Fir Hollow, ch. 2: Write of Passage (Patreon)

“Come on, Johnny.  Please!  What else do you want me to do?”  Patrick whined, his wide brown eyes pleading as he looked up at the skinny young man from on his knees.  His bare, ample rear pressed into his muscled legs, one hand toying with his plump shelf of a chest while the other wrapped around his rigid, soda-can cock.

Johnny didn’t know what to say.  He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that the middle-aged hunk had shown up at his apartment begging for his cock in the first place.  It was a fantasy he’d often had, and one he hated himself for considering how the kneeling beefcake usually treated him at the mill.  At almost twice his age, Patrick had more than a decade of seniority on Johnny, and it showed both in the way he bossed the younger man around, and in his thick, brawny build.  For a man who’d just hit forty, Patrick still had a surprisingly youthful face, with sharp features, a full head of chestnut hair, and a set of soft, pouty lips that Johnny longed to feel against his own.  The rest of the older man’s body was just as impressive.  His shoulders were broad, his arms were steely pistons, he had a pair of prominent, sculpted pecs, and the countless hours he’d spent deadlifting lumber were all too apparent in his thick thighs and round, meaty rear.  Johnny had never seen Patrick in any state of undress before, and he wasn’t surprised by either the stout, wide cock, or the smattering of soft hair that coated his coworkers powerful build.

While Sawyer’s Lumber didn’t lack for attractive men roaming its warehouses Patrick had caught the frustrated Johnny’s attention from the start, though the younger man had never acted on his desires or said anything about them.  The fact that he was even gay in the first place had flown under most people’s radar.  Johnny tried to be subtle in his staring, but he did it often enough that it was impossible to escape detection forever.

The tormenting had begun as soon as Patrick caught him.  It usually manifested as the older man and his two friends, Burt and Dale, both of whom also had more seniority than Johnny, forcing the younger man to do all the menial tasks they wanted to avoid.  Johnny knew he technically didn’t have to, but the older crowd had the boss’s ear, and running off to tattle only would have served to get his ass kicked outside of work, where things were already bad enough.  Being an aspiring writer in a town like Fir Hollow wasn’t exactly encouraged.  True, Canal Books had a whole section of local authors, but most of those were women, and the men were all either retired laborers or snobbish pricks from the city who never had a chance at respect in the first place.  For a fit young Hollow boy like himself, Johnny’s only real options were the mill or the refinery if he didn’t want to be branded an outcast.  The mine may have dried up, but the town still processed most of the coal from the surrounding area, leaving him with exactly two career choices.  He hated both, but they were a right of passage, something he’d have to suffer through until he could find a way to make his real dreams a reality.  He’d picked the mill, but even then, once word got out that he was working on a novel the teasing started almost immediately.  Throw in Patrick and his friends’ homophobic taunting, and there were few places left where Johnny could escape.

The mountainside forests were still a refuge.  When Johnny wasn’t processing their remains, he spent as much time as possible out amongst the trees, hiking, trail running, or climbing up the massive boulders that littered the hillsides.  The lush forests and fog-shrouded peaks were the reason the wiry young man didn’t just leave town in the first place.  He didn’t have any family left holding him in the Hollow, but he could’t bring himself to abandon the quiet valley.  Especially as an aspiring writer, the surrounding nature sparked his imagination like nothing else.

It was while running through those same trees earlier in the day that Johnny found the book.  He wasn’t near any sort of trail, preferring instead to vault the fallen timbers and small streams that trickled down the raw mountainside while his toned legs propelled him up the steep incline.  It was a harsh ascent, but it had been a harsh day, full of Patrick’s incessant taunting.  The middle-aged hunk had run him ragged at work, then proceeded to follow Johnny most of the way home, whistling and catcalling him the entire time.  Fueled by an impotent rage, Johnny headed for the hills, pushing himself until his lungs burned and his loose tank-top was soaked with sweat.  He didn’t know what he hated more, the sound of Patrick’s mocking voice in his head, or the way it made his cock stir in his tiny running shorts.  As much as he couldn’t stand the other man, there was still a part of Johnny that longed to hear Patrick’s faux flirting for real.  He tried to focus on all the reasons he shouldn’t while he plunged up the slope, but the siren song of the other man’s sturdy arms and plump cakes always won out.

