Pollination: Family Man
John was having a contemplative day walking in the woods when he stumbled across a very strange, otherworldly plant. Their life would never be the same.
Foreward: I do not own the concept of Pollination. That honor belongs to the fantastic absman, nor do I own his characters, but I do own these words and I do own these characters.
Absman’s work is something I’ve been jerking off to for a long, long time, and I hope that this story gives you a bit of joy too.
Pollination: Family Man
Winter on the west coast wasn’t a snowy affair, but it was gray, dreary, and cold. The torrential downpours of the Pacific with the wind created tempest storms and warm, wet weather, well, compared to the rest of North America at least. The temperate rainforest made for excellent growing conditions year-round; plants would go somewhat dormant with the limited light, but it wasn’t like there was a non-growing season. There was, however, a ‘things grow quietly and slightly’ and ‘everything is growing, oh god, oh god, please stop. Please stop the … invasion.’ The west coast really only had those two seasons and a short fall that bled into winter.
Not that Duchess gave a shit about that right now. Duchess bounded through the wet brush, a torrent of wet mutt ripping through low lying ferns, fallen logs, deep old growth forest. Her tail wagged back and forth like a windshield wiper in the rain. Today there was no rain though, just thin gray light from the overcast and the slight breaks of golden rays of light.
“Duchess! Get back to the trail!” John’s voice echoed through the recently drenched forest.
Duchess, a friendly Rottweiler who never outgrew her puppy phase, came bounding through the brush. Her tail a-waggin-all-willy-knilly-like, her paws covered in mud, moss, and God knows what else. Duchess didn’t give a shit about plants unless they smelled good, or she could roll in it to make her coat all smelly.
John didn’t really care about plants either, or the wet muck that was around. He cared about his dog, his Harley, a paycheck, and getting as much pussy as he could. When he could get laid, which was not often. At least that is what he thought, but lately he thought more and more about the future: a family. It was not for lack of trying, but John was past his prime, and he was only just now figuring that out.
This is not to say that he was bad looking, just good looking in an average way. Just shy of tall and too tall to be short at 5’10; John’s height had always been an issue to him for whatever reason. If he had been 5’11” he could have lied and pretended to be an even six feet. He had the look of a man who lifted a lot: big shoulders, big arms, big pecs, and balanced legs. He did not skip leg day, but it didn’t really matter. John was kind of fat and nearly thirty, his beer paunch had over the years become a beer belly. His face was softer than it had been a few years ago. He had the sort of look of someone who went to the gym a lot (he did), drank his protein shakes (every day), and lift heavy weights with the help of steroids and creatine.
John had short, brown, curly hair that was just starting to recede. Perhaps the only thing he had been satisfied with was my scruffy cropped goatee, which he thought, maybe even rightly so, made him both young and mature at the same time. John was thinking bout the future; time was running out for him, he figured.
“Might just be me and you, Duchess.” His hiking boots carried on while Duchess’ tail wagged hard.
Stomp, crunch, squish. The trail was winding, lit under grove trees, thick ferns, and slivers of near twilight. Bears roamed these woods year-round, as did wolves, though honestly cougars were likely the most dangerous animal in these parts. Other than man, who was on top of the food train—even out here. They hung out in trees or followed behind you for a bit before pouncing. Sometimes a cougar could be less than five feet from you before you knew it.
John was not really thinking about safety; he was just walking and trying to empty his head. The roads were too slick from yesterday’s rain for him to feel confident on the bike, so a walk in the woods would have to do. John didn’t know how far and long he was walking, deep in thoughts about the future and coulda-shoulda-outta-beens about the past. Just him and Duchess—blue jeans, hiking boots, and flannel. Besides, it was a great day for a walk.
Time went by and he was in no hurry and the sun began to dip behind the coastal mountains. It was there that John stumbled across a large plant. If you could call something that weird ‘a plant.’ There in a glade, a sliver of golden sunlight, stood a flesh-coloured ‘thing’ as if that ten-by-ten patch of woods was summer in the gray-lit light of the West Coast. There stood a large, well at first, John thought it was a giant dildo. Some wacky kid must have been out here and left it, or maybe some chick (or dude) had come out into these parts to get back to nature in an intimate fashion. No, though, it was a plant. He could see the pale leaves, the inviting stem of a flower.
“What the fuck.” It wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t directed at anyone.
John stopped and looked at it from many feet away, analyzing the oddity of the situation.
