The roommate retcon

by Jasper Slate   

Blake lives with Andrew. Andrew has invented a reality-changing device. Blake can think of a million ways this could go wrong. Andrew has other ideas. Blake decides to steal the device from Andrew. If Blake deletes the device from existence, Andrew’s never gonna know. Blake finds that even the best-laid plans still often go wrong.

I originally submitted “The Roommate Retcon” as part of the ‘Wrong Roommate’ challenge on GSS. Now that the challenge has concluded and the authors have been revealed, I’m posting it over here as well.

I’d describe this as a mishmash of semi-accurate speculative science crossed with Chronivac-inspired reality retcon shenanigans. I took that, stuffed it into a vaguely story-shaped suit, doused it in a whole bunch of pining, and then rolled it around in some fluff for a bit.

Then I threw in some social commentary (and a sex scene) and proceeded to tie the whole thing together with my worst stylistic tics and proudly hoist it aloft like some sort of bizarre transformation kink piñata. Enjoy!

Look. Don’t judge me, all right?

I had to do it. And I get it. Stealing the reality-warping device my roommate built for his post-doc project was objectively unethical. I’m not gonna fucking bother arguing the point. Just… hear me out.

Because I love Andrew. Don’t get it twisted: he’s a great roommate. Quiet, clean, easy to live with; he’s a decent dude and he’s got his heart in the right place. But here’s the thing. He’s a total fucking sweetheart, and really fucking smart, but… because he’s a little bit shy, and a little awkward, sometimes it kinda feels like he’s off in his own little bubble. He’s… innocent, I guess is the word. He always assumes the best of people. And that’s a great quality, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes it makes him too optimistic for his own good.

Anyway, it started out like this.

I finished work on Thursday like normal and hit the gym. The moment I got back home, Andrew ran up to the door grinning from ear to ear. He started telling me all about his project: Blake, I can’t believe I got it to work, it’s so cool, you’re gonna love it. He was talking so quickly that most of it went right over my head. The gist I got was stuff about sustainability and resource scarcity, the kind of stuff people have been trying to fix for years.

Maybe part of the reason I missed most of it was because he was so excited, and he kept saying my name, and beaming at me, and… okay. Maybe I’d been nursing a crush on him for a while. Maybe even a couple of years. Fuck, I’ll admit it: I’ve been nursing a stupid crush on Andrew since the very first moment we met. He saw my ad online for a roommate, I invited him over, and the moment he walked through the door he gave me this shy little smile. That was that. I was gone. Head over heels. Done.

So yeah. Ended up being a good thing he was so excited. Otherwise, he would’ve probably noticed I was just kinda looking at him and smiling like a dumbass instead of actually listening to what he was saying.

Worst part is, I knew I had a snowball’s chance in hell of Andrew being interested in me.

See, I do all my work from home. Means I have plenty of time to meal prep, get my macros in, and hit the gym basically daily. My first ex told me I looked like a straight cornfed jock. Well, that’s not wholly accurate. What my first ex actually said was that it was so fucking hot that I looked like a straight cornfed jock, but that it didn’t matter; because he didn’t want to introduce some almost-straight dudebro to his friends, his parents, his family, and I just wasn’t good enough for him in the long term.

And… look. I’m not gonna pretend like my life’s all that hard. I like my job and I earn pretty good money, I’ve got enough time to do all the shit I like, and I’m pretty happy with where I’ve ended up—that’s more than plenty of other people can say. But that shit he said about me? It hurt. It really fucking hurt. Because he wasn’t the first guy to say something like that, and he definitely wasn’t gonna be the last.

Here’s my problem: I’m really into geeky guys. I like ’em short, I like ’em scrawny, I like ’em shy and introverted and a lil bit nerdy. And those type of guys take one look at me, and they instantly jump to conclusions. Either they decide I’m a gym-obsessed douchebag who’s got the conversational skills of a block of wood, or that I’m a “straight” dude just chasing some ass for a discreet pump and dump. Then, the guys who actually bother to talk to me like I’m a human being? Either they’re in an open relationship or they’re partnered and think I’d make a hot third. Because guys that treat people like human beings are in short supply, dude, and if you find one of ’em you gotta snatch that guy right the fuck up before someone else gets there first.

Long story short, I knew my stupid crush on my cute nerdy roommate just wasn’t meant to be.

Thank fuck I had that crush on him, though. Because when he led me to his room and showed me the thing he built for his project, that stupid, stupid crush was the only reason I didn’t immediately ask him if this was supposed to be some sort of fucking joke.

Because that device he’d built? It looked like fucking junk. It was this misshapen metal lump with a whole bunch of circuitry that looked like someone had put on a blindfold and then soldered it together using their feet. It had this kinda grubby USB-C cable that was plugged into one of the ports of Andrew’s laptop, and when he eagerly loaded up the program he’d written to make it work… I don’t know what sort of UI I expected, but, well, there wasn’t one. Because it was just running in the command line. Like, sure, prototype, whatever, but it would take literally 5 seconds to copy paste that shit into a notebook and add some markdown cells to pretty shit up.

Anyone else I would’ve just assumed they were taking the piss and they had the real device somewhere else. But, you know, crush, so I figured, Andrew really didn’t seem the type to do that type of shit, and, well… even if it did end up being some sort of joke, I didn’t mind playing along with it. Because it would mean getting to spend some more time with him.

Plus, like I said, he’s really cute when he’s all excited. And he was talking a mile a minute, telling me, Blake, look at this, look at that, isn’t this so cool, so it really wasn’t a hardship to just nod at the right places and smile and hope I didn’t look like I had cartoony hearts sparkling in my eyes.

Then he asked if I wanted to see how it worked. I told him yes, I did.

And then… he showed me how it worked.

I still don’t know how to describe it.

It wasn’t magic. Because saying it was magic implies that something happened, right? Some sort of shit that you could observe, maybe some sparkles, a puff of smoke, some sort of woosh, that type of shit. And of course something happened when the machine did whatever the fuck Andrew designed it to do, but like… not really.

One moment I was looking at his desk, still half-sure this was some sort of setup for a joke.

Next moment, there was a glass of water on it.

I didn’t blink. I didn’t move. Nothing changed. Between one instant and the next, it was just… there. As if it had been there the whole time.

And then, next moment, the water isn’t water anymore. It’s wine. Red wine.

I think Andrew said something about being kinda worried about Einstein coming back to life to yell at him for jailbreaking relativity, but… whatever it was he said, I couldn’t tell you.

My brain was still stuck on the fact that he’d really just built a reality-changing device that worked.

I stood there for a little while. My brain was blank, blue screen of death. Beeeep, like when someone’s flatlining on TV. Don’t know how long I was just staring at that glass filled with wine. But at some point, my brain rebooted, because suddenly I was able to think again instead of just… stand there.

And I was fucking dying to figure out how the whole thing worked. So the moment I could think again, I peppered him with question after question, how he built it, how he set it up, what each of the settings did, all that stuff. And Andrew was just so excited that I was taking an interest in his project, so he did his best to walk me through it, even though the actual science and the engineering side of things flew right over my head. At least I got to see him get kinda starry eyed talking about Penrose for a little bit.

Anyway, that’s when I asked him whether he realized the magnitude of what he’d just come up with.

He kinda looked at me funny, like huh?

So, I asked whether he realized just how fucking insane it was that he managed to build a device that could rewrite reality just for his post-doc project, and whether he’d put any safeguards in to make sure people couldn’t use it in fucked up ways, and…

Andrew really didn’t seem to grasp the enormity of that shit. Because me? I was shitting bricks, the way the thought of someone using this shit for evil made me so fucking terrified. Because this wasn’t a knife, or a gun, or a nuke, this was a device that could literally delete shit out of existence. Rewrite reality. Want to rule the world? Press the button. Easy.

But when I told Andrew that, he looked at me like I wasn’t making any sense. He said, what? And he said, I can’t imagine why anyone would do that. And then he said that cruelty comes from hardship, and that no one is innately good or evil, and that he really did believe that people would use this to change the world for the better.

And, well… that’s an unsound conclusion. All you gotta do is look at some of the fucked up shit humanity’s done, and you’d know the balance of probabilities dictates that someone absolutely is gonna use it to fuck the world up. Could even be the more probable outcome of the two.

So I tried to explain. Tried to ease him into it, brought up some of the shit megacorps do, like the way Coca Cola funds nutrition studies so they can suppress findings that go against the idea that exercise is the only way to lose weight so people keep eating processed junk. And then, ‘cause we were talking about food, of course I segued into Chiquita, and the terrorists they funded so they could keep making money. So it made sense to talk about Paria, and the way they just murdered those divers for no reason and nearly managed to cover it up, and how the government just let them do it. And then I made sure to bring up Tuskegee too where the whole fuckfest was government sanctioned. And then Shell in Nigeria in the 1990s. And then Nestle. With the baby formula.

He didn’t believe me at first. Don’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to believe me either. But he pulled out his phone, and he looked that shit up.

And that’s when I realized I fucked up.

I realized that I’d just run my mouth without thinking shit through. I’d just gone through a laundry list of some of the most brutal shit humanity’s done in recent history, and I never for a moment stopped to ask myself how Andrew—with that wide-eyed innocence, and optimism, and faith that people innately want to do the right thing—would take it.

Because Andrew looked so fucking sad. It was like I could practically see his heart shatter into a million pieces in real time.

He kept reading, and he just looked more and more upset, and his eyes got really wet and really red. And he kept asking me questions—he just couldn’t wrap his mind around it. He couldn’t understand how people could be so goddamn fucking ruthless.

Now. The responsible thing to do would have been to hammer it home. I knew that. I knew that I needed to stomp all over what broken scraps of optimism Andrew had managed to hold onto, sear the thought into his brain, brand it onto his soul: that people have this terrible, terrible capacity to be cruel.

Except I didn’t. Because I looked at Andrew’s face, and I thought about what it would do to him, how he’d always be a little less trusting, a little less hopeful, a little less happy… and I couldn’t do it.

That’s when I realized—I didn’t have to. And I knew, right from the get: this idea? This was the scummiest idea I’d ever had. This idea involved me doing the exact same type of shit that had just smashed Andrew’s heart into tiny little pieces. And I had no doubt that I could frame it differently, make it seem reasonable, like it was the best choice I could make, but, like, there’s a reason people say that the road to hell is paved with good intentions and all that type of shit.

