Reflected (Patreon)

It wasn’t real.  It couldn’t be.  Curses didn’t exist outside of fiction, and even if they did it was only in remote, far off places, not in a massive museum in a major metropolitan area.  Ian kept telling himself that, repeating the ideas in his head like a mantra, but they did nothing to change what he saw reflected in his mirror, or dull the foreign sensation of soft, silky hair brushing against his fingers when he ran a hand across his chest.

It all started with a mirror.  Not a mundane rectangle of plastic and glass like the one that hung on the back of Ian’s door, but an ancient relic sitting in a glass case.  That one had been small and oval in shape, no larger than a hand-mirror, fashioned from a chunk of meteorite that someone hammered flat and polished until it was a smooth, reflective surface.  The rounded edges and looped, spiraling handle were covered in a series of intricate carvings, a dead language that was as lost to time as the identity of the person, or persons, who fashioned the mirror in the first place.

It was an anomaly.  Given the age of the piece and the still-unknown nature of the material, no one alive at the time should have been able to create it.  It had been found in a remote region of what are now known as the Canadian Rockies, and where the other artifacts from the surrounding area at that time were relatively crude, the mirror was a technological marvel.  The broken pieces of pottery and arrowheads and remains of settlements all fit comfortably within the agreed upon anthropological framework, but the mirror was a wild card.  No one should have had the necessary tools to work the meteorite in such a refined way, nor did any of the religions in the area mention anything like it.  And, cultural implications aside, it still left the question of what it even was.  All anyone had been able to determine was that the brass-like material was extraterrestrial in origin, and that it didn’t behave the way metal should on a molecular level.  Without any concrete answers it was presented as a curiosity more than anything else.  The museum leaned into the “unknown” aspects, not necessarily encouraging the wild rumors about cults and ancient rituals and curses, but not doing much to refute them, either.

Ian certainly didn’t believe any of the wilder claims mentioned on the informational card that sat next to the mirror’s case.  He could believe that it was a religious artifact, and he could believe that it had been used in the worship of some long-forgotten god, but the idea that it ever held any occult power, let alone that it still did, struck him as absurd.  As a graphic designer he appreciated the overall design elements and the skill that it must have taken to work such a unique material in the first place, but that’s where his interests ended.

Until he looked at his reflection.  The unfamiliar visage had only lasted for a moment, and Ian blamed the wave of dizziness that followed on the speed with which he spun around, startled by the burly man that stood so close behind.  Only there was no one anywhere near him, and when he turned back around the full, unfamiliar face with its round cheeks, trimmed beard, and receding hairline, had vanished.  He’d blinked and shook his head, feeling foolish for the way his heart raced as he inspected his razor cheekbones, chiseled jaw, manicured stubble, and blessedly thick coif of chocolate hair.  It was nothing like the face he’d seen, or thought he’d seen, but the more he’d poured over the memory on his way home the more he started to see similarities between them.

He’d tried to push it from his mind entirely.  It was his day off and he was supposed to be relaxing, not obsessing over the ridiculous idea of a cursed mirror.  He’d gone to the museum for inspiration, not anxiety, and he’d tried to burn away the latter with a vigorous workout in his building’s fitness center once he got back, to mixed results.  The cardio which he normally trotted through with ease was a struggle, but the weights were a breeze.  Ian was surprised to find himself blowing past his previous thresholds and then some, establishing new personal bests that would have seemed impossible on paper.

So he told himself it was only natural that his body ached and his skin tingled.  He’d just sweat what felt like gallons during the surprising workout, causing his soaked little nylon shorts and fitted tank-top to cling like film.  He didn’t think anything of the prickly hairs he felt scratching against his palms as he lathered up, figuring he’d just lost track of how long it had been since his last shave.  He thought he’d just done a full once-over the day before, but with the frenzy at work trying to wrap up the firm’s latest project he’d simply remembered wrong.

It wasn’t until he’d dried off and stepped out into his bedroom that he knew something was wrong.  What had just been prickly hairs a few minutes before suddenly sat as an obvious dusting across his precision pecs, with a faint patch beginning to sprout in a diamond formation around his navel.  It threatened to snake up his impressive washboard to join with the layer at his chest while at the same time creeping down beneath the low-riding towel to create an unbroken network that joined his trimmed bush and furry thighs with his tapering upper body.

Not knowing what else to do, Ian had darted back into the bathroom to shave, only to discover that all of his supplies were gone.  Despite knowing full well that he’d just seen them sitting on his vanity when he’d left the bathroom, his clippers and razors and creams were nowhere to be found.  Just to be sure he’d searched his entire apartment in vain, the investigation coming to a screeching halt when he made it back to the bedroom where he’d started.

