Mariposa Honeymoon - Chapter 13

By Cris Kane -
published November 20, 2018

Derek and Charles explore their latest incarnations, and plans are made for their last night in Cancun.


“Oh! Oh! Oh!”

Charles, in the form of Blu, yelped repeatedly as he crouched on the bed on his elbows and knees. Derek, embodied as Mike the Spike, was hunched over behind him, ramming the porn star’s trademark appendage forcefully between Blu’s bulbous ass cheeks.

The couple had commenced their foreplay with the premise that they were shooting a Mike the Spike sex scene, with Blu as the defiant prime suspect being subjected to the third degree, but the immediacy of their passion soon drove all notions of roleplay from their heads. They were simply two guys fucking.

As Derek rocked back and forth, only half of his fully-erect shaft could even fit into Blu’s hole. That was more than enough to satisfy Blu, who had never experienced anything as wonderful as the thick and throbbing organ sliding inside him, satisfying a desperate need that had been building all day. Droplets of warm sweat rolled off Derek’s head and body, drizzling steadily onto Blu’s back. Derek steadied himself with one hand mashed into the mattress, while his other hand reached around to grip Blu’s small but rigid cock, stroking it in rhythm with his movements. Blu’s armload of bracelets clicked and clacked with each thrust of Derek’s pelvis.

“Oh! Ohh! Ohhh!”, Blue reiterated, growing increasingly emphatic.

“Lemme hear it, boy,” Derek barked in Mike’s commanding baritone. “Lemme hear the word!”

“Ohhhh! Ohhhhh!! OHHHHHH-KLAHOMA!!!” He belted out the last word Broadway-style, his voice no better as Blu than it had been as Chuck or Charles.

There it was, the proof Derek needed that his husband was still inside there somewhere. He had drilled deep enough to strike a vein of Charles.

Cum spurted erratically from Blu’s stubby dick, splattering the bedspread and dribbling over Derek’s clenched hand. Derek could sense that his own titanic cock, which had astonishingly remained hard for close to an hour, was finally ready to blast its load. He slowed his body and allowed his dick’s own spasms to carry him to completion. Like a separate entity, the Spike expanded and contracted inside of Blu, churning out bursts of hot cum that flowed deep inside the boi. Blu’s elbows buckled and his knees weakened, dropping his slender body onto the bed and releasing the Spike from the grip of his tight ass. Freed, Derek’s cock sprung up like a diving board, launching ropes of pumping jizz streaming into the air before splattering in long lines on Blu’s back and in his disheveled blue hair.

Derek completed his dismount, rolling off of Blu with such momentum that his enormous body continued tumbling over the edge of the bed and thudded onto the floor. Blue clutched his sides and laughed hysterically. “That’s going in the blooper reel,” he announced, returning to the conceit with which they had started.

One gargantuan hand rose over the lip of the bed and clutched a fistful of bedspread as Derek attempted to regain his balance and some of his dignity. “Shit, I forgot to do my big line! At the end of every movie, Mike the Spike yells ‘You’re fucked!’ when he cums.”

“It’s okay, big guy,” Blu reassured him. “You’ll get it on the next take. Okay, places everyone! Let’s take it from the top,” he shouted to an imaginary crew.

Derek’s energy was too spent to consider an immediate encore. “I’ll be in my trailer,” he said, letting go of the covers and falling to the floor like a sack of cement.

Blu scampered to the side of the bed and looked down at his lover, whose limp dick snaked across his torso. Even deflated, the Snake stretched nearly to his left nipple. “Wimp,” Blu said, flopping back on the bed restlessly, already in the mood to go again. He toyed with his nub of a cock, smearing some of the residual cum across his fingers. Curious, he sampled the goo with the tip of his tongue. The anticipated blueberry flavor was less prominent than before, now infused with a hint of coconut which he assumed was from the blue beverage he had been consuming on the beach. He could swear his cum even had a tinge of blue coloring, and he noticed that his skin now bore a dusting of bluish freckles. He hoped he wasn’t on his way to a completely blue complexion. He didn’t want to turn into some refugee from the Blue Man Group.

