Brett is annoyed that the gay pride parade won’t let him get where he wants to go.
Added: Jun 2021 4,305 words 1,473 views 5.0 stars (2 votes)
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Brett Johnson was fuming in his Dodge Ram, his path blocked by a line of spectators three-deep stretching across the intersection. He had been taking his usual secret shortcut across town to get to one of the construction sites he was overseeing, but had totally forgotten that this route took him straight through the gay district of town and that today was the annual Pride parade. He had now been trapped for ten minutes, with no end in sight. He drummed his fingers on his steering wheel with the AC on blast and Toby Keith cranked on the stereo. Despite the cool air breezing through the vents, Brett was soaking through his grubby white tee. He removed his red baseball cap and wiped the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead. His straggly brown hair was tangled in wet strands, and drops of perspiration were trickling down his face and snaking through his three-days’ stubble.
Brett wondered why they were still having this parade. Haven’t we already given these people their rights? Shit, they could even get married now. What more did they want? And what about MY right to get where I want to go? He had probably already wasted a gallon of gas idling. He knew he should have made a U-turn as soon as he saw his path was blocked, but he waited too long, and now there were a dozen cars stuck behind him, also unable to move. It would be simple enough for the crowd to part for a few seconds to let him squeeze past. Then he could zip across the street in the gap between two floats and be on his way.
He honked his horn, a brusque toot that didn’t adequately convey the intensity of Brett’s annoyance. A few of the colorfully dressed (and largely undressed) people ahead of him looked back with annoyance. One trim, long-haired dude in ultra-short cut-offs and a tie-dyed tank top looked over his shoulder, smiled, and flipped Brett the bird.
“Tolerance,” Brett huffed as he pressed the button to roll down his window. He leaned his head into the sultry summer air and shouted, “Move your ass!”
The guy with the long hair grinned mischievously and waggled his tush provocatively at Brett. “How was that?” he chirped in a friendly tone.
Brett gave a good-natured nod and shifted into a more polite, apologetic tone, in hopes that it would get him what he wanted. “Can you just let me through? I got somewhere I wanna be.”
The guy in the jean shorts turned around, hands propped on his hips, ready to engage. “Yeah, all of us got somewhere we wanna be too. We wanna be in a state where you can’t be fired just ‘cause you’re LGBTQ!”
Brett rubbed his eyes and sighed under his breath, “Oh, god, one of them.”
“What was that?” asked the man on the street, walking purposefully toward Brett’s truck, his black hair swept back from his face by a light breeze. His deep brown eyes scrutinized Brett. “I think your witticism was drowned out by the chugging of your overcompensation-mobile.”
“Shit, bro, I don’t wanna fight,” Brett pleaded. “Why you gotta get your panties in a bunch?”
“For your information, I’m not wearing panties, sir. I’m wearing a silk thong, but I’m not gonna show it to you…unless you ask very politely.” His tone had grown flirty.
“Yeah, you wish,” Brett said, trying not to be goaded.
“Everyone else is having a wonderful time here. Why don’t you pull over and join us, honey? Open your mind to new experiences.”
“Why don’t you go suck a dick?” Brett snapped back. He was easily goaded.
The man on the street made an elaborate show of contemplating that advice. “Gee, I never thought of that. You got a specific one in mind?”
“How about your own? I’m sure you’ve tried.” Brett regretted getting into this whole conversation, but was not the kind of man to back down once he’d started something. “Go back and watch your little parade, thweetie.”
The other man’s umbrage escalated. He crossed his toned and tanned arms and lowered his eyebrows severely. “‘Thweetie’? Is that how you think gay people talk? You’ve got a pretty narrow view.”
To be honest, there wasn’t a hint of a lisp in the man’s voice—if anything, he had a trace of a Southern drawl—but Brett could see that he was annoying his sparring partner. “Thorry, thithter, that’th jutht how all you thithieth thound to me.”
“Be careful,” the man said with a sly grin. “You keep talking like that, you’re gonna get stuck that way.”
Brett let out a bellowing laugh. “Ooh, I’m tho thcared!” Still chuckling, he shook his head and rolled up his window to put an end to this interaction.