Here’s what my idea was: I could take the device, and just… delete it. Do something to make sure that this fucked up fusion of the demon core crossed with Rocco’s Basilisk would blink out of existence and never be able to manifest, ever again. Because I knew, with bone-deep certainty, that letting Andrew handle something of this scale of unexploded ordnance would end up with the whole fucking world just going boom.

Because Andrew? Like I said: he’s got his heart in the right place. Andrew’s a good person.

Me? Verdict is still out on that front.

I was well aware that putting this fucked up idea into practice would make me the biggest fucking hypocrite on the planet. But I knew I was still gonna do it. Because I just felt like such a piece of shit, seeing Andrew so fucking upset, knowing I did that to him, and I made up my mind.

I dropped the topic. Dropped the topic, made us some tea, sat down with him on the couch and talked about it. Wanted to give him a hug so fucking bad, too, but it just felt wrong, doing it without telling him about my stupid crush first. And, like… definitely not the fucking time, Blake.

Put on some cute animated movies on the TV hoping it would cheer him up, and after I got up to take a leak, I sat just a little bit closer to him when I got back, so that our legs were barely just bumping together. There was plenty of room.

Andrew didn’t move away. In fact, he ended up falling asleep on me. And because he’s a skinny little guy, I managed to pick him up gently and carry him to his room, put him to bed. Was the least I could do.

So there I was, looking at Andrew passed out in bed, feeling so guilty I felt like I was gonna throw up—like, biggest asshole alive type guilty. But I still grabbed the laptop on his desk, and the lumpy device plugged into it, and hustled them into my room as quietly as I fucking could.

This reality-warping shit had a silver lining. Because if I did it correctly, Andrew wouldn’t be pissed off—wouldn’t even know what he was supposed to be pissed off for—even though I fully fucking deserved to get chewed out.

I took a moment to think about how I could fuck everything up in the worst way possible. Let myself really stew in that shit, got it all out of my system. Then I double checked that everything was plugged in properly, then hooked it up to one of my other monitors, and made sure that the device was sitting stable on my desk, and finally, finally, I took a deep breath and booted the dreadful program up.

It was weird as fuck to experience such a profound feeling of dread from looking at a dinky little terminal.

Andrew had told me that the reason he’d managed to work the program so quickly was through using a simple script. I skimmed it quickly, left it open on my other monitor so I could reference it when I needed to, and was pathetically grateful that I’d asked him all those questions about how the program was supposed to work before being a dumbass. No idea if I would’ve managed to get everything working, otherwise.

It still took a long fucking time. A really fucking long, really fucking stressful fucking time. And because Andrew’s laptop was smaller than mine, I was constantly aware of the risk of fat fingering something and deleting myself from existence, so I kept having to triple check everything I was typing. It got to the point of semantic satiation where the words on the screen stopped looking like words at all. I ended up looking shit up on my phone a couple of times to convince my brain that yes, I did actually spell it right.

Two hours passed, then three, and I started getting really stressed out when I reached the four hour mark and still saw how much shit I still had to do. But somehow, around hour five and a half… I did it. It was over. I was done.

Here’s how I approached it. I knew I could wipe something up to retroactively remove the very concept of a reality-changing device from existence, and consequently make them all just… poof, but that seemed really, really risky, and also maybe a paradox. But when I thought about it, I could still get the exact same effect, if I just picked a specific time—the Change point—as the point of inflection. Before Change: current state of affairs. After Change: concept of modifying reality deleted from existence, and all objects with high enough margin of probability to possess reality-modification capabilities deleted from existence with it.

If there were any devices like this that existed, it’d make sure they wouldn’t exist anymore. Even if it didn’t, no one would be able to even conceive of the concept of changing reality. The idea would turn into some sort of fucked up antimeme, like that 055 thing on that one creepy wiki.

But I wanted to make sure it worked.

Because human brains? They’re not really wired to comprehend shit like this. Imagine if instead of Andrew inventing this shit, it was some sort of cutting edge R&D research, or some fucked up military experiment. Imagine if whoever dreamt this shit up would have no fucking issues whatsoever using it to change the world into their perfect utopia, fucking over everyone else living in it. And hell, for all I knew, maybe someone already had. I’d never know. Just like soon enough, no one would ever be able to know that reality-changing devices were a real thing that could be made into reality.

No one except for me, that is. Because I knew my own mind, and the way it latched onto things sometimes, and rationally, I knew that if everything worked the way it was supposed to, then I’d be none the wiser, and just go about life as normal. But if I’d fucked something up, or left some sort of loophole, I’d basically just put the entire world into some sort of Matrix or lotus-eating machine until someone figured out how to exploit it.

That was some sobering fucking shit.

I got up from my desk, splashed some water on my face to wake up a little, and re-read everything back again twice to make sure I didn’t miss something. And then I popped over the settings screen where Andrew had set up this brute-force manual exclusion function, literally just a list of things that wouldn’t be affected, and I added myself. For some reason it popped up with an error saying I was already on it. I must’ve done it already and forgot, which, you know, after five hours of work, makes sense. After some consideration, I ended up adding the laptop and the device itself too, even though it made my teeth hurt to look at it too long.

And then I looked over the code one final time. Told myself I did the best I could with what I got. Quietly whispered an apology to the universe in case it was listening. And then?

Then, I typed in ‘Y’ for the final confirmation dialogue, and I hit enter. Then I got up from my desk, cracked my back, and let that terrible fucking program do whatever the hell it was designed to do.

It was just after 3 a.m. when I finished. But I was still just too wired to sleep. So I showered, then plopped myself on the couch in the living room, and just queued up some videos and stared at them for a while till my fight-or-flight went away.

I felt settled enough in my skin to go back to my room, then. And fuck—I wish I hadn’t. I wish I’d just fallen asleep on the couch. Because then, with that weird, not-quite-real feeling you get in those hours of the night sitting heavy in my gut, I stepped into my room, and saw the laptop.

Just… stood there, for a little bit. Looked at it. Looked at the lump of metal hooked up to it. Realized I was the only person left who’d be able to look at it and perceive it for what it was. The only person who had that kind of power at my fingertips.

And I fucked up. I fucked up so, so fucking bad.

Because I thought to myself…

What if.

Remember, it was just after 3 a.m. at this point. Everyone knows you can’t trust the thoughts you have at 3 a.m. So I ignored it, and I turned the laptop off, and hid it under my bed because I was too tired to think of somewhere better, and I got in bed. Tossed and turned for a while, but I must’ve managed to doze off for a little while because I woke up in a cold sweat just a little bit past 6. Had to take an extra-long shower to feel normal again. Took my sweet time brushing my teeth and shaving, did some skincare stuff, and by the time I couldn’t procrastinate anymore, I went to the kitchen.

Andrew was already up. Having a coffee, sitting at the table, just like he did every morning.

I braced myself.

“Morning,” I said.

He blinked like he’d come out of a trance, stared at me like he didn’t notice me walking in. “…Morning,” he said, then pushed his glasses up his nose. “Sorry.”

And that was that. Business as usual. He obviously didn’t remember the device.

He still really seemed down in the dumps, though. I asked him about last night, checked in to make sure he was okay, and did my best not to let on how fucking desperate I was to make sure that everything worked as planned and I didn’t fuck something up.

It really seemed to make him uncomfortable when I pried a little bit, asked for some specifics, so I backed off pretty fucking quickly the moment I was confident that I was in the clear. From what I gathered, the chain of events had proceeded just like before—he’d been super excited to show me his post-doc project, and it was some sort of mind-blowingly impressive machine learning algorithm this time around, that could predict future stock market changes with perfect accuracy, and since it was still something pretty fucking scary in the wrong hands, we’d still ended up having that talk about evil people and corporate greed. Which fucking sucked, because I’d almost hoped that whatever the machine would do would make it so that conversation never happened and bring Andrew back to his usual optimistic self.

But hey. Bare minimum, I didn’t need to steal his fucking project from under his nose this time around. This time around? I had the ultimate reality-changing kill switch for anyone who tried to use Andrew’s invention to fuck the world up.

So I finished my coffee and headed back to my room. Gave myself 5 minutes to lie on the floor and breathe for a little bit.

Because it worked. It really fucking worked.

Then I got up, changed into something work-appropriate because I had a conference call before noon, and hopped on Teams.

Perfectly normal day. Business as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary at all.

Except… that thought.

What if.

I just couldn’t stop thinking about it. I tried my best, I really did. I did my best to focus on work and get all my stuff done ASAP, and I finished up just in time for the meeting. Break for lunch, scrolled through TikTok to make sure I wouldn’t have a stray thought in passing, and when I got back to work I blitzed through the backlog I’d accumulated over the past couple weeks at a breakneck pace. And then once I finished that, I took a peek at the agenda from the morning meeting again, and realized I could get head start on shit for next week, so I did. Hour or two of that, and it was suddenly time to finish up and log off, enjoy the weekend, and I closed the lid of my laptop and put my head in my hands.

I couldn’t distract myself anymore. That little thought had stuck around, rattling around in my head, a nagging little voice I just couldn’t figure out how to tune out.

What if, I thought. What if.

What if, what if, what if.

What if.

What if.

What if what if what if what if what if

I caved.

Felt like the biggest piece of shit when I pulled the other laptop out from under my bed and booted it back up. And when I loaded the whole thing into a proper IDE, started sifting through it, getting a look at what’s under the hood, I just felt worse and worse. Disgusting, rotten, like I needed to shower before I crawled out of my own skin.

But I still did it.

Quick tangent, bear with me real quick. I said some stuff earlier about how Andrew’s really fucking smart, and I also said some stuff about how he sometimes assumes the best of people. And yes, I meant that he assumes that people are kind, but I also meant that he assumes that people are smart. Specifically, Andrew assumes people are as smart as he is.

That device Andrew had built? That shit needed a program to run. And if you write a program and assume everyone else is just as smart as you are, and thinks the way you do, and knows the things you know… you’re gonna write a program that makes people want to rip their hair out from frustration when they read it back and try to figure out what each part is supposed to do.

Lemme cut Andrew some slack here. Deadlines fucking suck and post-docs are a nightmare. He was probably thinking he needed to get started on his thesis, because that shit’s like 80,000 words bare minimum. If I were him, I’d probably just focus on getting some sort of minimum viable product running, and then cycle back around and refactor all my shit with a fresh pair of eyes after a couple days. Then, once everything was readable, I’d add some docs, get some sort of basic GUI going, maybe even try to optimize some of the more resource intensive stuff.