Almost like a pitcher plant, the ‘basin’ stood a solid ten inches off the ground revealing a purplish, red head. Glistening amber beads of water and nectar gently fell to the ground. Almost vein-like, even from this distance, the petals of the flower had a ridiculously flesh-like context to them. He could make out red veins that rose and encircled the phallus with pulsating, almost beautiful in its ‘morning glory.’
What made John laugh though was the giant roots that looked like testes. Two golden roots bulbed out of the ground like potatoes, or, fuck, like balls. Like fuzzy, fucking balls! At the front, erupting from black earth and under dark, and the whole thing looked fucking ridiculous. The hairs on them even looked like little fuzz of his own balls.
“Duchess, it looks like a Johnson! A fuckin’ penis.” He started to laugh, taking out his camera, he took a picture and sent it to his buddy Derek with the caption of ‘WTF.’ Derek didn’t respond, he probably at work or something, John figured. John adjusted his own johnson in the pants, feeling like there was something in the air. He laughed thinking about the girls he had been with had maybe done something to him. Whatever it was, he felt perky.
Duchess though was keeping some distance from the plant, she whimpered a bit and pulled her leash trying to lead her master away. She knew. Whining, she tugged at her leash.
“Hey none of that.” John tightened the leash, in control.
“It’s just a funny lookin’ plant.”
Moving closer to the plant, John dragged his dog along; turning, he faced the plant. Looking a bit bigger than before, Johnson knelt, trying to catch a smell of something he couldn’t quite place. Was that sweat? Incredibly strong musk that hung in the air as if it were eau’d gym locker room.
A golden glob of powder smacked him square in the face with enough velocity that John got knocked backwards as he knelt. Globes of something dripped down his throat and nose. John hacked and coughed, letting go of his leash. Duchess ran off into the wilderness.
“Duch-Duchess!” John called out, coughing, but soon there was a whimsy feeling throughout him. It flowed through veins that pulsated bigger and bigger.
Soon though John didn’t give a shit about his dog (who would turn out, reader, to be fine) as she bounded into the brush to safety and warmth with a family that would love and cherish her.
Johnson began to laugh an almost manic laugh as he took out his phone and sent a video to his friend.
“Derek you’re not gonna fucking believe this shit.” John noticed a golden powder in the video feed as he watched himself. “It’s like fuckin golden coke. The good stuff! It’s great man.” He laughed and had a weird spasm, but an orgasm that seemed to pulsate from his arm. He sent the video accidently in the confusion of an ‘ughh’ sound.
Fuck, there was energy flowing through him. An energy that he hadn’t felt in years, if ever, fuck. within a few seconds His johnson groaned in pleasure as he felt his blood pulse with a steady beat of a drum. It was like a concert with the super bowl inside of it. He laughed and jumped, clearing a log.
He flexed! God that was beyond magnificent! Man he felt strong, like an ox, like an ox on steroids; he was amazing. He hefted the large log he had just jumped over with enough fullness that it sprang, not easily, but doable, cleaning it to his chest, than with a gasp then putting it high above his head with a heft, the log fell down with a clatter splitting the moss and splattering into shrapnel-like chunks of rotting wood. Insects squirmed from the empty moss-bed.
His simple t-shirt split at the seams under the arms. Fuck he was big. And it was all this plants doing? What a trip! He double checked that his jacket was fine, it was basically irreplaceable to him. he went back to flexing at no one and admiring his own toughness; the growing sensation In his body, his dick, he loved it. His hands moved up and down his chest. His pecs popped hard. His shoulders underneath the jacket swelled into boulders. They felt So full. Even his nipples felt thick.
What was perhaps weirder was that the growth had seemed to make his chest hair thicker. He took out his phone and used the mirror function to take a better look, and damn, he looked good. Thick, full, and he was pretty sure judging by how easily it was to slip his hand down his pants, that he had lost some weight.
Of course, his main concern was playing around with his dick. Fuck, he almost creamed just touching himself under the high of the dick-plant. So thick and full, he sort of just enjoyed fooling around while flexing and looking in the mirror app of his phone.
“Like a fucking hulk.” He kept mumbling to himself in an almost delirious state.
Time didn’t really mean much to him, but the sun was setting over the mountains and as he looked around he realized he needed to figure things out.
But it was right there.
Before he realized, he was eyeing the dick slowly, on his hands and knees. It looked remarkably like a penis, he realized, but you know, it was just a plant. His mouth opened as he put his lips over the bulb and began to imitate what no small amount of women in his life had done for him in the past. Up and down he massaged the plant with his lips until at last sweet nectar, sprang forth. Greedily he sucked and slurped as much as he could, gagging on in his inexperience. The pollen hung hard around his short-cropped goatee.
