Mariposa Honeymoon - Chapters 17, 18 and 19
published December 15, 2018
The honeymoon ends with one last night…and the morning after.
As Pierce approached the Distinguished Older Gentleman at the end of the bar, he pointed appreciatively to the drink the D.O.G. had sent his way. It had more of a kick than what he usually drank, unless you counted Mariposa, which in terms of its impact made even grain alcohol seem like watered-down Kool-Aid.
“¡Hola, Chico! ¿Cómo estás?”, Pierce said as he approached. “I’ve noticed you all night, watching me from the shadows.”
The man laughed and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “You caught me.”
Pierce hadn’t expected Chico to divulge his true identity so quickly, but the kid was probably new to the subtleties of the Mariposa experience. When Pierce disappeared into a Mariposa persona, a big part of the pleasure was being unrecognizable, even to your closest friends. The past two days had been highly instructive, as Derek and Charles felt free to voice their unguarded opinions about Pierce in the presence of “Jesus” and “Beau”.
“So, what should I call you, ‘old man’?”, Pierce asked. He found that using fake names enhanced his immersion in the role-playing experience. He had been in this club so many times under an assumed identity that it felt disorienting to be here as himself, albeit a considerably younger version.
“You can call me Juan,” the man replied in smooth barely-accented English. “Don Juan.”
Pierce successfully swallowed a laugh. Yeah, he was definitely dealing with a Mariposa rookie. At the end of the night, he’d have to give the kid pointers in coming up with more plausible pseudonyms. He might as well have said he was “Bond, James Bond.” Still, he cut an impressive figure, nicely filling out a well-tailored suit which Pierce assumed the bellboy had pilfered from one of the hotel guests. His cultured, mature voice was raspy but strong, his skin leathery but largely unwrinkled, his eyes dimly visible behind gold-tinted shades. Pierce had to admit that “Juan” had a certain magnetism, which attributed to the presence of a fine young thang temporarily inhabiting this old man’s carcass.
“I heard that you were staying at my hotel,” Juan said, brushing a finger across his salt-and-pepper mustache. “I was hoping you might show up here tonight.”
“Good guess. This is my usual hang when I’m in Cancun.”
“It wasn’t a guess. I’ve been keeping my eye on you for a while. You probably don’t remember, but we met once before at my hotel, about a year ago.”
Pierce couldn’t specifically remember interacting with Chico on his previous trips, but the bellhop had definitely caught his eye as he scurried around the hotel. One of the reasons he always stayed at the same hotel on every visit was its fit, youthful and mostly male staff. On more than one occasion, he had called the front desk to request turndown service, then seduced the handsome employee dispatched to his room. His bed hadn’t been turned down yet.
Not wanting to let the kid down, Pierce said, “Of course I remember you. How could I forget your sweet little butt?”
“It’s seen better days,” Juan scoffed, motioning to Manolo for a refill.
Pierce stepped closer and cheekily squeezed Juan’s ass, finding it impressively firm and muscular. “Feels ripe to me.”
Juan rose slightly from his stool in response to the unexpected goosing. “You are a fresh one, aren’t you?”, he said, studying Pierce’s face. “I didn’t remember you being so young.”
Pierce smirked and declared, “Oh, I’m timeless, honey.” He polished off the rest of his drink and placed the glass on the bar. When Manolo asked if he wanted another, Pierce gave it a few moments’ thought, then nodded. He noticed Todd and O waving to him from the other end of the bar, having been joined by Blu and Derek. Pierce nodded to them, then shifted his focus back to Juan, intrigued and seeking to get better acquainted.
By the time Manolo worked his way back to the far end of the bar, the boys from Iowa had departed, and the blue-haired twink was insisting that Mike the Spike instruct him on how to post a selfie on Facebook. “Need anything to drink?”, the bartender inquired.
“Yes,” Blu replied, “I’d like one shot of tequila for myself and three for my enormous friend.”
Derek objected. “Three? Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Why, you really ARE a great detective!”, Blu snarked back. “Since you’re observing the obvious, have you noticed the disparity between our sizes? You’re gonna have to drink at least three times as much to keep up with me.”
It was true that Derek felt unscathed by the drinks he had already consumed, but he didn’t relish the idea of flying home tomorrow feeling the after-effects of a night of drunken carousing. Then he remembered what Pierce had said about the residual alcohol departing a Mariposafied body along with the rest of your temporary changes. It was like having a “Get out of a hangover free” card. He looked at Manolo, who was awaiting a decision, and raised four fingers. “Make it four.”
Blu cheered, “That’s the spirit!” His attention shifted back to the photo on Derek’s phone. Charles had always dreaded getting his picture taken and despised the way he looked in photos, always considering himself too pasty or pudgy or plain, yet Blu couldn’t get enough of his own image. He loved seeing his blue-haired tattooed alter-ego behaving with such abandon, flaunting his limber body so unashamedly. Thanks to Mariposa, he had thoroughly shed his inhibitions and become a one-man pride parade. “Okay, so how do we post this on your page?”
“It’s just gonna confuse my friends,” Derek insisted. “Nobody’s gonna know who any of these people are.”
“Oh, I guarantee some of them’ll recognize Mike the Spike,” Blu said with a sly grin. “That’s how you’ll find out who your REAL friends are!”
When the shots arrived, Blu insisted that Derek had to do all four of his shots before Blu would drink his one, giving as his rationale, “I don’t want you pussying out on me.” A crowd encircled them to watch the big man slam back one shot after another. Aside from the acrid taste and the unpleasant burn as the booze went down his throat, the shots had little noticeable effect on Derek. They were like four BBs striking the impenetrable hide of a bull elephant. Impressed, Blu tossed down his own shot and felt the repercussions ripple through his body almost instantly. Although he was still wearing only in a Speedo, his body felt warm all over.
