Kingsbury Harbor, ch. 12: There's a Light (Patreon)

Tony still wasn’t used to his new body.  It made getting around the lighthouse easier, but after forty seven years of being a brawny, weathered tank he was still adjusting to life in a lithe, slender frame.  Being both practical and old fashioned, Tony had never given much thought to his body before the change.  His years of laboring on the docks and as a fisherman had left him with a strapping build and a face that, he’d been told, was ruggedly handsome.  On the rare occasions when Tony would seek out the company of a woman he never had a hard time finding an interested partner, and they always seemed impressed by his barrel chest, strong arms, and fat, stout cock.  His grizzled, stubble covered face, with its wide jaw and salt-and-pepper scalp, was never the best looking in the room, though Tony was vain enough to admit that it wasn’t the worst, either.  He viewed his looks through the same utilitarian lens that he viewed everything else, focusing on whether they could handle the task at hand and nothing more.  He wasn’t interested in having a beefy, brawny body for any other reason than he needed to lift heavy objects all day.  If someone found that attractive, it wasn’t his business.  

He’d taken the job as the lighthouse keeper specifically because he didn’t have much use for people in general.  The idea of being by himself on the water, where he couldn’t easily be bothered, sounded like a dream come true.  Tony didn’t believe any of the stories about the small, rocky island on which the lighthouse stood, and if there had ever been a circle of standing stones like people claimed, he’d never been able to find any evidence.  There was nothing but rocky soil, sparse, scrubby growth, and a few patches of sand along the water’s edge.  He’d made a thorough search, out of boredom more than anything, but there were no signs of the strange rituals that were supposed to have taken place on the island.  

For the first two years nothing even remotely strange happened, and when events did finally take a turn for the bizarre, like most things in Kingsbury it all started with the sea, not dry land.  Tony had been out for his morning walk around the island when he came across what he thought was an engraved stone that washed up on one of the small beaches, but upon closer inspection, he discovered that the object wasn’t a rock at all.  It was a whistle, roughly four inches long and carved from some kind of bone or ivory, though what it was supposed to depict Tony had no idea.  The body was that of a fish, but the head was squid-like in appearance, with coiled tentacles and too many eyes.  

It was oddly mesmerizing.  Tony found himself carrying it with him everywhere, eventually fastening a cord around it so that he could wear it like a medallion.  Despite his fascination with the unique artifact, he never tried to sound it.  That didn’t happen until after the dreams started.  Tony normally didn’t remember what he dreamt about, but soon after finding the whistle he began waking up every morning with a head full of geometric shapes and patterns.  

Tony was insightful enough to know that his concrete mind lacked the imagination to come up with such a detailed creation on its own.  He knew it couldn’t simply be a coincidence that the dreams started after finding the whistle; he just didn’t know what to do about it.  He thought that writing the symbols down in a journal would be enough, but soon he was drawing them everywhere.  On the floors and on the walls; wherever there was space he filled it with the dream alphabet.  It was an impulse, an overwhelming urge that became harder to fight with each passing day.  No matter how often he wrote the jagged signs down, the compulsion to continue never waned in the slightest.  Tony had no idea what any of the angular symbols meant or what it was he covered the walls with.  He only knew that he was running out of room as he worked his way up the tower, the language continuing to inscribe itself on his dreams and leave him exhausted each morning.  

It wasn’t until his scrawlings reached the lens that Tony understood.  Starting at the lowest level, he’d been building to something, the seemingly random scribbles all connecting to one another, turning the lighthouse into a massive obelisk.  Instead of drawing as he had been, Tony immediately began carving what he knew would be the final symbols into the brass frame of the lens, thinking about the standing stones and the rituals that once took place on the island.  Evidence or not he knew the stories were true, just as he knew the construction of the lighthouse on that spot was no accident.  He didn’t know why there was such a long gap between the completion of the structure and the culmination of the ritual.  Maybe the whistle had been lost or the stars needed to be in the right position; all Tony knew was that he had been chosen to finish something that began long ago.  

He worked on the intricate engraving for days, going without food or sleep.  His strapping body felt like lead by the time he finished and collapsed onto the metal grating of the floor, but he still had one task to complete.  Forcing his arms into motion with the last of his strength, Tony lifted the ivory whistle to his parched lips and blew as hard as he could.  The shrill note echoed down the length of the lighthouse, not dying out, but growing in volume as it shot back up.  Tony watched the alien alphabet begin to glow, the arcane symbols lighting up in a spiral until they connected with the beacon that was the hulking lens.  

