to the local festival in the neighborly newsletter, that was what shocked them most of all.

And now Jonathan and Mickey were here. Jonathan, the obvious physical top but once-you-got-to-know-him obvious bottom wasn’t able to see any of the neighborhood dads through the crowds even with his tall stature. If he was being honest though, most of the other men were of Asian-American descent. It was almost like a Comic Con for boringly average dads. Mickey, the obvious physical bottom but once-you-got-to-know-him obvious top needed to use the restroom badly. So the two split with Jonathan quickly finding all of the other neighborhood dads. They stood just outside of the festival by the food court, all in their matching patterned button-ups forming a line for a picture.

“Oi Brother!” one of them called.

Jonathan immediately recognized it to be Brian Wong, one of the younger fathers in the neighborhood. Self-consciously, Jonathan felt his heart flutter at the adamantly-normal-yet-unusually-attractive dad asking for him. “We need you for the neighborhood dads photograph, stat!”

The gay guy wanted to politely decline, but he had to admit, all the men–while seemingly carbon copies with slight variations in attire and features–were ever so hot. He knew his short-shorts and easy tank (and white skin) would make him stand out, yet he couldn’t help but feel drawn in. He just had to grab Mickey first. Before he could make a move however, a couple of dads paternally guided him over to his spot.

“But wait…” Jonathan protested. “What about my hus…hus…”

Brian patted him on the shoulder, helping him sink into the crowd.

“Dude, just think of me as your best man, bud. Everything will clear up in a moment.”

Jonathan shook his head, “What?”

Suddenly, Brian flashed his camera. The light disoriented Jonathan, causing him to forget what he had been talking about.

“Brotherly group hug, men!”

The neighborhood dads immediately slung their arms over one another’s shoulders. Jonathan could feel the body heat being transmitted throughout the connection to him. Gentle yet tight grips onto his shoulders, back widening to accommodate the fatherly mass placed upon him, shoulders rolled back at ease like another man of the crowd.

They were all side by side, and for some reason all this homoerotic heterosexual energy incredibly aroused the gay man. But he rationed it was nothing special. Returning the grip onto the men to the left and the right, sharing his own warmth with thicker digits and averagely-muscular arms.

“Think of a handsome pose any woman would like!”

The camera flashed, shortening the time Jonathan was allowed to be mad at the comment. His hair was also shortened, the blond bangs being carried up as they were slicked with gel on the top. The follicles darkened too, becoming an exact replica of the casual-yet-professional cut atop of Brian’s forehead.

The sleeves of Jonathan’s tank did the opposite of shortening however, growing outwards as his tank lost its skinny appeal. Buttons popped in along a split that formed down the middle, creating a summery shirt akin to what all the other men wore. It was practically their uniform anyway, and Jonathan did want to fit in.

“Alright now men!” Brian cheered from behind the camera. “You are proud fathers of society, built to run the neighborhood and take good care of the wives and children.”

All the men around Jonathan shifted their positions, straightening out their backs and puffing their chests out. Jonathan didn’t know what else to do but follow along.

“That’s it! Normal and nothing special.”

Once again the blinding light, this time hindering Jonathan’s sense of individuality. He had just wanted to fit in with these men, hadn’t he? Maybe the neighborhood would accept him if he just took to their ways, not exactly him and his partner conforming per say but-

Wait, where was his boy…friend? What was his name again…Mickey? Was it bad that he had momentarily forgotten his friend’s name? Or his friend entirely? Jonathan shook his head and asked himself the real question. Why was he worrying about another man? If he was to be like these neighborhood dads, then he ought to act like one. He shouldn’t be caring about another man when he was a man and a father himself. Hold on…’a father himself’?

“Now pose like the members of your favorite soccer team!”

Jonathan powerfully stretched his legs with the next picture, yet they didn’t extend as far as usual. When he stood flat again, he just about reached a solid 5’11 like the other dads. Jonathan didn’t want to STAND out in the crowd after all. Sure, most Asians are shorter, but his size was the Asian-American standard. Even though he only had a some Asian blood, right? But anyway, no more no less. Just enough to stand taller than the Asian-American standard for women…which Jonathan did not know why that mattered.

Brian peered behind the camera to do a quick check. With a hidden smile, he continued, “Pose like you’ve proud of your pants–bought during a clearance sale!”

Jonathan’s shorts became tackier and covered themselves with pockets. Their color washed out as if he had them for over years. Jonathan had bought them a while back when that store had a huge sale. Yeah they were still a bit big, but Jonathan knew whenever he’d get that dadbod like some of the older dads in the neighborhood that he’d grow into them. There was no point throwing away good clothes, especially if they were practical! How else was he supposed to hold all his knick-knacks?

“Now imagine you’ve scored a goal during father’s day!”

Jonathan kicked a leg up merrily like the rest of the neighborhood men, noticing his feet were a little bigger than the rest of them. Then again, it might just have been the shoes. His beaten-up New Balances were probably just a little chunkier because he had bought them years before the thinner material was in style. Looking again, he was proud to see his lemony legs and smaller foot matched all the others.

“Before we continue with the photographs,” Brian smirked. “Do remember that this is an ‘Exit-Only’ gentlemen's club.”

Jonathan cocked his head, not knowing what the other dad was referring to.

“Check if there are any intruders in the blind spot of your brethren!”

Jonathan leaped a bit as he felt a smack on his buttocks, sending a rigid spark across his body. The tight fatherly spank set him straight, the flash of the camera sealing the deal. For some reason, Jonathan thought this type of action would have excited him. But that didn’t make sense; he didn’t have any of that queerness in him! His roommate may be one of them, but Jonathan was a man of morals and principles.

Brian couldn’t help but take another glance at the progress before continuing. “Now imagine carrying your kiddos! Whatcha gonna need for that to happen?”

Jonathan and the men stretched their Asiatic muscles in unison. He gulped down as his vocal chords deepened with manhood. Jonathan’s jaw twitched and squared out with a manly aftershave that all these kinds of men used every morning. Yeah, it was one of the neighborhood dads who had gotten him hooked on this brand. Another one had Jonathan shopping at the same outlet malls for clothes. And, as Jonathan now remembered it, Brian Wong was the first to personally come over with his family to greet the new family.

Well, maybe “family” wasn’t the right word to describe Jonathan’s situation. Sure, he and his roommate had known each other for almost 20 years. They weren’t really that close however, not like brother to brother. No, Jonathan was older, enough so that he was practically an uncle. Or maybe even...a father?

“One last picture, brothers!” Brian called out. “Pose like you're producing with your wife!”

With a grunt and powerful thrust, all of the men drove their pelvises forward and released the tension that built up from the thought of their simply-driven heterosexual marriages. For the first time, Jonathan was able to do the same in full body and mind rather than mimic the other men. His serum splashed upon his boxer shorts as he finally became just another one of the neighborhood dads.

After a breath, the men began conversing with each other merrily. Sports, barbeque, church–the usuals.

“Whoa,” Joel Huang patted his average package, noting a certain dampness. “Must be missing the wifey more than I thought.”

Brian shuffled his way into the crowd of lookalikes and gave Joel a quick pat on the back. “Looks like the neighborhood get-togethers have influenced you quite well.”

Joel smiled excitedly as the pair led themselves over to the massive feast spread before them. “What can I say, Brian? It feels good to fit in."

As they took their seats, a shorter white male approached. A worried expression had fallen over his face, clearly lost. 

“Excuse me, have you seen a…” Mickey paused, the words having momentarily lost him. “A man that had walked in this direction?”

“‘A Man’?” Brian chuckled. “Of course! We have plenty, right brothers?”

All the Asian-American dads confirmed with a solid: “A-MEN!”

Joel couldn’t help but laugh with them at such a silly question. Of course they were all men, fathers even! This younger guy could be a man too, if he got rid of that queer vibe to him.

“But my hus…band…” Mickey once again struggled with his words, an anomaly to his usual confident demeanor. “He uh, walked over here?”

“I think the kiddo must be confused,” Brian tossed an arm over Mickey’s shoulder and led him to the seat across from Joel. A flash of disgust crossed the father’s face as Mickey sat, noticing the younger man’s package getting excited. Joel didn’t know what caused him more displeasure–the fact that his theory was true or that the younger man was abnormally large.

“Why don’t you take a seat and join us for our meal?” Brian persuaded. “I’m sure some food will help you calm down.”

Mickey frowned but decided to accept the offer. Free food wasn’t such a bad outcome, and neither was sitting across from the oddly-attractive-for-no-apparent-reason Asian-American dad. 

[sjw-publishings]

Just another orientally average book-signing, eh? ;)

From Defiance to Disciples

You know 'em, you love 'em, the only @sjw-publishings

“Are you ready for this, Cesar?” Saul asked cautiously as they approached the last corner.

“Of course I am, baby,” Cesar smiled. “Just because this is my first protest doesn’t mean it will be my last.”

Cesar had never actually been on the front lines before, but he was excited to have his first go at it today. Saul had always been an avid defender of rights. Whether they regarded race, gender, sexuality, age, or even those relating to furrier friends, Saul was always there. And he wasn’t just a follower either; Saul was a force to be reckoned with. Physically, the 6’4 buff 24-year-old had muscular, Eastern European blood coursing through his veins. Mentally, he was an intelligent doctoral student dedicated towards fighting manipulative oppression.

“Well I’m glad,” Saul leaned in for a kiss before nodding in the direction of the bookstore. “because it looks like this may be one of my best works yet.”

Cesar followed his boyfriend’s gaze, shocked to see the massive crowd that was swarming around the entrance. People of all different colors and ages and sizes and identities were filing into the long queue, ready to protest the newly-released book Loving God By Traditionalism. The tagline of “Wholesome Life, Happy Wife” was enough to make the book’s intended purpose clear. It was a part of a new-age Christian wave that was spreading rapidly, shoving traditional, outdated ideals down innocent peoples’ throats. Although this was the infamous Pastor John’s first book, this was certainly not his first attempt at spreading his gospel. Nor would it be his last.

LGBT’s message of “Straightening Out Men’s Lives” alone was enough to get Cesar on board for Saul’s protest. At 6 feet even, he too was a man of impressive stature. With his olive skin from his father’s Italian heritage and sharp bone structure from his mother’s French, he was often mistaken for a model. And although not as muscular as his boyfriend, Cesar was just as intelligent in his own arenas. His scholarly article criticizing the cowardice of sticking to past ethics garnered him much media attention and a few nominations for research-related awards.

Saul was the first to enter the building, dressed plainly in a pair of black jeans and a white tee with the words “Fighting Subjectation” in red and blue letters across the chest. Cesar had a similar message, following behind in cargo shorts with a cardboard sign taped to his blue shirt screaming “No One Listens to John!” Standing before them were many people of similar angered demeanors, walking past the picture booth to approach the signing table at the end. 

Just barely able to peer through the crowd, Cesar tried to spot Pastor John. He couldn’t, but he did notice the lead organizer of their protest at the front. Cesar hadn’t actually ever met the lanky black guy before, but from Saul’s stories he apparently had quite the temper. Suddenly, the lead organizer disappeared.

“Wait babe…wasn’t that our head protester?” Cesar asked, pointing to the front. Saul looked towards where his boyfriend was pointing, waiting for that larger male to appear. Instead, it just appeared to be an average Asian church-goer; one of Pastor John’s followers.

“That guy, a pro-tester? Maybe he's a gamer?” Saul remarked with a pun, noting the bulky headphones around the specimen’s neck. He then saw a stack of LGBT copies beside them and grabbed two, handing one to his partner. They knew what the book was about, but they hadn’t actually read anything in it.

“Cesar, get this,” Saul laughed. “Pastor John has given a new definition for ‘diversity’.”

Cesar flipped to the page in question and began reading the excerpt.

Koreans are full of charm akin to movie stars, yet they somehow manage to fit and conform themselves super averagely as are part of the congregation.

Malaysians and Singaporeans are strikingly similar apart from one minor difference. Malaysians are a more relaxed variety, while Singaporeans adopt more sarcastic and blunt personalities.

Filipinos are surprisingly more outgoing, and depending on their tribe subtype they can appear more brash or along a charming boy-next-door line.

Chinese as a whole are perhaps the most diverse. China-Chinese are larger built than most, having been raised in the Mainland like true countrymen, while Hong Kongers and Taiwanese identify as a city Chinese, attempting to dress slightly more stylishly but failing to really stand out that much amongst their brethren.

All in all, these men are plain-fully obedient.

“This can’t be serious,” Cesar scoffed, moving forward with the line.

“Wait until you read about ‘serum production’,” Saul replied. 

Cesar flipped ahead, landing on a page identifying the “10 Steps for Ideal Serum Production”. The description and instructions were fairly vague at first, but eventually they became more detailed. And appallingly graphic.

“Imagine that one is holding a pencil like they do everyday in class…” the book started at one point. “...and imagine gripping it. Bringing it up and down….” Then, Cesar began recognizing the diagrams and the pictures that followed.

“Wait…” Cesar blinked, trying to get the words out of his mouth. “Is Pastor John showing his…?”

“Yeah man!” Saul laughed. “He’s advocating for the importance of j…juicing out for his cause!”

“Isn’t he just…?” Cesar thought his question was obvious, but for some reason he couldn’t say what he needed to.

“Yeah man…this is pretty g…” Saul then peered over the crowd. “-Ghey! Hey! We're halfway there dude!”

Cesar twisted his face a little, never having heard his boyfriend say something like “dude” before. But Saul was right, the crowd in front of them was shrinking. Cesar also noticed there appeared to be a larger number of Pastor John’s supporters too, creating a half-and-half mix in the filled bookstore. Looking ahead, he noticed a man about his height holding another copy of LGBT. Wearing a flashy Pride top with glittery short shorts, it was surely a sight to see with him reading Pastor John’s book.

“Pastor John demands that I look presentable always…” the guy mumbled to himself. “No margin for error, especially behind…”

Cesar watched on curiously. It was almost like the guy’s eyes were narrowing thinner as they focused in on the text.

