Giving Em A Ranch Hand

Giving ‘em a Ranch Hand

Phew! Barely managed to snatch this guy up.

My family traveled to the deep south to visit my uncle in his farm. I was travelling the place, bored outta my mind and trying to get away from the stench of cow dung when I stumbled unto this handsome fella. “The name’s Colt! I own a farm nearby,” he said, offering his hand alongside the good old southern hospitality.

Unfortunately for him, my touch was how I managed to get my rocks off when I saw a man that caught my eye.

“Nice to meet you!” I said, eagerly shaking his hand. An electric tingle shot down my arm. From the way his eyes widened and his shoulders tensed up, I imagined he felt it too. “My new toy,” I whispered as my hand phased through his own.

“Th-The hell’s this?!” Colt cried out, unable to away as I stepped right into him. His heavy set body easily accepted me inside despite his panicked protests. Once I was fully inside, the real battle began. “G-Git the hell outta me! A-Ahh!” His mind and mine battled as his body convulsed from the strain of two souls battling for supremacy. Eventually, he fell back into the grass, belt unbuckling due to some “accidental” hand motions from me.

Turns out, Colt was freeballing it that day. Worked out for me!

“It’s like you want me to take you over!” I said with a sneer as I used the struggling hand to unbutton his flannel shirt and expose his hairy cock for the world to see. “This was meant to be, Colt!”

“F-Fuck--AAAHHH--FUCK YOU!” Colt cried out as we continued to struggle. However, I knew that with his exposed chest and dick, this conflict would soon draw to a close. “H-Hey, the hell’re y’doing?” Colt asked, fear in his voice as I forced his hands to grab his dick and cup his balls. “St-Stop, no!”

Too late, Colt! I stroke him hard, eagerly making him moan like a whore as his resistance waned. The two of us yelled, “NOOO! Oh FUCK! Oh, that’s good!” in sync as our souls aligned, just as I wanted. “I-I’m gonna, I’m gonna--!” we said, biting our lower lip as the pleasurable pressure began to build in his core. The eroticism of another man filling him up from the inside and using his own body to abuse himself was far too much, and Colt came under my control as he blasted rope after rope of sticky cowboy cum on the grass. “FUUUUUCK!” I shouted, thrusting my hips into the air with each shot.

“Goddamn, Colt,” I said, enjoying my new hairy chest and southern twang as I laid peacefully on the grass. Already, my new cowboy cock was leaking pre while I ran my hands up my chest and through this impressive beard of his. “Always had a thing for ‘em cowboys. Watched plenty o’ Westerns with my hand on my cock, but yer the real deal.” I purred, erotic shivers tingling down my spine as I spoke with that stolen accent. I thrusted into the air again, moaning as my dick felt ready to bust once more. “But, let’s get cleaned up,” I said to myself, slapping my new ass. “And later on, we can really start riding ‘em like real cowfolk. Hehehe...”

are you still taking requests?

Yes, I am!

A little low on inspiration. Send in and submit some requests, I’m interested in hearing what y’all want

My Reflection in Your Eyes

On a typical Sunday evening, David sat by the unlit fireplace and skimmed through another novel he had bought on a whim. After several pages of an uninteresting romance between a dull man and a heroine with more fingers than brain cells, his mind began to wander back to his husband, Jack. For whatever reason, the man was in a foul mood after a visit from his nephew which eventually resulted in a shouting match the night before. Before the yelling could get too out of hand, David left the house to rest his pounding head. When David asked about it right before bed, Jack just huffed and avoided the question with low grunts. The following morning, Jack just sulked in bed and refused the lazy sex on a Sunday morning that David offered.

“So grumpy,” muttered David as he set his book aside. Due to the summertime, the sun was beginning to set close to around six. “It’s not April that’s the cruelest month, it’s June,” he mused, writing down such thoughts in his little pocket notebook. The retired life wasn’t nearly as glamorous as he hoped. The days grew long yet ended in a blink. His body reeked of sweat yet lacked the satisfaction of accomplishment. The most joy came from the climax that came from the sex Jack didn’t seem to want anymore.

Finally surrendering to the never-ending heat, David thrust his shirt off and tossed it to the floor, not bothering to put it in the laundry hamper in their room. He didn’t want to see Jack just yet. For the time, he wanted to cling onto his pride as a man; even if it was just for a minute longer.