Now, Ian’s stomach dropped as he shucked the towel and stared at his reflection.  In less than an hour he’d gone from perfectly smooth to officially hairy.  The dusting that covered his chest had blossomed into a carpet, obscuring the chiseled pecs as it spread up to his broad shoulders before spilling down the toned arms on either side all the way to the backs of his hands.  Ian knew he only should have had a coating on his forearms and patches at his pits, not soft, silky sleeves, just as his abs shouldn’t have been bisected by a dense, chocolate pillar.  Thinner veins of that same hair filled and obscured the rivers of definition that covered his midsection, rivers that he worked hard to maintain.  The same went for his sturdy thighs and perky bubble, both of which now bore varying degrees of brunette fur and completed the confounding picture of someone who obviously didn’t own any manscaping supplies, let alone a plethora of them.

Ian was horrified, both by the impossibility of it all and what it implied.  He worked so hard to keep himself trimmed and toned because he dreaded the thought of winding up like the men in his family.  His brothers and father and uncles were all bald, beefy brutes, with unkempt pelts and thick frames that taunted him with the threat of their inevitability.  Since puberty, Ian had wrestled with a body that wanted to pack on weight and sprout hair like weeds, traits he was determined to keep at bay.

As the sole gay man of the bunch he told himself he’d go in the opposite direction wherever possible.  If they were thick and hairy he’d be toned and smooth.  If they were boisterous and bald he’d be reserved and spend however much he had to on hair supplements.  If they wanted to stick with small-town, rural life, he’d get a degree in art and move to the city.  If that meant he was often hangry and frustrated and exhausted from constantly warring with himself, then that was just the price he’d pay.  He wasn’t like the crude, hairy mountains that shared his family tree; he was primped and proper and not at all the caricature of a young City Gay the way the voice in his head always told him.  He wasn’t “trying” to fit in with anyone; this was just his true self.  He and his boyfriend Sawyer were a pair of well-dressed, chiseled pretty-boys in their late twenties, wearing all the right clothes and designer underwear to keep up with the rest of the scene, not because they had to, but because that’s who they really were deep down.

The foolishness of it all hit Ian like a punch in his now-furry stomach.  He actually staggered, his head spinning as he suddenly began to second-guess every decision he’d ever made.  Stumbling out into his well-appointed apartment, he wondered how much of his life he actually wanted.  He loved Sawyer, that was a certainty, and he was happy with his home and job, but Ian was confusingly ambivalent about the rest of it.  Looking down at the silky blanket coating his naked frame, he started to wonder why he dreaded it with such fervor.  It didn’t look bad, and there were plenty of guys who liked a hairy body, so where did his fear come from?  The men in his family were wonderful and entirely accepting.  He got along great with his two brothers, had a stellar relationship with his parents, and was even fortunate to not have one of “those” uncles lurking anywhere.  Family get-togethers were legitimately enjoyable, not something to be avoided, so Ian didn’t understand why he’d always felt like he had to be different.

He tried to tell himself that he wasn’t the problem.  The issue surely wasn’t that the struggles around his sexuality made him feel as if he couldn’t be a man like the ones he looked up to.  He wasn’t chasing a lifestyle in an attempt at running from some internalized shame, just like he wasn’t denying himself what he really wanted.  Was he?

Ian’s questions went unanswered.  He jumped at the sound of the door opening, having been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he lost track of time, and having a moment of panic as he realized he stood entirely naked in the living room in his now-hairy body.  He knew it was just Sawyer, but even with his impressive looks Ian had never been one of those guys who hung around the house with nothing on.  He was always at least mostly clothed, and even when he and Sawyer fooled around it was only ever in the bedroom and usually when it was dark out.  So being naked in the bright afternoon sun of their apartment was jarring enough, and that was without taking Ian’s new hair into account.

“Hey bayyyyy…oh, my,” Sawyer laughed when he stepped inside.  He shrugged off his briefcase and kicked out of his shoes, a surprised grin on his face as he looked Ian up and down.  “This is a pleasant surprise.”

“Hey hon,” Ian smiled sheepishly.  He felt himself blush, but he was more focused on the sensation of his thick cock surging to life at the sight of the other man.  They had similarly athletic builds, and Ian’s mouth watered at the way Sawyer’s muscled torso strained against his tight button down, and at the way his fitted chinos showed off every curvy inch of his ample bubble.  He’d watched the auburn-haired hunk put the outfit on that morning, but it was as if he hadn’t seen his boyfriend in months.  “So how was your day,” he sang, his eyes tracing over the sharp features of Sawyer’s face.  It wasn’t until the other man stepped forward that his lack of surprise occurred to Ian, but by then it was too late.

“Just got a lot better,” Sawyer purred, lacing his fingers through the pelt on Ian’s chest as he leaned in for a kiss.  “I’m so glad you finally decided to let this grow in,” he said, his hands slipping down and around to grip the hirsute hunk’s hairy cheeks.

“Me too…” The words came on their own despite not making any sense, but Ian didn’t know what else to say anyway.  And he was too horny to care.  The sensation of Sawyer’s hands gliding through his recently sprouted forest was electric, adding to the confusing furnace of lust that burned at his core.  His own hands were clamped on the other man’s rear as he leaned in for another, longer kiss, eventually giving up on their kneading to slide around front so he could undo Sawyer’s fly.  He swallowed his boyfriend’s short laugh when his desperate hands shoved the pants down before slipping into the stuffed briefs to fish the twitching cock free.  Ian ground the rigid organs together as he tugged the briefs down to Sawyer’s mid-thigh, his hands now shooting up to begin fumbling with the buttons of his boyfriend’s shirt.