“Pastor John demands only the best from me!” the man shouted excitedly with an accent Cesar must have not registered before. The shorter male then closed his book excitedly, a face of excitement apparent. Judging by the man’s attire, Cesar assumed he was here to actually get his book signed. The Asian male was dressed to meet his hero, not his enemy.

Cesar rotated his gaze to a different individual, following a flamboyant twink with a protest sign walking up Pastor John’s table. Cesar hoped to sneak a peek of Pastor John but was denied from doing so when the twink dropped his sign. He quickly bent over and picked up his leather suitcase, his body slowly ascending up as he did so.

“ExCUse me Pastor,” his voice cracked. “I have a thousand words to say to a homophobe like you!”

Although Cesar couldn’t see him, he assumed the enveloping bass voice that was barely audible from where he stood was the pastor himself.

“Shouldn’t you be working now? You wouldn’t want your boss to dock your pay, am I correct?”

Cesar watched as the man nervously adjusted the scarf around his neck, looking distressed as the material thinned into a monochrome strip and became identical to the ties other men wore in the workplace. 

“Yes sir, I'm currently on my lunch.” Cesar watched as the Japanese salaryman opened his suitcase and handed Pastor John his book.

“Tell the wife and kids I said hello,” Pastor John remarked, signing and returning it back to its owner. 

A boy a little younger than Cesar and Saul was up next. The kid’s chocolatey skin was absolutely red, so visibly mad that Cesar could see it from a distance. He was talking to another black male beside him when they approached.

“I swear…when I get my turn, I'm gonna give that homophobe a piece of my…”

“What do you intend on giving me?” Pastor John’s voice was innocent and polite.

“My honors sir!” the preppy Taiwanese male responded back. “You do great work!”

His meek friend, who honestly looked like a twin to the short Asian male, nodded furiously in agreement. After their books were signed, they hurried off to the photobooth. Cesar’s eyes followed them but stopped when he noticed an alarming sight.

“Is that Asian guy palming his pouch?” Cesar whispered to Saul. One of the older men at the bookstore, a fatherly Filipino man, had one hand in his pocket noticeably jingling its contents. But it wasn’t a phone, keys, spare change, or some other knick-knacks one would expect to see.

“Y…Yeah,” Saul responded, a little dazed. “Must be thinking about his wife?”

The answer caught Cesar a little off guard due to its specificity, but he went with it. “Yeah, sure I guess that could make sense, but don’t you think that’s kind of stereotyping?”

“W…well, he is clearly a conservative, one of those who fight for uh…” Saul moaned a little. “...the right.”

“Do you mean 'rights'?” Cesar then turned to his boyfriend, his eyes glazed over slightly and his mouth hanging open. He then lowered his eyes to where the other man was kneading his own package.

“Saul!” Cesar elbowed his partner as they moved up in line. “What are you doing.”

“Whaaaattt…” Saul slurred. “There’s nothin’ GAY about it…”

Cesar took a step away. “B…Babe, did you just-?”

“It…It’s my first time man!” Saul cried, taking the defensive. “Give me a break!”

Cesar simply looked at the other male in shock. He wasn’t recognizing Saul anymore. No, literally. Saul’s skin had adopted an odder tint of tan that Cesar wasn’t familiar with, and his buzzcut had grown out on top and been fluffed to the side. And it was the opposite of blond. In fact, all of the body hair Cesar could visibly see was black, which wasn’t as much as he was expecting to see.

“Uh, don’t worry about it man…” Cesar ran a hand through his curly hair, oblivious to the fact that as he did so it gelled itself straight back and hardened into a more old-fashioned, traditional cut. They took another step forward, the distance between them and Pastor John shrinking even more. Cesar tried looking over the crowd again, but for some reason all of the people in front were now blocking him. It shouldn’t have surprised him however, being around the average at 5’9. He would ask Saul to look, but it wasn’t like the extra inch he had on him would make a difference. The pair were close enough though that Cesar was able to hear the conversations.

“Pastor John, what you are writing is unacceptable-” one man began with a voice so low it could shake glass.

“But I am a Pastor, correct?”

“Oh…yeah bud, you are the Pastor…”

“Then obviously I know what I am writing about.”

“Haha yeah! Thanks for setting us straight Pastor John!” A new, lighter tenor tone announced merrily, before being followed by another’s: “T…Thank you Pastor John!”

Cesar watched as the two men strolled towards the photobooth with their signed copies in hand. Both looked fresh from Sunday school with their path in life to only follow the straight and narrow. It was then Cesar realized he and Saul were up next in line. A surge of excitement blasted through his system as he watched the interaction unfold before him. The white male approaching the table was dressed exceptionally in a well-styled suit that to Cesar’s dismay covered Pastor John completely.

“Perhaps you could write something that doesn’t promote your glorified agenda of normativity.” The guy was confident and gave an air of being well-educated in this arena.

“Could you elaborate a bit more?” Pastor John prompted.

“Bruh, this is just homophobic man…”

“And what do you not like about it?”

“DUDE! What do I not like about it?” The man in front of Cesar was getting loud, his attitude almost immature. “What’s there TO like about it? Your stories are not diverse man!”

“Incorrect, I have included Chinese, Taiwanese, and many other types of Asian men in my examples.”

“Yeah bro, but…”

“What’s your name?”

The young man was taken aback. Casey could see the sweat beginning to bleed through his workout tank. “Uh…Cassey Tim…I think…?”

Cesar could hear the pen scribbling as Pastor John signed a copy of his book.

“Here you go, Cameron Tang.”

The Asian jock's perked up, “WHOA! Thanks Pastor! A-MEN!” He then ran off to the side, his little nub peeking forward in his pants. Finally, it was Saul and Cesar’s turn to step forward. Finally, Cesar was presented with the man he’d been wanting to meet all this time. Sitting before them was the most handsome, confident, rigidly-masculine man Cesar had ever laid his eyes on. It felt wrong to admit this, but not because Cesar knew who the man was and what he represented. No, it felt wrong because viewing another man as attractive felt wrong.

“What do we have here?” The Asian man asked with an air of maturity and wisdom beyond his years. Cesar waited a moment, but after realizing Saul wasn’t planning on saying anything he took the lead.

“We are a couple-”

“-of A-MEN,” Pastor John interrupted.

“No dude, aren’t we boy…friends?” Cesar turned towards Saul for support, but was given none. The man stood there as if he were enchanted, ramrod straight in his black slacks and the brand new red and blue jacket he had bought just for this special occasion.

“Yeah dude…” Saul was finally able to manage out. “We are a 'ship...”

Cesar smiled, adding: “Yeah, nothing funny ‘bout it.” He held his ground defiantly, knowing that the other man was impressive. Heck, that’s why he’d dressed so swell today. His best pair of khakis and his blue button-up helped show that he was a professional guy. Except for that stupid piece of cardboard taped to his chest. Cesar ripped it off quickly and threw it behind him, not noticing it fly right onto his back and expand into a brown leather jacket that perfectly matched his belt and shoes. Yeah, he’d spent good money on this jacket when he found out he was going to meet the one-and-only Pastor John in person.

“You obviously mean ‘fellowship’, right boys?” Pastor John smirked.

Saul’s hand shot down to his pouch, having removed itself when they had stepped forward to the table. Cesar’s did the same to his own not long after.

“We are closer than that duuddee…ngggh!”

Cesar’s pouch was compacting, churning only the most necessary components. Nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary. Only the simple basics.

“I’m sure you are,” Pastor John agreed. “Brothers like the two of you have been together all your lives.”

Saul and Cesar both moaned as their skins adopted the same hue, their eyes the same shape, and their backgrounds the same heritage. Pastor John was right, or at least his conviction made it feel right. But they could trust him; he was a pastor after all.

“Who am I signing these for?” Pastor John asked as he grabbed the copies of his book from their free hands.

“Saul…”

“Cesar…”

The boys were captivated, their shrunken dicks waiting for release.

“To Paul and Peter,” Pastor John scribbled down. He then handed the books back to the men. “Now you're ready to be disciples.”

Both of the men rolled their eyes back as they shot out a load of serum into their pants. Their productions weren’t large enough to make a visible impact onto their clothing, but they just regarded it as one of the many perks of being blessed with such average endowments. Pastor John couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as he watched the pair of Thai brothers come back to their senses.

“Oh, thank you so much man!” Paul cheered. “You’re like my hero!”

“Yeah dude,” Peter affirmed. “An inspiration to all the men like us out there!”

Pastor John nodded politely and then pointed them off to get their picture taken. The brothers followed orders, excited to get their memento for the moment. After dropping their copies at their feet, they each swung and arm behind the others’ back. They then smiled with exuberant delight, hoping to remember this day for the rest of their lives.

[sjw-publishings]

Straight A-Tension

With much guidance from the lovely @dumb-and-jocked , and influence from his story: Over here ;)

“Hey babe, promise me that after this…we will enjoy our vacation together.”

“I…I promise love, I just have to do a few more errands just to make sure.”

That conversation happened at 9pm yesterday in evening.

12:14pm, Today. Keith Gaye was supposed to meet up with his boyfriend at this very spot a quarter past noon, outside the auditorium hours before the crowd gathers for an announcement later in the day.

Of course, this would be the first time he would be talking to his boyfriend for the day. Since his lover was out and about already before he was awake, serious in completing his mission in digging up info on camp.

But even so…generally William would text him frequently while doing his undercover work. Yet despite his warm wishes and greetings, the other man went radio silent throughout the day.

“Ugh…babe where are you?”

The 25 year old long haired, lean surfer rubbed his shoulders, pushing back his blonde locks as he eyed his phone for a message from his love.

He just wanted a relaxing vacation for him and his lover. Which was why the both of them agreed on the trip to the camp retreat. With supposedly no authoritarian figures, No sticky-hard rules, and just the soft cool breeze of relaxation.

Sure…some of it was mostly fluff with the forced curfews they have on everyone, and the oddly sudden influx of ‘Hyper-Heterosexuality charged Christian Asians’ as his boyfriend describes…but perhaps there is an organised field trip for this time of the month?

And besides, its rude to assume they are all straight, maybe those men are in the closet?

Yet despite his intentions of reassuring his boyfriend and telling him, William was really insistent on uncovering the truth behind possible propaganda and the disappearances of some gay folks and couples around campus…and with his unnaturally long silence today.

What if he was right?

BEEP!

Boy friend [12:15pm]: Completed my preparations my latest speech for later. Please let me know your thoughts. Regards.

A notification popped up at the top of his phone. Fingers immediately pressing on it without delay, opening up the unused social media app he had downloaded many days prior, transporting his screen to the message and communication between him and his boy friend, William Wagner.

…

Mr Wallace Wong, Professor at Christening University.

Shaking his head, as he blinked his eyes rapidly at the name at the top of the message list. Keith felt cold sweat forming on his sun-kissed tanned skin, floral shirt lining with light moisture from the heat as he stood crossed legged in his sandals and board shorts..

Mr Wallace Wong? S…Surely it must be some phone glitch, though its not surprising since as Humblr is still a relatively new app. Though it still felt odd that it appeared out of the blue very recently.

Not to mention how his older boy friend would prefer him to use other kinds of social media to communicate…no that’s not right. His older mentor would refuse to use those kinds of ‘strange applications’ due to them not promoting HIS diversity…No wait. It was the school’s motto of diversity, that was what it was all about with that teach!

“So not diverse….”

The surfer scowled, rolling his eyes as he remembered the old fashioned professor and his continual lectures towards him ever since he stepped foot on campus.

He wanted to set off and find a cute twink to date, but every time the teacher would stop his ‘FOOLING AROUND’ and drag the other man away to detention. All he wanted was just to relax with a cute guy ! He could’ve sworn he had one, but clearly with the professor sticking to him like glue…that proved otherwise.

Whatever, today was the last day that old fossil hounded him on his vacation. No more ‘youngsters and their social media apps!’ when he himself is using Humblr like his ‘Straight A sons’ as he so proudly boasts all day.

He might as well humour the older male for once, tapping on the video sent below the overly professional message.

[Video processing]

As the video began to load, he was greeted by a auto-generated Half-Body thumbnail of the Professor. Presumably seated on a low-rising chair with his hand clasped on a table in front. Blank White background behind him, removing any other distractions to someone else.

It looked like one of those adverts from VideoTube, where a stereotypical asian tries to sell him something, make a dad joke, or promote the ‘brand new family-oriented social media app, Humblr!’

Which was not surprising, considering the nature of the professor…though he had to admit, he hadn’t had a good look at the man. Especially without his suit jacket, an above average build…straining against his white plain buttoned down tee, but without his usual necktie.

Carbon copy to many other teachers and church-going students of his kind, yet with tight, strong…strapping strong muscles. With a fierce forceful jawline to accommodate his harsh, remorseless tactics.

Complimenting his neatly trimmed and gently gelled cut in every year book, alongside those professionally prescribed spectacles over his dangerously thin lenses, a visage of an authoritarian man in complete control.

Keith generally topped…but dude, for some reason his pouch is really disagreeing with his previous biases and hatred towards the married man, how did he not realise how good-looking this bastard was?

Drool escaping his lips, as he starred blankly at the thumbnail of the prof, the small buffering spiral of circles glueing him to the screen. Left hand holding the phone, the right began churning his not so relaxed pouch, as fainter, subtile sentences flashed across the screen.

Activating School’s Hetwork…

Turning On RedTooth signals…

Accepting Admin position…

Keith didn’t understood what any of that meant, neither did he notice a certain wall mounted, television monitor turning by itself.

Hovering above eye level in front of him, as it began to buffer the same screen on his phone, before his mobile device goes completely blank, except the following words.

[Please direct your attention to the monitor above]

“Straight”

A single word, echoing from the speakers.

Straight…looking straight into the monitor. The professor in a much larger screen. His back straight as ever, as if it refused to be hunched in order to maintain its clean-cut.

Just a single word…already causing Keith’s chill-rod to POKE violently. Such boring, unsexy nerdy tension…getting this surfer dude all fiery down below.

He had no idea how this professor has such a hold on him…how he keeps coming back to him…How he physically and subconsciously listens to his suggestions, rolling his shoulders back out of a hunch, straightening his back as much as a gay man.