For the next hour, one man after another approached Derek for an autograph or a picture or just the thrill of hearing Mike the Spike tell them “You’re fucked!” Many shared anecdotes of how much his work had meant to them, which Derek found mostly sweet but occasionally creepy as all get-out. Most also insisted on buying the porn star a shot, and after enough BBs to the gut, even a body the size of Mike the Spike’s felt the impact. Once Derek loosened up, he was even willing to scribble sloppy Sharpied signatures on bar napkins and t-shirts and various parts of his fans’ anatomy, figuring that if he just wrote his own real name illegibly enough, he wasn’t technically forging Mike’s autograph. He drew a firm line at signing penises, but did end up putting his mark on quite a few glutei maximi.
Blu attracted nearly as many admirers as Mike the Spike, both for his lively performances earlier in the night and for his show-stopping bubble butt. Requests for selfies with his ass slightly outnumbered those for shots that included his face, which might have made Blu insecure if he still possessed the capacity to experience that emotion. Instead, he delighted at being the focal point for a swarm of hot and horny dudes and obligingly shook his rump for their enjoyment.
Eventually, when he noticed that Derek appeared overwhelmed by attention and alcohol, Blu intervened, pushing the well-wishers away and informing them that Mike the Spike would love to stay, but that he had to get up early in the morning. “Don’t you mean he has to ‘get it up’ early in the morning?”, a familiar voice heckled.
Derek and Blue looked over to see Pierce squeezing his way through the pack. “You boys taking off now?”
“Yeah,” Blu replied. “I think we’re both too wasted, so you may need to drive.”
Pierce squinted and grimaced. “Sorry, but I’m off-duty. I’ll ask Manolo to call you a taxi.”
“Why can’t you…?”, Blu began to ask, until he noticed the D.O.G. just behind Pierce, settling his tab with Manolo. “Ohhhh,” Blu said with a smirk.
Pierce dug into his pocket and handed Blu a wad of bills. “You should probably plan on taking a cab to the airport in the morning too. My services may be unavailable.”
Through his drunken haze, it took Derek a few seconds to catch the drift. “Holy shit. You’re goin’ home with the old guy?”
Pierce motioned for Derek to keep his voice down, not wanting Juan to hear them. “You know me,” Pierce said, confidentially, “I’ll try anything once. Besides, looks aren’t everything.” His attempt to keep a straight face lasted to the final syllable of “everything”, when he burst into laughter and declared, “I’m kidding, of course. Looks ARE everything. So…,” he asked warily, “we good?”
Blu looked up at the stone face of Mike the Spike, which gradually lit up with a smile that was pure Derek. While Pierce’s actions may have been misguided, even reckless, he couldn’t believe that his old roommate had done anything deliberately malicious. “Yeah, we good.”
Pierce sighed with relief. He stretched his hand toward Blu and asked, “No hard feelings?”
Blu replied, “You crazy? I’ve been havin’ hard feelings all night!” He rejected Pierce’s hand and went in for a full-contact hug. He could feel a serious lump pressing against him at waist level and mumbled into Pierce’s ear, “Apparently you’re having hard feelings too, my friend.”
Pierce wasn’t sure which was more surprising: hearing Charles making erection jokes or hearing Charles call him “friend”. Either way, he was pleased. Even he had to concede that his experiment hadn’t been without its glitches, but the effect of Mariposa on the newlyweds seemed to be a net positive.
Pierce felt a warm body at his side and made the necessary introductions. “Guys, I’d like you to meet ‘Don Juan’.” As he said the name, Pierce made air-quotes and winked. “Juan, these are my friends. This is Blu.”
Juan elegantly shook Blu’s dainty hand. “I very much enjoyed your performance. You have a gift.”
Blu didn’t know whether to laugh or blush. He compromised with a loud stupefied snort.
Then Pierce gestured toward Derek. “And, this of course is…”
“No introduction needed.” Juan walked over and wrapped both of his hands warmly around Derek’s right hand. “One of my cherished holiday traditions is to sit back with a nice hot toddy and watch ‘Dick Hard’.”
“Thank you, sir,” Derek said graciously. “You know, not enough people give ‘Dick Hard’ credit for being a Christmas movie.”
“Hey, we had a nice hot Toddy here before, but he had to go home early,” Blu said with a tipsy giggle.
Pierce patted Blu on the shoulder and said, “Lemme call you that taxi back to the hotel.”
Juan said, “Oh, no. You’re making your friends take a taxi? I won’t hear of it. Come, we’ll give you a ride in my limo.” As Juan bustled toward the door, Derek mouthed the word “Limo?” to Pierce, who shrugged and followed the D.O.G. to the exit. Blu and Derek trailed behind, their departure slowed by stragglers who wanted one last photo with Mike the Spike and his perky little sidekick.
When the foursome got outside, a white stretch limousine was indeed waiting by the curb. “Is this the hotel’s?”, Pierce asked, impressed that Chico had the chutzpah to finagle the use of one of the hotel’s fleet of cars for the night.
“I suppose, technically,” Juan assured him as a white-uniformed driver opened the door to the passenger area. Juan gallantly gestured for the others to enter before him.
When they reached the hotel, the driver again got out and opened the door. Derek and Blu thanked Juan for the lift and climbed out. When Pierce made a move to follow them, he felt Juan’s hand on his arm. “I was hoping you would come back to my place,” Juan said bashfully.
Pierce hesitated. He was used to being the one in control, setting the agenda, making people do what he wanted, but he had to admit that he was curious to see where this night could lead. He looked through the open door and grinned, surprising himself. “I guess this is it, then. Have a safe trip home. Hope I didn’t ruin your honeymoon too much.”
The drunken newlyweds, leaning on each other in a mutual effort to prevent them from falling, gazed blearily but fondly at Pierce. “No, not TOO much,” Derek said. “We’ll definitely never forget it.”
Blu was more upbeat, pointing to Pierce and declaring, “You’re the best, man.”
Pierce had to laugh at the unlikeliness of that assessment coming from Charles. “And you’re drunk, man.”
“Also true,” Blu said, touching a finger to the tip of his nose.