Johnny had paused to catch his breath, and to further kick himself internally, when he’d caught the scent of charred wood.  He was practically on top of the source, and after cresting a nearby ridge, he’d been surprised to find a huge pine blasted in half.  There was no other word for it.  Johnny could still see glowing embers along the edges where the wood had split, and the harsh smell of burnt sap and ozone was still heavy in the air. It didn’t make sense.  The late-afternoon sky was perfectly clear, and Johnny certainly would have heard a lightning strike so close by.  He also hadn’t heard the tree separate from its smoldering stump and crash to the ground, yet there it was, laying at his feet.

Most confusing, though, was the pristine book laying in the burnt remains of the stump.  It sat perfectly centered, the emerald cover and binding completely unblemished as if the out-of-place tome had been crafted on the spot.  There was even an ornate pen resting on top that appeared to be turned from the same wood of the tree, sporting a tarnished brass trim at its edges.  When he picked them up, Johnny couldn’t help but think of the objects like a miniature version of the felled tree, a sensation that only grew when he fanned the blank pages and smelled the fresh pine.  There was a weight to the book and the pen, a heaviness that wasn’t physical, but that came from the passage of time.  Holding them was like leaning against one of the towering pines, leaving Johnny feeling small and insignificant.  He dropped to forest floor, the fallen needles soft against his lithe legs as he crossed them and sat with the book in his lap.  He thumbed through the crisp, blank pages, the pen throbbing in his hand as the ink churned like sap within.

Johnny started writing, the ideas flowing without conscious effort on his part.  Normally he had to struggle through each sentence, but the words shot out of the pen as if they were pressurized.  In what felt like mere minutes, he’d filled almost three pages with an explicit encounter between himself and Patrick.  It wasn’t the sort of thing he usually wrote, and Johnny was impressed by the vivid detail on display as he re-read the passage about the older man showing up at his door, desperate for his cock.  He’d fantasized about Patrick plenty of times before, but never this aggressively.  Looking back over what he’d written, Johhny’s cock throbbed as he thought about what it would be like to actually make his tormentor whine and beg and debase himself.  He was still thinking about it when he jogged back home, and while he jerked himself off in the shower.  He’d brought the strange book and pen back with him, and he was so captivated that he read the scrawled pages over and over as soon as he was done, dripping wet and clad only in a towel in his kitchen, seeing the scene play out in his head like he was watching it on TV.

It was in the midst of one of these re-reads that Johnny was interrupted by a frantic pounding on his door.  Still with nothing but a towel around his trim waist, he’d crept to the window and looked out to see a desperate-eyed Patrick standing on his front porch.  When Johnny didn’t immediately answer, the older man began calling out, his deep voice tinged with a pained tone that the stunned younger man had never heard before.

Completely caught off guard by the other man’s sudden appearance, Johnny opened the door, only to have Patrick come barreling inside.  The beefy stud was blushing and obviously nervous as he stammered out apology after apology, seeming torn between whether he should keep his eyes fixed bashfully on the floor or glued to the younger man’s lean, slender frame.  It all happened so fast, and so out of nowhere, that Johnny made it through several minutes of Patrick’s rapid-fire apologies before he realized why it all seemed so familiar.  As impossible as it should have been, the scene he’d written in the book was playing out in front of him.

It was at this same moment that the older hunk’s apologies turned into declarations of affection.  His face a deep, humiliated purple, Patrick poured out his hidden feelings, saying he couldn’t hide anymore, and that if Johnny wanted to look, he could see it all.  Without waiting for a response he started peeling out of his clothes in the middle of Johnny’s living room, stripping naked before the exasperated man could even try to stop him.  As soon as he was exposed, Patrick’s outpouring of affection turned into frenzied pleading, with the older man going on at length about how much he needed Johnny’s cock, and that he was willing to do anything to get it.

“What else do I want you to do?”  Johnny shook his head, feeling dizzy and disoriented by the dramatic display he’d somehow written into existence.  He knew he should pull back.  As a Hollow native, he was well versed in all the legends lurking around the town.  It was evident that he’d either finally snapped or that strange forces were at work, but in either case, he didn’t want to fight it.  He’d been denied what he wanted for years and had put up with endless taunting.  Whatever the cause, he was more than willing to take advantage of the effect.  He crossed his arms over his toned chest and stepped back, the towel riding low on his waist.  Normally he was more modest than this, but in the moment it felt right.  The look of hunger in Patrick’s eyes made his outlined cock throb, and he was thrilled to finally have the upper hand.  “That’s a good question.  You always seemed so uncomfortable with me looking at you before…why don’t you let me see that body work a bit?”  He shook his head when Patrick started to stand and nodded back at the floor.  “No, you’re in a good position.  You can stay down there.”

“O…okay…” The older man’s sharp cheeks burned as he nodded, his powerful arms inflating as he broke into a double bicep pose.