However, all that went by the wayside as a low and muffled moan came from their room. At first, David stared at the door, puzzled. Was Jack masturbating? David was certain that Jack had kicked the habit months ago. With a furrowed brow and mounting irritation, David began to suspect that it wasn’t pleasure that Jack was sick off, but of David himself. Another long moan caused David to tense up. Did he climax? In their 20 years of marriage, David had never been able to coax such a pronounced reaction from Jack.

“I’m coming in!” Even when he wanted to just burst into the room and possibly call out his partner, David still felt necessary to announce himself out of respect Jack’s privacy. What he found was his husband breathing deeply and covered in a coat of sweat, skin gleaming in the fading sunlight. His hairy chest was covered with fresh cum. "Well, good to see someone's in the mood," joked David, glancing around at the room. No signs of anyone else. No discarded clothes nor any hiding places “Were you hoping to rev me up?” said David, almost cringing at the hint of desperation that slipped out without intent.

The only response David received was an unfocused stare from Jack, as though he was in a trance. “Jack? You okay?” said David, some of his anger forgotten.

Jack blinked and shook his head, eyes finally turning to David with an amused glint. "Sorry, guess I was a little excited," he said with a sheepish grin, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck and completely ignoring the drying cum on his chest. Swinging his legs over the bed, he strutted over to David, emphasizing the still hard cock as it bobbed up and down. “So how’s my favorite man in the whole world doing?” he said, brushing his chest as if trying to clean up his mess.

David cocked an eyebrow. “Jack, are you sure you’re okay? You seemed like—” his words were cut off as Jack leaned in for an uninvited kiss. Not quite done, Jack began to rub his chest and slowly massage and knead the flesh. David moaned into Jack’s mouth as the latter took dominance and work wonders with his tongue; far more than ever before. At a painfully slow pace, Jack's hands worked David's body and made their way down until they arrived as David's hardening cock. Once their kiss broke, a thin stream of saliva still connecting them, David was far too caught up in a wave of lust to continue worrying.

“I-I thought you weren’t in the mood,” was all David was able to stutter out as Jack led him over to the bed.

“Guess I had a change of heart.” For whatever reason, Jack laughed as he tossed the stained sheets to the side. The two threw themselves onto the bed and a night of pleasure and screaming ecstasy ensued.

Past midnight, Jack climbed from his bed and stretched. He scratched his pits and explored his coarse yet still pleasurable new body. "Not bad, old man," he said, wriggling his toes and laughing at how smooth everything was. Glancing over, he chuckled as he spotted the passed-out David after several hours of making him a cock sleeve. “Nighty-night, Davy.”

A few minutes later, a knock interrupted his “Jack’s” self-exploration. Grinning ecstatically, he opened the window and assisted a younger man to slip into the room. “How’s he feel, Jordan?” asked the young man.

“Oh, much better than I thought, Terry,” said Jordan, enjoying just how sensitive his father’s skin was. “My old man’s such a nice trip. This weight feels nice,” he said, lightly slapping his stomach, enjoying the muscle hidden by the layer of fat that came with age. “Jack’s over there. Go ahead and jump into him. Got him cumming so hard he won’t be able to put up much of a fight.”

Terry, the amateur bodysnatcher, nodded. He wandered over to the bed while stripping his clothes ad muttering the incantation under his breath. “Let’s dance, old man,” he said, getting a running start before cannonballing onto David. The older man woke up with a shocked start.

“UWOHH, oh my GOD!” shouted David. When his eyes opened, he saw a young man’s upper half sink into his torso as if his flesh was nothing but water. “Wh-Whaaaa…!” said David, convulsing and trembling as another man rearranged himself in his body. His back curled into a perfect C as his hips thrust into the air before collapsing onto the bed over and over again. “H-Heeeelp… Jack…” David turned his head, nearly vomiting as he felt another human being rearranging himself in his own body. However, all David saw was his husband grinning maniacally and rubbing his own cock as he was taken over.

Jordan sighed and sat down by his father’s desk as Terry did his job. He felt accomplished. It wasn’t as difficult as he initially believed, but the sense of success mixed with the eroticism of using his father for his own perversion drove him mad with joy. Just yesterday, Jordan arrived at his father's home with grievances. "Why was my cut of the inheritance so massively shrunk?" he came, voice already dripping with venom as Jack had expected.

