I Heard You Have Someone Special (Patreon)

Like most people, Connor hated being alone on Valentine’s Day.  The pressure to be paired off was incessant to begin with, and an entire holiday season dedicated to “having someone special” only made it worse.  The fact that he’d finally crossed into his thirties didn’t help either, as the prospect of staring down an uncoupled middle age was viewed with a mix of horror and pity by just about everyone he knew.  And it wasn’t that Connor couldn’t find an interested partner.  His athletic glory days were nearly a decade behind him, but he was still passably handsome.  Though he’d lost most of his once-impressive tone, and the weight of empty, hopeless years had weathered his once-youthful features, Connor still possessed a shred of charm.  His doughy frame hid the lingering remains of persistent muscle, and his rapidly receding hairline gave him an aura of experienced masculinity, despite its presence making him look closer to his forties than the beginning of his thirties.  If he’d actually tried, Connor could have alleviated his isolation with little effort on his part.

But the real problem wasn’t that he didn’t have someone special; it was that he’d had them once and let them go.  He’d actually spent a blissful Valentine’s Day with someone that drove him wild, that made him feel like everything was right with the world, only to lose him in the end.  “Magical” was still the only word he could think of to describe his time with Ryan, and in true supernatural fashion, he felt like he’d been cursed ever since he’d let the adorable little man go.

Theirs was a surprising pairing, even to the two of them.  They’d met in a shared History course during their senior year at college, Connor the shredded, redheaded jock, and Ryan, a wiry twink with a shaggy mop of blonde hair.  They couldn’t have been further apart, socially speaking, yet they’d instantly hit it off.  Connor still couldn’t put into words exactly what it was he’d found so captivating about the other man, but he’d been hooked from the start.  At first, he’d acted as the protective big brother, using his elevated social status as a popular hunk on campus to “look after” Ryan, despite the fact that the smaller man was perfectly popular in his own right.  The flimsiness of the excuse quickly showed as Connor’s confusing feelings rapidly reached the point where even he couldn’t deny the attraction, finally boiling over one night with a nervous kiss in Ryan’s ratty apartment.  It was the first time the ginger jock had ever fooled around with another man, he’d never even thought about it prior, but it was all he could think about afterwards.

From the moment their lips met, Connor’s world narrowed to the lean little blonde and his bouncing bubble of a bottom.  He’d do anything Ryan wanted, his remaining college days blurring together in a haze of exciting new sensations.  It was like he’d started over, replacing his previous existence as a straight ladies man with the life of a buff boy-toy.  Connor was never the smartest guy in the room, but with Ryan he fully embodied the phrase “young, dumb and full of cum,” spending nearly all of his time working out with, flexing for, and fucking the brains out of the captivating blonde.  He hadn’t even cared at the time that everyone knew.  Connor was well aware that people noticed the shift in his desires, that he’d suddenly become devoted to a toned twink and seemingly allergic to his clothes, but none of that mattered when Ryan was around.  It was why he’d saved up for two months as a broke college student to spring for a “romantic” Valentine’s weekend in a dingy motel room, trying, and failing, to imitate a go-go boy as he’d danced and flexed in a cheap cherry thong he’d bought at the mall.  It didn’t matter that his moves were terrible or that his hefty package constantly spilled free; when Ryan was around it was as if he was physically incapable of feeling embarrassed or worried about anything.

Which is what made it so jarring when those feelings began creeping back.  As the year wound down and graduation approached, things changed.  Ryan was leaving for grad school on the other side of the country, and no amount of pleading or insisting on Connor’s part could convince him to take the devoted hunk with him.  The smaller man had looked guilty, saying only that it “wouldn’t be fair” to keep things going as they were.  And then one day he was gone.

Connor’s fall had been so fast and thorough afterwards that, for a while, the crestfallen stud wondered if magic had actually been involved.  Like a switch being flipped, the real world crashed down upon him, bringing with it all of the anxiety and embarrassment and fear he hadn’t felt for nearly a year.  That crushing weight had been what chained him in place and kept him searching for his former lover, a sudden tsunami of insecurity that made him question how any of it could have been real in the first place.

