The Ideal Valentine

The night was young, and Miles was getting frisky with his girlfriend, Jackie. The two had been together for three years now, and their Valentine's Day had only begun. After a wonderful night out, there was only one thing on the lovers' minds. However, as soon as their lovemaking entered the honeymoon suite they'd booked for the night, Jackie paused a rowdy Miles as she rummaged in her underwear drawer. "I wanted to do something extra special for tonight, so I got us these." She held out two little bottles of shimmering liquid, dropping one into his open hands. "Drink this while I get into something more comfortable, and we'll have a night to remember!"

With that, Jackie slipped into the bathroom to freshen up. However, Miles had a few Valentine's plans of his own. He left the vial on Jackie's vanity table, then reached under the bed to pull out a box of treasures. He sprinkled some rose petals on the bed, lit a few scented candles, and dug out the box of premium chocolates and champagne. Then came to the pièce de résistance; a pair of tearaway briefs with a heart-print pattern that cupped his junk just so. He had this Valentine's thing in the can.

Finally, Miles got around to the small bottle his girlfriend had given him. It was a vibrant purple, with a peculiar sparkle. He noticed that the vial had a sticker on the front, a circle sitting atop a cross. He cocked his head, it was the universal symbol for women, and femininity. Why did Jackie want him to drink this? Then again, she was somewhat into witchcraft in a cutesy, fashion way. It was probably some sort of aphrodisiac she'd found online, made to spice the evening up a little. A way to find his inner women, and better understand how to pleasure her, perhaps. He uncorked the vial, and sniffed the contents. Sweet notes, with a floral undertone. Well, bottoms up.

"AAAHHHHH!!"

A Grizzly Christmas Wish

It was a chilly weekend morning when I received the text from Kris. "Hey, Bobby and I are in town for the weekend! Let's do Christmas lunch so we can catch up!" They were my closest friends back in high school, but since I moved downtown, we barely see each other. It'd be nice to catch up, and god knows I have nothing better to do. But I just know they're going to be all lovey-dovey around each other, and I'll have to face the questions about my relationship, or lack of one. It's been one break-up after another for me. Not all of us can be high school sweethearts...

While I was busy decorating the apartment for Christmas, and debating whether I should pretend to be sick, I found a Santa hat buried at the very bottom of the box. Clearly a leftover from last year's office party. I remembered stories from when I was a kid, where making a wish while wearing Santa's hat would make them come true. It was a little silly, but I couldn't help myself. I pulled it on my head, closed my eyes, and spoke aloud. "I wish I had a date that I could take to lunch." Before I could even open my eyes again, a loud knocking jolted me back to reality. I wasn't expecting any deliveries, or even any visitors. There's no way...

The knock came again, louder. I tossed the hat onto the sofa and darted to the door, taking a quick peek in the peephole before opening it with a big grin. It was my neighbor, Sophia. She moved in a few months ago, and there was an immediate sexual tension between us, Anyone with common sense could see the sparks we had whenever we crossed paths. "Heeey," I growled, trying not to seem too excited by fate finally bringing us together. "What's up, Soph?"

"Oh Tom," she cooed. "I'm so glad you're home. Do you have any plans today?"

"Well, that depends. What did you have in mind?"

"I need to run some errands, and out of the blue, my babysitter called to say she couldn't make it." My heart dropped as she shuffled aside, and little Casey, her young son, popped into frame. "I don't suppose you could look after him for the day? Please?" Sophia pouted her lip a little, looking at me with expectant eyes. So much for that hot date... 

With a heavy sigh, I nodded my head and said, "sure. I can do that."

"Thank you so much!" She gave me a quick hug before waving me off. "I owe you big time, Tommy!"

"You sure do..." I mumbled under my breath before closing the door. Casey's cute and all, but this wasn't what I had in mind. Still, it was a great excuse to get out of this lunch. When I returned to the living room, I was surprised to find Casey with his hands on the Santa hat. "Why do you have one of these?" He asked. He squinted his eyes. "Are you Santa?"