Tony’s exhausted eyes were overwhelmed, his vision going white as the whole interior was swallowed in the brilliant radiance.  He thought he must have passed out as he felt the floor disappear beneath him and the space around him become vast.  After so many days of labor the burly man enjoyed the weightless sensation and the empty expanse, but soon he began to see shapes forming in the distance.  It started with a mirror image of himself, that quickly splintered into another, slightly different version.  Like a funhouse mirror, the second reflection was that of a slightly taller, thinner Tony that then splintered into a third, shorter, wider Tony.  That splinter broke off into another, and another, and another, until Tony was floating before an infinite kaleidoscope of possibilities.  Each version of himself became farther removed from the original until Tony couldn’t recognize himself at all.  

It was more than his practical mind could take.  It was too big, the implications too much for him to wrap his head around.  Each splinter was a life he could have led, a world where things had gone just slightly different.  Maybe he made a different choice, or his ancestors did, but the end result was another life that tried to claw its way on top of the one Tony currently knew.  He screamed into the void, his grip on sanity threatening to break as he started hurtling towards the fractured wall of potential.  There was a rushing of air, followed by a jarring impact that left him senseless.  

When Tony opened his eyes, he found himself looking out of a very different body.  His thick, weathered muscles had vanished, as had more than twenty years of wear and tear.  Instead of looking like a grizzled seaman pushing fifty, Tony didn’t look a day over twenty five, with a slight, supple frame and a thick head of wavy, golden hair on top of his cherubic face.  His stout cock was a petite little poker, his deep voice now a spritely chirp, and he quickly discovered that the changes went beyond his appearance.  His rough-around-the-edges attitude was gone, replaced by a giddy contentment, and where before he’d never had much of a desire to seek out women, now he had none, longing instead for the type of man he used to be. 

Tony still remembered his old life, but it was clear a new one had taken its place.  He hadn’t just awoken in a new body, but in new clothes.  Instead of being drab and functional, his wardrobe was now perfectly suited to show off his youthful new frame, and his other belongings had changed to match, including the appearance of several vibrators, which he was both excited and horrified to discover that he was intimately familiar with.  He was no longer a middle aged loner, but an exuberant young twink.  

It was a while before the altered man’s new memories coalesced, but when they finally did they brought with them further understanding.  This Tony was no random inhabitant of the island, but a descendant of the original group.   He knew exactly what the old rituals had been trying to accomplish, and his new role in an ongoing legacy.  This Tony knew why the scrawlings on the walls had vanished, and why only the carvings on the frame of the lens remained.  He was still the keeper, but of so much more than a simple lighthouse.  Whenever he sounded the whistle, for just a moment, the beam turned into a bridge between worlds, letting the ones through that called from the other side.  Anyone hit with the beam in that instant would find themselves jettisoned into a sea of alternate possibilities as he had been, but that was the price to pay and his burden to bear.  When they called, he had no choice but to let the light show them the way.  

**********

Elliot squeezed Justin’s hand, leaning into his husband as they made their way up the steep hill to Brewster Pointe.  The road curved at the top, doubling back on itself and taking the cozy little cape cods with it.  At the center of the curve sat an empty plot of land that terminated in a jutting cliff overlooking the harbor and the lighthouse in the distance.  It was named Brewster Pointe after the Brewster family, whose large estate occupied the spot and much of the surrounding hills from the late seventeen hundreds until the early twentieth century, when disaster struck.  No one could agree on the exact cause, but something made the cliff give way, casting the estate, and the entirety of the Brewster family, into the sea hundreds of feet below.  There was still more than enough room to plant one of the small cape cods on the remaining land, but after one house had already fallen into the ocean, no developer wanted to go near the spot.  That left a secluded alcove of trees with one of the best views in town, purposely left off the tourist maps so it could be enjoyed by local residents like the breathless pair currently stepping off the sidewalk.  