“That’s nice, but I want to see it move.  You know…play with those tits, work that ass.  Let me see how excited you are.”  Johnny felt his towel start to slip as his cock rocketed to life.  Patrick stopped posing, his arms now flexing as he tweaked each of his solid, nubby nipples.  He let out quiet gasps as he toyed with the muscled mounds, his soft lips pursing with the darts of pleasure.  After a few minutes of squirming he stroked a hand down his muscle gut, slipping it around to awkwardly toy with his plump rear.  When Johnny gave an encouraging nod he spun around on his knees, dropping forward on all fours and shaking the ample globes as best he could.  “Is that where you want me?”

“Yes!  God yes,” Patrick whined, his fingers digging into the worn floorboards while he squirmed.

“Then you should probably start getting me ready.”  It was Johnny’s turn to gasp when the older stud bolted up, tore the towel away, and impaled his mouth on the waiting cock that sprung free.  He groaned when Patrick’s calloused hands latched onto his perky bubble, his own fingers slipping into the kneeling man’s soft hair.  It was better than he ever could have imagined.  He pumped his hips, working his average cock as far down Patrick’s throat as possible, feeling himself slipping over the edge already.  When he came moments later, Johnny slipped out from between the older man’s soft lips and sprayed all over Patrick’s handsome face, coating the sharp features in a sticky layer.  Instead of being embarrassed, the kneeling hunk seemed to relish the sensation, only looking slightly disappointed that he’d have to wait before Johnny could stuff him from the other end.

And stuff him Johnny did, but not before making Patrick work for it.  The younger man spent hours exploring every muscled inch of his former tormentor’s thick frame, all while making the desperate stud beg him to continue.  When he grew tired of the begging he stuffed Patrick’s discarded briefs into the older man’s mouth as he paraded him around his small house, pulling him along by the thick, aching tool that oozed and twitched almost constantly.  When Johnny finally did take the plunge, with the older man flat on his back and his legs in the air so he could see Patrick’s face, his ears rang from the penetrated hunk’s piercing bellow.  He loved the sight of the other man’s slab-like pecs bouncing with his thrusts, and the way his dazed brown eyes alternated between wide and half-closed while his pretty mouth hung slack.  By the time Patrick’s fat cock erupted all over his slamming tits the older man was beyond words, only able to let out a series of whimpering grunts as Johnny plowed into him.

Now, with the spent stud slumbering contentedly next to him, Johnny returned his attention to the book.  The passage he’d begun earlier had somehow completed itself, capturing every detail of the encounter he’d just had.  He knew it should have been terrifying, but all Johnny could think about were the possibilities.  None of his questions revolved around what horrible powers were involved, or what the potential costs could be.  Nor did he stop to think about the ethical implications.  He just wondered how far he could take things.  If he was destined to re-write reality instead of a novel, he had some immediate changes in mind.  Johnny opened the pen and started writing:

“After Patrick decided to stop hiding, nothing at Sawyer’s was ever the same.  Management was so impressed by the out-and-proud stud’s vigorous love of cock that they promoted him to company boy-toy.  Considering how perpetually horny he was, and the way his foot-long cock would constantly explode at random, it was a much better fit.  Patrick was safer in the break room, where he could prance around in his little jockstraps, than he was trying to work the floor.  And it turned out to be such a morale booster that his friends, Burt and Dale, were added to the ranks.  Ever since Burt woke up with all of his beefy muscle missing he wasn’t much use on the saws, and despite having a cock the size of a baby’s thumb, he could work his supple ass and dainty mouth with the best of them.  The guys loved watching him strut around in his panties so much that they wanted Dale in on the action too.  In the burly bear’s case they wanted him to keep his size, but lose the dick that just got in the way.  Patrick already had more than enough of that for anyone who wanted it, so there was no need for Dale to keep his wide log.  When he showed up to work flashing his eager new pussy instead, productivity went through the roof.  The best workers got first access to whichever of the three they wanted, and business has never been better.”

Johnny took a deep breath and put the pen down.  Next to him, Patrick rolled onto his back in his sleep, and the younger man looked over just in time to see a significantly larger cock erupt, the surprisingly copious rain splashing back down on the slumbering stud’s muscled torso.  Even after the potent explosion, the lengthy beast stayed long and hard, as if it never happened.

He set the book on his nightstand, grinning from ear-to-ear as he clicked the light off and settled in next to Patrick.  For the first time in a long while he looked forward to going into work the next day, and if the book worked the way he hoped, he was about to start making some serious progress in his writing career.