"What? No! I've been decorating, and found it in one of the boxes." I sat down next to him. "You know, when I was your age, my mama told me that if you wear one and wish extra hard, Santa will grant your biggest wish."

He gasped, and yanked the hat onto his little head, quick as a dart. He scrunched up his face, and cried out, "I wish I was a bear!"

I let out a snort and asked, "A bear? Why would you want to be a bear?"

"Bears are so cool! They're really, really, big and fuzzy and cute, but they're also mean and scary too, and they live in the forest, and catch fish with their paws, and eat all the honey they want, and scratch their backs on trees, and they get to sleep all the time, and-"

I shook my head with a laugh. The kid was hilarious. But if the hat couldn't score me a date with Sophia, there was no way it was turning Casey into a bear. I let him babble on while I ducked into the kitchen to get us some snacks, and find a way to word babysitting duties into a well-meaning excuse.

My Desired Costume

Jack groaned as he rolled his head upright, heavy with a case of grogginess. He hadn't felt this bad after a night out in months. He wasn't even partying wild like his college days, it was only a few drinks with friends. He hadn't reached that age already, had he? But he couldn't remember any specifics. The whole night was a blur. Except for one moment. He left to use the restroom, when he bumped into someone he recognised. Someone that made him feel uneasy. Someone unwanted... But for the life of him, he couldn't remember anything. He gulped, he'd heard stories of people being drugged and assaulted. Was he another victim? Had this mystery person done something to him? Did they spike him? His heart sank at the thought. 

Yet as he tried to tried up to his face to rub the sleep from his eyes, he realised something most unsavory. He couldn't move his arms at all. The shock cleared his mind, allowing him to recognise the danger he was in. He was stood upright, his arms tired behind his back, his feet bound together and locked to the ground. He struggled to break free or even move from his spot, but it was no use. He was stuck. With a sigh, he looked around his environment uneasily. He wasn't just anywhere, he was in his own bedroom.

But who would drug and kidnap someone, only to leave them in their own home? There was only one way to find answers. Jack gulped and cleared his throat. "Hello?" He cried out, just loud enough for a would-be murderer to hear him. "Is anyone there? What's going on!?" There was a sudden bump in the room next door, followed by heavy footsteps that padded straight toward the bedroom door.

The First Night

PART ONE

This was it, the night of the full moon. Tonight's the night... I tried to distract myself with a cheesy movie, but I couldn't help but check the clock every 5 minutes, or glance at the closed curtains, fighting the urge to throw them open. When was it supposed to happen? Was it going to hurt? What if nothing happened, would I be okay with that? I groaned, and shoved my face into a pillow. Why can't things be easy!?

It was only a month ago when my roommate, and now closest confidante, inadvertently revealed his deepest secret to me, a month since I unwittingly put myself at risk, and a month since I was infected... That night was such a blur now. I remember Harry changing, obviously. How could I forget the moment he transformed before my very eyes, his body twisting, contorting, and growing into a full-blown weredad. I didn't even know they existed until that moment. But after that, I only had vague memories of our bodies intertwining in the moonlight, as he pounded my ass in the cold night... Then, I remember waking up the following morning, both of us still in that forest. Harry was young again, and it was clear that we both regretted our actions.

That first night after, I was questioning everything. I didn't feel any different. I didn't look any different. Harry called them residual days, where the moon still looked full, but was waning in its power. He himself still changed, but he didn't get as old as that first night. He was still daddy material, with a beefy dadbod, and salt & pepper streaks through his hair, but noticeably younger than before. Meanwhile, I was still myself. Maybe I was a little hairier, and thicker. But if I was, I couldn't tell. I began to think I was immune, which was a little disappointing. But Harry said it was all part of the process. Nevertheless, we spent those nights in the bedroom. He broke out his leather, genuinely pleased to have a use for them again, and I offered my body up to him once again. Maybe in the hopes another few rounds would increase my likelihood of gaining that weredad status.