A lot of ‘straight’ tension poking out, wanting to get in bed with him so badly, but he was just barely out of the closet…after all the teacher always demanded things straight out of him…

Wait a sec…Wasn’t he out of-

“A-TENSION!”

A heavy bark sounded all around him, drilling into his ears from the speakers above as like a proud military man on duty. Like a direct command, eyes instinctively darting to the television hovering above. Left hand was raised into a salute, immediately dropping his phone…which fell to the ground.

He didn’t know why he obeyed the order so suddenly, much less from the incredibly hot man that he hate-admired so much!

“Men, with your level of qualifications you have been selected to be a part of our disciplinarian program.”

Disciplinarian program?

Wait…! He didn’t sign up for this! Sure he may have had extremely conflicted feelings for the older male…ever since he saw him in college? But No…that was not right, what does a lean chill surfer like him have to do in college?

But then again, he hadn’t surfed in forever, his very faint tan. Sure he was much older than most folks at the age of 27. But he had to focus on his scholarship…Adjusting his light blue short-sleeved buttoned down below and beige khakis, shifting about in his loafers as he remembered getting that, scholarship, but only a single one!

He had still worked out, but with less time he had to be efficient and dive in his studies. Though oddly enough, he his muscles were generally far more relaxed than how tense they are now. Nice buildup though over the years.

Overall he tried to keep his cool despite everything, but he had to admit…he did appreciate the tough love from his teachers and pushed on, securing his spot, though just barely.

Perhaps that was why they eventually introduced him to Mr Wong? Who recommended that he should be part of the program?

“Life’s full of collaboration with our fellow brothers, but with a little competition to incite our nature to do better…”

He had to admit, it felt good overtaking his entire class without fail. Yes he might be ‘cool’ at times, but he was a complete monster at his studies.

He a scholarship to maintain, a single aka Uni one…wait Uni? Yeah he graduated from University after all! Aced his scholarship without fail, full on focused and graduated at the age of 29.

Though it did feel odd why he finished school so late, he did have the results to show for it. Especially on his arms which really looked good despite his plain white long-sleeved buttoned down.

His figure definitely looked good at the end of all of it. And if he could unravel the dark grey dress pants he was wearing, most certainly a bunch of bachelors would ogle him as a result…despite the rules on campus.

Campus…oh right. Camp Christening was incredibly strict in its rules towards their students, though most of it are written in between the lines.

Perhaps this is why he wanted to participate in the program? He wanted to respect that, as dull tones of subordination rang from his polished dress shoes.

Especially with how the interview went with Mr Wong…and how much potential he saw from him despite still being a little…Queer in the edges.

Maybe it is out of familiarity…but how similar the discipline master was to the teachers’ who have changed his life is making him with to edge more!

He should felt rage the man for being overly homophobic and his jobs on how he was only a quarter Chinese…but for some reason, he doesn’t dislike the male…but rather-

“And while it is of the norm, ordinarily so to only best each other by a small margin, it nevertheless is the driving force to ensure we always remain on TOP!”

He wanted to beat the man at his own game! The 32 year old studied overtime despite his education and work in order to ensure he would eventually overtake the male.

It was in his blood after all, he was half Chinese. With a darker hair colour, a naturally tanned ethnicity and thinner eyes, it was clear that he had other stuff in his blood.

Which was why he was raised overseas, in order to adopt the culture from his grandparents yeah…the Straight A mentality passed down from generations.

And he absolutely thrived in it.

Excelling in his grades without fail, little to no distractions as he simply focused on being the TOP of his kind. Raised in such a competitive yet thriving environment, it wasn’t surprising that a man such as himself eventually followed and adopted the behaviours and culture of the men around him.

Their deceptively casual yet serious lingo, their various festivals and rules to abide by. Being a permanent resident, it was a necessity to do so, to behave like them! And especially the physical trainings of some men, and their utmost dedication to serve their country…HIS country.

“Of course, for the lucky few of you, you will join our ranks as someone of authority, just like the rest of us.”

Mr Keith smirked. Having an incredible sense of pride in his dark grey suit jacket, having succeeded in his application in becoming an educator in Camp Christening despite being a foreigner in the country.

But with how inclusive they are to asians as a whole, it was no surprise that he had succeeded in the interview. Sure the school had some policies that were a little more straight-laced, but it was nothing compared to how much it made him feel at home.

“The camp so good ah…amen.”

Though speaking of camps, it did not make sense why he had such long hair. Having serviced in his country’s military for a couple of years meant he would have to CUT it short, which is why he had shorter hair way above his neck…and having these long hair extensions on his buttoned down

Though that being said, why were they there, it felt really inappropriate for a 33 year old man such as himself. While still churning below with his right, Mr Keith released his left hand momentarily from the salute.

Being part of the teachers disciplining community meant that he had to know when to take responsibility for something out of line. As he adjusted the dark strands underneath his thicker collar, pulling it without remorse as they firmly settled into a simple sleek tie.

Likewise, he gave a few quick tugs on the area around his trim waist, before giving his rump a big-

SMACK!

As the traditional leather belt solidified around his waist. Tightening alongside his exit, for he remained on TOP and not the bottom…even during moments where he bent over and received due discipline…

It felt good, an Asian man looking like a traditional husband of the family. Sure it was quite a ‘backwards mentality’ to have all that pride and arrogance over some old fashioned values from the early past…

That people dont appreciate because they feel like its not worth appreciating. Yeah, the younger generations just simply try to force their values on traditionalists such as himself!

What utter disrespect!

They’ve simply been brainwashed by society! They are the backwards ones! Not understanding the values of going to church, being A MAN, a good self-DISCIPLINE to set an example for others.

And yes, they pointed out he might be a little taller, which might be a burden…but its nothing he can’t handle-

“Regardless, all of you will conform to our camp values and not stand out…”

Mr Keith absolutely hated how tall he was at 6ft 2, no wonder Wallace picked on him so much! But then again, it must be those new shoes he wore, he definitely was just only a few centimetres above the professor..wait no, actually he was just tip-toeing trying to scold a couple of backsliding idiots just beyond the a fence!

In reality, he was just barely a 5ft 11!

His height may be considered much taller compared to most asians. But he is within the world’s average! Besides, between him and Wallace, it is clear which of the two of them is more grounded…even if there’s a slight margin of difference between them.

“Stand up STRAIGHT!”

Speaking of differences, they were rather similar weren’t they? They were both STRAIGHT-laced authoritative men after all!

Even that student Percy Sim remarked on that and called him Mr Wong once…oh lordy, was his rump covered in red hand prints from his disciplinary spanks.

“Its Mr Kei…ang! I look like Wallace to you isit?”

Comments such as… ‘But you two share so many of the same ideas!’ And ‘Yeah Prof, you guys are basically a match made in heaven!’ Was that man trying to fail his class?!

Unacceptable!

Just because Mr. Wong and himself share similar traits, values, ideas, viewpoints, traditions, disciplines, and structures does not mean they are at all alike!

He ought to have a word with his father later…the man ought to instil more DISCIPLINE in the his son!

“Men really need not to fool around in this day and age! I swear-!”

In the HEAT of the moment thinking about discipline, one upping the other asians and potential fatherhood, he SLAMMED his fist down on the table, the force knocking over the bottles.

“OI BEHAVE!”

Can’t let distractions distract him from his duty, not when his mentor is watching him!

Matured, responsible hands hurriedly scooping up the bottles that fell on the ground. Bending over, bigger and thicker thighs rubbing against the everyday clean-cut fabric of his pants, sending the engaged man over the edge.

Doubling down his sense of duty as aged authoritarian palms SLAMMED each bottle in order on the banquet table.

All except one, gripping it tighter than ever.

“Quench your thirst, brothers…”

“Wah…stop teasing me-testing me sio!”

He had to muster his courage…muster his…master…Masters in discipline! It was simply part of the program and regimen!

Churning his compact, father-hood now with his right as he unzipped his package below. Holding the bottle on the left while he fished out his prized rifle down below.

To know when to abstain…and when to multiply.

Cupping his long weapon, compacting it with a firm fatherly GRIP! Mandarin oranges below swelled in experience, complimenting his rod of average length yet prominent girth. Their prominent hardness tells him only one thing.

This is when he has to multiply…

“With thoughts of your lovely wife.”

“Walao Ehh!!!”

Lovely wife? A husband? HIM? Wasn’t he g…GHEY? HEY! NO WAY! He was straight! No wonder he followed those rules flawless, he was one of them! One with his kind!

Shoulders APART! His broad chest and back filling out his suit like a real Patriarch. Thick and prominent neck built for loud shouts and disciplinary commands across campus!

It was the way it was expected from a traditional man like him! Which was no surprise that equally conservative women liked it! A Man that can produce REAL discipline, especially in the bedroom.

But that being said, that didn’t mean the 38 year old Mr Kei-ang was married! Sure he was looking for a g…J…Janet, and loved that random chi…his lovely girlfriend. He wanted to BE a husband. HER HUSBAND! Which is why he had a ring on his ring digit!

LIKE HIS WIFE’S!

He…HE IS A HUSBAND! Her husband! Marrying her with her all those years back! It was a big deal for the whole family! A fellow patriarch and matriarch getting together in holy matrimony, and not to mention the incredible time they had in bed…full of disciplinary action…especially towards him.

“Ohhh lordy…”

“Remember our logo, brethren…as you complete your fellowship.”

“A…A-MEN!”

His nostrils flared, yet properly angular as his ordinarily good-looks remained unscarred. Unpierced smaller, average sized ear-lobes cause What? He gay isit? Only women do that! Refusing any semblance of understanding as to why would some men do that!

He understands Asian-diversity…but It contradicts his traditional beliefs! With that, retreating back to his skull were lengths and lengths of overly long hair, leaving the sides and back shaved and the top a simple side cut like his fellow educators. Simple, strict and orderly! The way he always presented himself, the way the board of education demands of him, the way him and his wife likes it!

Eyes barely widening, glued to his narrow minded views as he stuck to the broadcast with proper arrogance..licking his thin lips, rising to a malevolent surrounded by aftershave of a manly jaw. Reserved for scolding of asian-kind…and the kissing of his dear ol wife.

Taking a deep breath alongside the recording of Wallace, ready to HUFF N PUFF AND-

“SHOUT OUR SLOGAN MEN, STRAIGHT-.”

“A-TENSION!”

Mr Gareth Kang, the Singaporean disciplinary master came at full force, firing his throbbing rifle without restraint, setting loose thick wads of goo deep into the empty bottle without reservation.

Giving a few quick whacks to his fatherhood, he stuffed his shorter, thicker member back in suit pants and zipped it up. Dusting his jacket as glared around suspiciously, giving his bottle a good firm SHAKE! Before sliding in his bottle with the rest of the unfinished batch.

He’d make a gentle reminder to his juniors to fill up the rest of the ‘non-bubbling’ ones, as he smirkingly eyed his noble prized solution hidden within the batch, looking forward to meeting the lucky fellow that joins his fellow disciplinary masters in due time.

But for now…he has a very special, yet short meetup with his supervisor, as the slightly older man arrived on the dot of the hour.

“Wah…good speech Wallace.”

“Hmph don’t patronise me Gareth, you know its simply a textbook order for our future recruits to behave.”

And indeed it was, clean-cut and straight to the point, the kind of standard the 41 year old lives and breathes by.

They needed to hire people whose both an expert enforcers in disciplinary measures, yet knows how to live by those standards he himself sets. Which was no surprise Mr Gareth Kang, former army sergeant and 10 year disciplinarian, became part of the team.

With completely no-nonsense approach, feared and respected by colleagues and students alike. It was all part of his training, to discipline others the way he would like to be disciplined.

Even towards his superior, who expected nothing less from him.

“Sure sure Wallace, almost Late, video sent 12:15pm.”

“Incorrect, I have already sent you a copy of my preliminary speech, an hour earlier.”

Wallace pointed to the mobile device on the ground.

While Gareth did use a laptop, he saw no point in having a modern phone when his Brick one had been fine for centuries. It was such a waste of money! His older model could be thrown without cracking!

He only had this new phone due to the school’s insistence of giving him one. It was supposedly an older model, but still felt too new for his tastes. Not to mention how easily its screen cracked after a single throw at a rebellious student…

Sliding open the phone, now clearly seeing the red notification in his email, next to the Humblr and Calculator App. Strange, He could’ve sworn some fool downloaded many more useless applications prior, clouding the entire screen.

He just might have to question his sons about it…but regardless, as Mr Wong mentioned opening the app, was the video.

“As your supervisor, I thought you might have wanted to inspect it much sooner…being my RIGHT-hand man.”

Mr Gareth Kang smirked.

Indeed, they might have a heated rivalry, but they were both men. Brothers in arms and in the church. Colleagues who are extremely close and identical in terms of methods, teachings and background.

Which was no surprise that they easily figured out what makes the other reach maximum productivity, as they continued to aid one another through the most simplest of gestures.

Even a no-nonsense man like him felt that it was endearing.

“Wah, so kind of you!”

“Respect your elders, Gareth, a considerable distance in public.”

“Of Course, Wallace.”

Moving away from his superior. They were only a year apart, but he understood and respected the fella despite their un-spoken rivalry.

That being said, a man like him definitely knows how to subtly skirt the rules to his advantage, just like how he got with his wife.

Knowing how to get under the everyone’s skin! Both literally and figuratively. Every member of the Kang family had their expertise, and discipline was his. That was his calling, and why people kept calling him for his duties.

“Thought you sent it to a different Mr Kang...”

“Hmph…A Man like me wouldn’t be so careless to leak out confidential information!”

Bickering, comparing their fruitful endeavours throughout the morning with utter aggression mixed with respect. It was another routine between the two men, as their heated discussion trailed onto their commitments, their utmost dedication to their students, sunday gatherings, and how great their wives and family are.

Neither of them would admit it, but the two of them were essentially the same.

Knowing how to really appreciate the most ordinary of things while enforcing strict discipline in maintaining the generational tradition.

Indeed, which is why they always riled the other up, keeping the other scoffing beneath their attire without mercy as they selfishly withheld their A-MEN card in every topic, threading between the thin lines of respect and competition.