Sighing, Jack rubbed his temples and said, "Your sister's still not over her illness. With the fear of rising hospital bills—"

“Bullshit,” said Jordan, voice rising. “She’s always been your favorite. Always gotten the most love. And now she’s getting the most money.”

“I don’t favor either of you,” Jack tried to argue. “Have you ever read The Prodigal Son? It’s similar to—”

“I’m so sick of your half-assed non-answers!” Jordan cut in again. The two continued to argue back and forth for several emotionally charged minutes until the two were hoarse and exhausted. Sweat lingered on each of their brows as their chests rose and fell. They never stopped glaring at each other.

Eventually, Jack said, "Get out. I’m sick of your damn attitude,” he said, turning away from his son. “You’re out of the damn will until you fix your sick viewpoint.” Jordan scoffed and turned towards the door. Neither of them looked at each other, burying any regret with their rigid pride. To see the other’s eyes would risk catching their own reflections.

Jordan, however, decided to sink into that reflection. Using lock-picking skills he picked up during some early days of truancy, he broke into his father's home. David was an early riser while Jack sulked in his bed, eventually falling asleep. Once Jordan saw David leaving the house, he sneaked towards his father’s room and stood over the sleeping man. He climbed onto the bed and wrapped his sleeping father’s arm around his shoulders and cuddled with him for a few precious seconds. Magic, theft, and crime were forgotten as he indulged in that brief return to a peaceful childhood.

“I’ll always love you,” he whispered before slithering into his father’s body through his side and armpit. The man awoke with a start, thighs trembling and toes curling as he struggled through the process. Jordan sunk deep into his father and his own delusion with a crazed glee.

“I’m done, babe,” said Terry, snapping Jordan out of his thoughts. David’s body seemed to glimmer in the moonlight, chest waving as Terry posed erotically to stir up Jordan. “We look real good, Jor—Jack. But, I’m not quite satisfied just yet.” Licking his lips, Terry fell back onto the bed, legs spread open and hole in full view. “C’mon, let’s get busy.”

Jordan grinned and walked over to his partner. He passed by a mirror, catching a glimpse of himself—his real self—for just a moment. “What’s wrong?” asked Terry, but Jordan shook his head and dove into his fantasy, content in fogging up his reflection with his father’s stolen pleasure.

Hans Off the Computer!

The human mind, when boiled down to its most fundamental building blocks, was simply a system of ON and OFF switches. In that sense, it is functionally identical to that of a computer’s mainframe. When putting both of those thoughts together, the idea that the human brain can be completely digitized and transferred through networks isn’t too far-fetched an idea.

At the very least, that was the thought of Hans Hopper, a freelance software engineer. Currently, he was working at a computer repair shop to get some extra money and to kill time between projects—including his own.

“It could be possible,” he voiced his dreams to his boss, Carl, as they took a look at some guy’s gaming PC. The components were state of the art, some not even out in the market yet. Just the graphic card and motherboard made Hans drool at the sight. Streamers get all the luck, he thought. The owner, some small-name star with a big ego, took poor care of his machine, leading to landing on Carl's shop.

“Y’know, Hopper,” Carl began as he cleaned some dust off of the PC’s parts, “I think if you put that head of yours outta the clouds and into reality with the rest o’ us, you’d really take off. Least you wouldn’t be stuck in this freelancing business and get a real job like some o’ your peers.”

“And be like those corporate suck-ups?” Hans snorted. “As if. I’m not gonna be another cog in the machine. Now being in a machine." He grinned, already fantasizing about the things he'd do if he could ditch his flawed, physical form for a future full of infinite potential inside of a network. "That's what I'm after."

“Least those corporate suck-ups can afford their own places,” Carl sighed. “You’re still living with roommates at, what, 30?”

“...27, actually.”

Grinning, Carl said, “And there’s my point. At your age, Hans, I--” he paused as his phone began to ring with an irritatingly catchy tune. “Aw, shit. Lost track of time.” Before Carl ducked to the back of the store and towards the hall that led to his home, he glanced back and said, “Can you wrap up here and close the store, Hans?”

“You got it, boss," Hans said, waving him off. "Take care." Carl left without an answer, and Hans found himself alone with a PC he could only dream of. "Well well," he said, digging into his pocket and pulling out a flash drive. "Looks like it's just you and me from now on. Let's see if what's under the hood's enough to get my program running."