All was forgotten as the moon continued its cycle from full to new and back again. That is until the past week. I noticed something peculiar. I was finding myself drawn to the smell of leather and fine tobacco. The taste of a rare steak, and a good brandy. I felt a desire to wear a suit and tie that I'd never consider outside of a wedding. And even stranger, I was beginning to think of men around my age as being boys, and far younger than myself. I wanted to guide them, and teach them in the ways of the flesh, as they submitted their bodies to me... Even now, I get the chills thinking about it. Surely it meant something. That I was preparing for the change. But I was too scared to ask Harry about it, in case it wasn't...

What About The Ritual

 PART ONE

The past week has been one of the strangest in my life, and yet also one of the best experiences I've had in a long time. Now, as the week was drawing to a close, there was a sense of melancholy, the kind you felt as your vacation was drawing to a close. I wasn't quite ready to go back to the way things were, yet I'd certainly had my fill. All I had to do now was pack my suitcase. Or rather, find Greg and get him to do it. Technically, it was his, after all.

I hadn't heard much from him this morning. It was like he was avoiding me, drawing out the inevitable. Which was ridiculous, he was the one who had gotten the worst end of the stick this week! And yet, I couldn't find him anywhere in the house.

Eventually, I thought to check the back yard, and there he was, resting on the porch. He was topless, stood in the last beams of the available sun, and quietly puffing on a cigar, which made me frown. "Hey," I called out as I approached. "What are you doing out here for?"

"Soaking in the sun, smoking a cigar." He replied nonchalantly.

"I can see that," I grumbled. "I just wish you would've asked first. Those cigars were a gift, I don't like wasting them on such frivolities."

He merely grunted, and blew a puff of smoke out into the breeze. "Believe me, I already know." He tapped his bald noggin with a grin. "I figured it was a special occassion for me. The last chance I'd have to smoke one, given how you're supposed to -" He paused for a second. "How I'm supposed to head home today."

"Yeah, yeah. Just wrap it up quick. We still have to do the ritual before your mom gets here, or you'll be stuck being Grandpa Greg until Thanksgiving, at least."

"MbeIwntbgrmpagreg," he grumbled under his breath. Something nonsensical, before he raised his voice. "Maybe you should pack if you really wanna get rid of me that badly."

"Excuse me?"

"Pack my bags while I finish this cigar. Or else it'll go to waste. Then we can do the whole switcharoo."

I tried to think of a comeback, but I could only grumble. As much as I hate him smoking my vintage cigars, I also don't want it to be wasted halfway in. And it wasn't as if Greg had packed much, I could be done in half an hour, tops. Besides, I was done arguing about these totems once again. I gave him a final death glare, before turning back to the house with a huff.

No Refunds

It was an unusually quiet day in the store. So quiet, I actually had time to finish the crossword in the newspaper without a single disturbance. I suppose money is tight nowadays. But even the reliable window shoppers hadn't turned up. I was considering closing up early when the bell above the door tinkled. Finally, a customer.

"Hey! I've got a bone to pick with you!"

I frowned. A customer. There goes my quiet afternoon... I turned around to see a stout man with a round, bearded face striding towards me with a sour expression. "Ah, Mr. Grant," I chimed pleasantly. "How lovely it is to see you again." The man paused mid-stride, clearly surprised that I remembered him. But it's my job to remember every single person that enters through those doors, regardless of current appearances. It still gave me a smug feeling every time, however. I asked him, "What appears to be the problem."

Grant snapped out of his stupor, and grunted. "Isn't it obvious? Look at me!" He waved his hands up and down his bulky body.

"Yes, you're a man now, just like you wanted." Grant was a young lad the previous day, just on the cusp of pubescence. Like many of the youths who enter the shop, he was desperate for a means to grow up, to become an adult. And like many of them, I had exactly the means to do so. In Grant's case, I had a box of aging cream I was just about to throw away before he turned up. I thought it was luck, although it appears things have turned sour... I switched tactics, and said with a sly wink, "And might I add, you've grown into quite the handsome gentleman."