The man in the street smirked and said softly, “You’ve got a lot to learn, girlfriend,” then walked back to enjoy the festivities.
“Thtupid ath-hole,” Brett muttered as he turned the volume up on his stereo. He propped an elbow on the armrest and squirmed in his seat. That little fag had really gotten under his skin.
Resigned to waiting for the parade to end, Brett stared out the windshield at the festive crowd, prancing around in revealing spandex and Speedos and rainbow shirts, flaunting themselves as if they thought about nothing besides fucking. He didn’t understand why gays had to wave their sexuality in other people’s faces and shove it down their throats. He spotted one hairy, overweight guy, nearly as hairy and overweight as Brett himself, dancing around in leather hot pants and bondage gear. Didn’t he realize how ridiculous he looked? Didn’t he have any sense of shame? If you were gonna be gay, Brett thought, at least have the decency to keep yourself in shape. Brett knew you’d never catch him exposing his flabby ass in public like that.
Brett’s eyes shifted toward the dude who had been taunting him. At least that guy took some pride in his appearance. Hell, from behind, he even kinda looked like a chick, with his long hair and slender body and smooth legs and tight muscular ass…
Brett shook his head vigorously, having zoned out. He didn’t know for how long, although he realized Toby Keith was in the middle of a completely different song now. Even with the AC set on stun, Brett was still drenched and his mouth was parched. He also felt a sudden urge to take a leak. Since it didn’t look like the Pridefest would be ending anytime soon, he shifted the truck into gear and maneuvered into the mini-mall parking lot to his right. All the spots were occupied, but it wasn’t like anyone was going to be coming or going in the next five minutes. He shut off the engine, switched on the emergency flashers and climbed out of his truck. His knees buckled as his boots hit the asphalt, and he walked unsteadily into a convenience store, heading straight toward the beverage coolers.
He considered buying a six-pack of beer, but as light-headed as suddenly he felt, he figured he probably shouldn’t be having any alcohol. Instead, he picked out a can of sparkling water and carried it to the checkout counter. Grabbing his wallet from his back pocket, he discovered that his jeans were sagging and realized he must not have tightened his belt to the proper notch that morning. Embarrassed, he hitched them up with his left hand while extracting his debit card from his wallet. After paying for his drink, Brett asked the kid behind the counter, “Men’th room?” He wondered why he had said “men’th”. It wasn’t like he was still trying to aggravate that fag. Brett chalked it up to the dryness and slight numbness of his tongue. A quick drink ought to remedy that.
The fidgety clerk bit his lip with worry. “We’re not s’posed to let customers use the bathroom, but…” He looked out the window at the crowd for the parade, then turned back to Brett and said, “What the fuck, go ahead.”
Brett smiled with relief, unsure how much longer he could have waited. “Thankth,” he replied, desperately needing to wet his whistle.
“Don’t mention it,” said the man behind the register. He pointed Brett toward a door marked “Employees Only” and Brett was pretty sure the kid winked.
Hustling to the back of the store, Brett found it more amusing than confusing that the clerk had given him a wink. To his knowledge, Brett had never been mistaken for gay before, but it was probably a logical assumption to make about anyone in this neighborhood during the Pride parade. He popped open the can of fizzy water and guzzled down half its contents.
As he stepped through the door and entered the employee rest room, motion-sensor lights flickered on. He placed the can of water on the lid of the toilet tank and let his pants drop to his ankles. As he lowered his boxers, he felt his dick flip upward, unexpectedly erect. He was surprised to find himself suddenly boned up for no reason. He thought all he needed was a quick whiz, but now he was in the mood for an urgent wank. He tried to shake off this impulse, not in the habit of jerking off in public rest rooms, but this didn’t feel like the kind of boner that was likely to fade. He tucked his hand under the bulge of his gut and wrapped his pudgy right hand around his shaft. Brett gasped. His cock leapt as it felt his touch, more sensitive and responsive than usual. Not knowing how long it would take before he could get home and deal with it properly, he decided the best thing would be to get it out of his system now. Even if he attempted to put it off, he would likely spurt in his shorts the first time he hit a pothole or a speed bump.