With all that being said. That program he wrote? It was shit. Like, really shit. I could practically feel the migraine kick in just looking at the filename. Nothing good’s gonna come out of “main Copy—FINAL (1) (2).py”. Trust me on this one.

Pretty sure that there wasn’t a single fucking variable in there that had a descriptive name that would help me figure out what the fuck it was for. In my stupidity, I spent probably half an hour trying to read it properly. And when I realized the little viewfinder on the side of the screen had barely budged, I gave up, and just starting skimming, scrolling and scrolling until I reached something that looked exponentially more fucked up than everything else that came before it. So I reasoned it was probably the meat of the process, so I scrolled back up, and then scrolled back up even further, until I was pretty sure I’d managed to find where the important stuff started, and then I copied the whole thing into its own separate file and ignored the rest. Because whatever this shit was, it was fucking huge. Took me the better part of an hour to get through the whole thing just once. And then I read it again. And again. And again, this time writing little notes in yet another document to help split the damn thing up into sections so I could finally figure out what the fuck it was supposed to be doing.

So. There were these groups of 3 numbers—(x, y, z)—that obviously represented some sort of 3D coordinates, and they were plugged into this 2 dimensional list. Simple enough. But then that list got plugged into some sort of unreadable function that mapped it to another set of values that I couldn’t make heads or tails of. Thank fuck for the built in debugger, because the moment I tracked it, I got it—it had something to do with time. And then of course I instantly felt like an idiot, because… duh. 3D coordinates, add a 4th dimension; of course it was time. What else could it be.

That’s where shit started getting really fucky. That 4D… dataframe, for lack of a better word—it was using some sort of custom pipe function, so maybe it really was one—got plugged into a monstrosity of a decorator that had so, so many lambdas that my brain just stopped treating ‘x’ as a real letter. I had to take breaks every couple of minutes to reset my eyes. And then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, whatever that whole thing vomited out got plugged into the most incomprehensible pile of jargon I’d ever fucking seen.

Like… it was so difficult to read that it was honestly impressive. I ended up having to scour through it by Ctrl F-ing random shit and crossing my fingers it’d correspond to… I don’t even know. Something that would make everything else make sense.

It made my head hurt so much that I ended up needing to take a breather. Took a leak, belatedly realized midnight had come and gone at some point and it was already 2am, and when I got back to the computer and saw the modern-day Linear A bullshit that was waiting for me... I decided I should try something else for a bit.

I didn’t give up. It was just… lateral thinking. Yeah.

So I curled up in bed and opened a video app. Typed some stuff about dimensions in the search bar. Got all these hits for documentaries that seemed kinda suspicious. So then I thought about it, and realized I could probably search for a lecture, and then, what do you know? Right there, second result, there’s this video not even 12 minutes long. Imagining the Tenth Dimension… and then, in brackets—(annotated).

Jackpot.

There was this one specific section in there that stood out to me. I had to watch it at least 3 or 4 times, and then grab a piece of paper and fold it up in a Möbius strip, and suddenly, when I was elbow deep in pencil shavings trying to sketch it out in a way that made sense… it clicked.

So the 4th dimension is time. Easy to understand.

And then when you go up to the 5th dimension? That’s probability. You know that thing with the cat Schrödinger was talking about? Like, it’s either dead, or alive, right? Except not really, because Schrödinger was like, this “quantum physics” crap makes no sense, because if it’s true, then that means the cat is actually a secret third thing where it’s both alive and dead at the same time! And… yeah. Hurts the brain a little to think about it, but that’s how it works. Until there’s a point where something is observed, every single probability exists all at once, in this weird superposition state, right?

So picture this. Every single probability that could ever happen ever. Every possible point of inflection in time where shit can diverge. And different events, like the choices we make, or some butterfly flapping its wings in the Amazon, or even some cosmic ray hitting some game console at a weird angle? They collapse those probabilities into 1. But it doesn’t have to be the most likely option… it can be any option at all. Anything that could ever happen. And that? That’s the 5th dimension.

The point is, you can use the 5th dimension to kinda hop on over to that point in time where it branches out into all those probabilities. And then you can do something else, and make it collapse slightly differently, so that something else happens instead.

Or… you can take a shortcut.

Because here’s the thing about dimensions. Each dimension is basically this weird line that’s made up of an infinite number of points of whatever the last dimension was. So instead of picking a specific point in 5D space, you can just go up another level, and suddenly, you’ve got all of them. Even the ones that make no sense, or the ones that don’t exist. Doesn’t matter if it’s physically impossible for something to happen, because in the 6th dimension? It still happens.

And that? That’s what the program was doing. Somehow, it was crunching all those numbers up until it could simulate the 6th dimension, and find the point where the shit I was telling it to happen just happened, and then… I don’t fucking know. The rest doesn’t matter. The point is, it did something else, and suddenly, that point became our point.

At this point, I felt like I was having a stroke whenever I thought about the word “point”, but I was feeling confident enough with the theory to try to put shit into practice.

So I decided I’d start with something small.

I’d already accepted I was a horrible person. So, I thought to myself: what would be the harm of indulging my vanity? Just a little bit. I didn’t want to go too crazy, so I kept things simple. Couple of inches of height, some extra muscle, little bit hotter in the face. And then I decided, fuck it, and added an inch or two to my dick, just because I could. Don’t judge.

Then I put all that stuff on a timer and I went to bed. And thank fuck that it was Saturday, because I would’ve slept through my alarm, 100% guaranteed.

So here’s the thing.

I was sleep deprived as fuck and half out of my mind when I finished messing around with shit and actually ran the program. But even sleep deprived as fuck and half out of my mind, I still managed to set up a debugging suite: variable assignment tracking, verbose error logging, all that stuff, and then a kill switch that would stop everything and dump the logs in a text file if it detected even a hint of something unintended happening.

Basically, I feel confident saying that I’m pretty sure whatever I did didn’t fuck the world up unintentionally. But… I’m also pretty confident saying it didn’t work.

I’d written this little thing to store the stats of the target—me, in this case—before and after runtime. Easy to compare the data, even if it’s just raw numbers, because you just need to ‘diff -q’ and see what it spits out. And… everything was identical.

I hadn’t changed at all.

And worse: I couldn’t figure out what went wrong. I gave it my best shot for an hour or two, but ended up calling it quits, ‘cause I knew I needed to get a proper night’s sleep to get anywhere with it. Still ended up watching some more videos about shit that looked like it could help. Ended up on this weird, old-school CGI video that looked like it was made in the 90s that was called Inside Out or something, and the next thing I knew I’d watched the entire 22 minutes and still had no idea how someone even came up with something like that.

Headed to the living room and found Andrew with his laptop on the couch. He had it in his lap and was typing away at it furiously. I was planning on just heading back to my room, reasoning he was probably stressing out about writing the thesis for his post-doc, but I caught a little whiff of him—and he was starting to reek a bit.

So I said hi, asked him if he got a good pump in, and he got so bashful. Kept apologizing over and over, darting these little glances at me like he was worried about my reaction, or waiting for me to chew him out. It’s oddly cute. Andrew’s a handsome dude, and he clearly keeps in shape; big guy too, must be at least 6’ 1”, 6’ 2”, and, well… I’ve checked him out a few times when he wasn’t looking, and I’m pretty sure he’s big everywhere, if you catch my drift.

And, sure. Maybe I’ve had a little crush on him for a while now. But still: seeing a guy like him get all bashful and apologetic because he forgot to shower after gym? Cute as fuck. Fight me.

We chatted a little bit when he got back from the shower. He seemed a little on edge, kept shooting me these weird little looks when he thought I wasn’t looking, like he was waiting for something to happen. So I figured maybe he’s still down because of the shit we talked about.

So I did my best to bring it up as delicately as I could. I was kinda surprised when Andrew seemed kinda curious. Even though he still looked sad talking about it, he said he’d been doing some reading, that he just couldn’t understand how people could do some of the shit he’d found out about, and… one thing led to another, and we ended up sprawled on the couch watching video essays.

I introduced him to Channel 5, and… maybe that was a mistake. I forgot just how grim those videos can be.

We got a couple of minutes into the one about the Sandy Hook families before he got really, really quiet. So of course I paused it. But then he told me that no, Blake, I don’t want to watch something else, and yes, Blake, I’m sure I want to finish the video, and yes, Blake, I solemnly swear I’ll tell you to turn it off if it gets too heavy even though you’re being really ridiculous right now, okay? So I put it back on, and, well… maybe I ended up shifting up a little bit close to him on the couch, just because he looked the way he did yesterday, like he kinda needed a hug. He ended up putting his arm up the back of the couch; and, look, I know. He’s tall. He needs some space to stretch out his arms. But there was still a delusional little part of my brain that got all soft and gooey, because it was like Andrew was too shy to make a move but still couldn’t help but try and cuddle up closer to me anyway. I’m pathetic.

Wasn’t long before I ended up begging off, because I was fucking wiped. I was lowkey kinda worried Andrew would keep watching without me and end up really getting in his head about everything, but luckily he said he was getting kinda tired too, and turned the TV off.

Said good night, brushed my teeth, and completely zonked out the moment my head hit my pillow.

I had these weird dreams about that sphere turning inside out without bending the surface at an acute angle. Fucking trippy. But at least I woke up actually feeling refreshed. Finally felt like my brain was firing on all cylinders again.

A quick glance at the time showed I’d slept in just past noon, so I got almost 14 hours of quality sleep in. So I hopped to a nearby cafe to grab a takeaway coffee and a toastie, and drank 3 or 4 glasses of water to rehydrate properly, and then, when I finally felt I couldn’t put it off anymore, begrudgingly sat myself down to try and figure out what I’d done wrong.

I knew that I wouldn’t get anywhere just trying to read through the code and figure out how it worked. And then it hit me: I could write some sort of wrapper to extract geographic data from the 3D model. Have it give me some sort of epicenter for where the change actually happened, and then a rough estimate of the size of the area affected.

The idea seemed like a stroke of fucking genius at the time. I was so proud of myself for how quickly I managed to puzzle out how I could extract the area size, in orders of magnitude—felt fucking brilliant when I plugged in the two commands I used and saw that the first one affected a much larger area than the second. Made sense; the first one was a full reality realignment whereas the second one just affected one person.