"Shut up!" He growled, slamming a carrier bag down onto the counter with a sharp thud. So much for sweet talk. "I'm not handsome, I'm old! This isn't what I wanted at all! I want a refund."

The Beach Is Magic

The secluded cove of Tānetanga Beach was looking a bit more lively nowadays. The once under-the-radar spot had gained a new wave of admirers recently, thanks to the wonders of social media. Its unspoiled sands, and mysterious workings were drawing in people from all over, and singing its praises. Which is why Jordan just had to drag his best bud Lamar away from their tour group while they were in the area.

"Even if they notice we're missing, they're not going to wait for us, you know," Lamar moaned as they pushed through the overgrown foliage that lined the wanderer's path to the cove. "They're gonna leave us stranded at this dumb beach with no way back to the hotel. My mom's gonna kill me if we're not on that bus..."

"We have a whole hour before we have to worry about that, "Jordan reasoned, trying to sound reassuring. "Trust me, It's going to be worth the detour."

"Right, because TikTok says the beach is magic," Lamar grumbled. "How do you know they're not fakes? Do you ever see anyone changing?"

"Well, no... But why would they make it up? And practically every single account that talks about it gets deleted! You should really check out r/Tānetanga, you'll-"

"Nuh-uh! I ain't checking out no Reddit about some conspiracy theory!" Lamar complained, trying to stand his ground, but Jordan didn't wait. With a roll of his eyes, he bounded after his friend as the beach came into full view. There are several men spread out around the cove, taking in the sun, wading in the waves. "Woah, those guys are naked," Lamar noticed, turning to avert his eyes from the sight. "This is some nudie beach! No wonder those TikToks are being deleted. We should definitely not be here..."

"Relax, it's all part of the magic! You'll see." Jordan dumped his bag on the sand, and stripped down to a pair of speedos that could have been mistaken for tighty whities. "You said you wanted adventure. It's better than some stuffy architecture tour, right?"

Lamar stared dumbfounded at his friend, not even dignifying that with a response. Jordan merely shrugged and bounded towards the ocean, leaving him alone. He looked around, noticing a few men looking in his direction, expectantly. He felt a shiver up his spine. Realising how much he didn't want to be left alone, he threw his shirt aside and begrudgingly followed his friend up to the ocean. His feet tingled underneath the warm sand in a not entirely pleasant way. That tingling only increased as they waded into the ice-cold, blue waters. He gave Jordan a pat on the shoulder, then asked, "Okay. So what happens now?"

Affirmation

Loud pop music pumped through the packed streets of Roselake, doing its best to be heard over the crowds of people decked out in their loudest outfits. Pride was in full swing, gripping the usually laid-back town in its glittery grip for its annual weekend festival. Everywhere you looked was glamor, and color. Which made it easy to miss the short man wearing a bulky, black hoodie in the middle of summer. Not that Logan wanted to draw any kind of attention to himself. He kept his head down, sticking to the backstreets, and weaving through the throngs of people cheering on the drag act up on stage. Finally, he ducked around a corner towards the shopping plaza. About a dozen stalls were set up selling handcrafted merch, and providing help and advice for anyone interested. Still, he stuck to the covers until he finally stepped into the air-conditioned paradise that was his destination; Costume Plaza.

Almost immediately, Logan was caught off-guard by how quiet it was. Especially compared to the noise outside. He was expecting dozens of people looking for something to wear. In fact, he didn't see another customer at all. The only other person inside was a bored employee with his feet propped up on the counter, head in a book.

Logan gulped, thinking of leaving entirely. But he had to hold his ground. This was his only opportunity, all he had to do was ask... He shuffled up to the counter, and waited for the guy to notice him. He was a homely lad, with longish hair and a patchy beard. He had no name tag, but there was an ace flag sticker stuck to his shirt pocket. Logan found himself unconsciously scratching his own, beardless cheeks. He sighed, and finally gathered his courage. "Excuse me," he blurted, his voice catching in his throat at the last minute. He really hated being the center of attention, especially in current times. The quicker he could get through this interaction, the better. "Are you still open?"