He grasped the sink with his left hand to steady himself, while sliding his right hand briskly up and down his cock. With each stroke, Brett’s lightheadedness increased. As aroused as he was, he hardly needed mental stimulation to push him forward, but he closed his eyes and let his mind wander. He could envision a tropical lagoon with a dark-skinned beauty standing knee-deep in the water, facing away from him, hands stroking through long black tresses. He smiled as the mysterious figure turned and revealed the face of the taunter from the parade. With a sly grin, the taunter said, “Didn’t think you’d come so soon!”
Brett shouted with alarm and toppled backwards as his cock began firing blasts of cum into the air, splatting on the walls, the toilet rim, the tile floor, and the jeans pooled around his ankles. Brett lost his balance and tumbled to the floor, slamming his head against a metal trash can. He sank to the cool floor and lay there dazed, his hand still clutching his dick as it continued pumping.
This was the scene the young clerk encountered as he swung open the unlocked door and asked, “You okay?” As soon as his brain registered the situation, the clerk spun back toward the door and shielded his eyes. “I knew I shouldn’ta let anyone in here.”
He tried to leave, but he was halted by an embarrassed plea from the man on the floor. “Can you help me up?” Brett asked weakly. The clerk paused, his hand on the door handle. “Pleeeathe?” Brett beckoned.
The clerk sighed, deciding the best thing would be to get this guy out of the store as quickly as he could. He turned back and looked down, his expression turning puzzled. “How’d you get in here?”
“You let me in,” Brett replied, tugging down the tail of his oversized t-shirt to cover his still semi-hard cock and discreetly using it to wipe away the cum coating his hand.
“Uhhhh… no, I didn’t. What happened to the big guy?”
“What do you mean?” Brett asked, leveraging himself against the trash can to pull himself up. The clerk walked over and tucked a hand under Brett’s armpit to lift him to his feet. “Thankth. Don’t worry about the meth. I’ll clean it up…”
“No,” the clerk said, holding open the door. “I want you out now.” The last thing he needed was for his boss to make an unexpected drop-in and find the employee’s bathroom coated in cum.
Brett bent down with surprising ease to grab his shorts and pants, pulling them upward. They seemed unusually loose, with pockets of cool air between the fabric and his legs. As he glanced up, he saw the clerk reflected in the jizz-splotched mirror, standing beside a buff young man in a baggy white t-shirt. At the sight of the stud, Brett felt his cock twitch. He reached toward his junk and watched as the man in the mirror did the same.
“Oh, no, your jackin’-off privileges are over,” said the clerk, yanking Brett by the elbow. “Pull up your drawers and get out of here.”
When he noticed the mirror man being similarly jerked around, Brett had a stunned realization. The man in the mirror was him!
It seemed incredible, but as he took a step toward the mirror and raised a hand toward his lips, his reflection did the same. He brushed away the wet hair which hung limply past his eyes and discovered that his face had thinned out, revealing a bone structure that he dimly recognized from his early teens, before he had bulked up in order to play defensive end on the high-school football team. That bulk had stubbornly remained on his frame in the years since, despite occasional half-assed attempts at dieting. Now, inexplicably, he had dropped at least fifty pounds in a matter of seconds, and what remained had been honed instantaneously into gym-perfect muscle. His face had lost his stubble, leaving behind baby-smooth cheeks, but his body felt annoyingly itchy. He pulled out the collar of his soggy XXL tee and discovered that he had shed his body hair, which was now clinging in scratchy clumps to his moist skin and to the surface of his shirt.
“C’mon, pretty boy, stop checkin’ yourself out,” the clerk said, having lost his patience with the stranger. He pulled Brett back into the store and dragged him out the rear exit, not wanting other customers to see the shabby and sweaty interloper. He slammed the door, leaving Brett alone outside. The sounds of the parade echoed off the walls of the buildings in the alley.