Connor’s impressive body quickly followed after his happiness fled.  The sculpted stud became significantly less so in a short amount of time, his gravity defying rear sagging, his abs melting, and a soft, heavy layer wrapping itself around his once-tapering frame like a blanket.  A soul-crushing clerical job came next, and before he even realized it was happening, Connor’s life had become a listless routine.  He went to work, made a token effort at the gym a few times throughout the week, occasionally hit a happy hour with his sparse acquaintances, went to bed by himself, and then got up to do it all again the next day.  Even his memories of Ryan had grown distant, as if they belonged to someone else, with only certain holidays bringing them back to the fore.

After so many years, Connor had finally reached the point where he wanted to at least try something different.  He was determined to spend this Valentine’s Day taking his mind off the past, which was what led him to book a “private date” with a service that specialized in kink.  Though his hookups had dwindled to no more than a few each year, Connor didn’t want to simply pay for run-of-the-mill sex.  An orgasm alone wouldn’t be enough to pry his thoughts from the painful past; he needed something unique.

So far, it looked like he was going to get his money’s worth.  He’d arrived at the address to find an empty room with a heavy, manacled chair in the middle and a note instructing him to strip.

“Getting right to it,” he called to the empty space, waiting to see if someone would emerge from the lone door on the opposite wall.  Connor almost turned and left when no response came, but just as he was about to leave a distorted, filtered voice filled the room.

“Take your clothes off and sit down.  There’s a blindfold on the back of the chair…it should be the only thing you’re wearing when I come out,” the voice said, its modulated tone still stern.  “I heard you were looking forward to some excitement.”

Connor’s heart started racing as he fumbled with his shirt, his cock already going solid in his pants.  He blushed from head to toe as he peeled out of his clothes, both thrilled and embarrassed at exposing himself to the unknown speaker.  He longed for the days when he could just get naked without giving it a second thought, when he could let his aching cock spring free and focus only on the impending pleasure, not on his burning insecurity.  With no small amount of effort he managed to push his humiliation aside and situate himself in the imposing chair, cinching the blindfold over his eyes as he broke out in goosebumps.  There was another pause as he sat naked and hard, the silence broken by his startled yelp when a pair of hands locked his wrists to the armrests.  “Fuck!  Where did you even…” Connor stammered, so surprised that he didn’t even notice his ankles being similarly fastened until they’d already been locked in place.  “I didn’t hear you come in,” he said, clearing his throat and trying to sound confident.

“I heard you like surprises,” the distinctly male voice said, a distinctly male hand running across Connor’s chest.

The startled ginger started to protest, but before he could get the words out a pulse of excitement shot through him.  He hadn’t messed around with another man in years, other than his memories of Ryan he hadn’t even thought about it, and it suddenly occurred to him just how badly he missed it.  The stranger's deep, smooth voice, his strong, calloused hands; both made the bound man quiver.  “I expected hands a little…softer,” Connor said, trying not to sound like he was desperate to feel them again.

“Expected…but not wanted.  Not really,” the man purred, wrapping a hand around Connor’s cock and giving a long, slow stroke.  “I heard you don’t like soft things.”

The bound man wanted to ask his new friend exactly where he was hearing all this and from whom, but he was immediately distracted by the sensation of a large, rigid cock rubbing against the back of his hand.  Connor reached for it without thinking, hit with a sudden need to get the heavy organ in his hand that only grew when a pair of plump balls followed suit.  His captive arm couldn’t quite reach, nor could its partner when the man switched sides.

“No…it doesn’t look like you like soft things at all,” the man laughed, running a finger around the tip of Connor’s oozing cock.  He slipped the slick digit into the other man’s mouth as he stepped around behind, his arm sliding down to rest just below Connor’s chin.  “I heard you used to have arms like this.”