Pierce sensed the driver growing impatient with holding the door. He waved both hands at Derek and Blu and gave them a parting “Ta-ta!”, then settled back into the leather seat beside Juan. Derek and Blu stood at the curb and watched as the limo drove away.
As they entered their suite, Derek grew dizzy and dropped to his knees. Blu grabbed onto his shoulders to keep him from toppling to the floor. “You okay, honey?”
Derek brought a hand to his forehead. “Just felt weak all of a sudden. I think maybe the stuff’s wearing off.”
“Let’s get you to bed,” Blu suggested, unsuccessfully attempting to hoist his husband back to his feet. Instead, Derek shuffled into the bedroom on his knees, with Blu beside him, acting as navigator.
Derek climbed onto the bed and extracted himself from his leather vest, while Blu unbuckled the big man’s belt and pulled down at the waistband. Blu was amazed to discover that, despite all the alcohol Derek had consumed, the Spike was still semi-rigid. Blu wondered if that thing had its own circulatory system that made it immune to limp dick syndrome. “Ya know,” he suggested, “it might be fun to be doin’ it when we change back.”
Derek looked apologetic. “I don’t think I’m up to it.” He flopped back on the bed, his energy spent.
Blu pouted, disappointed that this night and this honeymoon would be ending with a whimper and not a bang. As he dejectedly began to slide down his Speedo, he caught a glimpse of himself in the bedroom mirror, the moonglow through the window artistically edge-lighting the crescents of his ass cheeks. He hated the thought of not enjoying the benefits of this body one last time.
Derek was lolling in the pleasant limbo between inebriation and total unconsciousness when he felt his absurdly long cock rise and stiffen. He moaned pleasantly as his erection was engulfed in warm flesh and slowly opened his eyes to see his impish husband rising and falling like he was riding a pogo stick. Aroused from his slumber, Derek had no choice but to participate actively, clutching Blu by the hips and pushing him downward, then shifting his hips to put some English on his Louisville Slugger. As the Spike penetrated further and further, Blu squealed uncontrollably, biting the thumb of his left hand while furiously stroking his own cock in his right.
As he approached climax, Derek could sense his strength fading and his body withering. The bulky arms stretched out to hold Blu grew slimmer and the dark pigment in his skin receded before his eyes. He could feel the itch of stubble emerging across his bare scalp and could hear it scratching against the bedspread with each thrust. He watched as Mike the Spike’s barrel chest deflated, and his body sank as his shoulders and lats decreased to less superheroic dimensions. Through it all, Blu remained propped up by Derek’s undiminished hard-on as it pumped great clots of jizz deep into Blu’s body. Pushed beyond his ability to express his feelings in words, Blu was reduced to feral screams and mad facial contortions. By the time he tumbled forward in utter fulfillment, the body that cushioned his landing had returned to its usual Derek-shaped contours. The imp cuddled his de-Mariposaed husband, and the couple lay together blissfully until both were sound asleep.
When Derek woke several hours later, the sun had risen and he was curled naked in the fetal position under the covers. At some point in the night, Charles must have tucked him in. He could hear his husband showering in the next room. Derek checked the time on his phone, then called room service to order a pot of black coffee. After he hung up, he was pleased to realize he felt no negative repercussions from all of last night’s drinking. He leaned against the headboard, clasping his hands in his now fully-restored head of hair, and looked down, relieved to be stripped of the weight, both physically and psychically, which had come with being Mike the Spike for a day. He grasped at his earlobe and discovered the earrings were still lodged there. He guessed they would serve as a permanent reminder of his Cancun adventures.
Before he could investigate whether he had been left with any other souvenirs from his most recent transformation, he heard the bathroom door open. It had been two days since he had seen Charles in his natural state, unaffected by the powers of Mariposa. Red and Blu had been so vivid, Derek almost had trouble picturing the real Charles. He was certain that Charles would be even happier than he was to return to normal and get back to reality.
So Derek was baffled when he saw Charles emerge from a cloud of steam looking exactly as he had the night before: short and boyishly thin, except for a disproportionately large ass. Briskly toweling dry his mop of blue hair, the naked waif cooed, “Mornin’, sweetie!”
Slack-jawed, Derek stammered out a series of words that didn’t quite form a sentence. “But? How? You. Blue!”
“Yeah, guess mine’s takin’ longer to wear off.” Charles shrugged, unperturbed, his voice still Blu’s fluttery chirp. He loped over to his suitcase and pondered his clothing options for the trip ahead. “I prob’ly should wear something loose, so I can grow into it, huh? Won’t it be wild if I don’t change back ’til we’re in midair. The other passengers will freak!”
Derek leaned back, confused. “Why haven’t you changed? You drank your bottle way before I did mine.”
“Maybe it affects everyone differently. Guess I’m in overtime,” Charles said with a giggle as he inspected a powder-blue tank that would look just darling on him now but would be embarrassingly tiny once he plumped back to his default weight.
In his mind, Derek worriedly ran through the caveats Pierce had given about Mariposa. “You didn’t happen to have any Mariposa at the club, did you?”, he asked gingerly.
Charles paused to think, one finger pressed to his cheek, his other hand propped on his out-thrust hip. “Don’t think so, but by the end there, I coulda been drinkin’ gasoline and not known it. Why, do I look different?” He struck a series of exaggerated modeling poses, hoping to make Derek laugh, but his husband remained disappointingly grim.
“No, you look the same,” Derek said quietly. “You’re sure you didn’t have any more of the stuff? Pierce said we should never mix two different Mariposas together.”
“I think I would remember if I…” Charles was stopped by a sudden realization.
Derek’s stomach sank. “Uh-oh. What is it?”
Charles’ bubbly mood lost some of its froth. “Nothin’, nothin’. It’s just… But I’m sure it couldn’t make much difference.”
Derek put his hand over his eyes. “What did you do?”
Gesturing nervously, Charles walked toward the bed. “I might have maybe taken a teeny-tiny little sip from that bottle in Pierce’s room.”
Derek looked up, his face gray. “The stuff that made him look so young yesterday?”