While Carl had a point that Hans' dream was beyond the capacity of current human technology, the world of sci-fi and fantasy lacked such rules. "Just like that ol' title," he muttered to himself as he inserted the flash drive into a USB drive. "A machine can't act like a human mind, but it can calculate runes with no trouble. Sometimes when we can’t use tech to get somewhere, we gotta use shortcuts.”

This PC was his best chance to experiment on his little program to see if it worked. After checking to make sure the drives were all up to date and the whole thing was running smoothly, Hans executed his program. A few keystrokes later, a magic circle formed on the screen. “Let’s gooo—WOAH!”

Although Hans should have figured that the ritual wouldn’t be painless, having his physical form ripped apart and turned into data was nothing short of excruciating. Reforming himself later wouldn’t be any less unpleasant, but he could never turn down the chance to become data and revolutionize the field of… magic? Science? Magitek?

He witnessed his fingers slowly fade as if turning into dust and flow like a stream of water into the screen. As the entirety of his arms completely disappeared, sprites that resembled arms appeared on the screen. "L-Least it works?" Hans nervously said as more and more of his body faded away.

Eventually, Hans' ability to feel, taste, hear, and see waned as his body fully waxed into the computer. The sensation… was nothing. There were no nerves or sensors to feel with, but he could understand the data that his mind had access to. Overwhelming, yet the sensation felt like precious wine on his lips.

The network… Though small, Hans was amazed at how he could travel through the network of the shop—including Carl’s personal PC.

“No, no,” Hans realized he could hear. He saw Carl through the uncovered camera and heard him through a microphone that remained plugged in. For a tech-savvy guy, Carl was real lenient in terms of privacy. "C'mon, Elise, be reasonable here. We got a meeting with the divorce lawyer tomorrow. Can’t you have your little wine party another day?” Carl rolled his eyes as he pocketed his phone. “Fuckin’ bitch. Can’t give me a break.”

And now, as Carl sat down to work on his computer, Hans realized he could attempt the other upside of the ritual. With his mind now data, he could reach out and override the "data" that was another's consciousness.

“What the hell am I supposed to—MMGPHF!”

It wasn’t the most graceful exit, but Hans couldn’t deny the results. Black tendrils—an unnatural amalgamation of data and flesh flew from the screen and landed on Carl’s face, causing him to fly back a few inches. His body twitched and convulsed, back forming a C,  as Hans’ essence flowed into each of Carl’s orifices. Carl’s feet kicked at the ground, fingers gripping his chair’s armrests, as Hans’ essence attacked and invaded his brain.

“A-Ah, ahhh.” Carl helplessly moaned as Hans override any freedom and control over his body. After a few painful seconds with his back arched and his toes curling as the sensation of being overtaken overwhelmed him, Hans awoke in his boss’ body.

“Well, well,” said Hans, feeling his new arms. “Not exactly my first choice for a body, but not a bad test drive.” He stretched in the comfortable office chair, a gift from another customer. “Man, Carl, for an old guy you don’t feel half-bad.” Now realizing that he was alone, a mischievous thought crossed Hans’ mind. “Well, got some time to keep doing some more research on my little program. Maybe I can find a way to hack into other networks." Grinning to himself, he stood up and slowly stripped out of Carl's clothes. First, the shirt came off as the nipples hardened in the cool air, then the shoes were chucked to the side to allow his feet to breathe. The pants came off next, and finally, the underwear flew across the room as Hans embraced his newfound potential—and his borrowed pole.

“Who knew old farts like you still had crazy stamina like this!” Hans cried out, furiously and desperately thrusting into his grip as he jacked off his boss’ body. “F-Fuck! Fuuuuuck!” Hans let out a roar as he came all over his boss’ keyboard. “W-Woah. Gonna have to clean that up later. Dunno where he keeps his tissues, but...” Hans paused and grinned once more. This wasn’t his body, so what the hell? He bent down and began to lick the keys clean, making sure to savor his boss’ taste with each slurp.

The next day, he sat in his boss' room, giving another client's laptop a check-up. It was a Sunday and so the shop was closed, but Hans' mind was far too wired to relax by simply lying around the place. No, tinkering around and keeping his hands busy was how he would wind down.