The startled redhead gasped when the man flexed, a massive bicep nearly cutting off his air supply.  He struggled against the granite muscle on instinct, his futile efforts mitigated by the furious fantasies filling his head.  Based on the heft of the limb around him, Connor imagined that the man had to be a brawny meathead.  The arm was rock solid and beefy, but as he fought against it, the gasping ginger was surprised to find that opinion changing.  The man’s arm seemed to be getting smaller, pushed farther away from his neck with each straining breath until it rested on his chest.

“Did I say ‘used to’?  I heard you kept that body after all,” the stranger purred.

“What…what is this…” Connor sputtered when the man gave his chest a rough slap.  More than the bright burst of pain that followed, the bound man was focused on the way the stranger gripped a pec that felt far too large.  The hand that had seemed massive only moments before now felt regular sized as Connor flexed against it, his plump, ample pecs going rock-solid.  “But…but that’s not…right…” he stammered, suddenly aware of just how much muscle he felt.  It was gradually dawning on him that every “I heard” brought with it a corresponding change, but the expanding stud didn’t know how that could be possible.  The arms that strained against the chair felt as if they’d doubled in size, as did the legs that now rested heavily against each other.  Connor started thrashing his head in an attempt to dislodge the blindfold, but he didn’t need his eyes to see the images flooding into his brain.  Just like the man said, Connor suddenly remembered his life taking a different trajectory.  Instead of letting himself go after Ryan, he’d thrown himself into working out, growing his already-impressive body to new heights.  Pecs ballooned, arms inflated, and thighs grew into trunks until the pretty-boy jock had become a mountain of a man.  Connor tried to tell himself that wasn’t at all what happened, but as he felt the impossible muscle shifting and straining, he didn’t know what was real anymore.

“Feels right to me,” the man laughed, giving the ginger’s enlarged nipples a squeeze.  “Smells right, too.  I heard you like it ripe.”

Connor groaned as a potent, musky miasma filled his nostrils.  A part of him felt an instinctive, embarrassed revulsion at the overwhelming aroma of unwashed masculinity now wafting from his altered frame, but it only lasted a moment before becoming something else altogether.  “Oh…oh fuck…” he grunted, his head spinning from the rapidly growing lust.  Basking in his own stink, flexing his oversized muscles, Connor felt a kind of power he’d never experienced before, despite the fact that he was tied down.  “This feels incredible.  Is…is it real?  It can’t be real,” he groaned.

“Can’t it?  Maybe you’re just thinking about it too much.  I heard you’re not so good at that,” the man said, his gentle voice masking the terrifying words.

“Fuck!” Connor barked, feeling as if he’d just downed half a bottle of whiskey.  His thoughts were fractured and fluid, a dull, heavy drunkenness draping itself over his mind.  Now, in addition to the new memories of himself working out, he had hazy recollections of flunking out of college right before Ryan left, of spending so much time at the gym because he had nowhere else to go.  “The fuck you just do,” he grunted, shaking his head.

“I heard you like it that way.  I heard you never liked using your head when you could use your body instead,” the stranger cooed, his hands sliding down Connor’s burly new muscle-gut.  “And I heard you had plenty of body to go around.”

“MMMMmmmhhhh…” the now-meaty redhead groaned when the man’s hand wrapped around his cock.  This time the stranger’s fingers could barely close around the expanded organ, and Connor understood why when the memories of the imposing member arrived.  Ten inches long with an equally impressive girth, the bound bulldog saw himself casually waving it around the locker room, as well as just about everywhere else.  Instead of hooking up a few times a year, Connor now saw himself fucking constantly, paying his way by putting his ample muscle to use.  He posed and modeled for some, but mostly he flexed, jerked, and fucked, his strapping, stinking physique making him a sought after commodity in certain circles.  “Fuck yeah I do,” he said with a drunken laugh.  “Stroke it harder.”

The man complied, giving a few rough jerks.  “That sounds about right…I heard you were a little rough around the edges.”

“Who gives a fuck what you heard,” Connor spat before his slowed thoughts processed what he was saying.  It didn’t sound right, but he didn’t really care.  “Can’t you use that mouth for something else?”