So, drunk off my first success, I turned my attention to trying to figure out the geographic epicenter. And that’s where shit just refused to cooperate. I spent much longer than I wanna admit on that crap before I ended up giving up and calling it quits. I tested it over and over, but no matter what I did, it kept giving me the exact same coordinates. And when I plugged them in, of course they were the rough location of the laptop. I reasoned that the data was somehow getting overwritten by the geolocation info from the laptop’s own sensors, but it kept happening no matter what I did. Decided I’d go through the libraries Andrew was using to see if maybe it was related to one of them, but gave up on that after 5 minutes when I realized how ass the online docs were.

Super frustrating knowing that if I had this shit working properly, I could make it so that the docs were better. Hell, I could make every piece of software have the most perfectly written and organized documentation.

But I needed to figure out what was happening with the program first.

And, like… look. I’m only human. I kept thinking about Andrew. I’m just a sucker for nerds, and even though he’s not the type I usually go for, something about him is just… I can’t explain it. I was a little relieved when he applied for that ad I put out online for a roommate, once upon a time.

I was a little disappointed, too, since some tiny, delusional part of me was kinda dreaming about a cute queer nerd applying. But mainly, I was relieved. Because I knew Andrew wasn’t my type, so I knew I’d be safe: no chance I’d be a total cliche and end up with a hopeless crush on my roommate.

All the world’s a stage, and life’s a fucking comedy, okay? I know that now. Because I knew Andrew was a big beefy dude, handsome in a masculine way I wasn’t usually drawn to. But then he walked through the door, and gave me this shy little smile. And I remember looking at him, and thinking, with that crystalline clarity you get when you realized you’ve fucked up big time: Oh, fuck, he’s adorable. And that was all she wrote. Head over heels. Hook line and sinker. I was gone.

So… yeah. I thought about Andrew, and my big, fat crush on the guy, and I thought… why not turn myself into the type of guy he’d be into?

Because Andrew’s a big guy, right. Objectively, I’m not that much shorter than him, but wouldn’t it be hotter if I was taller? And, well, in terms of raw muscle, we’re actually pretty close in build, but I keep myself a lot leaner than he does. Maybe he’d like it if I was a bit less cut, more of that bulky, powerlifter look, or, fuck what if I was even bigger than him? With a square jaw, and a dimpled chin, and a thick bull neck to match. Some more body hair all over, but especially on my chest, and this light dusting on my ass. Yeah, that’d be fucking hot. Especially if I had more of a bubble butt, nearly solid muscle with just a little bit of sexy jiggle, and this thick muscle gut to balance it out, with a treasure trail—fuck, it made me so horny to imagine it, especially when I thought about Andrew’s dick, and how big it was. Dick pics never really did it for me, but Andrew’s dick? Fuck, it turns me on so much, picturing this hulking, hairy version of me riding his meat, moaning. And hell, what’s stopping me? I could make my ass more sensitive, make me crave the feeling of getting fucked, and make myself more verbal, too, make my voice deeper… like, the way I’d roar when he’d blow his load in me? Holy fuck. And then I’d blow too, feeling him inside me, and fuck, my dick could be fucking massive, this ridiculous, forearm length showpiece with a pair of huge balls to match, churning out load after load of cum whenever Andrew plowed my hungry ass.

One-handed, I hit caps lock, because I still had to type that capital ‘Y’ in to confirm, and the moment the animated timer popped up under the last cell of the notebook I threw my head back and covered my mouth to muffle the desperate moan I made. And then I proceeded to blow the biggest fucking load of my life. It went fucking everywhere.

It was easily the most mortifying episode of post-nut clarity I’d ever had.

Fucking hell. I really shouldn’t have started touching myself halfway through. Come to think of it, it’s my own damn fault for not jerking off these past couple days, because I’d been so horned up that just thinking about Andrew’s shy little smile got me achingly hard in an embarrassingly short amount of time.

I stared at the screen.

I should cancel the change, right? I’d had enough sense to put it on a timer, even with how horned up I’d been. Could just stop it, take a shower, clear my head, and set up something more realistic. But… it’s not like anyone would know, right? This was a reality-warping device. And sure, it’s embarrassing as fuck admitting just how attracted I was to Andrew, but I’d be changing myself at the end of the day.

So I thought about it. Then I thought about it some more. And then I went to the bathroom, and had a quick shower to clean up my load before it got tacky and gross, and then I brushed my teeth. And then… I went to bed. And I let the program run its course.

And, of course, once again, I woke up and found out that it didn’t fucking work.

I did the whole song and dance of checking the logs, and I was so fucking frustrated when I realized they all matched up. All three of the files, exactly the same. Made one last half-hearted attempt to try and get the stupid geolocation shit working again, but the coordinates it spat out were just… the laptop coordinates. Again. Of fucking course.

But then I caught myself. What the fuck was I even getting upset about? I’d been so caught up fantasizing about my helpless crush on Andrew that I’d forgotten why I’d taken the machine in the first place. It wasn’t to make myself hotter—it was because it was the most dangerous piece of technology anyone had ever created.

Really took the wind out of my sails when I realized just how huge a fucking jackass I was being. With great power, blah blah, there’s a reason that stuff always hits home no matter how obvious it is that the line is coming. It’s fucking true.

I got up from my desk and had a shower, and then I spent some time trying to make up for all the skincare shit I’d neglected in favor of perching at my ergonomic chair like some sort of musty laptop gargoyle. Still felt skeeved out by my own behavior by the time I was finished. So I drew up the blinds on my windows, and practically hissed when the sunlight hit my skin, and realized in short order that, oh right, I’d been roleplaying a shut in for the better part of the past 3 days.

No wonder I was being such a weirdo. I needed to get some fresh air and a workout in.

So I threw on some compression gear and grabbed my gym bag, and I was scrolling through my phone when I slammed head-first into a wall and stumbled backwards.

“Oof—” said the wall. Because I hadn’t actually run into a wall. I’d run into Andrew, my hulking roommate, who’d been guiltily clutching at some sort of flimsy-looking paper bag that he’d dropped to the floor when I walked into his massive, hairy barrel chest.

“Shit, dude, sorry,” I said, and I reached down to grab the bag. “Lemme—”

Andrew went really pale. And he tried to reach for the bag too, but it was like he kinda… forgot just how huge and built he was, and ended up snatching it off the ground so hard that the paper bag flipped upside down and just plain ripped, leaving the shredded remains of the cheap handles clutched in his meaty paw.

Both of us watched the bag hit the wall with a loud thud. It was kinda suspended for an instant because of how much momentum it had. And then gravity kicked in, and it dropped to the ground, and this big, purple dildo rolled out, as well as a couple of industrial sized bottles of Swiss Army lube.

I looked at Andrew. The poor dude’s face had been pale as a sheet just a second ago, but now he’d flushed so violently red that it’d spread all the way down his big bullish neck to settle at the little divots where his titanic, furry pec shelf jutted out from his collarbone.

“You know that lube’s gonna ruin your toys if they’re silicone, right?” I said conversationally. “Fucking mint for anal, dude, but the salesperson at the counter shoulda really told you to grab the water-based stuff.”

Andrew’s mouth opened, and then snapped shut. “I—uh, no, thank you, I… maybe they said something, but I just, I kinda…” He made some sort of gesture with his hands.

I took pity on him. “I can take it back and exchange it for you, if you want. Was gonna go for a workout anyway. Did you pick it up from the sex shop near the chemist? Down the road from the gym?”

Mutely, Andrew nodded. The tips of his ears were cherry red. “Thanks,” he said, before he fled to his room and slammed the door behind him so hard that the windows in the living room rattled.

I was so fucked.

See, here’s the thing. I like nerds, right? Always been attracted to short, kinda scrawny guys. Uber-masculine looking dudes—like, the ones that say they’re straight-acting and looking for same, high off that stupid masc4masc internalized homophobia bullshit, those guys that exclusively top cause bottoming’s too gay for them, you know the ones—do absolutely nothing for me.

Well. At least, I thought they did nothing for me. Until I got this stupid crush on Andrew.

Andrew was the complete antithesis of the type of guy I’d usually go for, looks wise. 6’ 5”, maybe even 6’ 6”, mountainous physique covered in slabs of hulking muscle and this wide, beefy muscle gut; massive hairy chest, and, from the little glimpses I’ve caught in the locker rooms when we’ve ended up at the gym together, a fuzzy bubble butt that looks like you could bounce a quarter off it… like, Andrew was the type of overgrown, hirsute beefcake that ended up with a permanent 5 o’ clock shadow despite shaving twice daily.

And of course, as though he wasn’t already some hypermasculine gay fantasy brought to life? This absolutely massive fuckstick with balls the size of lemons to match. Least it made sense why the dude was so masculine. Had to be, with the amount of testosterone those things were probably pumping out into his body. Like, I shit you not, I’ve seen the poor guy get stopped at the mall by multiple security guards, each one of ’em convinced that he must be smuggling something shoved down his pants. Of course, the moment they’d try to pat him down, they’d freeze, and then suddenly get super apologetic and whatnot, but it would always leave Andrew so absolutely mortified.

Like, not gonna lie, when I saw his pics online when he applied to my ad for a roommate, I was pretty much convinced that it wouldn’t work out. But I still gave him a chance, and I was so fucking glad I did. Because I thought he’d be a cocky asshole just based off his looks, but when he walked through the door, giving me that shy little smile, I knew it was over. I took one look at this gentle, soft-spoken giant who lit up and started stumbling over his words when he got excited and got super bashful about it after, and I was fucking toast. Head over heels. Hook line sinker. Went all weak at the knees and shit. I was a fucking goner.

That’s part of why I got frustrated when the changes I set up didn’t go through, I guess. Because… like, I know I’m a good-looking guy, and I work out enough that I’m no slouch in the beef department, but Andrew’s just something else. Just figured a guy who looked like that, with the kind of mindblowing max lift numbers he sets despite how much time he still puts into his study, would be more interested in someone… bigger.

And… yeah, I’ll admit it. I know, I know, super duper fucking reductive. But I just kinda had this sinking feeling that—despite being an overgrown teddy bear, pretty much—Andrew wouldn’t wanna get with a top like me. See, with a dick like that, I just kinda… convinced myself that he’d be looking for a bottom, pretty much. So yeah. That’s the big reason I wanted to turn myself into one. ‘Cause then I’d finally have no excuses left to make for why I couldn’t seem to just grow a pair and ask him the fuck out.