Arguing despite seeing eye to eye with the other, just so they will have a private game of pure straights…

“Mahjong, this Saturday weekend, in the teacher’s lounge.”

“Make it evening, Janet and the kids are visiting the grandparents in the morning.”

The two men shake hands vigorously, professional…yet with utmost fire as they smirked at each other cunningly, seeing eye to eye in their respective mirrors. Ready to one up the other without fault.

Unlike some of his more outgoing colleagues of other tribes, Mr Kang intends on pulling no stops to his fiercest rival in the workplace, something…while silent, is simply what both of them desire from the other.

A fierce authoritarian battle, between two asian men.

Releasing their firm handshake, they parted their ways, walking in opposite directions. They have their own respective tasks before the announcement later, being the main two authorities in charge of it.

There is much more discipline to be done, a bunch of students to be yelled at and ordered to be in attendance at the auditorium, and many more bottles to be prepared.

Why were there so little bottles prepared ah? He ought to cane the fella who he put in charge of this…give him a good whack behind…wait! Whacking! Wah…He almost forgot!

“Oi!”

Calling out to his authoritarian in crime, he had remembered that he had left the most important thing back in their previous venue!

Punishment for insubordination in losing the mahjong game…and a necessary tool in order to ensure maximum production and discipline for their cause.

Whipping men into shape, something neither got tired off regardless of whether they are on the giving, or receiving end. In which both Mr Gareth Kang and Mr Wallace Wong would be more than happy to give at a moment’s notice.

After all, a man can only enforce as much as he receives…

“Bring the belts Ah!”

[sjw-publishings]

A couple of A-Rivals indeed

Brotherly Rivals

With the miraculous @sjw-publishings

“Babe, can you believe we have to download this app for our classes?” Nico looked over the Humblr description, surprised that his liberal school would allow such an application to be used in the classroom. “And that this Mr. Wong is having us attend an extra seminar the day before?”

“Apparently this is all a part of the new ‘diversity’ initiative,” Hudson rolled his eyes. “Ever since they started hiring those new teachers, there has been a lot more emphasis on promoting a certain image.”

The two nerds knew actually what image that was: an ultra-Christian, hetero-normative, Asian-appreciative image. And unfortunately, neither of the two fit into that picture. Nico was on the shorter side at 5’8, his Latino body small and slim. His skinny frame and geekier sense of style always left him as a target for bullying. And Hudson, the 5'11 Brit with a bit of pudge on his frame, was easily prey too. Going to classes like “18th Century Depictions of Homosexuality Through Classical Music” definitely put him on the wrong list. But this school had treated the gay couple well in the past. This new school year just presented an opportunity for something different.

“Oh look hon,” Hudson showed Nico his phone. “Apparently there are different plans couples can join to achieve their ‘Most Wholesome Selves’.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Nico laughed. He opened Humblr on his own device and navigated to the page Hudson had shown him. There were multiple different options for pairs to follow, all of which seemed outlandishly stereotypical.

“Should we try the ‘Devout Studies’ route?” Hudson grinned. “Or maybe you’d like to engage in the more mature ‘Heavenly Father’.”

“You aren’t actually considering these are you, baby?” Nico questioned.

“Why not, it could be funny!” Hudson joked. “Plus, each plan is only five days long. Classes don’t start until Monday, so if we started now we would have it completed before any homework rolled in.”

Nico was surprised that his boyfriend was actually buying into this crap. He felt a little skeptical about the whole ordeal.

“Tell you what, if you want to fight about it, then I got just the idea.” Hudson then swiped Nico’s phone and activated a plan. Hudson did the same on his own device and, after they synced together, handed Nico’s back. The words “Brotherly Rivals” flashed upon his screen.

“‘Brotherly Rivals’? Really?”

“What?” Hudson shrugged. “We can see who follows this stupid app's absurd guidelines the best now. A cutie like you probably can’t beat the system.”

“And a hottie like you couldn’t either.”

They both laughed at that, but were stopped midway when their phones each violently shook with a bold message flashing their screens.

MAN UP!

Nico blinked, “Woah, that was bright.”

“Too much for your sorry eyes?”

Nico was caught off guard by his boyfriend. “What?”

“Can’t you take a joke, darling?” Hudson scoffed. “Anyway, we already got our first tasks, and if I’m gonna be your rival then I oughta start now!”

Hudson rushed off to their shared bedroom, leaving Nico alone in the extra office space. Peering down at his phone, Nico realized his boyfriend had been right. Humblr was already notifying him of the first steps he’d have to accomplish to get started on his plan. Just some basic introductory videos and articles–nothing he couldn’t handle. And with nothing else to do, he didn’t mind sitting back and playing through his whole “Brotherly Rivals" plan. Even if some of the people in the videos made their very narrow mindsets clear, or if the articles were written for a particular audience. Nevertheless, Nico was invested, so much so that he didn’t realize what time it was when all of his prompts for Day 1 were completed.

“It’s already time to go to bed?” Nico cried, scanning the clock a second time. After cleaning himself up, he jumped into bed beside his lover. Usually they’d engage in some form of cuddling, but Nico wasn’t really feeling it today. And apparently, neither was Hudson, sleeping soundly with his back faced to him. 

— —

With a yawn, Nico rolled out of bed and started his morning off with a bowl of cereal. His boyfriend didn’t wait to follow, entering the kitchen not long after.

“Someone’s up early,” Nico commented, knowing Hudson only woke before nine in the morning if he had to.

“And someone’s already falling behind,” Hudson grinned, grabbing two bananas and peeling them both quickly.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve already accomplished the first task of the day.” In moments, both of the bananas were down Hudson’s throat. “And now I’m off to the second, slowpoke.”

Nico choked on his cereal. He was already behind! Immediately, he opened his Humblr app to see what Day 2 of the plan entailed.

“50 pushups?” Nico frowned. He hated exercise, and so did Hudson. There was no way Hudson could’ve completed that many so fast either. Working out was one of the worst-

MAN UP!

Nico’s eyesight readjusted itself. 50 pushups? That was barely a challenge! No wonder Hudson was already ahead of him. But it wouldn’t be that way for much longer. In seconds, Nico’s slim frame was on the ground and lifting up and down, up and down. In no time, the number “50” was escaping his lips and Humblr was presenting him with the next prompt.

“Gotta lift some weights, huh?” Nico huffed, a little out of breath. He brought himself into the office space, surprised to see Hudson beside a rack of weights.

“When did we get those?” Nico asked.

“What, these?” Hudson taunted. “A real man like me needs these.” Nico scrunched his face, noting his boyfriend’s bare, sweaty torso. He was surprised to see it wasn’t covered in the brownish hair it usually was. Nico shook his head–he couldn’t be distracted! He had weights to lift! Nico was pumping moments later, and after that he was onto the next task. And the next. And what Humblr gave him after. All morning, Humblr had the boys working out, something they would’ve never done before if the app hadn’t told them to do it. Eventually, the tasks began to dwindle down into more mindset-related items. The first of which was a quiz, questioning the pair on what kind of behavior “Brotherly Rivals” engaged in.

“I don’t know dude,” Hudson moaned. “How am I supposed to know what ‘best antagonizes the rival’?”

“Maybe if you actually tried thinking for once,” Nico quipped. Hudson shot him a nasty look, and then, as if an idea had popped into his head, furiously typed an answer into his phone. With an audible vibration and flash from his phone, he excitedly moved onto the next question.

“What!” Nico was shocked. “What’s the answer?”

“When you egged me on, I thought of the first thing I wanted to shout back at you.”

“And that was?”

Hudson sneered happily. “GAAAAAY!”

Nico grimaced, not expecting his partner to use a slur, let alone a homophobic one. He didn’t know what made him more uncomfortable; Hudson’s ability to use it so freely or his own fingers typing in the answer. 

MAN UP!

But then again, Nico had to consider that it may have been an appropriate word for their competition. They had to play out the roles of the “Brotherly Rivals” that Humblr wanted them to be. And after all, being that they both liked guys, it was probably allowable to toss out the word like that for the time being.

Moving forward, Nico continued his tasks beside Hudson. He answered questions regarding goals and values. He was prompted about the necessity of competitive sports and aggression. He even watched informational videos of what Humblr identified as “Brotherly Rivals,” either short snippets of real-life interactions between these men or interviews identifying all their traits. By the end of it all, Nico was exhausted. He was actually relieved it was already time to hit the hay.

“Looking at these?” Hudson smirked, flexing his arms. Nico was impressed to see the beginnings of biceps–but he’d never admit it.

“No, too busy admiring my own work.” Nico then displayed his brown calves, noting that not only did they look to have a little more muscle, but had a soft glow to them as well.

“I bet you are, homo,” Hudson joked before coming up behind Nico. He began to playfully air-hump his partner, and Nico joined in on the roleplay.

“Too bad you’re too jealous of me to admit that you like it,” Nico shot back, grinding up against Hudson’s frame. But the other man pulled away soon after.

“Where are you going?”

“To bed, loser,” Hudson called back. “Day 2 of the plan is over. Gotta rest up before Day 3.”

Nico knew Hudson was right. Ignoring his visible boner–which being above-average had so graciously gifted him with–Nico stripped down and hopped into bed. He made sure to lie as far away from Hudson as possible, not wanting to give his “Brotherly Rival” any unnecessary attention.

— —

Nico woke up earlier than before for Day 3, pushing his hair back and noting that he was due for a haircut. Hudson was already one step ahead of him however. Hopping out of bed, Nico followed the sounds of deep grunting to the living room, finding his brofriend already putting in his morning exercises. There was a lot of basic gym equipment in the space now, and it was starting to get a little unkempt too. But Nico was too hypnotized by the other male to take proper notice. Instead, he was inspecting the new muscles covering Hudson’s frame, and the surprising tan too.

“Eyein’ up the new meat, gayboi?” Hudson taunted.

“Yeah, I am…” Nico started as he lifted up his phone.

MAN UP!

“...seeing what faggy competition I’m gonna beat!” Nico finished, a growing urge to compete and one up the other male brimming to his surface.

“Oh yeah?” Hudson stepped forward, right into Nico’s face. “The only competition you’re gonna beat are deez nuts!”

Hudson then grabbed Nico’s free hand and made them cup Hudson’s pouch. Nico fondled the package, but in a more analytical than romantic manner. He could’ve sworn that Hudson should’ve been bigger than this, but why would he know that? Why would he care about the size of his brofriend’s brohood?

“Dude!” Nico shouted. “Not gay man!”

He swiped his hand away, giving a dark glare before sneering.

“Uh…well uh neither am I!”

The two friends laughed obnoxiously at their own camaraderie. They were just roleplaying...right? ‘Sides, they were already starting to sound straight, heck why not go along with it. Nico was having fun with this whole competitive Brotherly Rivals thing, and he was beginning to enjoy Humblr a lot more than he cared to admit. Plus, all their gay banter was bound to attract some twinks. Men like Nico needed release from time to time. Though, weren’t Hudson and him…

“Weren’t we date…dat-…?” Nico tried to ask.

“Date?” Hudson immediately snatched his phone. “Oh frick man–we got stuff to do for the plan!”

Hudson was right. Nico started right away on the large list of different tasks Humblr had given him for today. He pumped his muscles with some iron, pumped his vocabulary full of important rival-esque lingo, and even pumped his brain with lots of information regarding the types of people Brotherly Rivals typically went for. 

“‘Finding a Suitable Partner’,” Nico read aloud.

“That will be impossi…imposs…you won’t find one dude,” Hudson announced proudly.

“Yeah right, queer,” Nico shot back. They both opened the inquiry pool, a variety of options uploading unto each of their devices.

“Man, shouldn’t we pick each other?”

“Bro, we are rivals!” Hudson heavily alluded to the last word. “That would be totally gay!”

Nico nodded. He would pick his man over here, but they were brofriends and competition to each other. Plus, Hudson made a good point–that would be pretty gay. Nico picked his first match, but much to his confusion, an access denied prompt appeared from the app, not allowing him to select the man he wished to.

MAN UP!

“Dude! That guy is such a fag! Why him?”

Nico jeered: “Shut up Man! As if you could score any better!”

Hudson clicked his own selection, only to receive the same flash of the screen. The two boys continued, selecting one after another only to be met only to be met with the same prompt from Humblr. It was almost like every man brought about the same result.

MAN UP!

MAN UP!

MAN UP!

Eventually, Nico was presented with an option for a female. His age, Asian-American, and conservatively dressed. She didn’t seem that out of the ordinary, but something in Nico felt…stirred. Curiously, he tapped the match button. Humblr threw out confetti and balloons in response, clearly joyous with his decision.

“Dude!” Hudson yelled. “She’s mine!” Hudson then showed Nico his screen, showing that he had just matched with the same girl.

“Shut up bro, she’s mine!”

“A fag like you could never date her!”

“And a queer like you could never even kiss her!”

The two boys glared at each other menacingly before storming off to their separate bedrooms. Nico made sure to slam his door extra hard, showing his brofriend just how divided they’d become. Although a part of Nico believed there was still some aspect of roleplay, a growing part of him believed that this was a competition. He just couldn’t stop thinking about how strongly Hudson was adapting into this Brotherly Rival character. He couldn’t stop thinking about how he was going to one up his brofriend and show him who’s boss. Couldn’t stop thinking about wooing that chick they both selected…thinking about that average, wholesome, splendid girl Humblr had presented him with…

MAN UP!

The blast of light brought Nico out of his haze. When he had entered the room there had still been some sunlight outside, but it was now undeniably night. And when he had gotten into bed? Or been tossing and turning in the sheets, humping the bed as he thought about the picture of that woman they both chose? Simply passing it off as strange, Nico placed his phone aside and fell asleep.

— —

When Nico arose the next day, he was surprised to see that his roommate was already out of the apartment. He was waking up earlier and earlier everyday, but Hudson always seemed to have a tiny bit of a headstart on him. Nico didn’t care though–there were definitely some things he was better at than the other male. Like he had bigger muscles, and was certainly more attuned to the boy-next-door look Humblr had been advising him towards. His brown skin had a much more amber sheen now, and his black hair was softer and straighter had started forming into those perfect bangs and-

MAN UP!