Although, Hans remained without any clothes. The feeling of the chair against his naked skin was intoxicating. Never in his life had Hans worked in the nude, but he might have to start doing it more often as he tried on new skins. For now, though, might as well enjoy Carl’s life for a few more hours before trying on someone new.

Hans’ roommates were certainly appealing prospects.

Wrestling With Some Feelings

Wrestling with some Feelings

“Wh-What are you doing…?" Ahmed moaned as a trail of slime slid into his singlet. Just the very touch caused his body to react with an eruption of pleasurable waves. He collapsed onto the locker room floor, slowly humping the floor to get any sort of friction on his hardening dick. "Haa… aahhhh...haaa…! This isn't… right." Ahmed bit down on his lip before letting down another desperate moan. So caught up in this invasive bliss that he didn't even care when the slimy creature squeezed itself into his leaking cock. Instead, he welcomed it. Thoughts of championships and the thrill of victory soon vanished beneath a blanket of ecstasy. "Ah! Ahhh! H-Holy fuck, I'm—!"

Ahmed wasn't able to finish as his body yielded to the enigmatic invader. His vision swam and he felt dizzy until he collapsed on a puddle of his precum. Ahmed's body convulsed on the ground, unable to even call for help, until he suddenly became rigid, back arched as if mid-orgasm. Then, he relaxed. Slowly, he rose from the ground and took a peek inside his wrestling singlet. "Damn kid, you got a sweet-ass body," he said, stretching his body and letting out a satisfying grunt as something popped. His more reserved personality and mannerisms were completely gone, as though it was someone else entirely. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna stay here forever. Just long enough to throw that match with Clay tonight. Can’t let my son lose that scholarship. You understand, right?” Adjusting his singlet again, the man in possession of Ahmed, Jerry, let out a sensual groan. “Ohhh, and maybe take advantage of this little body for a while. Not every day an old fart like me can be a young and sexy college stud for a few hours."

There was still time until the match, and considering how it would just be throwing the match to Clay, it wouldn’t take much effort. For now, Jerry could relax and enjoy what Ahmed's body had to offer. Grinning, he squeezed Ahmed's meat through the fabric and threw his head back in a low moan. "You're so lucky, being so sensitive. C'mon, let's get real acquainted."

Clay’s father had to struggle to keep his erection down as Clay seriously manhandled him the whole match. Each of Ahmed’s nerves seemed to be turbo-charged and Clay’s rough hands only seemed to aggravate that. With every slam and struggle—every time flesh met flesh with a flash of friction, Clay’s father found himself growing flushed. Didn’t even have to try that hard to throw, his over-horned body did the job for him.

Was it the spell or perhaps something more? Either way, soon Jerry found himself pinned to the mat with his son sneering down at him. The ref called the final point, and that was it. Jerry walked back to the locker rooms, ignoring the calls from his coach and friends. He couldn’t risk anyone catching on to his lack of disappointment.

To make sure the locker room would be empty, Jerry took an extremely long shower—checking his goods one last time before he would have to leave and return home to congratulate his son. Towel around his waist, he made his way over to the locker only to meet a meaty arm blocking his way. 

"Gotta say, kinda disappointed in your performance today, Ahmed," Clay said with a glare.

“Oh, Clay! Uh, wh-what can I say? Performance anxiety,” Jerry said, shrugging.

Clay tilted his head in confusion. “The hell’s happened to you? All jumpy and squirrely.” He took a step forward, cornering his father against the lockers. “You sick or something? Honestly looking real weird.”

Swallowing, Clay’s father said, “Um, I suppose you just have the magic touch,” he said, mind racing to come up with a lie that would be somewhat believable. “Body got all hot and cold with you manhandling me like that.” Jerry prayed that his face and ears weren’t turning as red as he thought they were.

Clay nodded to himself while squinting as if deciphering a difficult piece of text. "That so…?” Hoping that was enough, Jerry began to walk away. However, Clay slammed both of his arms against the lockers, pinning his father completely. “All you had to do was ask,” Clay whispered, his incredulous look turning into one of passion. Without a word, he leaned and kissed Jerry on his borrowed lips. Too shocked to even fight, Jerry leaned back and shut his eyes. What did this rush of passion mean? It was as if a dam had suddenly burst open.