But now I’m kinda glad I didn’t, after seeing that dildo. That thing wasn’t a beginner toy. Dude was definitely into bottoming big time, buying something that size. Would’ve been kinda funny, in a weird way, if I’d try to turn myself into this big, furry muscle bottom only to figure out we’re a matched set after the fact.

So I grabbed the bag and headed to the gym. But… something was kinda niggling at me. Problem with my brain, though, is it needs to think things through in the background, leave shit on the backburner, right, and if I try to speed things up by consciously thinking about something, I end getting too caught up in details and making the whole process take longer than it needs to. Watched pot never boils and all that shit.

Took my time stretching since I’d been cooped up for the past few days, got some lifts in with a spotter, and then hopped in the locker room showers to get the worst of the sweat off me before heading to the sex shop. The dude at the checkout counter blanched a little bit when he read the receipt. Nearly ended up chewing him out, since he obviously knew he fucked up, but he ended up throwing in some free condoms as an apology.

I stepped outside. The bell on top of the door jingled. Ding.

Hmm.

I fished the receipt out of the bag. Just like I thought, that most definitely wasn’t a beginner toy that Andrew bought. Made me wince when I saw the actual size of the thing in inches. Toy like that, you’d need to be pretty used to taking stuff up the rear.

Except, that whole thing with the lube… that was a rookie mistake.

I took my sweet time heading back home so I could mull that thought over. Let it rattle around in my head for a bit. Poked at it a few times, flipped it from side to side, tried to figure out why my brain had latched onto it and kept circling around it like it could smell blood in the water.

Like, sure, it was incongruous. I knew I had to be missing something obvious. But no matter which direction I came at it from, it didn’t seem to click all the way.

When I got home, I decided the thought still needed some time to cook all the way through, so I tossed it back onto my mental backburner to let it simmer for a little longer. Stopped by Andrew’s room, said hi, dropped off the lube, tried not to let on how terribly cute it was seeing him do an awkward little shuffle and stumble over his words when he kept saying “thank you” and “sorry” over and over.

Headed back to my room, sprawled on the bed. Chuckled a little to myself. Man, it really would’ve been funny if the changes worked like I wanted ’em to. I would’ve just ended up a carbon copy of my ginormous beefcake of a roommate.

I practically levitated off the bed with how quickly I rushed to get over to that fucking laptop.

Opened up the logs, scrolled down furiously until I reached the section I wanted, and… yup.

There was this ringing in my ears when I leaned back into my chair.

Here’s the thing. The way I’d gone about setting up the change was, I’d selected myself as the primary target. And instead of setting myself up as a manual exclusion for all the awareness settings, like I did when I deleted the concept of the machine from existence, I’d set all the awareness params to inherit from the primary transformation target.

And I did that for a very specific reason. See, if I’d just excluded myself from the awareness stuff altogether, I’d remember myself exactly the way that I was. And that would mean my new body would feel entirely foreign and unfamiliar. One of the reasons it took me so long to set things up they way I wanted ’em to be was because I’d written this custom function for a partial awareness setting. I’d been real proud of it at the time. Basically, as long as it worked as intended, I’d still remember the existence I had before the change went through. But I’d also have another set of memories, and those would be the memories of whatever my life was supposed to be like in that new body. So I could fall right back into the groove of things: like, workout routine, diet plan, shopping habits, all that shit.

Except…

In all those times I’d been troubleshooting stuff to try figure out why the changes weren’t happening, I hadn’t considered that maybe, just maybe, they actually were. And maybe I just wasn’t aware of them happening, because I wasn’t the person being targeted.

I’d thought it myself. The change would’ve turned me into a carbon copy of Andrew.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’d fucked up. I’d fucked up so bad.

Fuck.

FUCK.

FUCK!

There was a gentle knock on my door. “Blake?” came Andrew’s rumbly bass after a moment. “Umm. Are you… are you okay?”

My brain rewound the past couple seconds. Oh. I hadn’t just thought that last bit. I’d said it out loud. Really loud. Like, yelled the word fuck at the top of my lungs level loud.

I scrubbed at my eyes, feeling ’em burn, trying to calm myself down a bit. “Yeah,” I said hoarsely, when my voice felt like cooperating again. “I just—Yeah. Thanks for checking in on me, dude.”

“Do you… do you wanna talk about it?”

What a fucking mess I’d made. I’d fucked this shit up big time. “I… yeah. Not right now, though. Promise.”

“Okay. I… Okay. Whenever you, um, wanna talk about it. I’m here.”

Silence, for a moment. Then I heard a soft footfall, then another, like he was kinda sidling from side to side, unsure about what to do next. And finally, finally, I heard the telltale thud of his footsteps hesitantly heading back to his room.

I felt like the biggest piece of shit on the face of the planet. Maybe even in the whole universe. I deserved some sort of prize, I think. Here’s Blake. Gold medalist in assholery. Mr. Universe of fuck ups. World’s most terrible roommate.

But look, there was still room for error. Statistically speaking, Andrew’s dick was so big that it’d be discarded as an outlier in any rigorous analysis, and that’s without even trying to work out whatever the odds were for the human genome to result in the rest of his incredible body. And maybe I was fooling myself, but I needed to know for certain if I’d been changing him without realizing, because… he was supposed to be aware, right?

Because Andrew was the target, after all, and I’d set the machine up so that the target would be aware of the changes. Except I must’ve fucked it up, somehow, because it didn’t make any sense—if Andrew knew what was going on, he’d be freaking the fuck out about it, trying to figure out what was going on with his body, why he’d woken up as this overgrown, hairy hulk with a massive dick and a passion for getting plowed.

I needed to be absolutely certain that I really did manage to fuck shit up so bad that Andrew had ended up in the crossfire. Because if I just assumed that it must be true because it made some sort of fucked up sense, but in reality Andrew really had just naturally won the jackpot of the XY-genotype lottery, trying to change him back to how I thought he was supposed to be would end up doing exactly what I was terrified I’d been doing—changing him without his knowledge nor his consent.

That thought had me running for the bathroom. Because yeah. If I was right, and I’d been changing Andrew this whole time, it was all without his consent.

Turns out, that night when I stole Andrew’s laptop and felt like the biggest piece of shit in the world? Nah. Nah, nah, nah. I had no fucking clue what I was talking about, when I said that. Because whatever it was I was feeling right now? That’s it. That’s what it felt like, being the biggest piece of shit in the world. Like I wanted to just… stop. Blink out of existence. No more Blake. Blake has fucked everyone’s shit up enough.

Wiped the spit off my chin when I didn’t feel sick to my stomach anymore, tottered over to the sink, scooped some water up in my hands and gulped it up. Then I swished it around my mouth a couple of times trying to get the bitterness out. Didn’t work. Just kept tasting bile, even after I brushed my teeth, and flossed, and brushed my teeth again, and gargled some mouthwash until it burned so bad I had to spit it out. Yup. Still bitter.

Sat down at the desk. Stared at the laptop. Caught a glimpse of the little Teams icon on my taskbar, and—it was such a relief to have something else to think about I nearly cried.

Texted work to let them know I was feeling unwell, asking for tomorrow off. And they were concerned, asked if I’d been feeling overworked. The project lead had apparently mentioned I’d gotten a ton of shit done Friday, so they even offered to pre-emptively give me a few more days off too, make sure I had enough time to rest up and whatnot.

Then… I couldn’t ignore it any longer. Put my phone back down, took a deep breath, and looked back at the laptop.

Okay. Okay.

Keep it simple, stupid.

Same target as last time. Type in the change. Leave them aware, it’ll work best that way. Queue it all up, set for next day, 7am, ‘Y’, press play.

I jumped off my chair like it was on fire the moment the little timer and progress bar popped up.

Paced around my room for a bit. Found myself kinda craving a drink, but… probably a bad idea. Really didn’t want to get drunk around Andrew right now. I had a feeling I’d just end clinging to him and bawling my fucking eyes out. Probably get snot all up in his chest hair.

Did my best to pass the time. Played some video games. Knew that it was a futile effort in avoiding the inevitable setting it for tomorrow like that, but… I just needed a little bit more time to process it. If it turned out I hadn’t done anything to Andrew, and I’d just fucked something up, I would’ve ended up doubting the outcome and redoing everything tomorrow anyway just to be safe. And if it turned out I was right, and Andrew popped into my room right now… I had no idea where I would even start apologizing to him.

Turned off the lights at some point, stared at the ceiling, time blurred together a little bit.

Closed my eyes, opened ‘em, and it was light outside. Was really comfortable in bed. So I shuffled a little bit next to the heater. And then the heater tensed up, and held very, very still.

Oh, fuck me.

Still, I needed to see, just to make sure that the person currently cuddled up to me in my bed really was Andrew, because, well, imagine if it wasn’t. I wiggled around a bit, since there was a titanic, hairy arm wrapped around me, and it had gone very rigid. Slowly, it relaxed, and I finally managed to turn myself around.

Andrew was in my bed. Cuddling me. Beet red. Looking like he wanted to melt through the mattress and into the floor.

“Andrew, I’m so fucking sorry—”

“I—I’m so sorry, Blake, I—

We both spoke at the same time, and then stopped.

I waited a couple moments, realized Andrew had probably gone mute with embarrassment, so I cleared my throat awkwardly. I was very aware that we were still pressed up to each other. Very, very aware. Hard not to be. “I’m so fucking sorry, Andrew,” I said. “I fucked up so bad. I—like, I don’t even know where I can even begin to explain. I’m a fucking dumbass.”

For whatever reason, that made Andrew frown. “You’re not a dumbass,” he said, and then paused, and then looked away. “And… it’s okay. I get it.”

I laughed, because, what the fuck. “No, dude, you don’t. You—fuck.” I reached up to scrub at my eyes. They were fucking burning. “You really, really don’t.”

“No, Blake, I… I do.” Andrew blew out a breath. Kinda tickled my neck. “I remember.”

Ice. Right down my spine. Felt like the bottom of my stomach just dropped out of my body. Tried to look at Andrew, but I felt like the room was spinning when I opened my eyes, so I closed ’em again. “What—what do you mean, you remember?”

Silence.

Opened my eyes again, waited till the spinning stopped. Looked at Andrew. He was ducking his head, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, and my heart did a backflip. Then it followed it up with a graceful swan dive all the way back down to wherever the pit of my stomach had gone earlier.