“Baby, I love you, but I wish this wasn’t such a haul,” Justin said, trying to catch his breath as he looked back down the steep, winding street they’d just climbed.  He wasn’t out of shape, but the panting brunette had a body that was much closer to “average” than “fit.”  The same went for his redheaded partner, who was just stepping into “doughy” territory.  They’d both been in better shape back when they lived in the city, but they’d also been in their twenties.  Now, a few years into their thirties, it wasn’t as easy to stay lean and trim.  Neither of them were the kind of gay guy who obsessed over their abs or felt the need to turn working out into a second job, and now that they were married and living in a small town, that urge was basically nonexistent.  They had each other; they weren’t trying to impress anyone.  Justin loved Elliot’s small belly, just as the other man loved his husband’s plump little rear.  

“The view is entirely worth it, especially tonight.  No moon?  The stars are going to be crazy,” he said as he leaned over and kissed Justin on the cheek.  They’d lived in Kingsbury Harbor for just shy of two years, but the novelty of being able to publicly show their affection without fear of repercussions still hadn’t worn off.  Even in the city they had to be on guard about where they held hands or exchanged a quick kiss.  In Kingsbury, though, no one so much as batted an eye.  Labels like gay, lesbian, queer, trans, bi, and straight were almost meaningless in the little oasis of a town.  Elliot and Justin had seen firsthand how the men in town, happily married to women for years, seemed to have no problem fooling around with guys like Eric, the town Siren, or Todd, whose impossible dick was like a third leg.  The pair considered themselves to be more open-minded than most, but even they did a double take the first time they saw Tucker when he was taking Chad for a walk, the muscled jock crawling naked and leashed behind his handsome owner.  And then there were the three impossibly gorgeous young studs from the nearby campus who they saw pulling in guys all over town, but they still hadn’t figured out what exactly was going on with the trio.  Next to all that, a pair of average gay guys like themselves wasn’t noteworthy in the least.  

“Okay, yeah, you’re right.  This is totally worth it,” Justin sighed, wrapping an arm around Elliot’s waist as he looked at the star-peppered sky.  The infinite points of light were dizzying overhead while the surf crashed far below, the rhythmic sweeping of the lighthouse’s beam seeming to keep time with the bassy thrum of the pounding waves.  

Elliot leaned his head on Justin’s shoulder, reaching over to place a hand on the other man’s stomach.  “Have I told you how happy I am that we moved here?” 

Justin laughed, his eyes following the sweeping beam of light as it passed over the town and out to sea before heading once more in their direction.  “Only every da…” He broke off in a gasp, the world going brilliant white when the beam completed its circuit and passed over them.  He clutched for Elliot instinctively, legends of the Brewster estate fresh in his mind as he felt himself falling.  His husband’s grip was equally tight, but he couldn’t see the other man.  He couldn’t see anything but a blinding radiance and a growing web of images rapidly approaching from an unknown distance.  Justin didn’t have time for anything more than a brief glance at the wall of fractured reflections of himself before he slammed into it, letting out a loud grunt as the air was knocked out of him.  His body stiff and sore, his vision gradually cleared and he found himself looking out over the sea once more.  

“Fuuuuuck, dude…” Justin grunted.  “Bro...what the fuck was that…” he rumbled, his eyes going wide at both the words leaving his mouth as well as the deep, resonant tone.  He looked down at himself, blinking at the bare, chiseled slab of a chest.  The t-shirt he’d been wearing was gone, exposing the massive pecs that protruded off his body as if there wasn’t enough room between his now-cannonball shoulders.  Beneath the granite mounds he could see a set of ripped, tank tread abs and meaty, tree trunk thighs stretching what looked like a pair of thin running shorts near to bursting, a pair of bright, worn sneakers the only other thing he appeared to have on.  He finally registered the sensation of bare skin against his burly arm and looked over at Elliot, his lantern jaw dropping at the sight.  “E...Eli?”  

Like himself, the formerly doughy ginger had erupted with muscle.  His tapering torso was a shredded mountain of solid flesh, pinching inwards at his waist before exploding outwards again in a set of round, gravity defying cheeks.  He wore a similar pair of shorts and sneakers, though unlike his own, Justin’s eyes immediately landed on the massive bulge as he looked his husband up and down.  Instead of his short cropped hair Elliot, now Eli, had a buzzed scalp that accentuated his widened jaw and sharp cheekbones, leaving him with a handsome, jock face.  “Jus...Tiny...is that really you?” Eli stammered.  “Fuck just happened, Tiny?  We’re huge!”  