Caught in this stream of passion, Jerry met Clay's kiss with equal aggression. It was as if he was possessed by whatever sentiments Ahmed had locked away deep inside of his subconscious. Either way, Jerry couldn’t even bother trying to resist the youthful hormones that danced in every inch of his hunky, borrowed body.

“Damn, you taste real fine,” said Clay, leaning away to stare at the giddy, bubbly mess that was Jerry. “Your lips feel so nice. Bet they’d be even better wrapped around my dick,” he said, slapping his thigh as he said so. Jerry glanced down and saw his son’s fully erect cock straining against the confines of the singlet. Wordlessly, he nodded and got down on his knees. The taste was so salty, but he didn’t mind it at all. Hearing his son’s pleasured moans and the cock threatening to unhinge Ahmed’s jaw was enough to get Jerry’s own dick hard.

“Make me see white,” Jerry breathed as he drew back with a pop. He spread his legs, trying to show as much of his ass he could. “Fuck me hard, Clay. I don’t think I can live without that cock inside of me once.”

“Say no more.” With a grunt of effort, Clay lifted Jerry up and placed him down onto one of the benches. “Don’t worry, I’ll be nice and gentleman-y like.” Leaning up to steal another sensual kiss, Clay teased the rim of Ahmed’s hole with his cockhead. Jerry moaned and bit down on his lips. He took a few breaths, trying to relax, before just leaning back and staring up at the ceiling. "Hold on, relax," whispered Clay, using a finger to loosen him up. "Got some lube in my locker. Give me a sec."

“You have what?” Jerry exclaimed as Clay briefly walked off. “H-How often do you do this here.”

Once Clay returned, he just grinned and said, “Enough.”

Though Jerry wanted to continue asking his son, the finger that penetrated him had another idea. Jerry, nearly cross-eyed, immediately tightened as a reflex. He leaned back, moaning like a slut as Clay slipped in another finger. Then another. “F-Fuck, I-I’m fucking cumming!” Jerry shouted as his dick erupted with shot after shot of pent-up aggression.

“Damn, came from just fingering?” Clay grinned. “Hope you still got fuel in the tank, Ahmed. I still haven’t got a chance to shoot my shot.”

Breathing heavily, Jerry nodded as he spread his legs even further. Despite his climax abating, the sensual haze in his mind didn’t leave. Instead, he felt as though he could cum again and again that night. “I’m still not satisfied. Split me in half, Clay!” He moaned. Although the more logical part of Jerry's mind screamed and begged, he didn't give a shit. He just wanted this hunky hole filled and his son's cock was the one thing that could fix that.

Clay wasted no time. He spread Jerry as much as he cut and gave a slow, experimental thrust. When Jerry didn't scream, he slowly picked up the pace. "Mm, yeah. Nrgh, fuck yeah," he grunted with every thrust. There was no reason to go so quick that it would take away from the passion. As promised, he was gentle with strong, rhythmic thrusts. Jerry met each one with the same rhythm. Every nerve seemed to be on fire as Clay's cock filled him—as though Jerry was finally complete. With this body and this cock inside of him, he was reaching Nirvana.

After what seemed like a lifetime of pleasure, Jerry noticed Clay’s core tightening. His face was flushed and his body was covered in a sheen of sweat. “I’m—nggh—I’m gonna blow my load. Want me to cum inside?” Jerry quickly nodded. Clay grinned. “Good answer.” With renewed vigor, Clay continued plowing into Jerry as he babbled nonsense. “C’mon, Ahmed. Scream for me.” He said, slapping Ahmed’s quivering thighs.

“Oh my god,” said Jerry, covering his face to hide the tears. He was elated and embarrassed all at once. His own offspring was smashing him and all he could do was moan and allow it to happen. It had been years since he had sex this good, and he knew that Ahmed felt the same. No, for Ahmed it was even more intense. Somehow, Jerry understood that Ahmed had never had sex before. Now, at that moment, Jerry was losing his virginity for Ahmed. With that in mind, Jerry could feel his climax swiftly approaching.

“I'm gonna nut! I'm gonna—MMM!" Jerry stopped as Clay suddenly embraced him with a long, intense kiss. Unable to handle the heat and the passion any longer, Jerry climaxed. Both of their bodies became drenched in semen, but neither of them cared. All they wished was to taste as much of themselves in that kiss.

Sorry, Ahmed, thought Jerry, lemme just stay in this body for a little while longer. I’ll leave tomorrow in the morning. Promise.