“Blake—” Andrew said, then cut himself off. Then he just kinda… slumped. Like he was suddenly boneless. “I’m sorry. I just—I know I should’ve said something, and I’m… I’m sorry. I remember. The device, and the… the rest of it. All of it.” He swallowed. “Sorry.”

I just stared at him. Was I dreaming? Nothing made sense. That happens when you dream, right? So I pinched myself, and it hurt, so… it wasn’t a dream. But it still didn’t make any fucking sense. “I’m sorry, what?” And then I processed a little more of what he’d just said, and added, “What do you mean, you should’ve said something?”

That just made Andrew shrink on himself a little bit more. “I…” he said, muffled into the pillows. “I, umm, I was going to. Because I woke up, and I saw an entirely different laptop, and, well… I realized you took the device. That you’d written something, maybe tried to delete it from existence. And… I was mad, at first. Really mad.

“And then…” he swallowed again, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Then… I thought about it. I thought about what you said, about—you know, what we spoke about, all of it, and it—it scared me. Because if you hadn’t said something, then, I realized that I would’ve never thought of it that way. Never.”

He looked back up at me, then. I had no idea what he was looking for.

But whatever it was… his mouth twisted. Almost a smile, but just a little too sad to be one. “That night, when I showed it to you, you figured it out. You figured out what it could do, how terrifying it was. And… you told me.” He looked away again. “Because you’re a good person, Blake. You could’ve just taken it, and, and—I don’t know. But you tried to tell me, and I didn’t listen, so you did what you thought you had to do. And the next morning, when you asked about the night before, like nothing happened, I—I assumed you just wrote it out of existence. That you forgot, too.”

I waited a little bit longer, but it seemed like Andrew had said what he wanted to say. I swallowed a couple times before I managed to swallow down the lump in my throat and get my voice working again. “Okay,” I said, and it still came out kinda choked up, so I cleared my throat. “Okay. So… that explains the first day. But—Andrew, when you woke up, and you saw what happened, why didn’t you—I just, I don’t understand why you didn’t—didn’t…” and it hit me, then, and I managed to rasp out, “And when you realized I kept it, you—you must’ve been terrified of me, of what I wanted to—”

“No!”

Andrew had this stricken kind of look on his face.

“No,” he said again, quieter this time, but still kinda desperate. “No, Blake. I was… I was confused, at first. I—I didn’t know what to think. I wasn’t scared that you kept it, because—all the awareness stuff, the way you set it up, I never programmed anything like that. I knew you weren’t gonna… I don’t know. I just—I thought maybe, you were trying to test it?” And he stopped then, like he wanted to say something else, but then he pressed his mouth into a line and looked away again. “Anyway. I… I was gonna ask you about it, when you finished work, but you—you didn’t seem to notice anything.”

I stared at him. “And you didn’t… you still didn’t say anything?”

Andrew blushed. “Blake…” he said, and then stopped. And then blushed even more. He was blushing so hard I could feel the heat coming off his face, with how close together we still were.

I’d already accepted that I was the worst person alive. I’d made my peace with it. And I’ve been wanting to cuddle Andrew for years, what with the big fat crush and all. So basically… not a single fucking chance that I’d do something stupid like draw attention to it, or some shit like that. If he hadn’t noticed, I wasn’t gonna tell him. I was gonna make the most of it. Not like I’d get the chance to do it again, right?

Andrew kept darting these embarrassed little glances at me, though.

And…

You know what? Fuck it. Fuck. It. Sure, this whole fucking thing started because I was fucking terrified of the device, but the rest of it—the part that ended up with Andrew as some sort of walking caricature of a gay wet dream? That wasn’t because I was terrified of the device. No. That was because I was too chickenshit to just ask Andrew out already. I wanted to make those changes to myself because I was a fucking coward. I’ve fucked this shit up too many times over already. Time to do what I should’ve done from the get, and just…

I just looked at Andrew. And I stopped. I stopped hiding it, the way I’d been doing this whole goddamn time, tying myself up in knots. I finally let myself look at him the way I’ve wanted to look at him, ever since that very first time he smiled at me.

Andrew’s eyes went wide. It was like he was scared to blink, or something, like he wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating or not.

Fuck, but he’s so fucking cute. I knew I was probably grinning like an idiot, but whatever.

“Blake,” Andrew said, all soft and hushed. “Blake, what… what?”

“I just—” I laughed a little. “I’m sorry, dude. It’s just… you’re really, really fucking cute, you know that?”

He just stared at me, that gobsmacked look on his face. “Blake, I thought—” he stammered, “But—but, I didn’t understand why you wouldn’t, why you didn’t—and you didn’t even remember, so I figured, maybe it was a mistake, and I—I wanted, but I didn’t understand, Blake—mmph—”

And of course, he was stumbling over his words, the way he did when he got too excited, and I couldn’t stop myself anymore.

I kissed him.

Andrew froze.

I instantly pulled back as far as I could. His face was blank. My chest hurt. “Sorry,” I said. Smiled, even though it felt like it didn’t sit quite right on my face. “I’m sorry.”

There was something else I wanted to say, but I forgot what it was. Because Andrew had leaned forward, and he’d scrunched his eyes shut, and he was trembling all over, and his lips were soft. He was kissing me.

He was kissing me. So I kissed him back.

Andrew didn’t seem to know what he was supposed to do with his hands; it was like he wanted to pull me closer, but didn’t know if he was allowed, so his hands just kept kinda… brushing up against me, these barely-there, gentle touches, and it was just. Him.

“Holy fuck,” I gasped, when I finally had to pull back for air. My arms were burning, and I realized it was because I’d been clutching at him with everything I had, like I didn’t wanna let go ever, and with anyone else, they probably would’ve been crushed, but Andrew… Andrew didn’t seem to mind it. Because he was grinning like I’d never seen him grin before, not even when he was so happy about finally getting that stupid device working, grinning like, like…

It clicked.

I groaned, letting my head thud into his enormous chest. My heart was racing. I was still kinda convinced I was dreaming, but like… let’s be real. My brain’s not creative enough to come up with something like that kiss. “Andrew, no,” I said into his furry pecs. “Whatever it is you’re thinking, biggest mistake of your life, telling you right now. I’m a fucking loser, and I stole the device, and I—I tried to make myself hotter, because I’m a fucking coward, instead of just telling you—”

“I don’t care,” Andrew said, and he’d built up the courage to kinda just… run his hand over my back, and I didn’t want him to stop, but. I couldn’t let that shit fly. Because—what the fuck? He should absolutely fucking care. He should be furious.

So because Andrew clearly wasn’t gonna look out for himself, I was gonna have to do it for him. I scowled at him and jabbed my finger between those monster pecs. “Nope. Extremely incorrect buzzer sound. Because I did some fucked up shit to you, and changed you without your consent, and—” I stumbled over my words for a moment, because wait, why the fuck—”Why the fuck did you just let me change you without saying anything?!”

“Because—because I thought you were trying to make me into your type of guy,” Andrew said.

I stared at him. There was this weird rushing noise in my ears. I shook my head to try to clear it—nope. Still there. “What?”

Andrew flushed red as a tomato. “Blake… I—I thought it was never gonna happen. From the very start, you were just so, so…” he trailed off, gesturing at me like that was supposed to make some sort of fucking sense, so I just stared blankly back at him. And for some reason, that made him look pained, and scrunch his eyes shut, and lean down until he was whispering the words into my collarbone. “I… I told myself it was wishful thinking. I wanted you so, so goddamn badly, that I told myself I was imagining it, the way I thought you looked at me sometimes, the way you’d smile at me. Because—I was scrawny, and short, and awkward, and you—you could have any guy you want Blake, and I just couldn’t figure out what you’d ever see in me. So when I woke up, and saw that I’d changed, got bigger, buffer, hotter… before I realized it was an accident, when I thought you were changing me on purpose… I was glad. Because I thought maybe, if Blake changes me, transforms me into whatever he wants, maybe—maybe he’ll want me back.”

“Andrew—” I said, and I hugged him as tight as I could. “No. Andrew… that’s—that’s so unbelievably fucked up, dude, you gotta know how fucked up that is, and I’d never—I’d never do that kinda shit to anyone, especially not you.”

He was sniffling a little bit. “I know. I—I knew it then, too. But I just—I just wanted it so bad, any way I could get it. I just…”

“I—” I said, and it was just too much to say, so I just turned my head up blindly and kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him.

And… holy shit. It was Andrew. I was kissing Andrew, and—I could’ve been kissing Andrew even earlier, if only I’d done something, or he’d said something, and fuck, what did that say about us, that we spent so much time pining over each other like idiots—

And I had to pull away because I just couldn’t stop laughing, the way it was bubbling up from inside me, bright and fizzy, and Andrew was laughing too, and we just looked at each other like a pair of lovesick idiots until the giggles finally stopped.

We kept on laying like there for a while. I just… I just wanted to look at him, for a bit. His mouth, his eyes, his lantern jaw, that dimpled chin; those furry muscle tits that pushed impossibly out from his torso, the blocky, rounded muscle gut hanging underneath them; those piston arms, those tree-trunk thighs, and then, of course, the mind-bogglingly huge python that’s been digging into my side from the very beginning, happily leaking precum all over my abs… and my stomach curdled a little bit.

There was something I had to get off my chest. Especially after what Andrew had just said.

“Andrew,” I said, and then I paused, because I had no idea how to say what I wanted to say.

Andrew made this little inquisitive noise.

It was kinda nice. It rumbled through his massive, furry chest, like a big cat purring, and… it gave me the courage to just stop overthinking stuff. Keep it simple, stupid. “I have a question. But I need you to promise me something first.”

“Yes,” Andrew said immediately.

“Dude,” I huffed into his chest hair. I was tempted to tell him off for his lack of self preservation, but… I needed to get this out. “I… look. I need you to promise you’ll tell me what you really think, instead of what you think I wanna hear. Especially after all that stuff about letting me change you ‘cause you thought I—I’d fucking want you more, or whatever. Capiche?”

Andrew looked at me, then, and his eyes went serious, searching. He nodded soberly. “Yes. I promise, Blake.”

Then, out of nowhere, a big palm settled itself kinda tentatively on my back. I jolted a little. It froze, and then started moving away, and that just wouldn’t do. So I growled impatiently a little and fumbled around until I managed to maneuver myself enough to reach around and press Andrew’s hand firmly down on my skin. Wiggled it around a couple times until he got with the program and started rubbing my back in earnest.