“I don’t...I don’t know, man...this is...this is real fuckin’ weird,” Justin said, his cock throbbing at the feeling of Eli’s broad, solid back beneath his gym-calloused palm.  His head was spinning, the sight of his buff new frame at once horrifying and entirely familiar.  He knew that just moments ago they’d been fully clothed with average builds, but that was starting to feel wrong.  They were total meatheads.  It wasn’t an insult as much as a statement of fact.  After all, they’d met each other in the gym, not at a bar the way he kept thinking.  It was just the first of many slight changes as the fastidious Justin and Elliot, the men who liked conservative clothing and a clean home, ceased to exist.  Tiny and Eli spent their every free moment in the gym.  Their house was a sparsely furnished mess because they were only ever there to sleep, eat and fuck, the last of which they did as often as possible, wherever possible.  That was part of the reason why their once-conservative wardrobe had been replaced by nothing but revealing athletic gear.  It was functional for the gym and provided easy access to each other, their two main priorities.  “But..why...why do you keep calling me Tiny,” he asked, noting their similar heights and equally stunning physiques.   

Eli blinked at his husband for a moment, a grin spreading across his face as he reached down and tugged the front of the other man’s shorts open to reveal the petite package underneath.  “Why do you think, bro,” he laughed, running his other hand roughly over his husband’s buzzed scalp.  A part of him remembered Justin having a thick, seven inches, larger than his own average cock had been, but that thought already seemed ridiculous.  Tiny had a cute little three-incher that looked adorable against his mountain of muscle.  

“Fuck!  My...my fuckin’ dick shraaauunnnhhh…” he trailed off in a groan when Eli swallowed his shrunken package with one hand and started kneading.  Accepting town or not, the old Justin would have been mortified at having his shorts pulled down and his dick worked in public, but Tiny just sighed and leaned back against the tree, his own meaty paw reaching into Eli’s shorts.  He licked his lips when he fished his husband’s fat, eight inch beast free, marveling at how normal it all felt.  Before he could do more than tug at the hefty organ, Eli leaned in for a rough, deep kiss and then dropped to his knees, swallowing all of Tiny’s little package at once.  The freshly-inflated jock groaned, any humiliation he felt at having his equipment dwindled quickly becoming a distant memory.  He had more than enough body to make up for it, and as Eli licked and sucked away, he knew it wasn’t his main source of pleasure any way.  They’d always taken turns in the past, but Tiny was a bottom through and through.  “Guuhh...goddamn bro...gonna make me bust already…” he said, his crude new speech no longer catching him off guard.  Instead of “baby” and “honey” it was now “dude” and “bro”, their conversation remaining firmly in the locker room regardless of where they actually were.  “You get thirsty when we ran up that hill?”  

Eli responded by slipping a hand between Tiny’s thighs and pressing his fingers against the other man’s eager hole.  There was a loud, hissing gasp as the little organ in his mouth began spraying.  “Didn’t bring a water bottle,” he grinned, wiping the drips from his chin when he finally pulled away.  

“Fu...fuck you…” Tiny panted, pulling Eli to his feet and sucking the remains of his explosion from the other man’s mouth as they kissed.  “That was cheating, dick.”  

“Hey!  This dick has never cheated on you,” Eli fake-pouted, grinding his fat pole against Tiny’s abs. “You really should apologize to it.”  Without waiting for a response he spun his husband around and pressed him up against the tree, one hand clamping over Tiny’s mouth while the other slipped inside the spasming hole.  Eli worked the ravenous opening, loving the muffled sounds of Tiny’s howling when he stopped fingering and slipped his oozing club inside.  For a time, there was only the sound of the crashing waves and their chiseled bodies slamming into each other as Eli hammered away.  “Bro, have I told you how happy I am that we moved here,” he purred into Tiny’s ear, kissing his husband’s wide neck as he slowed his pumping and swiveled his hips.  It was heavenly.  Thrusting into the man he loved under a blanket of stars overlooking the sea, the fresh, salty air feeling cool on their sweating, bouncing muscle, Eli couldn’t imagine a more perfect existence.  

Muffled as he was, Tiny nodded in agreement, his wide, ecstatic eyes flashing as the beam from the lighthouse washed over them.