“Is that what you really want?  I heard you’re into a hole a bit…lower,” the man laughed.  “And is it me you really want to be doing this with?  I heard you have someone special.”

“Bro, I already said I don’t give…a…shit…” Connor trailed off, his heart racing in his bloated chest.  He still saw himself flunking out of college and growing his raw muscle to its current, colossal proportions, only now he didn’t see himself doing it alone.  Now, Ryan never left.  Or, to be more precise, Connor had left with him.  While the wiry blonde pursued his graduate degree, the burgeoning beefcake followed along, helping to pay the bills by selling his sweaty jockstraps and sweat-stained briefs in addition to his body itself.  As before, Connor looked after his little lover, only now the smaller blonde returned the favor.  Ryan was the brains and he was the body, the tow-headed twink growing more attractive and refined as Connor became raw and rugged.  The two couldn’t have been more different, just like they’d always been, nor could they have been more in love.  Connor started thrashing like a chained beast at the memories, a desperate desire to be with Ryan fueling his frantic struggles.  A small part of him still remembered their years apart, and he needed to see if his dreams had actually come true.

“Whoa!  Easy, big guy…easy…”

Connor gasped, his addled brain and altered body forgotten as soon as he heard the first notes of the familiar tone.

“What just set you off,” Ryan asked, slipping the blindfold free.

For a moment, Connor said nothing.  All he could do was stare at the blonde’s beautiful, older face, now remembering each and every second of the intervening years that had weathered it.  He wanted to tell Ryan everything about that other life, and how happy he was to finally see his lover again, but as soon as he saw the ripped, naked frame that face was attached to, his priorities shifted.  The blonde was still lithe and lean, his body packing on tight definition everywhere but one spot.

“What’s taking so long,” Connor grunted when he finally managed to pull his eyes away and look down at his beefy, brawny frame spilling out of a much smaller chair than he remembered.  Instead of sitting in a strange, empty space he sat in the middle of an impossibly familiar living room, the large, throne-like seat replaced by a matched member from the dining room.

Ryan rolled his eyes.  “I thought you wanted something new?”

“I want you to sit that fat little ass down,” Connor laughed, nodding at the blonde’s plump bubble.  “Do I need to get up and take it?”

“Don’t you dare break that chair,” Ryan warned.  “You know how many vintage stores I had to dig through to find that whole set.”

“Don’t give me a reason,” Connor growled, his broad frame inflating as he flexed.

“Okay, okay!  Geez…” Ryan said when the chair started creaking and groaning.  “I forget sometimes that you don’t just smell like a bull.”

“Yeah, I’m hung like one too.”  Connor laughed a bit too loud at his own joke, wagging his thick club back and forth while the blonde lubed the eager beast.

“Lucky me,” Ryan purred as he turned, giving his ample rear a shake before slowly lowering himself.  He let out a low, hissing groan when the imposing pole slowly pushed inside, taking his time to settle into position.  “Now you…just sit there and…let me…take over…” he said, swiveling his hips.

Connor only grunted in response, relishing the sensation of his taut frame flexing against his bonds, the stink of his perpetual sweat flooding the well-appointed pace.  There was a small voice in his head that kept trying to tell him he was forgetting something important, but with each rippling impact of the blonde’s bouncing bubble the volume of that voice lowered.  Given Connor’s new priorities, whatever it was trying to tell him never stood a chance anyway.  The smug stud wanted nothing more than to grab Ryan by his tight little waist and throw him to the ground, to spread his cheeks and lap at the delicious hole until his lover begged him to fuck him.  Or, better yet, to pin the blonde’s beautiful face between his thighs and not let him up until his churning, russet-furred balls had been licked clean.  He wanted to throw Ryan over his shoulder and haul the toned twink around like a sack of flour, to do all the things he knew his otherwise fastidious partner loved so much.

But they had plenty of time.  It was Valentine’s weekend, and, as had been their tradition since college, they wouldn’t be leaving the house for a few days.