Hearing Derek’s heavy breathing transition into full-bore snoring, Blu climbed down from the bed and waltzed into the bathroom to clean himself. He switched on the light, excited to see if the anticipated post-orgasm refinements had been goosed further by the youth-restoring Mariposa he had sampled in Pierce’s room. Leaning toward the mirror to examine his unlined face, his eyes seemed wider and brighter, his nose more petite and his lips plumper. He certainly appeared younger, although by how many years, he couldn’t guess. Maybe he’d have to ask Todd for another blunt assessment. While still skinny, he seemed a bit more muscular and might even have sprouted an inch or two. His carefully-gelled coif had lengthened and rearranged itself, sticking out in every conceivable direction, with one long shock hanging alluringly over his left eye. He tried to sweep it back over his ear, but it kept falling forward. He left it, telling himself it gave him an air of mystery. Checking over his shoulder, he discovered that his lower-back tattoo had branched out, with tendrils that now stretched upward along his spinal column and wound into elaborate spirals across the surface of his ass cheeks.

Beyond these outward modifications, he sensed a more substantial evolution internally. Although he had become more and more comfortable with Mariposa’s impact with each round of changes, there had always been a conscious level on which he knew they were temporary. This felt distinctly different. He no longer had the perception that a stranger was staring back from the mirror. Now, this new identity seemed fully integrated into his sense of self, as if this was the way he’d always been…or at least the way he was always meant to be. His blue hair no longer seemed like a passing affectation, but an important part of what defined him as a unique individual. He didn’t just look younger or feel younger. He sensed that he WAS younger. He wondered how much of this de-aging was simply due to feeling stress-free, unburdened by the anxieties which had always weighed so heavily on Charles. He no longer felt defined by his fears or limited by the expectations of others.

If you had asked him in that moment what his name was, he wouldn’t have said “Charles.” Nor would he have had to scroll through his mental menu of options to choose the alias that seemed to fit his current appearance best.

He would have immediately and emphatically answered “Blu.”

Pierce lied.

When he told Derek he didn’t have any marijuana in his possession, he actually had several joints in the pocket of his jeans which he was not prepared to relinquish. He was now sharing this stash with his new best buds from Iowa, who readily accepted his offer. If Pierce had learned one truism during his time on earth, it was that the easiest way to make friends is to share really good pot with them.

Pierce lied again when he told the Iowans his name.

Pierce knew that getting these dudes to bond with a short gay Native American might be a heavy lift. He didn’t want to risk alienating them further with the prissy handle his “Remington Steele”-loving mother had bestowed upon her baby boy. Instead, he told them his name was Nick, a good drinkin’-and-tokin’-buddy name if ever there was one. Coming up with appropriate monikers and detailed faux-biographies for his alter egos was one of the things enjoyed most about undergoing Mariposa transformations, even when the changes were relatively mild such as with today’s de-aging. Inventing elaborate backstories for his assumed identities had become Pierce’s primary creative outlet, a high-wire cross between writing a novel and doing improv that helped keep his mind focused while under the influence.

As it turned out, he needn’t have worried about being accepted by the guys. He had them at “free pot”.

“So, Nicky,” Kev asked as he sucked in some smoke and passed the reefer to Bart, “where do you go to school?”

“I’m majoring in philosophy at Enlightened State.” Not so much a lie as a joke, but it sailed over Kev and Bart’s heads.

“Never heard of it,” Bart said, taking a puff before handing the joint to O. “They got a good football team?”

“Transcendent.” Pierce nodded serenely.

O started to laugh in the middle of his puff, resulting in a coughing jag that lasted a full twenty seconds. While Bart and Kev mocked him as a lightweight, Todd retrieved a water bottle from the cooler and placed it in O’s hand. When the cough/laugh subsided, O took a long slow sip of water to calm himself, then grinned at Todd and said, “Thanks, buddy.” He offered the joint to Todd, who waved it off.

“You sure?”, Pierce asked, not wanting the little blond to feel left out of the fun.