“Oh frick dude!” Nico shouted, checking to see what his first assignment was. Humblr was reminding him that he had that Sunday class starting soon. And Nico knew if he could run fast enough, he could beat that faggy roommate of his. Tossing on some clothes, Nico dashed out the door and flew to the university building. He rampaged right through the door as Hudson entered.

“HERE FIRST!” Hudson laughed

“NU-UH, FIRST!” Nico retorted, a little out of breath.

“I was in the door first, FAG!”

“Sounds pretty GHEY to me!”

The two tackled each other to the ground, fighting and forcefully grabbing at each other. Nico got a good grip of Hudson’s thick black hair, but not before Hudson’s tanned hand ripped off Nico’s Size 8 shoe. Hudson was able to yank back Nico’s shirt and expose his lemony, bare torso, but Nico quickly did the same with the man’s own identical set of abs. Finally, Hudson was able to pin Nico down and bring his face real close to Nico’s own. Nico watched as his roommate descended towards him, a lingering sense of fear growing within him.

“MWAH!” Hudson mocked as he planted a fake kiss on the other man.

“STOP IT DUDE!” Nico flipped, tossing his roommate off of him.

“HAH! You blushed, FAG!”

A small crowd of men had begun to form around the pair, each nodding and impressed.

“Wah! These two fags fight good, dude!”

“So manly indeed man!”

“Are you men fooling around?!” Shouted the large instructor above them all. Immediately, the two boys on the floor rolled up and stood at attention for the imposing Asian teacher.

“No Sir!”

“Not us, Mr. Wong.”

“Take your seats then, boys,” Mr. Wong growled. “Apart from each other.”

And so they did, separating as far apart as possible inside of the lecture hall. Soon, the whole place was brimming with men, the majority of whom appeared to be somewhere on an Asiatic-scale. It was funny too how so many of them could've matched with the different plans Nico had scrolled through on Humblr. There was a whole crew of “Devout Students” at the front, and throughout the hall he could see many “Humble Servants”. Even the kid sitting beside him, a Kennedy Rang by the labeling on his notebook, looked to be more than halfway through what was outlined in the “Modernized Tradition” plan.

The Sunday class itself was long, encompassing the entirety of the day without breaks. Mr. Wong talked through the primary points of the semester, the reshaping of their ideologies if they have not already begun, and the best ways to live a wholesome life. He outlined the importance of similarity, normalization, and the appreciation of the average. Mr. Wong even went over the most precise details of serum production by providing a demonstration to the class. 

All throughout the period however Nico and his roommate eyed one another from across the hall aggressively. Every time Hudson taunted him with a hand gesture, stuck his tongue out, or mouthed out the letters of “G-H-E-Y” or “Q-U-E-E-R,” Nico immediately responded back with something just as crude. And with every provoking action, Nico would palm his package underneath the desk he was seated at. He was too heated to realize this however, or that his manhood was not only harder than usual, but smaller too.

“-and that is why tradition always wins. Nothing can hinder the value of a conservative outlook,” Mr. Wong stated, full of pride. “Class dismissed.”

With a grin, Nico got up and immediately rushed out of the classroom. Hudson was out the door at the same time, both of them having received the same message from Humblr. They each only had one more task to complete, and both of them were beyond excited for it.

“You gonna JERK...-” Hudson started. “-PRODUCE to my gal, FAG?”

Nico slammed the front door behind them. “She’s MINE, GHEY!”

Within moments, each of the roommates were in their own bedrooms and began doing what Humblr had advised them to do. They simultaneously began kneading their pouches, moaning and groaning while antagonizing each other through the shared wall.

“You like that, QUEER?”

“Producing to MY girl? I sure do, GAYBOI!”

Each of them grabbed an empty bottle and took out their meager boyhoods, lesser than they had been before this had all begun. Filled with rage and competitive aggression, they pumped their babymakers furiously, each only able to get a few fingers around their producers. Meanwhile, their devices began flashing repeatedly. Like strobe lights, instilling any last crucial messages.

MAN UP!

Hudson’s height shrunk down to 5’6 and a half, but he’d always claim he had an extra half inch.

MAN UP!

Nico’s jaw softened into a more immature, boyish shape.

MAN UP!

Hudson’s British accent was traded for a stronger Malaysian one.

MAN UP!

The last leg of Nico’s Latin heritage was wiped out in order to make room for a more unrelenting Korean lineage.

MAN UP!

MAN UP!

MAN UP!

The pair both seized up, imagining the same girl as their phone’s flashed one more time.

MAN UP!

And as the clock struck midnight, the fifth day of the plan had been reached. Slumping back into their beds, the brotherly rivals contentedly screwed the caps onto their bottles and passed out, snoring the night away.

— —

Later that morning, the two boys were up early and out the door fast. The new app that they were required to download before school began, Humblr, luckily included daily schedules. This meant that both of them were at mandatory soccer practice before anyone else, trying to see who could get there first.

“First one here gets the girl!”

“Good thing I ain’t slow, FAGGOT!”

“Yeah you are DUDE!”

“No BRO-“

“SHUT UP!”

“YOU SHUT UP!”

“GHEY!”

“FAG!”

“Howard Low, Nathaniel Hei…” the coach snarled, knowing these two would never stop bickering if he didn’t end it. Everything was a competition between these two; from workouts to school work and even to massages in the sauna. Anything to one up the other, especially because they always seemed to be crushing on the same girl.

“You better not be at it again. You two fight like an old married couple.”

“Hehe, No Mr. Kang,” Howard laughed. “We are 100% STRAIGHT and not fighting, right bro?”

“Uh uh…yeah!” Nathaniel added, taking a second to form his argument. “Totally straight and into WOMEN!”

“Good,” Mr. Kang rolled his eyes. “Now get in line for team pictures.”

Howard and Nathaniel followed orders, changing into their uniforms and standing behind all the other straight, Christian, Asian men.

“I look hetter in red,” the cocky Malaysian jock commented.

“Nu-uh, I look hetter in red!” the dimwitted Korean jock shot back.

When it was finally their turn, the pair stepped forward and smiled. They may have posed like the best of friends in the picture, but everyone knew they were the embodiment of brotherly rivals.

[sjw-publishings]

“Same thoughts buddy, same mind” ;)

Variations of the Same Structure

For my muse, the lovely @sjw-publishings

Avery and Maurice walked into the building, finding the classroom almost immediately. They honestly didn’t know what they were getting into. The couple had been together for almost two years, falling madly in love after their first few dates. It was a classic gay love story: Avery, the polite city boy from Australia and Maurice, the country-grown brute from the Midwest. The 5’5 platinum blond twig and 6’3 brunette corn-fed bull were a classic match for each other. His endearing personality connected to his protecting aura. His bubble butt reeled in his massive package. It was basically a modern fairytale.

Well, at least until a few months ago. Things had been rocky for a bit, and they honestly couldn’t figure out why. It was nothing the two of them were doing as a couple, just personal problems that needed to be solved in order for them to keep working on their relationship. Avery was struggling in college, and Maurice was juggling an unstable career. These issues just created further problems that disoriented the pair. So when Maurice found an opening online for a class the upcoming weekend, the couple decided to put their best feet forward and try it out.

“Are you sure about this?” Maurice asked, his furry palm entwined in his partner’s delicate one. He wore a pair of ripped jeans and a polo his boyfriend had gifted him.

“Are you thinking of backing out?” Avery questioned. He was decked out in designer trousers and a thick turtleneck.

“No,” Maurice replied honestly. “I just don’t want you to feel like you are being forced into anything.”

“Good, because I want us to work again, no matter the cost.”

The two walked into the room, their hands still holding each other’s. The classroom itself was practically empty, holding barely anything besides a circle of mismatched chairs. All of the other seats were already taken by men of all different forms. Black, Arabian, Latino. Some smaller than Avery, some larger than Maurice. The ages varied too, from a college freshman to man definitely over 40. The only thing that really brought them all together was their sexuality; each of their gaydars flying off the handle due to the mass concentration in the room. Well, all except for the one Asian in attendance.

“Hello gentleman,” the one obviously straight male started. By his attire and the way he was sitting in the chair, he was reeking of the “church youth pastor who thinks he’s cool” vibes. “Welcome to ”Straighten Out!”, a class focused on restructuring lives.”

The teacher then stood up and made his way to a whiteboard on the wall–the only thing on the wall actually.

“My name is Mr. Hollivan. By the end of this period, our goal is that each one of you will walk out of here with a new purpose, a new strategy on how to orient your life. They may all be different paths, but each of you will leave here with the same general structure.”

Avery exchanged a glance with Maurice. He gave a nod that stated, “This guy sounds good.” Maurice shrugged and communicated back, “Let’s just hope this works.”

“Now, our first activity is going to be about introductions. Each one of you will come up to the whiteboard here and write a statement introducing yourself. We will start with you there.”

Mr. Hollivan pointed to the man two seats left of Avery, the first being where the Asian man was previously seated. The guy had a skin tone that suggested something similar to the Mediterranean and appeared to be around Maurice’s age. A little bit on the heavier side, he stood up slowly and made his way to the board, writing down a little bit about himself.

Hi everyone. I’m Derry, a gay guy from New Jersey and a dad to one cat.

“Good,” Mr. Hollivan then took the marker back from Derry and finished his explanation. “Once the current volunteer writes up their introduction, the previous person will come up and erase parts they believe are harmful or unnecessary. Anything that they believe is damaging towards a wholesome identity.”

Derry returned to his seat, lounging back after being told his half of the job was done.

“Now, because I am in the seat before our current volunteer, I will edit out the parts I deem as destructive and replace them with things I believe will benefit Derry based on my personal ideology.”

The men in the room watched as Mr. Hollivan erased his first word and replaced it with another. Immediately, Avery felt a familiar sinking feeling in his gut. It turned out this class wasn’t the best idea. The teacher had erased the word “gay” and replaced it with what many had tried to do in the past.

“What?” Derry’s response came immediately. “Excuse me, I’m most certainly g…g…g-!”

But the next word couldn’t leave his mouth. It was almost like Derry couldn’t even say what they all knew he was supposed to.

“I’m g…I’m g…!” Until finally Derry was able to get out a word. “I’m…guy!”

“Precisely, a straight guy,” Mr. Hollivan affirmed. He then proceeded to edit parts of the rest of the statement. All the men watched on, all of them in awe besides Avery.

Hi everyone. I’m Darius, a straight guy from New Jersey and a dad to one kid.

Avery didn’t know how to react. Mr. Hollivan had completely rewritten Darius’ introduction. Crucial parts of the statement were altered that Darius could not change. It seemed improbable. Like Darius being straight–yeah, he was obviously straight! That old flannel, the ripped jeans. That rigid side part that no gay man would be caught dead with. It was obvious that the Japanese-American dad was straight. And a dad too! He hadn’t stopped jingling the keys in his pocket since they had entered the room.

“You got me, pal!” Darius remarked, giving that classic, fatherly hearty chuckle. “Just stoppin' by and swingin’ in to see how the kiddo is doin’!”

Avery had no idea what “kiddo” was referring to, unless they were adopted, but the activity carried on. Next was a boy even smaller than Avery, wearing clothes that were certainly not from a men’s section of a store. 

Hello everybody! My name’s Tommy and I’m an escort and femboy from Brooklyn.

Avery couldn’t help but applaud this guy’s confidence at his exciting career choice. Darius made his way up to the board and after receiving the marker got to work. With a confident huff, the older male sat back down in his seat, his back straight and his face showcasing pride.

Hello everybody! My name’s Thomas and I’m an accountant and into females from Brooklyn.

In just three words, Darius had shifted Thomas’ unique lifestyle into the most vanilla. Being an accountant probably didn’t provide any thrills to Thomas’ life. In fact, the only kind of men Avery knew who went to school for accounting were there because of its bland stability. And Thomas definitely looked the part in his dull gray suit. Even his features looked conformed to predictably, the black hair arranged naturally and his amber-hued figure showcasing he just worked out to stay slim. Thomas was definitely a Thai man who appreciated things to be simple and standard. The ornate golden band on his finger affirmed it.

Next up was an equally flamboyant case. Rainbow attire, dyed hair, glitter makeup. This guy screamed “homosexual”. Any by his taller, lanky build, he definitely gave off some vers energy too. He began writing in a cursive-like script, but after a bit Mr. Hollivan stopped him. He explained that it was just introductions, not a life story. 

Hello everyone, I'm Isaac and I really like roller skating, dancing, and singing! Not to mention, I'm also super homosexual and really into hot, hairy, muscled men like-

The words caught off after that. Isaac returned to his seat, a little frustrated as Thomas approached the board. Rather than editing, he erased the majority of Isaac’s introduction. He was a plain man and appeared to act as such too. When he was done, it was very obvious what Thomas believed would restructure Isaac’s life.

Hello everyone, I’m Ian and I really like women.

Avery couldn’t understand how people had the audacity to try and sum up a person’s life in just one statement. Ian was probably so much more than just a straight man! Just looking at the young man of Korean heritage, Avery could tell he was definitely Christian! The Bible on his lap, the traditional clothing, the clean-cut image. And Ian was certainly a polite young man. He carried himself with dignity and a particular aura that established that he knew what he wanted. Sure, Ian may “really like women,” yet he must have had other interests. But even Avery wasn’t convinced of his own argument, seeing how he couldn’t identify anything else about the polite male seated directly across from him.

Past Avery and Maurice were the only other two men in the room who didn’t seem like they were a part of this straight, Christian, Asian supergroup. The couple appeared to be inseparable: the two couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. The man farther from Avery and Maurice had a darker, rich skin tone, dressing his athlete’s build in designer clothes that appeared to be from the same brand Avery was wearing. His partner was a complete opposite, his own brown muscular build covered by an impressive thrifted outfit.