"Mhm?" The guy looked up from his book, disgruntled by the interruption. "Of course we are."

"Uhm, sorry..." Logan gulped, embarrassed by the minor issue. "It's just so quiet. I thought you'd be jam-packed today, what with Pride and all."

"Anyone who needed a costume for Pride bought theirs in advance."

"Oh, right. Of course. Silly me..." Logan chuckled nervously. The man cocked an eyebrow, questioning whether he should get back to his book, until Logan dug his phone out from his pocket. He scrambled with his apps, saying aloud, "uh, I received this weird email the other day, and, you know, wanted to know more details...? Aha!" He found the email in his saved folders, and flipped his phone round to the employee.

The man took his phone, and mumble-read the contents to himself, before handing it back with a nod. "Right, the Pride Promo. I suppose they're targeting that stuff, huh. Feels like an invasion of privacy to me. But what do I know..."

"Cookies, and trackers, I guess... Heh..."

DILF Elixir

It was mid-morning, and Trent was still resting in bed. He had no work, no plans, no responsibilities, except for sleep. That is, until he was rudely awoken by the curtains in the room being thrown open, and his boisterous husband bouncing onto the bed beside him. "Get up, sleepyhead" Frank cooed with a sharp prod.

"Mmm, noooo," Trent mumbled. "Sleep..."

"Don't you know what day it is?"

"Sunday," he grumbled. "The day of rest... So let me rest!" He dug himself under the covers further.

"It's not just any old Sunday. It's..."

"I'unno... S'not my birthday... Not yours..." Suddenly, he jolted upwards. "Fuck, it's not our anniversary, is it? It can't be..."

"No, of course not." Frank laughed. "Bit worrying you forgot we married in the winter... No, it's Father's Day!"

"Father's Day? You woke me up for that!? Our dads suck, you know that!"

Trent chucked a pillow at Frank, who only laughed at his partner's tantrum. "Well, I suppose I should just get rid of this then," he said, dangling a small bottle just teasingly out of reach.

Trent stared at the vial, a little confused, until his eyes widened in recognition of the shimmering blueish contents within. "Oh shit," he muttered. "Is that...? You didn't..."

A Ritual

It started as a hypothetical. Not even that. I wasn't even the one who introduced the idea. And now our lives have been flipped, traded, intertwined. But I'm getting ahead of myself... Many decades back, whilst backpacking through Europe, I picked up a pair of of totems from an antique shop. I didn't understand the significance of them back then, I just thought they looked like unusual knick-knacks. The person who sold them to me surely didn't know either, I'm sure they can't have. Or they wouldn't have sold them to me for so cheap...

Those totems still sit on my bookshelf alongside all the other various tchotchkes I've acquired over the years. I'd never even thought to look into their origins. Why would I? They were mass-produced tat for all I knew. It wasn't until my grandson, Greg, took a sudden interest in them. I was looking after him for the week while his mother went on one of her business trips. And as soon as he arrived, he made a bee-line for my bookshelf, and plucked them right off the top. He then went off on some tirade about a documentary he'd seen on the internet about old-world rituals. Apparently, these totems were used as part of a ritual that would allow two people to air grievances by putting themselves in the other's position, and working through their issues together. Or that's how it sounded to me.

"Nuh-uh," Greg sighed with a shake of his head. "The guy on YouTube literally said they swapped minds."

"Exactly. They swapped their thoughts and troubles to better understand each other's position, and come to a mutual agreement." 

"You're not getting it, Gramps." Greg took the totems, and swapped them around in his hands. "They swapped for real life, body and mind. They each became the other!"

"Don't be ridiculous," I spat, upset by the very notion. "It's clearly metaphorical."

Suddenly, a mischievous smile crept across Greg's face. "If it's so metaphorical, why don't we give it a try?"