Brett peeked around the dumpsters to see if anyone was watching him. Satisfied that he was alone, he extracted himself from his t-shirt and tossed the sopping mess to the ground. His pants slid to his ankles, while the elastic of his boxers retracted, draping loosely around his pelvis and keeping him from being totally naked. He brushed away the loose hairs that clung to his skin, marveling at his suddenly firm pecs, smooth stomach and bulging arm muscles. “Thith ith impothible,” he said softly in a voice that had none of his usual cigarette-roughened grit. He clutched a hand to his slender but veiny neck, wondering why he couldn’t stop speaking with a lisp.
Then it came to him. That guy at the parade! He said if Brett kept talking like that, he’d be stuck that way! This must be the result of some kind of gay witchcraft! It was the only explanation. Brett figured he just needed to go back and apologize and ask the guy to turn him back to normal.
Brett took a step and instantly fell face forward, his legs entangled in his pantlegs and too-large boots. His arms extended out reflexively, bracing him before his face hit the ground. The strength in his arms felt amazing as he pushed himself back to his feet. He stepped on the toe of his right boot and wriggled his right foot free, then did the same with his left. He reached down to get his wallet and keys out of the pockets of his jeans, then kicked his pants and boots into a pile with his discarded shirt.
Even with the relaxed dress code of the Pride parade, Brett couldn’t go wandering around in public wearing nothing but boxer shorts and white socks. He looked into the dumpsters behind the convenience store for something he might wear, but only found spoiled food and candy wrappers. To his relief, he noticed that a thrift store was just three doors down. He clutched the waistband of his boxers in one fist to keep them from falling and scooted down the alleyway, a youthful spring in his slimmed-down legs. Unfortunately, the discarded boxes and garbage cans behind the thrift shop were totally empty. He would have to go inside.
Brett gently swung open the door from the alley entrance, hoping to enter the store undetected. He tiptoed into the store and was relieved to find the place nearly empty. He could see the staff gathered by the front windows, watching the parade. He ducked down and skulked toward the men’s clothes. By habit, he gravitated toward the big-man’s sizes, but he quickly realized that his new body would be swimming in anything his usual size. From his crouching position, his eyes roamed the nearby racks, fixating on an array of brightly-colored athletic wear. He found himself salivating at the thought of how his new body would look in a stringer tank and skimpy running shorts. As he inspected the items, he heard a voice above him. “Can I help you?”
Startled, Brett leapt to his feet and found himself face-to-face with a cute olive-skinned guy in a tight white polo and khaki shorts. Clutching a yellow tank in one hand and blue bicycle shorts in the other, Brett’s attention fixated on the clerk’s sparkling green eyes, his lush groomed eyebrows, his plump pursed lips. In his frenzy, Brett had forgotten to maintain a grip on his boxers, leaving his chubbed cock bobbing in the air. The employee spun away in embarrassment, after taking a quick glance to check out Brett’s endowment. Brett slapped one hand over his junk, the other over his ass crack, and shuffled frantically through the store to the changing room, repeatedly shouting “Sorry” as he went.
Mortified, Brett collapsed onto the cheap plastic chair in the dressing room and waited for his heart rate to drop below 200. When he finally opened his eyes, he was facing the dressing room’s full-length mirror. His attention was first drawn to the hard-on rising from his waist, pointing straight to the ceiling, but he quickly noticed more changes. His navel, which now rested among a crisply defined six-pack, was encircled with an intricate tattoo with the colors of the rainbow intertwined. And the hair on his head had turned platinum blond.
Shaking, Brett stood up and walked over to give himself a closer inspection. Not only was his hair bleached, the sides and back of his head were shaved close, leaving just a thick pile of practically white hair massed on the top. His eyebrows were bleached to match, and a simple silver piercing now adorned his right eyebrow. He spun around and looked over his shoulder to check for any additional alterations to his backside and noted a pale blue heart tattoo in the small of his back and a greater heft in his already inflated glutes.
He heard a gentle rapping on the dressing room door and a voice asking meekly, “Do you need any help in there?”
“No thankth,” Brett replied, no longer as hyper-aware of his speech impediment as his mind struggled to cope with the enormity of all his other changes.
“Okay,” the employee said. “You let me know if you need anything.”
The employee’s face etched vividly on his brain, Brett cooed flirtatiously, “Oh, you bet I will.”