Charles nodded. “But I only had a swig, not the whole bottle. But what’s the big deal if you mix ’em anyway? I mean, I feel fine. So, I get to be young for a few extra hours. So what?”
Derek took hold of Charles’ hands and looked straight into his vibrant blue eyes. “Pierce said if you combine them, the changes…are permanent.”
Charles furrowed his brow as he absorbed this information. He looked down at his smooth body, still beaded with water from his shower, then back at Derek. “You mean I’m gonna be like this…for good?”
Derek swallowed hard, then nodded slowly.
Charles took a beat as the verdict sank in, then unleashed an ecstatic “WOOOOO-HOOOOO!!” He leapt onto the bed and jumped on his coltish legs like he was on a trampoline, slapping his hands against the ceiling and doing the splits in midair. Once the initial surge of energy was out of his system, he landed on his knees and scooted over to Derek, eyes wide with excitement. “Are you kidding me? This is the greatest news in the history of ever!” He slapped his hands over Derek’ ears, leaned forward and pressed his plump lips against Derek’s, kissing him with such intensity that, when he finally released Derek from his clutches, the suction had drained all coloring from the flesh around Derek’s mouth.
“Maybe you didn’t hear me,” Derek said calmly.
“Oh, I heard you!”, Charles exclaimed, returning to his feet and bouncing on the mattress. “This is incredible. All day yesterday, I was thinking, ‘Wouldn’t it be great if I could just stay like this?’ For the first time in my life, I felt comfortable in my skin, like this was the way I was always meant to be!”
Derek stared at him blankly. “You’re not serious.”
“Don’t I look serious?”, Charles laughed, jumping up and down like an excited kid on Christmas morning, only stark naked with blue hair and a floppy little dick. He hopped down to the floor and pranced to the mirror to give himself a complete inspection. He looked and felt like he was eighteen again, only with a body and an outlook totally unlike those he had possessed when he was actually that age. He turned back to Derek and declared, “Oh, man, you are so lucky!”
Derek was puzzled. “I’M lucky?”
Charles tousled his blue mane into a shaggy mess and turned in profile to confirm that he had retained his bountiful butt. “Sure! Because you’re married to THIS now, not some boring prematurely-middle-aged drip!”
Derek felt the need to defend Charles to Charles. “I liked that drip. I married that drip!”
Charles waved his hands with a flourish. “Honey, I’m still that same drip inside…more or less. I just went from being a tight-ass to having a tight ass. That sounds like an upgrade to me!”
Derek was skeptical that the pixie flitting around the room like a hummingbird that forgot to take its Adderall was “more or less” the same as the soft-spoken, studious, even-tempered man who had pledged to love, honor and cherish him just three days ago. “But you’re a kid now. What are you even going to do? Go back to college?”
Charles sputtered his lips dismissively. “Why would I put myself through that again?” He pointed to his head. “I’ve haven’t lost any of that knowledge. I may look like an adorable ditz, but I’m still a lawyer up here. I still know my Marbury from my Madison.”
Derek found that something of a relief. “So you’re just gonna go back to the firm and, what, hope they don’t notice?”
“I dunno. Maybe I’ll tell ’em I went to Mexico and got an extreme makeover. Which is pretty much the truth.”
“You at least gonna dye your hair brown?”
Charles crossed his arms and showed a hint of his old prickliness. “You don’t like my hair?”
“Well, no, I like it,” Derek said defensively. “I’m just thinkin’ it might not be the most…lawyerly look?”
“Fuck lawyerly! Why should I have to change who I am just to conform to someone else’s narrow ideas? This is who I am now, and if they don’t like it, they can shove my dick up their constipated asses!” Even Charles seemed surprised by the ferocity of his conviction. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, lowered his voice and softened his tone. “Okay, maybe that was a bit much. But don’t you understand? These past couple of days, I’ve finally been able to act the way I always wished I could, but I was always too afraid I’d look foolish. I don’t have those inhibitions any more. I feel brave. I feel free. It’s like suddenly discovering you’ve got this great voice that nobody’s ever heard because you’ve never had the courage to sing. Once you’ve found your voice, you don’t ever wanna stop singing!”
Derek sounded a note of caution. “Just for the record, you do know you still sing atrociously, right?”
Charles scowled. “It’s a metaphor, dammit. Christ, I thought you’d be on my side.”
“Of course I’m on your side. I’m just worried that you’re on such a high right now that maybe you haven’t considered all the consequences thoroughly. I mean, what’s one of your big corporate clients gonna think if you show up in their board room looking like you’re ready to emcee ‘The Hunger Games’?”
“Who cares what they think? I’m sick of spending my days and all my energy figuring out new ways that all those greedy fuckers can keep all their fucking money. I don’t hafta do corporate law. Maybe I’ll change my specialty. Maybe I should, I dunno, represent LGBT kids who are being bullied or discriminated against. It’d be great to have clients who just need a good lawyer by their side who can identify with their problems, who knows what they’re going through. Clients who think it’s cool if their lawyer’s got blue hair and a killer booty.”
Derek was impressed by this unexpectedly sober side of his transformed husband. He’d never seen Charles express such passion or such compassion. Maybe by getting smaller and younger, Charles had actually grown as a person. Derek reached over and rubbed his hand across Charles’ back. “If that’s really what you want, you know I’m behind you a hundred percent. But there’s one thing I gotta know. Is the new you still gonna be interested in the old me?”
Charles seemed offended by the question. “Are you crazy? YOU haven’t changed. Why should my feelings for you change?”
Derek squirmed. “Well, I dunno. You’re this big blue bundle of energy now. You might want someone more your…”
“More my what? My age? Dummy, just ’cause I look eighteen and feel eighteen doesn’t mean I really wanna hang around with eighteen-year-olds. Have you seen what they’re like these days?”
“You seemed to get along fine with Todd and Theo,” Derek countered.
Charles smiled fondly as he thought of them, but refused to concede his point. “Yeah, but they were exceptions. Their two buddies were morons! You and I, we’ve got a real connection. We’ve lived through the same things. We’ve got the perspective of time. Sure, I might have lightened up, but it’s not like I’m suddenly gonna start sharing my every insipid thought on Insta-chat or whatever.”