“Whoooo…you really are worked up right now,” Sawyer laughed, gently guiding Ian’s clumsy hands away after a pair of buttons were nearly torn free.  “Let me.”

Without needing any further direction, Ian dropped to his knees and tugged his boyfriend’s pants and briefs all the way down, slowly licking his way up the inside of a toned thigh before swallowing the waiting rod.  Knowing that it was the middle of the afternoon, that they were in their living room with all the windows open, brought a new exhibitionist thrill to the proceedings.  They were on the tenth floor, and Ian knew realistically that no one could see them, but the fact that it wasn’t dark and they weren’t in his bed made it all feel brand new.

The sudden, unfamiliar sensation of Sawyer’s hands on his bare scalp was also new for Ian.  The slurping young stud’s eyes went wide as the other man’s fingers slid across a smooth dome, not reaching any trace of hair until he stroked Ian’s temples.  As jarring as the revelation was it still didn’t force him to stop his bobbing head, nor did the discovery that waited below.  Fearing the worst, Ian lowered his eyes as he sucked, his muffled hum of surprise sending a shiver through Sawyer.

His body was unrecognizable.  Even without the ample hair to obscure it, Ian knew his definition was gone.  His ripped washboard had started to swell, now sitting as a small belly beneath an increasingly plump set of pecs, and the arms that clung to Sawyer’s lean frames were no longer toned but thick and beefy.  A quick squirming confirmed that his now-meaty thighs and inflated rear had followed suit, but still Ian couldn’t bring himself to stop.  He didn’t want to.  He knew what was happening.  What he wasn’t sure of was whether or not it mattered.  The hair, the baldness, the weight gain; it all pointed to him becoming that which he thought he dreaded, but which he now realized he secretly desired all along.  There was a quick rush of embarrassment as he thought about his balding, hairy, chunky new dad-bod next to Sawyer’s shredded physique, but a single glance up at the other man’s blazing, lustful eyes quelled any worry before Ian could muster it.

He felt good.  Powerful.  Free.  Like the men in his family he knew there was plenty of muscle under that thick, soft layer and he was ready to put it to use.  Ian let Sawyer’s cock fall free before hefting himself upright, his heart momentarily racing when he realized how heavy he felt.  His thighs rubbed together in an unfamiliar way and his usually-nimble balance was thrown by the new bulk, but that didn’t matter as he grabbed the other man and easily lifted him off the ground.  Ian loved the way it felt to have Sawyer’s toned legs wrapped around his hefty midsection as he slammed the other man into the wall and resumed their earlier kiss, a rush of power surging through him.  He could feel his rounded features against Sawyer’s sharp cheekbones and the way his slight double chin now squished beneath the beard he’d sprouted, but Ian wasn’t worried.  He knew it just complemented the rest of his broad build.

“Ohhh….oh fuck….” Sawyer moaned when Ian broke off the kiss and began licking at a smooth nipple.  The chiseled hunk was clad only in his open button down, and instead of feeling any jealousy at his lover’s smooth, shredded build, Ian only felt affection.  He loved the handsome stud’s primped appearance, but it wasn’t for him, just like the other man could never obtain his beefy, bear status.  “You…you need to take more days off.”

“And you need to get that little twink ass ready.” Ian grunted the unfamiliar words, but Sawyer just beamed and nodded eagerly.  He pulled them back from the wall and carried the other man to bed, collapsing in a heap with the smooth stud on top.  It wasn’t unusual for his partner to bottom, but it was unusual for Ian to fold his thick arms behind his head and watch the proceedings with a smug grin in broad daylight.  Sawyer was always pressing him to loosen up, and it was clear that the other man was loving every second as he lowered himself onto Ian’s thickened cock and began rocking, his hands biting into the now-bigger man’s softened gut.

“Yuuhh…yeeess…yes…yes…” Sawyer moaned, the sight of his muscled torso flexing beneath the open button down pushing Ian close to the edge.  They both loved the sensation of the penetrated pretty-boy’s cock gliding through the soft fur on Ian’s belly, and they both loved the way Sawyer’s copious eruption glistened on the curly forest when he finally came.  Ian wasn’t far behind, and the light, shuddering ripples that rocked through his expanded frame only added to his ecstasy as he spasmed and whimpered beneath his lover’s lingering gaze.  “Da…damn, babe.  Where the hell did that come from?”

Ian was surprised by the answer.  He’d realized halfway through their romp what the mirror really was, and that it didn’t carry a curse at all.  Somehow it had shown him his true reflection and then made it a reality.  The implications were staggering, but any specifics beyond that didn’t really matter as far as he was concerned.  For the first time in his life he felt a freedom that he’d only ever been able to imagine, and he owed whoever made the mirror or whatever god it worshiped a debt of gratitude he’d never be able to repay.  “Outer space,” Ian laughed, responding to Sawyer’s puzzled look by pulling him in for another kiss.