“I’m fine,” Todd said with an eager nod. He held up what was mercifully the last bottle of Calypso Colada. “I’ll just stick with this.”

“Your funeral,” Pierce said, taking the joint off Todd’s hands and enjoying a deep drag.

Feeling antsy, Todd grabbed the Frisbee from where it had been wedged in the sand. “Anybody wanna fling this around with me?”

“Sure, Toddler,” Kev said, swatting Bart on the shoulder. “C’mon, bro, it’s your last day to get some sun before we head back to cold, dark, miserable Iowa.” Not wanting to return home unexplainably pale from his tropical vacation, Bart grumbled as he pushed himself to his feet.

“How ’bout you guys?”, Todd asked O and “Nick” optimistically.

O looked at his skin and said with a grin, “I think I’m good on the tan front, buddy.”

Disappointed, Todd turned to Pierce. “How ’bout you, Nick?”

Pierce shook his head and held up the joint. “I gotta attend to the fire.”

“Yo, Toddler,” Bart shouted from across the sand. “We doin’ this or what?”

Todd pivoted and jogged over to form the third point of a triangular formation with Bart and Kev.

Pierce watched O as O watched Todd with a fondness that Pierce thought went beyond one friend merely keeping an attentive eye on another friend. “You really like Todd, don’t you?”, Pierce asked quietly.

“You bet,” O said in an offhand tone. “He’s like the little brother I never had, ya know? I put up with those two other jagoffs so I can be around him. I just wish they didn’t give him so much shit. I hate when they call him ‘Toddler’. So fuckin’ demeaning.” Kev and Bart were getting a kick out of intentionally throwing the Frisbee too high for Todd to reach or too far for him to run, but he made a determined effort to grab it each time. “See what those douches are doin’?”, O asked Pierce. “They’re throwing it on purpose where he doesn’t have a prayer of catching it, but he’s such a scrapper, he gives it his all.”

Pierce asked, “Why don’tcha tell them to knock it off? Seems like they’d listen to you.”

“I was gonna once, but Todd asked me not to. He doesn’t want them thinkin’ he needs someone else to fight his battles for him.”

Pierce could relate. He prided himself on never needing to rely on anyone else’s help to get what he wanted.

Kev made an errant toss which sent the flying disc sailing directly toward O, who deftly snatched it out of the sky with his left hand while holding the joint in his right. O made a perfect fling directly within Todd’s strike zone. The spunky blond caught it easily, then zipped it like a throwing star in Kev’s direction.

O turned back to Pierce and asked with intense curiosity. “So what’s the deal with you and Mike the Spike? I mean, like, how’d you get to know him?”

The lying lobe of Pierce’s brain reengaged. He leaned back casually on his elbows and began, “Well, it all started when I saw an ad on Craigslist for a fluffer…”

After a short nap on the bedroom floor, Derek awoke to find the Spike fully recharged and Blu eager to tend to its needs. Kneeling between Derek’s spread legs, Blu worked his way up from the base of the great ebony obelisk, kissing and licking and nibbling along the shaft to coax it to greater heights. Derek could tell this wasn’t going to be another tantric marathon, as he was already on the verge of spurting.

When he finally reached the peak, Blu’s mandibular joints ached as they stretched to accommodate the enormous mushroom head. He felt like a snake unhinging its jaw in order to swallow an even larger snake. Unprepared for the volume of liquid unleashed when the Spike began to erupt into his mouth, Blu tumbled backwards, allowing what seemed like a pint of hot cum to slide down his throat. The Spike continued gushing like an oil well for a solid minute before gradually deflating. Derek dropped back onto the floor as he underwent another series of subtle post-orgasmic adjustments, enlarging him slightly in every dimension, making his brow even heavier and his chin even more imposing, while remaining recognizably Mike the Spike. Leaning against the bedpost, Blu wiped the back of his hand across his cum-spackled lips and watched as the macho man gained even more machismo.

In the aftermath, Blu crept over and spooned against Derek, resting his head on the big dude’s chest. Derek brushed his hand through his partner’s lush blue mane with the affection of petting a beloved dog. Sex between Derek and Charles had never been this supercharged, nor had the intimacy been so tender.