Looked back at Andrew, and he was smiling at me again, all soft and helpless. God, this guy.

“Okay,” I said. Looked down, cause I had to—no fucking way I’d be able to get through it otherwise. “So. Once upon a time, there’s this guy who put this ad out online for a roommate. One day, he gets a message that looks promising. So he checks out the profile. He thinks to himself, oh, this guy in the profile seems a real decent person. So he invites this other guy around to see what he’s like in person. Other guy comes over. So the first guy introduces himself, says hey, dude, great to meet you. I’m Blake, how’s it going? And the other guy… when he walks through the door, he just looks at Blake. And he smiles.

“And that’s it, right. Blake knows. He knows, right then, right there—he’s done for. Head over heels. Hook line and sinker. Goes all weak at the knees and shit. Stares at this guy from online gaping like a fucking idiot. Because ice is cold, water is wet, and Blake’s gonna fall in love with this guy. It’s just a fact.” I stopped for a bit, took a deep breath. My face was burning something fucking fierce. Risked a look up, saw Andrew’s face, how his mouth had crumpled and his eyes had gone all wet, and I had to look away before my chest exploded from how much it hurt. “So here’s the thing. Blake knows the kinda look he would’ve had on his face. Wouldn’t have mattered if the guy was a bridge troll, or a supermodel, or 10 feet tall, or, like, Gollum or some shit.

“And… I don’t remember, Andrew, what you looked like, and I—I don’t care. But I gotta know if you’re happy,” I said, because I had to know, I had to, even with how much it hurt to choke the words out around that painful fucking lump in my throat, “I gotta know. Because I fucked you up, turned you into this—this fucked up, overgrown, hypermasculine beefcake, and I’m so fucking sorry, Andrew, I’m sorry, and I—I gotta—”

And then I couldn’t talk anymore. Because Andrew was kissing me like the world was about to end, like he was drowning, like he couldn’t help himself but kiss me senseless. And my poor brain just kinda… gave up. No thoughts. TV static. Just pure bliss, because I was kissing Andrew.

“Mmph,” I said, when my lungs were screaming loud enough for my brain to wake back up again, because it seemed Andrew had no intention of stopping even though we were both running out of oxygen. “Mm—mmph.”

He finally pulled back. We were both breathless and sweaty, like we’d just run a marathon. That enormous chest of his heaving as he gulped in these deep gasping breaths. “Blake,” Andrew said, “Blake, the awareness—” and he was crying, these hiccuping, gulping sobs, “The awareness, I remember, I saw it—you looked at me, and it was the same every—every time, even the first one, you—you looked at me, and I… I love you, too, Blake, I love you too—”

So of course I reared up and kissed the fuck out of him, sobs and all, and it was wet and salty and kinda gross with snot. It was fucking perfect.

It took Andrew a while to calm down. Ended up with me sprawled out on top of him, slowly running my fingers through his hair, letting him clutch at me desperately until he stopped taking those wet, shuddery breaths and trembling.

“I… I think so,” Andrew said, apropos of nothing.

I blinked, surprised. I only realized I’d paused in the head scratches when he made this little hmph, turning his head into my fingers, so I obligingly resumed. “Huh?”

Andrew blew out a breath. “What you asked, before… before I cried all over you.” He smiled, then, a little shaky, but blinding nonetheless. “I—I cried so hard because I figured it out. Because… I was already the type of guy you like, back then, and—” he flushes. “I know I’m probably not your type, anymore, and… it’s kinda fucked up to admit it, but I—I think I like this. This body, this dick, because… you’re still treating me the same as you always do, and being so gentle with me. And… I like it. I like being so big, and so hairy, and still feeling like you’re taking care of me, like I’m safe with you.”

“I’m gonna admit something to you,” I told him. “So, this whole time, I thought I knew what I liked. I was convinced I liked short, scrawny, geeky guys. Especially if they were a lil bit awkward. But, seeing you like this?” I give him a very obvious once over, taking my time looking him up and down.

Because even though Andrew immediately flushed a blotchy pink, averting his gaze, clearly embarrassed by the attention… there was a comically large pole jutting out from between his titanic thighs. And that mighty fuckstick throbbed, and dribbled out a renewed stream of pre, giving away how much the attention turned Andrew on despite—or maybe because of—his embarrassment.

I couldn’t help but chuckle a little bit. “Well… I learned something new. And dude, don’t get me wrong—if you change your mind, and decide you wanna go back to how you used to be, I’ll support you 1000% fucking percent. But it doesn’t change the fact that seeing you so huge, and hairy, and hung, and having you look at me so helpless and wide-eyed and cute? That’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve seen in my fucking life, Andrew.”

And Andrew’s mouth dropped open into a little ‘o’, and then he beamed at me, bright and brilliant, like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.

And…

Look. Don’t judge me, all right?

I had to do it.

I just had to. So I did: I leaned right the fuck in and kissed the boy I loved senseless.

Andrew was biting his lower lip again.

“Blake,” he said. “We… we don’t have to do this right now.”

I scowled at him. “Andrew,” I told him. “Dude. I love you so fucking much. But I’m gonna fucking scream if you don’t stop talking in circles and get with the fucking program already.” And I wasn’t lying. I’d been lying on the bed, naked and ready, propped up by a pillow under my lower back. I’d also been watching Andrew pace around the room for the better part of the past 10 minutes. “Keep it simple, sweetheart. Stop overthinking.”

Andrew heaved out a breath. “Sorry,” he said. “You’re right. Okay.” And he finally—fucking finally—got onto the bed, and hesitantly shuffled over until he was looming over me.

I had to nudge him down a little so I could lean up enough to give him a quick kiss. “Thank you.”

Andrew nodded, looking away. He bit his lip again; so there was obviously something still weighing on him.

So I pulled him in more, until his head was on my chest, and I reached up to stroke my fingers through his hair. “Remember the traffic light stuff we talked about?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. The tips of his ears were pink, but he still pushed into my palm a little bit, a quiet plea for more touch.

“Good,” I told him. “Yellow.” He flinched, just like I thought he would, but I kept on stroking his hair. “Nothing wrong, dude, just checking in. You’re still in your head—what’s got you worked up?”

Andrew swallowed hard. “I…” he said, and then the words came tumbling out. “I’ve never done this before, Blake. I’m… I don’t want to hurt you.”

I scratched his scalp. It made him slump a little, kinda boneless, sprawled on top of me like a starfish, and I chuckled. “You won’t, sweetheart. I’ll stop if I think there’s even the smallest chance of shit happening. Promise.”

Slowly, he nodded, prickly stubble brushing into my collarbone. “I just…” he sighed. “Are you sure you don’t want to put some more changes through? Make it so you’re… I don’t know. More… flexible, more elastic?”

“Absolutely fucking not.” I shook my head firmly. “I wanna try it like this, first, see how it goes. I wanna feel it the way it’s supposed to feel. No point in trying to speed through everything like we’re doing agile shit or something. If it doesn’t work, we make out for a bit, cuddle, and then try something else tomorrow. We’ve got the rest of our lives to figure this shit out, I promise—unph—”

Andrew had wrapped himself around me like some sort of octopus, tight enough that I let out an undignified little grunt. “Oh—sorry,” he said bashfully, and drew back a little bit. He was beaming at me, all starry eyed.

“What was that for?”

“You—” he laughed a little. “You promise?”

I frowned at him. “Yeah?”

For some reason that made Andrew light up even more. He just beamed at me for a little bit, and then he nodded decisively. “Green.”

“All right.” I patted him gently. “Up you go.”

Andrew was visibly less hesitant this time around. Kept beaming at me, even when he tried to apologize for crushing me and I wouldn’t hear any of it. Grabbed the lube—silicone, this time around—and squirted a whole bunch into his palm, told him to wait a couple seconds and say when it felt like it warmed up enough from his body heat.

“Okay,” Andrew said. “Done.”

I swung my legs up, grabbed the pillow, and pulled it up a bit ‘til it helped me stabilize a little. “All right. Shuffle forward a bit, sweetheart, so I can get my legs on your shoulders—yeah, just like that.”

And even then, leaned over me between my legs, Andrew still looked like he was waiting for permission, sneaking shy glances at my pecs, my dick, like he wanted to look but wasn’t sure if he was allowed.

So I couldn’t resist showing off for him a little bit. Bounced my pecs, both together, then alternating between ’em a couple times. The amount of time I spent practicing that shit in the bathroom mirror was so worth it just to see the way he went all wide-eyed and flustered. “Jesus, Blake,” he said, and then followed it up with the last thing I expected:

“You’re beautiful.”

God, this guy was gonna be the death of me. My face was instantly hot. “What? No—you are. Shut up. Oh my god.”

He had the nerve to laugh at the look on my face. So I scowled at him, pretending I wasn’t glad that he’d relaxed, gotten comfortable enough to laugh.

Because, well… fuck. I was feeling just as anxious as he’d been, maybe even more.

Not that I’d ever admit it to him in a million years.

See, once we managed to somehow tear ourselves apart and get out of bed instead of kissing and cuddling the way we’d been for who knows how long, we went to the living room, and sprawled out on the couch, and… just talked.

Total honesty. What we wanted, what we were looking for. Goals, ambitions, career aspirations, kids, that kind of stuff. Because, well: we’d been pining for years for each other, at the end of the day, and neither of us wanted to waste any more time beating around the bush. Relationships of any sort only work when everyone’s on the same page.

That’s when the subject turned to dating, and then to the bedroom. Dating history, exes, turn ons and turn offs, any sort of fantasies we might’ve had. Andrew went bright pink when I told him it wasn’t essential for me, but I did enjoy some kinky play, mentioned I could get pretty verbal… and he wanted to try it, so I talked him through it, the basics, set up traffic lights, that type of stuff.

And that’s when we got to the topic of sex, and the conversation wound to a screeching halt. Because Andrew? Sweet, innocent Andrew? Hadn’t had penetrative sex before.

He’d shyly admitted that the toy he’d brought home, the one that made me wince when I saw the size on the receipt, was an impulse buy. Reassured me, no, Blake, I didn’t even notice that you made me crave a cock up my ass. I’m paraphrasing here, since it made him really embarrassed to talk about it, and he fumbled with his words so hard I kinda needed to piece it together myself.