“Instagram,” Derek corrected him. “You’re sure you won’t be embarrassed to be seen hanging around with some boring old oral surgeon?”
“Well, I wasn’t before!”, Charles smirked. “You know, a wise man named Jesus once told me that you can always choose not to be boring. But if you’re really that hung up on the age thing, I think there’s still half a bottle of de-ager in Pierce’s room. One little drinky-poo and…” Charles raised his eyebrows enticingly.
“Oh, no, no, no,” Derek insisted, shaking his head. “I’m finally reached the age where I’m okay with who I am. I’ve got a solid practice, a nice house…a new husband. Why would I want to start monkeying around with that?”
“Then what’s the problem?” Charles asked.
What’s the problem, indeed, wondered Derek. If Charles wasn’t weirded out by this situation, maybe Derek shouldn’t be either.
Charles scooted over, speaking breathily, “You do realize I’ve always had a thing for older guys.” He tilted his head and gave Derek a French kiss.
Derek instantly saw the upside of having a frisky young husband. As he stretched his arms toward Charles, he felt something rising beneath the bedspread. And rising. And rising some more. He abruptly let go of Charles, who slid off the edge of the bed, his fall cushioned by his padded ass.
“Ow! What’s wrong now?”, Charles cried with annoyance from his sprawled position on the floor.
Derek grinned and shook his head. “Nothin’ at all,” he said as he tossed aside the covers. He had retained a souvenir from yesterday after all.
Charles scrambled to his knees and beheld Derek’s massive erection. “THE SPIKE??”
The Spike indeed. An eleven-inch obelisk of flesh pointed toward the ceiling. The shaft was several shades darker than rest of Derek’s complexion and still bore the barbed-wire tattoo left over from his day as a punk. Charles gazed upon it like it was a holy relic. “I know I’ve had my differences with Pierce in the past,” Charles said, “but he gives the best fucking wedding presents.”
Derek jumped out of bed and rushed to the mirror to see if he had retained any of Mike the Spike’s other features, but except for that one very obvious exception, he looked like his usual self. He checked over his shoulder and noted, with some disappointment, that even his old flat ass had returned. “Well, you can’t have everything.”
“It’s okay, Spike,” Charles assured him with a slap on his unexceptional butt. “I’ve got more than enough ass for the both of us.” He stared hungrily at Derek’s throbbing organ and was about to make a move on it when they heard a knock at the door. They both froze.
“Probably room service,” Derek explained. “I ordered coffee.”
Charles whispered, “Maybe if we just start to fuck quietly, they’ll go away.”
Derek looked at the clock and said, “We don’t have time for that. We’ll miss our flight.”
“Might be worth it,” Charles said with a devilish smile.
Derek glowered. “Don’t force me to be the mature one. You know how annoyed you’d get if we had to rebook our flight. Put something on and open the door.”
Charles sulked playfully, bit on a fingertip, and walked away, whining, “Whatever you say, Daddy.”
Derek winced. “Okay, that’s a liiiiittle creepy.”
Charles straightened up and agreed. “You’re right, that was icky. Just tryin’ something out.” He dug into his suitcase as he heard another round of knocking. “Just a minute,” he called out as he stepped into a purple pair of silk boxers.
Charles hustled through the main room and opened the front door, where he was surprised to find Chico holding a tray with a coffee pot and two cups. The young man looked at the floor, uncomfortable about returning to this room and eager to end this errand as quickly as possible. He looked miserable, unshaven and uncombed with heavy bags under his eyes.
“Chico!”, Charles shouted joyfully, motioning the bellboy into the room. “Derek! It’s Chico!”
Chico toted the tray to the bar, set it down and marched back toward the door as fast as he could, only to find the blue-haired urchin blocking his exit. “Perdóneme,” Chico said, trying to push past.
“What’s your hurry?”, Charles asked. “We wanna hear how the rest of last night went.”
“It’s okay. He doesn’t have to tell us anything,” Derek said, leaning casually in the bedroom doorway, having donned gray boxer-briefs which perfectly outlined the obscenely stiff appendage pinned against his right thigh.
When Chico caught sight of Derek’s enormous bulge, his eagerness to leave subsided slightly. Charles walked over and slung an arm around Chico’s shoulder. “Oh, he doesn’t have to get graphic, but I’m sure he won’t mind feeding us a few tidbits. Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to a bar stool.
Chico did as he was told, his eyes shooting nervously from one barely-dressed man to the other. Even though they didn’t seem angry or intimidating, Chico began to sweat uncontrollably. He lowered his head and blurted out, “Okay, okay, I did it. I’m sorry!”
“Did what?”, Charles asked sympathetically.
“I stole your Mariposa,” Chico said, his voice trembling. “Two times! I know it costs much money. I will pay you back. Please do not report me.”
Derek walked over and patted Chico’s knee. “Hey, it’s okay, man. Don’t worry about it.”
Chico raised his head and looked at the men through watery eyes. “You are not angry?”
“Not at all,” Charles assured the young man. “We just wondered how things went after you left here.”
Convinced that the men were genuinely not mad, Chico’s anxiety eased a bit. He laughed with embarrassment and confessed, “I got sick like a dog.”
Charles cringed. “Oooh, sorry to hear that. How did Pierce react?”
“Pierce?”, Chico asked. “¿Quien es Pierce?”
“Pierce. You know, the guy you took home in the limo,” Derek said.
Chico looked confused. “I did not take a limo. I rode home on a bicycle and spent the whole day in bed. I never got farther than the baño, except when I had to…” He mimed an international gesture for projectile vomiting.
Derek and Charles exchanged intrigued looks. “Sounds like you had a bad trip,” Charles said.
“It was a bummer too,” Chico griped. “The Mariposa, it made me to look just like the Taylor Lautner too. I look like him all day but I couldn’t show it off to no one!”