“Easy to see how you could get hooked on this,” Derek observed. Blu moaned affirmatively. “So, what should we do to make sure we get the maximum out of our final day?”

“Wellll,” Blu cooed, “you could fuck me a few more times.”

These were not words that Derek had ever heard from his husband. “Wow, you are fuckin’ insatiable!”

“You know it, baby,” replied Blu. “After that, I think you should take me out for a nice expensive romantic expensive intimate expensive dinner.”

“Taco Bell it is! And then what?”

“The-e-en, we go to the club and party ’til they kick us out and have to drag us to the airport kicking and screaming!”

“I thought you hated clubs.”

“CHARLES hated clubs,” Blu said, making an important distinction as he referred to his former self in the past tense. “I think it’d be a blast to walk into the club with Mike the Spike on my arm. Can you imagine the looks we’d get?” Blu got hard just thinking of all the envious glares that would be aimed his way.

Derek was amused by the idea. Mike Cochran might be an obscure figure among the general populace, but among a throng of gay clubgoers, he’d be a sensation. “Hell, in that crowd, he’d probably be bigger than Tom Cruise.”

Blu clutched Derek’s balls. “Honey, I guarantee you’re bigger than Tom Cruise…at least in every way that matters.” Seized by sudden inspiration, Blu scrambled across the room and fished through his tote bag to retrieve his phone. He scrolled through his contacts and dialed, then held the phone to his ear.

“Who you callin’?”, Derek asked.

Blu raised his index finger into the air as he waited for someone to pick up.

Back on the beach, the boys from Iowa were trying to impress the nearby ladies with some sloppy and stoned two-on-two football. Pierce was lolling in the shade, unabashedly ogling every guy in sight but devoting particular attention to Todd. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and was surprised to discover Charles’ name on the caller ID. Even during the hectic lead-up to the wedding, he had rarely spoken to Charles on the phone. Communications between the couple and Pierce usually flowed through Derek. Pierce answered with a quizzical “Charles?”

“I told you, sweetie, it’s Blu now!”, Blu said emphatically. He mimed for Derek to toss him a joint and the lighter. Derek was jonesing for another high himself, so he lit up a doobie and filled his gigantic lungs before handing the cig to Blu. Derek figured he needed to inhale about five times as much smoke for his bulky body to achieve the same buzz that his waifish companion would get from a single puff.

“What do you want now, ‘Blu’?”, Pierce asked wearily.

“You don’t hafta sound so pissy,” Blu chided, setting the phone on the floor and activating the speaker so Derek could listen in. “I just wondered if you thought the club might like to have a celebrity guest tonight.”

Pierce instantly found himself on Blu’s wavelength. “We talking a very, very large celebrity guest?” He could hear Blu taking a long puff at the other end of the call.

“Biggest dick since Moby,” Blu gasped while holding the smoke in his lungs.

Pierce laughed. He wasn’t sure he had ever laughed at anything Charles had said. His mind was beginning to race at the thought of Mike the Spike paying a visit to the club. “I think that’s an awesome idea. They’d treat him like visiting royalty. He could pose for pictures, sign autographs…”

Derek tossed in a quibble. “I can’t sign autographs. I’m not the real Mike the Spike!”

“I’m telling you, there IS no real Mike the Spike!” Pierce countered. “If it makes you feel better, you can sign ‘Idris Elba’!”

Blu was on his knees, growing increasingly excited as he shouted toward the phone. “They could sell special drinks in his honor, like Spiked Lemonade or…”

“A Long Sloe Comfortable Screw,” offered Pierce. “Or a Piledriver.”

Derek chimed in. “How about ‘Giant Black Dick In A Glass’?” Blu shot him a dirty look for not approaching this discussion with the seriousness it deserved.

“Oh, hey, Spike,” Pierce said. “Didn’t know you were there. How’s it hangin’?”

“Long and low, my friend,” Derek answered. “Long. And. Low.”

Blu huffed impatiently, trying to keep the conversation on topic. “Anyway, I was also thinkin’ that maybe he could, like, I dunno, judge a karaoke contest or something?”