Although they had different styles, the two couldn’t have had more similar personalities. They were the kind of gay couple that constantly flirted with each other and other men, seeking out any opportunity for additional fun. They even went up together, expecting to write their introduction as a couple. However, Mr. Hollivan stopped them immediately, explaining that it was not an activity to be completed by two men together. This triggered the pair, so much so that even the instructor’s attractiveness couldn’t stop them from the addressing obvious elephant in the room.

“This all seems incredibly homophobic.”

“Yeah, we do everything together, and there shouldn’t be anything wrong with two guys who love each other doing so!”

Mr. Hollivan appeared unphased. “Names, gentlemen?”

The two of them stared blankly.

“Kurt…”

“Lenny…”

Mr. Hollivan smiled, “You two can both go up together but write separate statements. Know that Ian will be editing both of your structures to his personal beliefs and experiences. That also means you two will work with our next volunteer.”

The couple exchanged glances with each other, then with Ian, and finally after a nod wrote their statements. Ian got up shortly after, muttering to himself about how the pair kind of reminded him of guys he’d played online with before, just missing their lingo. When the couple finished, they turned to the crowd with faces of triumph.

Hey everyone, I'm Kurt and I find this to be incredibly homophobic.

Hi everybody! I'm Lenny, and next to me is my boyfriend–we are a couple.

Kurt and Lenny left the whiteboard, talking to themselves in such a manner that it was obvious everyone was supposed to tune into their conversation. Meanwhile, Ian got to his work quietly.

“Babe, that was great.”

“Anything for you my sweet.”

“He may be a dick, but oh man Mr. Hollivan is so hot.”

“He sure is, broski.”

“I wish I could get in his CHURCH pants and BEAT HIS BUTT.”

“Oh really, gay boy?”

“I’m gay? I’m STRAIGHT dude!”

“Sure you are…FAG!”

Ian left the marker and eraser by the whiteboard and took his seat without making any noise.

Hey everyone, I'm Ken, and I find this to be incredibly LIT!

Hi everybody! I'm Leon, and next to me is my E-Boi friend–we are a couple of A-MEN!

Avery was impressed. Ian was right on point with these two idiots. They were almost identical, the Chinese-Americans Zoomers with their youthful arrogance and obnoxious behavior. Not only that, but they looked like twins too. Same raven hair shaped into those boyband bangs, same athletic style that did not compliment their skinny bodies. Avery even guessed they were both 5’6. In fact, it felt like almost EVERYONE in this room was somehow related. The diversity in the room was just different stereotypes of typical Asian men. It was really only Avery and Maurice that stood out, and the two E-Bois weren’t afraid to make that fact known.

“Yo! Got any ladies there, FAGS?”

“Guess you could say they’re checking out ‘deez NUTZ Amung Os’!”

They both began crudely laughing, their insults continuing as Maurice stood up for his turn at the whiteboard.

“Just BING CHILLIN’ with my gamer here.” Ken then gave a fake kiss on the cheek to his partner-in-crime.

“That was LIT!” Leon shouted. “Nothin’ special or QUEER ‘bout that!”

After finishing, Maurice returned to his seat beside Avery and grabbed his hand. With his legs crossed and forward hunched over, it was obvious to Avery that Maurice was regretting their decision to come to this class. Avery tried to reassure his boyfriend, feeling a little warmth as he read over Maurice’s introduction.

Hello everyone, I'm Maurice and I like to eat out, party galore, and spend time with my boyfriend.

Avery was proud of his boyfriend for standing up like that, watching the two E-Bois snicker as they meandered up to the board. Yeah, Maurice was a strong, confident, GAY man. Avery just wanted to shove that fact into all their smug, ignorant faces. Maurice was GHEY! And if they didn’t listen to him–well, that would only encourage him to be louder. He’d show them that his friend was gonna remain GHEY…GHEY…HEY! Do you know what Maurice is? Avery would pummel the question at them. And he knew what they’d respond with: He is HET!

Hello everyone, I'm Moses and I like to work out, praise the Lord, and spend time with my girlfriend.

Ken and Leon may have been the dumbest, rudest, most aggravating pair Avery had ever come across. No, they definitely were. So it pained him to admit that they were right with the Vietnamese-American jock manspreading beside him. The 5’8 tanned hunk definitely hit the gym. It was apparent by his sweaty musk that had a slight hint of the spices often found in Phở. The narcissism, constant fondling of his average-sized pouch, and the giant cross splayed across his athletic tee confirmed the rest. Moses was just a variation of the same structure all the men in the room seemed to be bound by.

“Hey bro,” Moses caught Avery’s attention. “Mind letting go of me? Prayer Time isn’t until the end of class, remember?”

Avery blinked, registering what the Asian jock was referring to. Immediately, he pulled his hand out of the grasp. Why was he holding hands with this guy anyway? Wasn’t he holding hands with his boyfriend? Didn’t he have a boyfriend? 

“Something’s wrong,” Avery started. “This guy…he wasn’t…I had…have…a boyfriend!...I'm looking for a…my…boyfriend!”

The scattered plea went out into the room, falling on united ears. Well, all united against the one unwholesome entity in the room.

“So unprofessional,” Thomas commented.

“Not sticking to the regimen like a good Christian, Asian man would,” Darius agreed.

Mr. Hollivan simply shook his head in disappointment. “Looks like someone’s mistaking an exit to be an entrance.” The others in the circle laughed tremendously at that, their voices harmonizing like a men’s chorus. Avery didn’t get the joke, but by the way each of the men were at some point looking at their own bottoms, he assumed it to be homophobic.

“Not to worry, our last volunteer is prepared to edit the statement.”

Avery hadn’t noticed that Mr. Hollivan had waltzed his way to the whiteboard as his joke was being processed around the room, already writing out an introduction for him.

Hello everyone, I’m Avery, and I'm looking for my man.

“The dude’s name Avery?” Leon scoffed.

“No way man…that name is GAY!” Ken hollered. As the two buffoons kept at their cackling, Moses approached the board. Mr. Hollivan handed him the marker before returning to his seat. Avery’s eyes focused on Moses, following along as the man popped off the cap and put in a simple edit. A simple edit for a simple man. But the two letters were monumental.

Hello everyone, I'm Aaron, and I'm looking for my woman!

“Amen I am!”

The men in the room all cheered at that. Even the instructor joined in the celebration. Aaron couldn’t help but always be thinking about his woman. Heck, that’s why the Indonesian jock had sculpted his 5’8 body so meticulously. His golden biceps were meant to woo her, his lemony calves to show he didn’t back down. His black hair was always pushed up STRAIGHT to show her just the kind of man he was. And that cross necklace his best bro Moses had gifted him currently sat underneath his tank to display his commitment to...commitment. 

Speaking of which, he’d have to thank Moses for finding this incredible class. He couldn’t believe that although these men were slightly different each in their own ways, they were all so alike. Almost as if they were all built off the same structure.

A little vibration went off in Aaron’s pocket, hopefully providing him with the answer he needed.

“Hey Teach, mind if I take this one?” Aaron asked, snatching his phone quickly from his shorts. “My future wife’s texting me on Humblr.”

“By all means,” Mr. Hollivan chuckled. “When it comes to pursuing a woman, I’ll never stop you.”

The other men all cheered once more as Aaron left the room before joining hands. Aaron hated that he had to miss out on Prayer Time. His average-sized pouch hated it too, perking up at the thought of being able to produce some serum. But, duty calls! And that duty was to his woman!

Aaron rushed out the front doors of the building and texted his woman back, telling her he’d be there as fast as possible. He didn’t plan on having her wait.

[sjw-publishings]

Simon really CAME out of his shell didn’t he? ;)

Picture-Perfect

A treat for @sjw-publishings

Scott Sherman walked around the party aimlessly, not really knowing what to do next. His best friend had invited him to be her “date” for a coworker’s bachelor/bachelorette party; a double event where everyone celebrated the soon-to-be bride and groom. Scott had never heard of such a thing, being the whole point of such parties was to blow off some final pre-marital steam, but apparently the couple in question wanted to "stay faithful up until the day of wed”. At least, that’s how his friend put it, begging him to attend this mega-Christian fest. The cocky gay otter had agreed on one condition; she didn’t leave his side.

But she had. Within moments, his fake partner had been whisked away by some other girls adorned in rather traditional attire. Clothes Scott would see those stuck-up religious folks dress up in for a Sunday service. And now he was all alone. It didn’t help that he appeared fairly intimidating as well. Large Slavik musculature, a little over 6 foot, and a fairly hairy body. It made him stick out from the rest of the invited crowd, most of whom looked to be of Asian descent. His stereotypical masculine figure was strikingly different from the mix of Eastern bodies. This didn’t make Scott afraid however. Quite the opposite actually; he was bored and wanted to look for some fun. He bet himself he could find at least one closeted gay by the end of the night to hook up with.

The first guy he approached was a total Malaysian dilf. Rugged features, warm eyes–everything Scott could easily fall for. The interaction didn’t go quite as planned though.

“Hey bud,” the now-obviously fully-hetero daddy had started. “As much as I would love to be your youth leader for tonight, I’ve got my wife waiting for me to get her a drink.”

Scott frowned, watching the man leave without him actually realizing what Scott had been hinting at. The second guy seemed a little boring, but he’d still do. Some executive at a social media company a little older than the 27-year-old. Emmanuel seemed fairly flat, but Scott wasn’t looking for a relationship here. Apparently, neither was he.

“Dude, you wouldn’t believe how absolutely amazing my fiancée is.” Emmanuel went on and on, never giving Scott a chance to escape from a topic so lifeless that he didn’t think it could get worse. That was, until Emmanuel started discussing the audience reach at his company and offered to help Scott install the app on his phone.

"Ohhhh!" Scott drew out the word in fake enthusiasm. "Let’s talk about that when I get back from the bathroom.”

He rushed off, no intention to return to that conversation or that man. Attempt number three was none other than the party’s photographer. What Scott assumed to be a man fresh from college and of Japanese heritage, he couldn’t help but take in the simple, clean-cut handsomeness of the photographer. He was determined to get this guy in bed.

Approaching confidently, Scott aligned himself right in the photographer’s shot.

“Hey cutie, are you a photographer?” Scott cracked his bulky knuckles with a wink. 

The photographer was not amused. In fact, he seemed more confused by Scott’s gesture than anything. “Dude, mind straightening out a little? This is a party man–shouldn’t you have a girlfriend or something?”

Scott pushed full steam ahead. “How could I want anyone else when you’ve captured my heart?”

“Hmm…'captured my heart'?” The photographer was bewildered. Why was this man interacting with him in such a manner? Then, a lightbulb lit up in his head. A misguided, wrongly-intentioned lightbulb, but a lightbulb nonetheless. The man was trying to impress him…to get to someone else.

“But my sister wouldn’t like this kind of bold, upfront man,” the photographer mumbled to himself.

“What did you say, sexy?” Scott purred. He assumed the photographer was considering his attraction. Scott couldn’t wait to shove his thick python up that shorter man’s perky little behind.

The photographer had another plan in mind, knowing what he had to do to help Scott accomplish what he thought was his goal. It was about time the photographer’s sister started seeing someone, and his sister had always remarked that she had wanted a guy just like her brother. And the chance was practically being presented to him, the opportunity to set up his sister with the right kind of a man. 

“Come with me,” the photographer said, grabbing Scott’s hand and pulling him along. Scott cheered inwardly to himself, finally having landed a score. The smaller male brought him to an empty part of the house where they could be alone. The kitchen area was compact, but Scott could still get the job done. Immediately, Scott began unbuttoning his designer shirt.

“Woah, buddy!” the photographer shouted. “Hold your horses!”

Scott blinked awkwardly. He hadn’t even been able to lower his tight matching shorts for the real show. “What?”

“Just hold still, dude,” the photographer directed, placing himself along the opposite wall. “Gotta make some adjustments first.”

Scott didn’t know what to say, but if the photographer wanted to get some pictures of him, he’d surely oblige. Maybe it would be a game, removing a piece of clothing with every set. Scott would play along, letting the other man take charge before pouncing and tackling him to the ground to show him why he was always on top.

“Alright.” The photographer began taking some pictures, the flash blinding Scott. Each miniature explosion of light pulsated throughout his body, sending ripples and disorienting him. 

“How are you feeling?” the photographer asked.

“I’m uh…” Scott mumbled. His thoughts were a little fuzzy. “Are we gonna…gonna…”

“Let me just…” the photographer took a couple of more pictures, both freezing the otter a little more.

“You…hot…” Scott’s brain felt like moldable clay. Raw, unfiltered, and needing to regain some shape. Any shape.

“Hmmm, ‘hot’?” The photographer seemed displeased. “Man, I’m not too sure my sister would be into you–too cocky and forward.”

“No…” Scott tried to correct the photographer's mistake, but everything felt so slow. “...I mean…”

“Just stay still, I’ll make this quick dude.”

The photographer snapped some more shots. Scott felt oddly heavy, having to steady himself on the counter.

“Focus on my lens…obedience to my words…”

The otter blushed fervently in his position, unable to resist the soft tenor voice and the way his crush remained in control. For some reason, Scott also seemed unable to move, his body not making any commotion as the photographer approached him and adjusted his clothes and his noticeably hefty pouch.

“D…dude!” Scott staggered out. “Are you…feeling my balls…?”

“My dad’s a urologist, man.” The photographer continued to cup Scott’s tremendous package. “Checking if your grapes are straight.”

Scott didn’t know how to react, not understanding what sexual game this photographer was playing. But he wasn’t protesting. Scott took an immense amount of pride in his massive offerings, and he couldn’t admit that he wasn’t turned on. “Oh…!”

The photographer eventually stepped back, now knowing what he was working with. He couldn’t completely get this man to be the picture-perfect boyfriend, but the photographer would do his best with what he was given. He snapped a few pictures right away.

Scott just watched on and the photographer got to work, his thoughts a flat zone. He simply existed, following whatever the photographer did and said. Like when he asked Scott how old he was, in which Scott was proud to assert his older age. Especially after the photographer mentioned the importance of respecting elders. That made his top-hood twitch. And then the photographer kindly reminded him that he was a month older than Scott. He was born in February, and this man was born in January! 

“Sit up Straight.”