Charles tried to contain his amusement. “You looked like Taylor Lautner?” Chico nodded. “Well, that would explain why you got so sick,” Charles said. “That bottle was probably years past its expiration date.” Derek shot him a dirty look, but Charles grinned impishly.
Chico didn’t see the humor in his situation. He stood up and pleaded with the guests. “I am so very sorry, Señores. I will pay you back. I promise. I cannot lose my job. My uncle will kill me.”
Derek asked, “Who’s your uncle?”
“He owns the hotel. He gave me this job. But he says to me if I make one more mistake…”
Charles patted him on the shoulder and walked him to the door. “Don’t you worry. We won’t tell a soul, especially not your uncle. Consider the Mariposa our tip. Okay?”
“Okay,” Chico said, wiping away tears of gratitude. “You are very kind, Señores.”
“You’re a good kid, Chico,” Charles said. “Just remember this the next time you think of stealing something that doesn’t belong to you, all right?”
“Sí señor,” Chico said, nodding as he opened the door. “Thank you so much. I have learned my lesson. I will never drink the Mariposa again.” He stepped into the hallway, bowing slightly as the door slowly closed.
At the bar, Derek poured two cups of coffee. As Charles walked over to grab his cup, he asked, “So if that wasn’t Chico at the club, who the hell did Pierce go home with?”
To Pierce, waking up after doing Mariposa always felt like the ending of “The Wizard Of Oz”. The world shifted from a lively Technicolor wonderland where anything was possible, back to the sepia-toned dullness of normality, and even if you were still surrounded by the same people, they now seemed as drab and ordinary as a bunch of farmhands. Even after a comparatively minor transformation like yesterday’s age rollback, reality seemed like a major letdown. Pierce knew that he was in good physical shape for his age and far from ancient, but going from 18 to 31 made him acutely aware of every aching joint, every clump of stubborn cellulite.
But as he took in his surroundings this morning, he had to wonder if he was still in dreamland. He found himself alone in a king-sized four-poster bed in a spacious and luxuriously-appointed bedroom. Sheer curtains fluttered by the open French doors which offered a stunning view of the sparkling Caribbean.
Although his body felt fine, mercifully unaffected by the consequences from the previous night’s overindulgence, Pierce clutched his forehead as he reconstructed the events which had brought him here. He could clearly remember the events at the club, meeting “Don Juan”, delivering Derek and Charles to the hotel, then continuing to ride in the limo for a long while to a remote location. He recalled entering an impossibly lavish mansion and being brought to a candlelit bedroom, where he and Juan had made love. Although he knew better than most anyone in the world what Mariposa could do, he still hadn’t expected such an old body to be so sexy and powerful, to have so much stamina, to be so arousing. Pierce attributed that vigor to young Chico’s presence inside the outer trappings of Juan. If Chico could be that overwhelming when encumbered with the accoutrements of age, Pierce smiled in anticipation of the prospect of sex with Chico once he’d been restored to his original packaging.
Beneath the snow-white comforter, Pierce was nude, and last night’s clothes were nowhere to be seen. He was tempted to get up and explore, but even an exhibitionist as fearless as Pierce was aware there could be a potential downside to being spotted wandering naked through an unfamiliar house. Without a phone handy to kill time, he settled back and rested in extravagant comfort.
He had no idea how much time had elapsed before he was awakened by someone gently nudging him. Pierce rubbed his eyes and saw Juan seated on the edge of the bed, his robust body garbed in burgundy silk pajamas. His hair was immaculately slicked back and he smelled faintly of chlorine, which suggested that he had returned from a swim. He wasn’t wearing his tinted shades this morning, so Pierce could see his soulful gray eyes framed by slight bags and crows’ feet. “I hope you slept well,” the old man said gently.
“Like a big naked baby,” Pierce said. He was confused by Juan’s appearance. “You haven’t changed yet?”
“I figured we could relax in bed a while longer, if that’s okay with you.”
“Are you kidding? This bed’s so comfortable, I may never want to get out of it.” He scooted over to make room. “So, how much longer ’til it wears off?”
Now, Juan was confused. “Until what wears off?”
The man reacted with a throaty laugh. “Are people still doing that? I haven’t touched that stuff in years. Definitely an interesting experience, but it can make you act loco. I grew tired of it very quickly. Personally, I prefer peyote, but to each his own, I suppose. You don’t seriously drink that Mariposa shit, do you?”
Pierce replied cautiously, “Sometimes?”
“Aha. Like yesterday, perhaps? That would explain why you look so much more mature this morning.”
Pierce couldn’t have expected his bedmate not to notice the difference, but he was pleased that the man didn’t seem outwardly disappointed by Pierce’s current appearance.
Juan studied Pierce curiously. “I don’t understand why you would need that swill. You are so extraordinary just as you are.”
Pierce appreciated the compliment, but was still trying to sort out the situation. “So let me get this straight. Does this mean you’re NOT Chico?”
“Chico? Who is Chico?”
“He’s this cute little bellboy at the hotel where I’m staying. I thought you were him.”
Juan unleashed a hearty laugh. “You’re probably thinking of my nephew. Yes, he works there.”
“You know Chico?”
“Of course! I gave him his job. It is my hotel.”
Pierce let that sink in. All the times Juan had referred to “my hotel”, Pierced didn’t know he meant “MY hotel.”
“Yes, Chico,” Juan continued. “Sweet boy, but not the most responsible. It is true, he does look much like I did when I was that age. And I gather he and I share similar…interests.”
Pierce was actively recalibrating his thinking, trying to see Juan not as a boy in an old-man disguise but as an actual old man. “So what’s YOUR name?”
“Just as I told you: Juan.”
Pierce was still confused. “Then why’d you answer when I called you ‘Chico’?”
“‘Chico’, it means ‘boy’. I know about you and your wicked sense of humor. I thought that you were calling me a ‘boy’ as a joke, because I am in fact so old.”
“Well, you’re not SO old,” Pierce assured him as he felt his entire world view being challenged. “So this, here, right now, is the real you? How old are you?”