“Three words,” Pierce replied, amped up by Blu’s enthusiasm and happy to build upon it. “Wet. Speedo. Contest.” Blu’s high-pitched squeal through the phone was enough to give Pierce permanent hearing damage.

“Omigod, that’d be a-MAY-zing!” Giddy, Blu’s butt cheeks were bouncing up and down against his heels. “Can you call the club and make all the arrangements?”

“Happy to,” Pierce said, blindsided by this new side of Charles. “So does this mean you’re not mad at me any more?”

Blu clucked his tongue. “Why would I ever be mad at you, sweetie, after all you’ve done for me?” He was about to wind down the call when a new thought popped into his head. “Hey, can you give the phone to Iowa?”

“The whole state?”, Pierce asked.

“I mean Todd, silly,” Blu whined.

“Sure. Just a minute.” Pierce stood up and walked toward where the guys were tossing the pigskin, waving the phone at Todd. “Hey, kid, I got a phone call for ya.”

Todd pointed to his chest and mouthed “Me?” When Pierce nodded, Todd made a T with his hands and called out, “Substitution! Nick’s comin’ in for me.” Before Pierce could object, Todd had already run over and snatched the phone from his hand. Pierce jogged onto the sand, wincing apologetically in advance for what was certain to be an embarrassing performance. His knowledge of football consisted of admiring how the uniforms displayed the players’ asses to such spectacular effect and signing an online petition for the Washington Redskins to change their name to the D.C. Honkies.

Todd was surprised to see the name “Charles” on the caller ID. “Hello?”

Caught in mid-puff, Blu coughed and replied with a raspy voice. “Todd?”

Although there was something odd about the strangulated voice, Todd instantly recognized it as Charlie from the day before. “Red? Is that you?” Todd turned his back to the football scrimmage to keep the other guys from seeing how flustered he had become or how noticeably his sweats were suddenly tenting.

Blu could hear the excitement in the young Iowan’s voice. His scratchy throat had inadvertently made him sound more like he had yesterday, which he realized would serve his current purposes better than Blu’s fluttery voice. He cleared his throat and attempted to proceed at that lower pitch, consciously trying to recreate the casual tone and jockboy vocabulary which had come so naturally to him as Red. “Yeah, man,” Blu said, totally bro-ing it up. “Toldja I wouldn’t forgetcha. How ya doin’?”

“Oh, ya know, just hangin’ with the guys,” Todd said, unsuccessfully masking the nervousness in his voice. “Hey, I met your brother earlier.”

“Yeah, so I hear. Pretty fuckin’ cool, isn’t he?”, Blu asked, eager for a compliment.

“Sure, I guess,” Todd said politely before confessing softly, “Not as cool as you, though.” It was as close as he had ever brought himself to telling a guy, “I love you.”

Blu choked up as he heard the obvious ache in Todd’s voice, then noticed the suspicious look in Derek’s eyes. Blu shrugged and whispered dismissively, “Kid had a little crush on me,” illustrating the size of said crush by holding his thumb and forefinger a centimeter apart.

Todd’s voice came through the speaker. “What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Blu said, flustered, forgetting for the moment to butchify his voice. He took another toke for reinforcement. “Anyhow, I just wanted to say I hope you can find your way back to the club tonight. It’s gonna be a total blast.”

“I dunno,” Todd said, skittish about another visit to the gay club. “The guys are countin’ on me to drive ’em…”

Blu grew furious, feeling his voice rising in anger with each sentence. “Don’t use them as an excuse! Let one of their lazy asses be the designated driver for once! You’re not their mom. Stand up for yourself, goddammit! This is your vacation too. You owe it to yourself to have at least one night to do what YOU want!”

Todd was still wishy-washy. “I know, I know, but…how would I even get away from ‘em? I mean, wouldn’t they wonder where I was goin’?”

“Tell ’em…I dunno…tell ’em you’re sick. Say you drank too much and you think you’re gonna barf and you’re just gonna stay in for the night. Then we’ll swing by the hotel and pick you up!”