“Mooooore.” He groaned not realizing there was no one else around him, forgetting that it was just him. The shadows were long now. The sensations vibrated through his body with waves of delight. As he came to that he was alone, he took out his hard dick and began to play with it. Fuck it, might as well get a jerk in. His uncut schlong moving up and down, he sighed in pleasure, edging himself as much as he wanted. His massive hands explored his balls, his taint, his nipples, rubbing his chest, massaging the tip of his cock , stroking the shaft. He erupted into a torrent of cum. A manly groan as he just felt downright good.
Gasping, he looked around him. He was massive; his pecs were popping, bouncing up and down with the heaving of a magnificent sigh. Never had easily he had put on a hundred pounds. His jacket was tight on his body, no longer oversized. He would need to let out the seams at home. Although his hands were covered in cum, and his groin had the droplets in his bush, but there was a hunger in his loins. Still. He was still horny as fuck, and hard as fuck.
“Gonna give me another hit.” John looked to the plant, speaking to it. The plant remained erect, but shied away. Moving? Clearly it was the wind, but it was like the wind was saying ‘no.’
“Ahh come on.”
He sighed looking around. Suddenly, he had an idea. What if, if he fucked the plant? He was pretty sure, looking at the flower, that it would fit. Hell, it was almost like the flower was made for him.
A voice inside his head whispered ‘yeah, fuck the plant. Do it.’ He began to get on his knees and hands. It was weird, maybe a little gay? Fuck if he cared. Man, woman, plant; all the same hole. Fuck, he needed a hole.
He straddled the plant, and it didn’t even seem like he needed to place his cock into the flower; no. No, it was more like the flower found his cock as two magnets slowly moved together. He began to thrust.
“Sooo, fucking good.” He took out his phone and took a video. Normally, he didn’t make so much stupid videos, but sometimes he and the boys would send videos of themselves fucking chicks. It was the same really. Now it was really just him and Derek.
“Fuck fellas.” He said, as he groaned, “It feels sooo good.” He saved the video, sending it to Derek. Man he loved that guy, he smiled thinking of him, as he fucked the plant.
Still, it was a delicate thrust, no need to damage it. but as he realized it was a bit rubbery, a bit like a fleshjack, he went a bit harder. Groaning, there was a slithering pleasure that came as something seemed to touch the tip of his piss-slit. It moved down, he didn’t care, everything felt so good. Like his body was on ecstasy but his brain was on Ritalin.
The thrusting continued, deeper and deeper. It was like a glowing, warm, cool, and wet worm moving up his shaft, a slithering beast. He didn’t care, it felt so damn good. He continued to pump; hips thrusting, buttocks tight, a moaning creature, more beast than man.
‘Do you accept the gift?’ The whispering, chatter, like wind in the storm, or a faraway echo; it echoed into his brain.
‘Who said that?’
‘Do you accept the gift?’
He wanted so badly to say yes, but he was made of stronger stuff than that, and wiser than people gave him credit.
‘I just want a family.’
‘Define your terms.’
The thrusting had stopped, full cock hard, he was sunk deep into the flower of the earth.
‘People who love me. People who I can take care of. People who will take care of me.’
There was a pause as he was trying his best to not cum and erupt into the flower below; like a pain in his balls, and his neck that spread out far. God, it was like his balls were cramping up, but still he just remained still. Finally, it released, as if whatever was testing him had finished.
‘Agreeable terms, host.’
And then synapses. Two thoughts came and merged into one, groaning he erupted so hard into the earth, he was knocked up to his feast. Without touching his cock; he sprayed groaning loud enough he could hear his echo in the darkness that was early night. His cum, no, his seed splattered around arcing as he just had his back held up and his neck back, almost like the Quickening from a certain Scottish show.
Where all this came from. Where it all went; he didn’t know. All he knew was that he was a mountain of muscle, of hair, of his skintight power, that his balls swayed free and that the tattered remains of his shirt and the broken seams of his pants didn’t matter to him in the slightest. He groaned so hard that his mouth continued to move despite the air in his lungs going nowhere.
Time didn’t mean anything; he groaned a last groan before he stopped.
“Well,” he sat down. “that felt good.” He sat down and laughed at the changes.
He shrugged as he took out the shredded remains of his shirt and just tore them off. His thick-pelt of man fur made him look like a bear walking in the pale moonlight.
“Duchess, be a good girl.” He said to her, wherever she was.
And with that he sped with all alacrity through the trees to his car by the edge of the woods.
Meanwhile, all around, little bulbs of green lit through the glade as if it were an early spring.