“Next month, I will be fifty-six years old,” Juan said with neither pride nor shame. “And, if it is not rude for me to ask, how old are you? Really?”
“Thirty-one,” Pierce replied, for once seeing no reason to fudge it. “Last night, in bed, you were so…so…”
“I was so-so?”, Juan replied, jokingly offended. “I must be slipping.”
“No,” Pierce hastened to correct the record. “No, you were…spectacular.”
Juan was pleased to hear it. “I may be an old dog, but I have learned many new tricks. When I was my nephew’s age, all I cared about was whether I was receiving pleasure. I knew nothing about how to give pleasure, how to satisfy a partner. Yes, I knew how to fuck, but not how to make love. I think maybe you have had sex with too many ‘chicos’. Tell me, what is your agenda?”
“Si, how long are you to be staying in Cancun?”
“I got today to rest up, then I’m back at work tomorrow.”
“Ah, yes. You are a stewardess, no? What would you say if I asked you to stay here?”
Pierce was intrigued enough by Juan to consider hanging out at this mansion a few more days. “I could check the schedule, see if anyone was willing to switch with me.”
“No, you misunderstand. I mean to stay in Cancun.”
“You mean like STAY stay?” Usually, if someone suggested anything with even the slightest whiff of “long-term commitment”, Pierce would have already bolted for the door, but he was curious to hear what Juan had in mind.
“You have far too much personality and flair to be spending your life serving pretzels and bloody Marys at 30,000 feet. What if I could offer you a position here in Cancun?”
“Doing what exactly?”
Juan shifted into his sales pitch with the panache of a seasoned businessman. “You have stayed many times in my hotel, no? We are developing a reputation as a place where gays are most welcome. I am hoping to take that further and turn it into the finest gay-friendly hotel in all of Cancun. But to do that, I ask myself, what am I missing?”
“Naked bellboys?”, Pierce offered.
“A nightclub! Right on the property! Something truly spectacular. And I think you would be the perfect man to run it and serve as the emcee.”
Pierce instantly scoffed at the idea. What did he know about running a club? Yet his brain immediately began to percolate with thoughts of what he would want in his ideal club. He started to rattle them off out loud. “There could be male strippers on platforms that travel through the crowd on wheels, so everybody can get up close. Drag shows in the early evening to bring in the straight tourists. Maybe a separate martini lounge, something intimate, with a live jazz combo, for couples who aren’t so into the club vibe. The decor should be purple, in honor of Prince. In fact, maybe the club shouldn’t even have a name you could spell with letters. Its name could just be a symbol like Prince had, and only the hippest people would know what it stands for!” He knew just what the staff should wear. He knew he would want to hire away Manolo to be chief bartender, and that they should always have a supply of well-labeled Mariposa under the bar, even if they had to keep it secret from Juan. Just thinking about the possibilities was making Pierce stiff.
Juan was delighted to see Pierce’s response. He was tempted to push further, to ask Pierce to move in with him, to become his partner in more than business, but he didn’t wish to scare away the young man. There would be time for that if Pierce accepted his job offer. As he had matured, Juan had learned the virtue of patience. There was more to life than instant gratification.
O’s blissful slumber was interrupted by someone holding his nostrils shut. He sputtered awake, gasping for air, and saw Kev and Bart glowering down at him, looking hung over and miserable.
“Thanks a lot for abandoning us, shithead,” Bart barked. “We been wanderin’ around all night, ’cause we couldn’t remember the name of this dump!”
Kev joined in. “We been callin’ and textin’ you all night. Why didn’t you pick up?”
O shielded his eyes from the harsh sun leaking through the shades. He felt like someone had drilled a hole in the top of his head and filled his skull with tapioca pudding. He noticed his pants from last night tangled on the floor, undoubtedly with his unanswered phone still in the pocket. He couldn’t immediately piece together everything that happened after he had left Bart and Kev behind and ventured to the gay club. He did remember being surprised to find Todd there, and even more surprised to see him dance onstage in a tiny gold swimsuit. Just the memory of that gave O morning wood. But after that, things got blurry. All he knew for sure was that he was currently naked under the sheets and felt an unfamiliar but surprisingly pleasant twinge deep in his abdomen.
“Sorry, guys,” O said, concocting a cover story on the fly. “Todd called me at the club to say he was feelin’ sicker, so I drove back here to check on him. I meant to come back and get ya, but I guess I musta passed out or somethin’.”
The story didn’t add up for Kev. “You just passed out…after taking all your clothes off?”
“How is the little wuss doin’ today?” Bart stomped over to the balcony where Todd had been sleeping during their stay. He pulled back the drapes, engulfing O in a burst of daylight intense enough to dematerialize your average vampire. “Hey, Toddler, wake up, ya lightweight!”, Bart shouted.
But neither Todd, nor any of his bedding, were on the empty balcony.
Hearing a key being slipped into the lock, all three of them turned toward the door. When it swung open, a lanky and impressively jacked guy walked in, dressed only in sneakers, running shorts which bunched up around his crotch, and a black cap with the bill facing backwards. His bare torso was slicked with sweat, his muscular chest rising and falling mesmerizingly with each heavy breath. “Mornin’, guys,” he said. “I just went for a run.”
The voice was unquestionably Todd’s, if a notch or two lower in pitch. The facial features were his too, only slightly tweaked into something indefinably exotic. But somehow his body had grown taller, his physique had become dramatically more pumped, and his notoriously fair skin had taken on a rich golden hue. He was no longer the runt of this particular litter.
“Todd?”, O asked, climbing out of bed, covering his crotch with a bedsheet to conceal his raging woody.
“Duh,” the intruder replied. “Oh, I hope you don’t mind, I borrowed your running shoes. Mine musta shrunk or something.” He shrugged his bulging shoulders.
While Kev and Bart stood in shocked amazement, O crossed the room, dragging his sheet between his legs. He found Todd’s changes even more astounding up close. “What happened to you, dawg?”, he asked softly.