That perked up Todd’s interest. “You’ll pick me up? So YOU’RE goin’ to the club?”

“Yeah. Sure. Of course.” Out of the corner of his eye, Blu could see Derek looking skeptical. Blu waved off Derek’s downer attitude as a distraction. “What time should we come get you?”

The prospect of seeing Red again was enough of a lure to overcome Todd’s resistance. He whispered into the phone, “How ’bout I call you once the guys have gone out, to let you know the coast is clear?”

“I guess that’ll work,” Blu said.

“Great! So I guess that means you GOTTA give me your number now!” Todd grinned victoriously, pulling out his own phone and opening his “contacts” folder.

Blu had outwitted himself. He gave Todd his number, no longer concerned with the propriety of swapping numbers with a kid ten years his junior. As far as Blu was concerned, they were now contemporaries.

“Okay,” Todd said excitedly. “I gotta get back to the game. I’ll hand you back to Nick.”

Blu and Derek looked confused. Derek mouthed, “Who’s Nick?” Blu shrugged.

Todd walked back toward the guys just as Bart tossed the football in Pierce’s direction. The ball miraculously landed in Pierce’s hands and remained there. Pierce was so stunned, he stood in place and stared at the ball, unaware until it was too late that O and Kev were barreling toward him at full speed. They flattened Pierce, their bodies falling on top of his. As they stood up, Pierce lay in the sand, dazed but exhilarated from being buried in the dogpile. O and Kev each took an arm and pulled Pierce to his feet. O gave him an encouraging slap on the butt and complimented “Nick” on his hustle.

“I can take over for ya,” Todd offered, holding out the phone for Pierce.

“It’s okay, man, I’m good,” Pierce said, running exuberantly back toward Bart so they could plan their next play. “I think I’m gettin’ the hang of this.”

Todd raised the phone back to his ear. “Guess Nick’s busy. He’ll have to call you back later.” He whispered his sign-off: “See you tonight, Red!”

As the call disconnected, Derek stared at Blu. “Maybe it’s me, but that kid sure sounds pretty smitten with ‘Red’. You sure there’s nothin’ you need to tell me about you two?”

Blu found the combination of Mike the Spike’s body and Derek’s glare highly intimidating. “I swear, nothin’ happened,” Blu assured him, his voice still stuck in “Red” mode. “He’s such a sweet kid. I just want him to have one night in Cancun when he can be himself.”

“I wonder what that would be like,” Derek said, facing the prospect of visiting the club for the third time with a third assumed identity. “What’s the idea of turning my going to the club into a big production? You know I don’t like attention.”

Blu crawled toward Derek, his voice reverting to Blu’s playful squeak. “Don’t be such a party pooper, big guy. Mike the Spike showin’ up was gonna be a big hairy deal no matter what. Why not have a little fun with it? Just think about it. A room full of hot sweaty guys, and every one of them is thinkin’ about your cock!” He pounced aggressively onto Derek and nuzzled his neck.

As Derek surrendered to Blu’s assault, he asked, “Isn’t your little buddy from Iowa gonna be crushed when his crush doesn’t show up? I mean, unless Pierce manages to find you an extra bottle of ‘Red’ somewhere…”

Blu didn’t seem worried. “Red was just the carrot to lure Todd out of his shell. Once we get him to the club, we just hafta make sure he has such a fantastic time, he forgets all about stupid ol’ Red.”

Derek stared quizzically at his partner, finding it harder and harder to discern any hint of Charles behind Blu’s impish face. “I’ve never seen you show this much concern for a total stranger before.”

“Get used to it, honey,” Blu informed him, “I got a feeling I’m gonna be doin’ a LOT of things you’ve never seen before.”

And with that, the blue-haired former germophobe pushed the big man to the floor face down, buried his nose between Mike the Spike’s muscular buttocks, and delightedly circled the tip of his tongue around the circumference of Derek’s asshole.

Derek gasped and his eyes flew open with surprise. He didn’t expect this version of Charles to be around much longer, but he was damn sure gonna enjoy it while it lasted.

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