The quick shift of a command jolted the young jock with immediate force, startled as his older crush spoke with much force and demand. It explained why the photographer was so assertive, being only a month older. But of course, Scott was a month younger, meaning the other 23-year-old simply knew better. He was definitely the guy-next-door type…but he had a more firm approach than most men Scott had been attracted to.

Speaking of which, Scott had never really been attracted to an Asian-ish guy before. He’d always preferred more masculine men that he could submerge into their secret submissive behaviors. It was something he found easy in European men. Not that Asian alphas didn’t have that quality–just that Scott hadn’t found one. He liked hooking up with men that looked like him. Bulky, furry, brutally masculine. And with each click of the camera, Scott affirmed this criteria. Yeah, he typically only slept with the guys who appeared like him. This hot photographer definitely did. That ethnically-inherent tan, those black locks and smooth limbs. The facial structures that are undeniably of the East, and their smaller, better-crafted features.

“Alright bud, you gotta get a GRIP on yourself if you want to impress your crush.”

Scott tried to get his face to frown. Wasn’t the photographer his crush? He tried to grab a hold of himself with his softer, daintier hands, fondling his gigantic-

*Click*

-fondling his modest groin. Despite the strength of his fingers, he felt his pouch being squashed like a firm rebuke: hard-on squeezing down a size underneath his compact fist. Scott didn’t understand why this felt so…difficult! Even though he had jerke-...produced before, his package wasn’t responding like Scott believed it should have.

“Gentler dude…” the photographer cooed. “She’ll want it gentler.”

“No…dude…” Scott centered all his strength to speak. “I want…youuu?”

The photographer released a burst of flashes, each wavelength absorbing into Scott’s being. Scott could feel a burgeoning question arising through the muck of his head. Wasn’t what he just said…really gay?

“I mean your sister…” The words left his mouth with complete clarity before Scott could even consider what he’d say. “...Wait! I…I mean-”

The photographer cut him off, rushing forward and fondling Scott’s pouch with him, forcing the younger man’s palm to clamp down.

“This is not a hand job…” the photographer corrected Scott’s thought before it even happened. “I am simply giving you a hand.”

The photographer then adjusted his camera lens with his free hand, putting the scope into a more direct focus to completely center in.

“Alright, just a few more pics and you’ll get the job done.”

“...but I…I already do?”

The photographer ignored him. “Just have to remove that presumptuousness.”

Scott wanted to protest, not knowing exactly what he was protesting but do so nonetheless. But every click of the camera was like a neutralizing barrage of light. Each flash directly in his face. 

“Now imagine your girlfriend complimenting you, dude!”

“Hey…cut it out! I like…g…guys!” Scott needed to stop this madness and fight back. 

“Think about holding her umbrella and serving her tea like a respectable man!”

“Nooo…stop!” He wanted to address the situation and tell the photographer to stop. But a blush was suddenly adorning his cheeks.

“What if she wants a kiss, dude.”

“A KISS…well uh…I would…oh Lordy…” 

Scott gulped, wishing to say something to his superior and hoping to make a change. But the pinkish hue was spreading fast across his yellowy cheeks. He didn't even realize the photographer's hand had moved away–only his hand was left kneading his bottom-on.

“And what will happen when you get married to her?”

“Oh man…oh MAN!”

Scott went red, a shy and nervous demeanor devouring him as he became overwhelmingly flustered. A spurt of serum released into the bottle the photographer had conveniently lined up moments before. Satisfied, the photographer then stepped back to admire his work.

“Man, you look a little off,” the photographer prompted. “Are you still worried about it?”

“About…?” the man blinked, the haze slowly lifting from his mind.

“About asking my sister out!” the photographer shouted excitedly.

“I couldn’t…” Simon Sari meekly protested. “I'm not so sure if that is a good idea…I like her but…”

“Nonsense dude. You’re her match!”

“Don't…don’t tease me like that!” Simon huffed, ruffling a hand through his traditionally-cut black hair. “You’re torturing me over here, man.”

“You’re just her type,” the photographer shook his head. “She wants a guy just like her older brother.”

“I guess man…”

Simon couldn’t help but agree that he did resemble the photographer very well. Sure, he was a little shorter than the other man at 5’6, but he did have some musculature. He was also a little bigger down there, giving a soft pat to his slightly above average member. He always hated having a more prominent pouch than his peers though; it made the meek, humble, good Christian guy stick out when he really wished to hide within the congregation. Speaking of which, his unorthodox outfit was doing him no favors.

“That outfit? Yeah dude, stick to the typical stuff,” the photographer affirmed, referring to button-ups and khaki’s lacking any character.

“Why are you…helping me, by the way?” Simon questioned. 

“Well, you are going to be dating my sister, and putting the ring on it very soon after.” This made Simon seize up into the color of an overripe tomato. “We’re already brothers, and soon-to-be brothers-in-law. Plus, I’ve seen how you get when you speak about her.”

And just like that, the shy Simon immediately perked up, his introverted personality disappearing at the opportunity to speak about the photographer’s sister. His whole demeanor changed in an instant, proudly boasting about how much he cared for the one particular female. 

“Oh boy, don't get me started! I would hold all her handbags when she shop...I would pay for her dinner…and and and take her to every church club…and oh…Oh! I would...”

The photographer couldn’t help but take a picture of the wholesome instance–a man coming out of his shell to preach about his love for a woman.

[sjw-publishings]

‘There’s no right or wrong way…only the Wong way.’

Perfect Educator

Aided once again by the one and only @sjw-publishings  

“And just like that, William Wagner has entered the building.”

The infiltrator slowly closed the door behind him, thankful for once that Camp Christening was so old fashioned. Their ideologies, beliefs, and views on his own homosexuality made Will’s life extremely difficult. But their lack of modern technology–like difficult-to-disarm alarms–did help him enter the building in the early morning without any disturbances. He only had an hour before staff would begin to show up, and not long after would the camp be flooded with those straight, Christian, Asian freaks. Will had accidentally slept through his alarm, having planned on coming earlier in the night, but the little time he had left would have to do.

Will didn’t know how Camp Christening was pulling it all off. How they got so much willing support and how they were able to lure the entire LGBTQ+ community into their trap. He didn’t understand where the fluorescent twinks and chubby bears went after they entered, or how there was suddenly a surplus of carbon-copy, heterosexually-charged, Christianized Asians. Even his boyfriend didn’t seem fazed by any of this madness. It was like Will was the only one who could sense something was happening. That meant he was the one who had to find out the truth, who had to save his friends and chosen families.

Crawling through one of the dark hallways, the dressed-in-all-black intruder turned into the first classroom he saw. He was happy about his 5’6 weakling body (maybe for the first time ever), making it easy for him to slip and slide like a serpent around the room until he found what he’d been looking for. The laptop looked a little old, maybe 10 years at least, but it was still something he could work with. The 22-year-old hairless twink pulled out a small hard drive and plugged it in, bypassing the passcode and entering the system. He cracked his white knuckles proudly, emulating the classic cinematic hackers.

“Now let’s see just what these freaks are up to.”

But Will couldn’t find anything. Literally jack squat. It was almost like the laptop truly had nothing besides the curriculum material. Sure, Will could search the files regarding topics such as “Christianity and Compliance” and assignments like “Understanding the Myth of Homosexuality”, but he knew these wouldn’t contain any incriminating evidence. A certain section on reproduction grossed him out, the thought of having children able to induce vomit. Even slideshows regarding “The 3 A’s: Average, Abstinent, and Asian” probably didn’t give any evidence as to what was happening at the camp. But it was then Will found what might give him a clue.

“‘Assignments to be Graded’?” Will said aloud, clicking the folder. His curiosity and desperation made him believe that if he could find how the students were reacting to the material taught, he could maybe understand the conversion process. Will wondered if it was a combination of intense conditioning and brainwashing, but even that wouldn’t explain the physical changes.

The first set of assignments was titled “Discovering Your True Self”. It asked the students to write down a review of what they had learned over the class’s slotted period about who they really were, not the reality that had been forced upon them. A boy named Percy Sim was the first essay.

“I just gotta rediscover myself, man!” he started before going on about all the lies he’d been fed by society. He spoke of his commitment to the Lord, his connection to an Asian heritage Will assumed hadn’t existed before, and the last line was the most shocking of all. “Thanks Teach! When I get back I’m gonna tell my boy friend that I’m into girls! I wonder if it’s possible to save him too?”

Two things were strange about that last statement. First, everyone Will had encountered hadn’t remembered their lives before Camp Christening, so it was peculiar that this Percy did. Maybe these essays were more of a progress report rather than a final test? Secondly, when Will tried to delete the added space between “boy” and “friend,” the computer wouldn’t allow him. It was almost like it was banned for another male to refer to his male partner as such.

Another student named Raymond Yamada had similar sympathy’s about what he’d learned. “I can’t believe my entire life has been spent trying to excel! Why would I want to stick out when I could simply fit in? It’s so much better to be just like all of my peers here at camp.”

Kennedy Rang’s essay was noticeably shorter, only talking about how suddenly turned on he was by the thought of straight marriage. “Teach, you are so right dude! The whole Man and Woman thing is just so LIT!”

Will’s face scrunched at that. The 27-year-old hated to admit that youth slang had left him. He was at an age where it just felt more appropriate to use direct language. Will stretched his muscles back as he moved to the next folder of ungraded assignments, something telling him he wasn’t going to find what he’d been looking for in the previous area. He hoped that these “What Makes the Perfect Educator?” reviews would give him the incriminating material he was looking for.

“There was no flamboyance and sweetness to Mr. Wong, leaving a middle aged teacher whose strict attitude sent shivers down the spines of his students.” Will read the statement again, confused as to what this assignment was supposed to be about. Then he noticed the name Budiman at the bottom, hypothesizing that this student may be giving a performance review of sorts.

Another anonymous tip noted this Mr. Wong’s demeanor: “Good teacher, very strict though.”

“These kids don’t understand,” Will rolled his eyes. “After a while you simply have to be straightforward in order to get the job done.”

This Mr. Wong must’ve been just trying to get his message across in any means necessary. Will however hadn’t recognized what that particular message was.

“Very stern,” one began by a student named Terrance. “but got straight As so not complaining.”

Something about that made Will’s back lurch up in his seat, no longer hunched over. The 32-year-old felt his modestly-sized dick twitch, the certain traditional rigidity in his posture providing a form of stimulation. Will couldn’t believe how disrespectful these students were acting to their elders.

“W..What! He’s not stern…” Will pondered on this. “Though he may be rather fierce sometimes. He must display his authority.”

An anonymous tip went in a little bit of a different direction. “Dude is built! And I’m not just talking about his firm spiritual foundation and stable homelife. No, I’m talking about that MUSCULATURE. I’m not queer or smth, but that guy’s got a solid build underneath those polished suits.”

“These students find him handsome, huh?” Will chuckled to himself. Maybe they’d get a kick out of his frame too. Sturdy arms, well-crafted legs. Firm pectorals and lower stomach from all that commitment to having a well-rounded figure. And being one too. Will wanted to be admired, to be looked up to. Almost like a mentor of sorts.

“From his age, the way he dresses, his mannerisms,” the pupil Bartholomew wrote. “The wedding band on his finger and dedication to his wife and family–it all shows his commitment to what he stands for and teaches.”

“This young man understands,” Will agreed proudly, fiddling with something that was wrapped around his finger. When he looked down, he was surprised to see a weathered silver band. He didn’t understand why it was there. Wasn’t he dating….

Dates? Of course there had to be dates on these student’s assignments! Name, classroom, and date! All the stories he had had with his spouse over the years about youngsters and their carelessness of forgetting about this important info. Without it, how was he supposed to tell the difference between an A student…and a straight A student? 

“Professor really helped straighten out my perspective in life!” Will appreciated the first half of this student’s feedback, but the later end was alarming at first glance. “Especially with how firm he spanked my bottom!”

“Is that even legal?” Will questioned. But not out of disbelief, more out of excited curiosity. If students needed discipline, then there was only one way to lay it upon them. Literally. Will supported this kind of action, and he was finding himself agreeing with the teacher’s perspective more than he thought.

“Heh, they think that’s firm?” Will chuckled to himself. “They don’t know how strict I am with my sons.”

The man smirked as his rear sealed up with a good ole SPANK! His pride leapt at the thought of the couple of sons he had. The 37-year-old had raised them to be strong, strapping men just like their father. But even though he’d nurtured them with past traditions, it was also nice to have four guiding hands through the modernizing world. Like the social media device Humblr…this old fossil needed his zoomer sons to teach him how to use that thing. 

“Teacher is so strict, it seems like he will always double down on what’s necessary.”

Will nodded furiously in agreement. Of course he would double down on what’s necessary. DOUBLE DOWN ON DISCIPLINE!

“These students better not fool around, especially with other men on campus!”

Will didn’t catch the double entendre before continuing with the reviews.

“When he yells across the hallway, it reminds me of my dad…”

“O…Oiiii!”

The middle aged man grunted, all the while palming his crotch deep underneath his navy blue sacks, which complimented his white button-up and the suit jacket he’d placed on a hook by the door. For some reason, all this talk about fatherhood was enticing to Will. This student’s description of how this man’s jaw was squared out with the manly aftershave that older men typically use every morning; how his hair had a neatly-combed, stereotypical cut with real dark brown hair to match the weather eyes–it all intrigued him, tantalizing him even. 

The student detailed everything that he adored about the teacher. His manly gait, his work-oriented demeanor, his commitment to instilling only the right message into his students. The teacher had to be completely devoted to the camp’s message and ideology. The teacher had to believe that Camp Christening was only doing what was best–no, correct for the students. And this student in particular said the best part about the teacher was that he would never accept another perspective. He wouldn’t even allow an option of exit. “There was no ‘his way or the highway’,” another student remarked. “only His way.”

A boy named Francis had the final review. It was just a sentence long, but it was everything Will needed to hear.

“A role model for those who stay on the straight and narrow.”

“YUSH!” the 42-year-old male bellowed as a blast of his robust reproduction sprayed into the bottle he’d somehow known to orient in front of his exposed, girthy cock. With a hearty, satisfied sigh, the teacher concealed his manhood once more and closed up the bottle, securing another production.