“I dunno,” Todd replied, his innate innocence now mixed with a welcome infusion of casual confidence. “Must be somethin’ in the water here. Pretty cool, though, right?”
Todd had been shaken when he first awoke to discover that he had been inexplicably remodeled, but within minutes, if not seconds, any anxieties waned. This body felt so comfortable, so natural, so right, that he just got out of the bed he was sharing with O, found some clothes that fit and proceeded with his morning routine. His typical walk at daybreak turned into a multi-mile sprint as he tested the endurance of his beefed-up muscles. He spent a while at the outdoor workout park and marveled at the strength and agility he suddenly possessed. He kept hoping that the Chinese gymnast from the other day would swing by. He’d have enjoyed showing off how much he had improved in such a short time.
Todd couldn’t help but wonder if the things he and O had done together when they got back to the room last night were responsible for his metamorphosis, if he had somehow triggered a long-delayed burst of puberty that had been stored up for release at the moment he lost his virginity. He half-expected to see some physical changes in O as well, given that O’s reactions suggested he had never before been so intimate with another guy, or at least hadn’t been on the receiving end of such intimacy. Todd wasn’t sure what had made him bold enough to take charge in bed, but he fell into the role easily, and O seemed more than willing to let him. So far, Todd hadn’t noticed any morning-after differences in O’s appearance, although he honestly couldn’t cite anything that needed improvement. Whatever had happened to him, Todd saw no point in questioning it. Gift horses and all that.
Todd kicked off his shoes and called dibs on the shower. As he removed his backwards cap and tossed it onto the bed, a flurry of blond dreadlocks cascaded from underneath, dangling across his forehead in the front and tickling his shoulders in the back. Overnight, his look had evolved from “wholesome boy next door” to “young Thor starts a reggae band”.
Todd had never heard his traveling buddies stay so silent nor seen them remain so still. “Why are you guys just standin’ around? Get packin’. We got a road to hit. And this time we’re switchin’ off shifts drivin’,” he declared emphatically, pointing at Kev and Bart. He turned to O and said, “That means you too, babe,” then grabbed O’s chin and pulled him in for a kiss, their lips now at the same height. O’s eyes widened with surprise, but he did not resist.
After he released O from his grip, Todd dropped his running shorts, revealing a cock that had grown proportionately with the rest of his body. Noting Kev and Bart’s blank expressions, Todd chuckled and said, “What? You’d think you guys have never seen a dick before.” He walked into the bathroom and headed straight to the shower.
O, still buzzing from Todd’s kiss, touched his fingers to his lips, then grinned uncertainly at the dumbstruck Bart and Kev. The next three days in the van had just gotten a lot longer.
Waiting in the security line at the airport, Charles tugged at the bottom of the skin-tight silver shorts he had chosen to wear on the flight. “They’re riding up my crack,” he griped quietly to Derek.
“Maybe you should have thought of comfort instead of fashion,” Derek replied.
“Yeah, but I look so good in them!”, Charles said in rebuttal.
Derek was dressed in the same combo of floral shirt, linen slacks and deck shoes that he had worn on the flight down. It was really his only option, given that nearly everything in the alternative wardrobe which Pierce had supplied in their suitcases was sized for men of more extreme proportions.
As they had checked out of the hotel, they had been told everything was paid up, courtesy of Pierce. Even when Charles confessed with some embarrassment to punching a hole in the wall, the desk clerk informed him that it was all covered, including the damage. Upon hearing this, Charles whispered to Derek, “I kinda wish we’d wrecked more now.”
When they exited the hotel, they spotted a cute kid, probably no older than sixteen, racing past them in nothing but a red Speedo and a smile. Noticing Derek and Charles, the kid shouted, “¡Hola, amigos!” They both agreed the kid looked a hell of a lot like an even younger version of Chico.
“You don’t suppose he went into Pierce’s room and drank the rest of the youngifier,” Derek had asked, but Charles was too distracted by the bouncing red butt as it moved away from them. Derek cleared his throat and said in a scolding tone, “I thought you said you preferred older guys.”
Charles turned to Derek, flustered. “Huh? What? Oh, I do. Definitely. In fact, I was just imagining how much better his ass is gonna look in twenty years.”
“Riiiiight,” Derek had said skeptically. Being married to a man with a 31-year-old’s brain and an 18-year-old’s libido was going to pose some unusual challenges.
Now, as they inched closer to the security checkpoint, Derek’s thoughts returned to Mariposa and to the young couple from Iowa whom they had befriended. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should find out where Pierce gets his supplies and send a six-pack of Mariposa to Todd and O. Kind of a ‘welcome to the club’ gift.”
Charles shook his head. “Based on the way they were lookin’ at each other, I don’t think they need it. I say we wait and send ’em one when they’ve really gotten bored with each other. Like, for their honeymoon.” He paused for a laugh that didn’t come, then quickly changed the topic. “Ya know, since this trip ended up being basically free, what do you say we plan a real honeymoon? Maybe Maui?”
“That’d be nice,” Derek said, linking arms with Charles. “Just the two of us.”
“Absolutely. No Jesus.”
In unison, they said, “No Pierce.”
“And no Mariposa,” Derek said emphatically.
Charles nodded. He was so content with the way things had ended up, he couldn’t imagine needing or wanting to alter himself further. He opened his passport and looked at the bland, doughy, balding man pictured in the mugshot. He seemed like a stranger, or at best a distant relative. Even the name listed seemed wrong. He no longer felt like a Charles or a Chuck or a Charlie. Only Blu seemed to fit his new self. He imagined himself, standing up in court in an electric-blue suit and introducing himself to the judge as Blu White. Charles crinkled his nose. That didn’t sound quite right. He much preferred the sound of Blu Gray.
Maybe with an umlaut over the A.
Derek gave him a nudge, telling him he was being waved over to security. He stepped over to the agent, who looked at the photo in his passport, then back at the decade-younger blue-haired boy standing before him. Tapping the passport, the guard asked curiously, “This supposed to be you?”
Blu just grinned and explained with a glint in his sparkling blue eyes, “It’s an old picture.”