Andrew even said he was a virgin at one point. I spent a solid minute or two hyperventilating about that. But then he told me he’d had some mutual jerk off sessions, a couple of blowjobs, and a 69 or two, so that led to a conversation about how penetrative sex was just one type of sex, and that some people love it and some people don’t, and that jerking off together and kissing is just as much sex as taking a dick up the butt.

I’m getting distracted. The point I was making is, Andrew hadn’t even been fingered before, let alone rimmed. And I felt super fucking guilty about it. Turned my stomach, a little bit, thinking about how much I fucked with him with the machine, with him being too inexperienced with his own sexuality to even notice the things I rewired him to want.

That’s why I was currently ass up on the bed, legs spread, Andrew’s massive, hulking frame kneeling between my thighs.

Because it just felt unfair. It didn’t matter how much he tried to convince me otherwise. I just felt like it would be so unfair to start out with Andrew on the receiving end. And maybe there was some small, fucked up part of my brain that kinda saw it as penance—letting Andrew split me open with his massive dick as some sort of fucked up apology for what I did to him.

But… part of it was just me genuinely wanting to try it. See what it would feel like. Because… I’d jerked off over the idea of bottoming for Andrew only two days ago, and proceeded to blow the biggest load of my life.

I did allow a concession. I recognized that Andrew was now packing equipment that really pushed the boundaries of what human anatomy could handle, and, well, butts are sensitive. So we sat down together and wrote up a simple change to make sure Andrew’s cock wouldn’t rip me apart. Literally speaking, that is. Metaphorically? We’ll see.

Andrew wanted to add some more stuff while we were at it. Make it so it wouldn’t be too painful, and that I’d be able to stretch more easily to accommodate him, that type of shit. But I vetoed everything.

A small part of me wondered if I’d end up regretting that later.

But the rest of me told that tiny little part to shut the fuck up. Because even though I was nervous, because it’d been a while since I’d done any anal play, and I knew I’d need to walk him through stretching me out properly… my dick had been rock hard ever since Andrew had gotten on the bed and shyly shuffled in between my legs.

“Okay,” I said, and then, “Okay. So… slow and steady. Start playing with my butt a little, feel up my glutes—yeah, exactly. You can start kinda, uhh, kinda rubbing between ‘em, too. Don’t try to put anything in yet, but you can press on it a bit, run your fingers over it, just like that.” I was tense, and I could feel it. “Kiss me a bit too, if you—nngh.”

Fuck, Andrew kissed just how I liked it. Slow and soft, and so responsive, opening up for me when I deepened it like he was made for it. Made my brain go all tingly. I could feel my whole body kinda relax into it, from where I’d been wound up like a fucking spring.

Well, most of my body relaxed into it. My dick didn’t, because, again, it’d been achingly hard this whole time. It was currently eagerly throbbing. My dick was fully on board with everything that was going on, so was I.

I finally felt ready to move things up a notch.

“Okay,” I said. “You can slowly put—yes, easy does it, good boy, oh—” I threw my head back. Andrew had picked up on what I wanted him to do, and had slowly, hesitantly pushed his finger into my lubed up hole. It’d been a while; it burned. So I scrunched my eyes shut, slowed my breathing down, forced myself to consciously relax instead of instinctively clenching around the intrusion.

Andrew’s finger stopped moving. Belatedly, I realized it’s because it had gone all the way in, down to the knuckle at the base. “Umm,” Andrew said. I blinked my eyes open to find him staring at me.

I smiled at him. “You’re doing great, sweetheart. Just let me—oh, yeah, there we go.” I’d wiggled a little bit, and my body finally adjusted to the stretch, the burn easing up; it didn’t fully go away, but it was much closer to pleasure than it had been to pain only a moment ago. “All right. Now… move it a bit, slowly, like you’re thrusting in and out—exactly, yes, keep going—and now add another one—too much, too much, slow down, good boy, you’re doing great. Now curl them up a little bit, move them around like scissors—oh, fuck—”

“Was that… a good noise?”

“Yes, good noise. Very good noise. You’re a fucking natural, dude—oh, fuck yeah, look at you go, keep doing that. Add another one? Yup, like that, slow and steady. Fuck—holy shit. You’re being so good for me, Andrew, now another one, yes, well done… holy fuck.” I stared at Andrew, wide eyed.

He looked so fucking precious, slowly fingering me open. And maybe I’ve got some wires crossed in my brain, because when I see guys being cute, I get horny, and, well; seeing Andrew with that adorable little furrow on his brow, focused and intent, realizing I was gonna be the first guy he was gonna put his dick in? That was some of the sexiest shit I’d ever seen in my life. I already knew it would be regular jerk off fodder.

“C’mere,” I said, flinging an arm up to beckon him closer, “C’mere, Andrew, kiss me, mmph.” He was so fucking gentle with it that it set something off deep inside of me, and suddenly I was so desperate to kiss him it hurt, like I couldn’t get enough, and—

Fuck, the way I wanted him to just shove that huge dick into me.

“Holy fuck, Andrew,” I panted into his mouth, “I want you to fuck me.”

“Are you—are you sure?”

I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him closer. “Yes, fuck, please—just, slowly, slide your fingers out, slow, slow, keep going, oh—” I gasped, whole body quivering like jelly, when his fingers finally came out of my hole with this soft, wet squelch. “Okay,” I said, breathless, and then wrapped my hand around his dick.

“Blake—” Andrew said, like a prayer, “Blake—”

Holy fuck, his dick was massive. It was so, so fucking big. Andrew let out this groan from somewhere deep in his chest when I wrapped my trembling fingers around it fully. I could only brush the very tip of my middle finger against my thumb, it was so thick.

“Andrew,” I said, and I fumbled down for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, and when he raised it from the mattress to desperately clutch at my fingers I gently pulled it along, guiding him, wrapping his fingers around his dick. Pulled it down till it was angled just right against my hole, feeling the huge head of it press against my rim. And fuck—it was leaking pre everywhere. I could feel it lazily dribbling onto my hole. “C’mon baby. C’mon.”

And then finally, it lined up at the right angle, and I could feel the press of it, the stretch, the pressure, and the burn—fuck, it burned, it hurt, it hurt, and I let out this torn, ragged grunt, and then—

It was like everything snapped into place.

“Oh, fuck.” I could barely manage to move my mouth enough to form the words. “S—stay there, for a moment.” And then I closed my eyes, and focused on remembering how breathing was supposed to work, because my brain had just spontaneously decided to stop working. Maybe. Tried to check, but my brain wasn’t working, so I didn’t know if my brain was still working or not. But I didn’t give a fuck about my brain. Andrew was right there.

Andrew was in me. Andrew was in me, inside me, filling me up, stretching me open.

I took in a deep, shuddering breath, and then another, and another. “More,” I urged him once I remembered how to put words together, “All the way, Andrew—oh—”

My brain gave up again and just kinda went blissful and blank. Oh well. I was pretty sure my body was melting, anyway. It was warm, and kinda bubbly, like… Champagne, yeah, that thing.

I floated for a little bit in my happy little haze. It felt really nice. Realized after a while that I’d closed my eyes at some point, so I opened them again.

The first thing I saw was Andrew looking at me with his mouth all scrunched up like he wasn’t sure what was going on. I couldn’t remember how to use my mouth to tell him I felt great, though. But my mouth seemed like it knew what it was doing, because it said, “I’m so fucking glad I told you I love you,” and yes, I nodded, agreeing with what my mouth said. My mouth was very smart.

Andrew laughed, loud and startled. He was so beautiful, flushed and sweaty, staring at me like he couldn’t take his eyes off me. “Blake, what—why?”

Oh! I can tell my mouth what to do. Perfect. “You get endorphins and shit,” I told Andrew seriously. “So it doesn’t count. But I already said it.” I grinned at him again, because I loved him so much. “I love you so much, dude. Seriously.”

“I love you too, Blake,” Andrew said, and he managed to get even redder, somehow. “I—Are you… feeling okay?”

I sighed happily. “Never better.” Then I stuck my chin up and made a kissy face. I had to make a couple of exaggerated little air smooches until Andrew figured out what I wanted and finally leaned down to kiss me.

He was making these motions, these small, aborted thrusts with his hips, so I fumbled around until one of my hands reached his butt. Spent a little bit groping it, because damn, he had a nice butt. Then I gave him a pair of little smacks, tap tap, and he finally moved.

Andrew’s cock, oh, his cock. I could probably write a fucking sonnet about Andrew, and how he fucked me with his cock, how the thick head of it felt like it was kinda pulling all the air out of my body with it, in this weird sexy way. And I could write another one about Andrew’s massive legs, the way I felt them trembling with effort, when he started pushing his cock back in, and oh, I could write a sonnet about that too, the way it felt like I was made for it, to have Andrew’s cock in me, to feel it throbbing, and leaking, and rearranging me from the inside out.

“Fuck—” Andrew panted. “I’m not—oh, fuck, I’m not gonna last, Blake, I—”

Oh—fuck, I hadn’t even considered that, how it would feel when Andrew came, when he blew his load—”Cum for me,” I told him, “Cum for me, Andrew, c’mon, fill me up—fuck—”

“Oh my god, Blake,” Andrew said, and smashed our lips together, and his cock gave this throb. And he came. Rope after rope after rope. It was thick and warm and it just kept going, and going, a veritable flood just exploding out of his almighty cock.

I’d barely even laid a finger on my own dick before I gave this embarrassing whine and came so hard that my vision went white for a second.

Andrew collapsed on top of me. I petted him.

We stayed like that for a while.

“Blake,” Andrew said. Well, I think that’s what he said. His face was still smushed into my collarbone, though, so it sounded more like “mmph.”

I’m an excellent boyfriend, so I—Oh. Boyfriend. My boyfriend, he’s my boyfriend—

Andrew’s my boyfriend, and I’m an excellent boyfriend, so I kinda… flung his arm over my shoulder. I grunted a bit, because my boyfriend’s pretty heavy, but I managed to roll him over a bit so we ended up on our sides, facing each other.

I looked at Andrew, my boyfriend. I was probably grinning like a loon again. Oh well. He’s my boyfriend. I’m allowed. “Didn’t quite catch that, dude.”

“Blake,” Andrew said—I was right, that first “mmph,” really was my name. “I said…” and he flushed, blotchy and pink. “I said I really want you to fuck me next time.”

This was an absolute blast to write. If you ended up enjoying this story, comments would very much be appreciated. Thank you. —J.

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