“Mr. Wong!” A young, Asian-appearing boy entered the classroom, eyes wide. “I’m sorry if I came too early, I was just wondering if you could help me.”

Wallace wore a flat face, displaying no emotion. “Percy Sim. I advise all students to only visit during office hours. No exceptions.”

“I understand Mr. Wong but…” the student shifted nervously. Wallace took the moment to take a quick progress check of the young male. His hair had already adapted to a simpler side part. And his facial features now bore a heritage more similar to Wallace’s then the one Percy had come in with.

“Spit it out, child,” Wallace pushed. “I have my first class starting soon.”

“Well…” Percy mumbled. “I was wondering if you could help me with the dilemma I had addressed in my paper.”

Wallace made no sign that he knew what the boy was talking about. He was particularly strict about time, and as one of the more surprisingly taller and muscular Asians at the camp, the 6’0 teacher came off as very intimidating.

“‘Discovering Your True Self’?” Percy timidly added.

“Ah, I see,” Mr. Wong nodded, rising from his seat. He then handed the filled bottle to the student, the serum bubbling furiously inside its prison. “I thought about it earlier this morning when I was grading assignments. Give this to your…boy friend.” He dramatically emphasized the the space between the words. “It should solve the problem.”

“Sweet! Thanks Mr. Wong!” Percy exclaimed. He ran up to the desk and took the bottle from the middle-aged male. With a quick handshake to display gratitude, the boy ran off. Mr. Wong watched, adjusting his glasses to better evaluate the boy’s duller, more conservative sense of style. 

Pastor Marriagenota was expecting another child soon, meaning the camp was going to begin looking for a temporary employee. Now Percy would be finishing his assignment while completing Wallace’s own. Wallace could only hope the new hire would share his own fatherly attributes, Asian heritage, and traditionally-guided perspective. Something told him the new hire would.

[sjw-publishings]

A-MEN BROTHA!

Factory ReHet

Created with the wonderful advisement of @sjw-publishings

Emil couldn’t believe that two of his best friends had created such an abomination of an app. He’d known the Sampsons since high school, the three of them immediately connecting over their experiences having to hide in the closet. The pair had already been steadily dating by the time Emil had met them, but they welcomed him in like their firstborn. They promoted so many diverse, progressive ideals that when Emil had downloaded Humblr, he would’ve never assumed for it to have been the monstrosity it was.

The app was littered with everything the Sampsons had worked so strongly against. Being tied down to tradition, denying forward movement and thinking, ignoring progress through the use of simplistic humor and ignorance. It also promoted the destruction of unique identities, trying to create some form of normalcy for all to abide by. The app the Sampsons had built was even against their own existence, emphasizing the importance of traditional marriage and undermining the harmfulness of homophobic ideals. It drove Emil up a wall. How could the individualistic, progressive, out-of-the-box Sampson husbands create such a simple-minded, outdated, square product?

Sitting at home, after a little over a minute of investigating the app, Emil closed out of Humblr and immediately deleted the nuisance. However, after hitting the removal button on his phone multiple times, the stupid application did not disappear. Instead, his whole screen went black, popping up with only a single message in white letters.

Factory ReHet Activated

“Are you kidding me?” Emil groaned, his freckled cheeks flushing so red he didn’t notice the spelling anomaly. He had had enough of this crap. He knew he wasn’t far from where Humblr was headquartered. The Sampsons had told him to come and visit anytime, and now was better than ever. 

He grabbed his things and rushed over to the mirror, making sure he didn’t look too out of place. Ripped baggy jeans, rainbow-flagged tee from Pride this year, colorful sneakers. Not a strand of his curly, copper hair was out of place, and his quick makeup actually looked good. Dare he say he looked hot? His 4-inch cock chubbed up just a bit, surprising as Emil had never really considered himself attractive. But it must have been the confidence oozing from him: he wanted to scream “QUEER” when he stormed into that building. And luckily the 5’10 man already looked the part.

Emil stepped out of his building and locked the door behind him. He checked his phone to see if the message had disappeared, but instead something new had replaced it.

ReHet Has Begun: MANdatory Workplace Account Created

“This has to be some sort of joke,” Emil rationalized. His pace was fast and flashy as he walked down the street in the direction of the Humblr offices. Although he was ok with the typical gayish gait to his walk, it did not help him come off as intimidating. But after a few moments, the flamboyant sway of his hips shifted into a more clean cut march. It was more controlled, more mass-produced. His back shot up straighter while his rump flatted in. It gave Emil a more confident air; he was someone who knew what he believed in and where he was going.

Reconfiguring Workplace Employee.exe

Emil regarded the change of words on his phone, shuffling his shoulders to readjust the backpack hanging limp behind him. It was filled with educational materials promoting multiculturalism, sexual identity sensitivity, and individual achievement–everything that the Sampsons had shared with him before. Yet the backpack slowly slid off his right side and slung down into his toughening left palm, the fabric polishing into a leather briefcase filled with documents and stationary. Emil didn’t notice the change in weight displacement however, as his hands had hardened into sturdier mitts. They were roughened by the typical outside-of-work activities he was involved in. The average stuff corporate Asian men play: soccer, tennis and golf, maybe cricket every now and then.

“Wait, what?” Emil went over what had just gone through his head, but immediately forgot it when he noticed the update on the screen in his right hand.

Installing Conformity.wav

Emil opened his mouth to say something, but instead shut it and continued walking forward. He did not need to vocalize all his thoughts out loud. In fact, he didn’t even need to make a statement in the workplace. Instead, Emil would simply hand out the materials he’d brought and file a private complaint to the CEOs, urging them to reconsider the app they’ve created and find a way to undo the damage they’ve already done. But of course, he’d be polite about the time with the two bosses. After all, they were busy men who were working very difficult jobs. And Emil would make sure to appreciate that fact with respect and dignity. He just hoped the suit he wore was enough to show just how much this meeting meant to him. Emil had even chosen a striped tie to display just how special this occasion was to him.

Purifying Files…

The three dots bounced one by one across the screen, catching Emil’s eye as he turned a street corner. He didn’t know what files were being “purified”–or what “purified” meant for that matter–but he was already more than halfway to the Sampsons’ headquarters. In fact, he could see the building in the distance, a giant H lit up on the roof. Emil decided to take a quick break, catching his breath and readjusting his appearance in a shop window. He had to admit the standard-fit suit looked great on his slim, 5’7 body. The charcoal color highlighted the creamy lemony tan of his skin, and the black stripe of his tie matched the black of his classic side part and almond-shaped eyes. Heck, he was one good-looking Asian. And he was ready to stand up to his distant relatives. Huh? What distant relatives?

Deleting Individuality.png

Emil shook his head. It didn’t matter, he had a job to finish. He casually strolled the rest of the way towards the Humblr offices, opening the doors in a polite manner. A corporate paradise was laid before him. Grayscales, structured rigidity and uniformity, Asian and Asian-American men rushing to and fro. Everyone fit into the perfectly uniform puzzle. Emil couldn’t help but be impressed by it all; his distant relatives had done wonders to the place. But the gay Asian was here to protect his reputation. The Shang brothers were disgracing their family blood!

The first thing Emil had to do was share the materials he had brought to the workers. Luckily, looking identical to all the other men in the building, he slipped into the office areas easily. He respectfully gathered people up from the cubicles, the carbon-copies all following the newcomer like corporate drones. Once Emil decided he had crowded enough, he brought them to a conference room and opened his leather briefcase.

“We must stand for workplace rights!” Emil shouted, passing pamphlets and flyers through the crowd. It was as if he was participating in an election, coming off as an ordinary worker like the rest of them yet presenting what must have been radical ideas. And the workers received it well, reading over the materials and immediately smiling and following along. 

“A-MEN BROTHER!”

“PREACH IT!”

Emil was surprised that they were convinced so quickly. But then Emil regarded the pamphlets he had actually given out, opening one to reveal copious amounts of workplace propaganda. Boring cold-cut numbers and monochrome art styles. It wasn’t at all what Emil had meant to spread. Instead, he had just reaffirmed his family’s agenda.

“No wait, you don’t understand,” Emil backtracked, trying to correct his own mistake. “We must stand for workplace RIGHTS!” 

He had meant to emphasize the final word to relay his main point, but it had instead insinuated something more conservative. The workers rambunctiously cheered however, causing Emil to smile confusedly. He had made a point they liked, but he wasn’t exactly sure how. He still considered it a success however, and moved forward with the other half of his plan. Emil escaped the invigorated corporate crowds and entered an elevator. He pushed a button for the top floor, not understanding how he knew where his family was, and took a step back to mentally prepare.

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A standard elevator tune began to play as he ascended, drilling itself into Emil’s mind. The boring melody and common note patterns did not interest Emil in the slightest. It was a droning noise in his head, something much simpler than the brash alternative sets he was accustomed to. But music aside, Emil had to keep his head high and stand up for his rights. Gays like him everywhere must have been infuriated by his close family’s antics. And not only gays, but anybody who was looking towards the future, not romanticizing the past! The emphasis these men had on tradition wasn’t correct.

But, Emil rationed, he couldn’t help but appreciate how the men were keeping a respectable distance from the women they were fond of. Despite being in the closet, Emil had to admit that he admired their commitment to how things had worked for centuries before. But even so, his family was taking a huge financial risk by closing out a notable portion of the market. Just because the Shang’s ideas and values for the company were respectable, it didn’t mean they were safe financial decisions.

Though Emil wasn’t exactly defending the LGBT community. Sure, he was bisexual, but he kept the bi part a secret in order to protect his close family’s name. But he didn’t really find men attractive by any means, just the types he had been raised around and had grown up to appreciate. That’s what it was: appreciating. Emil appreciated men’s conformity to set standards, their commitment to simple orders, and their willingness to follow the river rather than carve new streams. Some may consider it boring or plain, but like the elevator music, Emil admired the straightforward. And that’s what he was after all: Straight-Forward!

Final Removal of Superfluous Malware

The elevator doors opened, revealing a floor lit well by blinding fluorescents to help showcase the lackluster interior. Emil paced down the grand hallway to the final room, noticing a stirring in his crotch. All that recognition about how men like him, exactly like him, were just discussing their commitments to their respective wives and girlfriends got his senses heightened. Well, only one sense in particular. Shutting the doors behind him as he entered the large office, Emil immediately plopped onto a couch in the executive’s lounge and felt his mind dulling. It was almost like he was going into autopilot, not even registering how he had untucked and unbuttoned his shirt in order to make it easier to access what hid beneath his trousers’ zipper.

“Oh Lordy,” Emil moaned, kneading his manhood with his ring finger. He felt his seed churning within his trousers, incorporating it to multiply and become fruitful. There was something just so tantalizing about the way Humblr was organized. His immediate family had created a corporate utopia that drove him wild. It helped connect all the like-minded people Emil had been surrounded by since childhood, and the people he’d continued surrounding himself with since he’d graduated college. Their commitment to tradition made him only want to jerk o-… To jerku-…To jeduc-… To-

Assigning Mandatory Girlfriend.het

Produce! Emil undid his belt and lowered his waistband to reveal a throbbing 7-incher. Sure, it was a little above average which wasn’t the ideal, but he was an important man with responsibilities. And having a bigger job meant having to put in more work. An executive’s gotta remain top in production! That meant overtime, overtime, and overtime. Not that Emil was complaining by any means; he loved his company! And he had no problem producing when all he had to do was think of his girlfriend.

“Gosh…hope I remembered to restock!”

And luckily, he did. Emil pulled out an empty bottle from the side table beside him, his mind now completely focused on the task at hand. He was generally responsible and naturally intelligent, but an overwhelming dullness always took hold of him when he focused on the simple pleasures of compliance. Of respecting tradition and stability. Of Man and Woman.

Emil lined the empty bottle up to his dick, “I gotta…honor our family name!”

The serum burst into the bottle, a thick white wave rushing to fill the empty void. After securing the cap shut, he simply fell back into the couch, appreciating his hard work as a tame demeanor encompassed him.

“Hmm…the weather’s feeling rather…different lately,” Daniel Shang announced as he entered the room.

“You know what they say Danny!” David Shang replied, following in. “‘When the weather’s feelin’ queer, you tell it to stay RIGHT here’!”

The two both threw their heads back in fatherly unity, full stomach-bouncing laughter escaping their systems. It was then they noticed that they weren’t in the office alone.

“Look who we have here,” Daniel started. “Your son has been working overtime again.”

“What can I say, brother,” David answered proudly. “All Emmanuel knows is the corporate agenda and how his father raised him!”

Emmanuel couldn’t help but agree. Fixing himself up and placing the filled bottle on the table beside him, Emmanuel stood up to greet his beloved uncle and father properly. He gave them each a proper shake, building up the confidence to tell them why he had made the trek all the way here on his day off.

“Uncle, Father,” Emmanuel started. “I wanted to properly thank you for connecting me with my fiancée.” He then proceeded to showcase them the simple golden band on his left hand as if it was a business-related contract. That’s why he’d come all this way; Emmanuel had just successfully proposed to his girlfriend. The girlfriend his two role models had found for him. And after a long and stressful day (although the stress had been relieved only moments earlier), he was excited to share the news to the two men he looked up to the most.

“Now that looks like the hand of a man who was meant to one day run this joint!” Daniel nodded.

“I’ll say,” David affirmed. “In a few years my son will be head of the largest social media outlet in the world!”

It made sense the Shang brothers needed an heir close to home, literally. With Emmanuel’s two cousins being absolute zoomers, it was his responsibility to uphold the family name. He appreciated Daniel’s kids for helping push their wholesome agenda, but the company needed a more reliable, predictable leader. 

“Why don’t we call up the wives and all celebrate over dinner,” Daniel announced with a wink. “Wives and fiancées that is.”

“I’ll get our investor on board too,” David added. “He loves a good ‘ole traditional family feast.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Emmanuel confirmed. He checked his phone for the time, quickly reading over the notification from Humblr that his account had been reset. He didn’t mind though, it wasn’t like he’d decorate or embellish his profile anyway. The simple basic standard always worked best for him.