Brett slid his legs into the blue compression shorts, loving the way they conformed to his curves and caressed his erection. He pulled on the skintight yellow tank and tugged it into place, pleased with the way it showed off his muscles as clearly as if he wasn’t wearing a shirt at all. He swung open the door and stepped out of the dressing room, asking, “What do you think?”
The employee turned around cautiously, unsure whether the customer’s engorged surprise might again be on display. To his relief, the impressively jacked blond was now clothed, although the tight shorts made it clear that his penis was still very aroused. The employee gave a positive verdict, then began to suggest other items which might accentuate Brett’s assets. Brett eagerly tried on each of the clerk’s suggestions, deciding to buy them all. His hardest decision was which ensemble to wear immediately, but he eventually settled on a sleeveless blue crop top which showed off his abs and his ink, black denim cut-offs with the bottom of the front pockets exposed against his thighs, and a pair of fluorescent green Vans slip-ons.
After the clerk rang up the purchases and bagged them, Brett pulled out his debit card. Waiting for it to process, he glanced at his ID. He knew it was typical for people to hate their driver’s license photos, but he loved his. He looked so fierce in it, and his white bangs swept forward looked ultra-sexy. He tugged his locks across his forehead to give the clerk the full impact of his look.
The clerk held out the card and said, “Here you go, Mr. Johnson.”
“Oh, pleathe, call me Brett,” Brett said as he took back the card, letting his fingers brush across the clerk’s palm. “My real friendth call me BJ.”
“And, uh, how could I be one of your real friends, BJ?” the clerk asked with a smile that brought out his dimples.
BJ grabbed a pen from beside the register and wrote his phone number on the clerk’s wrist. “Call me.” He gave the clerk a wink.
BJ slung the bag full of his purchases over his shoulder and waggled his way to the front door. Through the windows, he could see that the parade had ended and the crowd was beginning to disperse. He strode down the crowded sidewalk, unabashedly checking out the passersby and enjoying the feeling of being checked out in return.
As he approached the convenience store at the corner, he found himself looking around, puzzled. He thought he had parked there, but he quickly dismissed that silly thought. For some reason, he was being particularly ditzy today. He didn’t own a car. In the first place, he couldn’t afford one on his salary, but why would he need a car when everyplace he needed to go was conveniently in walking distance from his apartment here in the neighborhood? The gym where he spent several hours every morning, keeping his body looking hot. The hair salon where he worked every afternoon to keep himself and everyone else looking hot. And the clubs he frequented every night where he and his friends danced and flirted and fucked, always, of course, looking hot.
Staring blankly at the parking lot, he heard someone ask, “What are you looking at, Beej?” He turned and saw his coworker Colby standing nearby with his usual bemused expression, idly knotting his long black hair into a ponytail. Colby was wearing a tie-dyed tank and Daisy Dukes and, of course, looking hot. “Where have you been? You missed the whole parade!”
BJ’s thoughts were scattered. Where had he been? Only when he noticed the bag in his hand did he remember. “I was jutht doing a little shopping at the thrift thtore. Why, did I mith thomething exthiting?”
“Just the usual,” Colby said with a world-weary tone. “Streets filled with nearly naked gay boys. Another typical day in the neighborhood. Dullsville. Oh, wait, there was a little excitement a few minutes ago. Some big macho prick illegally parked his pick-up, blocking in everybody who was here for the parade, so the guy from the mini-mart called the cops and had it towed it away. I’d love to see that douchebag’s reaction when he finds out his big-ass truck is gone.”
BJ clucked his tongue. “I hate thothe thtraight ath-holeth. Why can’t they jutht thtay where they belong and leave uth the fuck alone?”
“Well,” Colby sighed, “unless they all turn gay, I guess we’ve got to put up with them. So, what do you want to do now?”
BJ gave it a moment’s thought. As he looked at the shopping bag in his hand, his mind drifted back to the swarthy young clerk who had checked him out. “I wanna go back to the thrift thtore,” BJ said. “I thought of thomething elthe I want to pick up.”
Update posts: Weekly Update: 26 June 2021
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