A man is infected with a curse that turns him into a horny redneck every full moon.
[Author’s note: This is a break from leather bears for a short bit. As always, feedback is appreciated!]
I woke up and stretched my arms over my head, then brought them to rest on my stomach. I really didn’t want to get up, but at least tax season was finally over, making my job as a top accountment at the city’s biggest firm much less hectic. It was also Friday—last day of the work week, plus I had tickets to the opera at 8pm tonight. Tomorrow would be grocery day at the local organic market, always one of the highlights of my week.
Despite those encouraging thoughts, I still didn’t want to leave my warm bed. Trying to get some circulation flowing, I rubbed my face with my hands, feeling my rough beard on my jaw.
Wait… that beard ain’t supposed to be there, I thought. I paused. ‘Ain’t?!’ Shit!
I saw bolt upright in bed and looked at the calendar I keep on my nightstand. Fuck! There was a big red circle drawn around today with the time 7:26pm underlined multiple times. Fuck! Fuck! With all the craziness of the tax filing deadline, I had completely forgotten that the full moon was tonight, and I hadn’t done no preparation.
I paused again. A double negative—shit! I was further along than I had thought.
Ever since that full moon night several months ago when I had let that redneck pick me up at the local bar, this had been happening. He wasn’t my usual type, but there was something irresistible about him, and besides, I’d had too much to drink. That’s probably why I didn’t care when he bit me while he rode me, shoving his hard dick deep inside my hole. I was too lost in drink and pleasure. Now, for one day and night each month, I was just increasingly lost.
I took a couple of deep breaths to center myself and slowly made over way over to the full-length mirror in the bathroom.
Yep, it had definitely started. The normally thin, but toned and pretty hairless frame that I enjoyed having looked much more muscular than usual, especially my biceps and thighs. I turned around a little and saw that my ass was bulging out, too. All that heavy lifting outdoors, I thought, smiling to myself. Then my smile disappeared as I shook my head. No. I’m an accountant. I work in an office. I ain’t no redneck farmer.
Relieved that I had reminded myself who I really am most days of the month, I went back to examining my body. My gut had expanded a bit from too many nights drinking moonshine and cheap beer… erm, cheap wine. No, expensive wine. Too many nights drinking moonshine and expensive wine.
I ran my hand through the moderate coating of black hair on my chest and lifted my arm to sniff my pit, the long but thin hairs there just brushing my nose. At least that ain’t too bad yet. If I didn’t have time to shower, a good coating of deodorant would do the trick.
The beard, though, would have to go. I hated doing it because now that I was examining it, it looked so hot and manly. That blamed accounting firm, though, didn’t allow no facial hair. That’s why I had been planning ahead and taking a couple of days off before every full moon. Fucking tax season, making me forget about this and forcing me to shave off my beard.
I gave it one last stroke before firing up the electric razor. Muttering “fuck” and “shit” with every swipe, I finally removed all the hair. I had paused when I got down to just the moustache, wondering if I could get by with that. A man ought to have some hair on his face, after all. I had turned off the razor and started toward the shower when I forced myself to stop. The company had a zero-tolerance policy, and I would still need this job on Monday. “Goddammit,” I had yelled before stomping back to the sink and erasing the last of my manhood from my face in two quick swipes.
Starting Monday, I’m looking for a new job, something where the boss don’t give a shit about how you look. Maybe something outside.
I climbed into the shower, taking a few seconds to work shampoo into my mullet before rinsing it out. I reckoned the shampoo suds and the warm water got me clean enough, so I turned off the water, toweled dry, and went to my walk-in closet to get dressed.
A few minutes later, I came out, drank a cup of instant coffee in the kitchen, and grabbed my keys to head out the door. As always, I gave myself a quick glance in the hallway mirror.
I had put on a pair of dress slacks and Oxfords, but I was wearing a camo T-shirt, and the belt holding up my pants had a giant round buckle showing a mounted cowboy on it. I had slicked my hair back under a baseball cap advertising the local college football team.
Something wasn’t right. I stared at myself in the mirror for nigh on five minutes before I realized what it was. I needed one of them new plaid button-down shirts I had bought right about a month ago.
I also needed to swap out my belt buckle. The one I was wearing was my favorite, but I knew I’d be hunched over at a desk all day, and it was so big that it tended to bite into the lizard I keep in my boxers. “Don’t worry, Jumbo Jack,” I said, looking down at my tenting crotch as I rubbed it through the pants. “I’ll look after you.”
I trooped back into the closet, picked out a blue plaid shirt to put on over my camo undershirt, and swapped out the buckle for a smaller one. I paused again at the mirror on the way out of my condo, took a moment to adjust my cap, and headed to work.
At 2pm that afternoon, my boss called me into his office.
“Yessuh?” I asked, running my hand through my mullet. The bastard had already made me take off my cap that morning and had insisted I get a haircut this weekend.
“Robert, is something wrong?”
“Nah, sir. I don’t reckon so. Why?”
“The figures you submitted before lunch were all wrong. Now, normally you’re one of the best accountants in this firm. Your work is immaculate, and you always present yourself well.”
“Thank you kindly, sir.” I’d present fucking better if I had my cap and my beard, I thought.
“Today, though, you came in wearing that baseball cap. Your shirt is quite unusual for office attire, the camouflage T-shirt underneath even more so. You also seem to have quite a bit of stubble on your face, and you know our policy about facial hair.”
My hand flew up to rub my jaw. Thank God, my beard was coming in faster than normal.
“Sorry sir, just getting an early start on my weekend beard.”
“Mmmm.” He paused. “You’ve been a model employee, Robert. I’ve noticed that you’ve started taking a couple of days off every month or so, but you have a confidential statement in personnel allowing you to do that, and you certainly have the accrued time. I’m worried that tax season might have gotten to you. Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off and start your weekend early, too?”
“Thank you, sir. I’d be mighty proud to.” More time to get ready for the opera.
He stood up from his desk and came over to me. “Just to be clear, Robert, this is not a standing offer. I’m mostly doing it because there’s no need in having you here this afternoon if you’re not going to produce quality work. Take the weekend to relax and get your head back on straight.” He started to walk away and turned back. “Also, you need to switch out your cologne. No offense, Robert, but it smells a bit like body odor.”
He sat back down at his desk and picked up his phone. I knew I was dismissed. I went back to my desk, slapped my cap on my head, and walked down to the parking garage.
As soon as I got in my sedan, I untucked and unbuttoned my plaid shirt. This thing is pretty nice, I thought, but it’d look a dang sight better without them sleeves. I could show off my guns and my pits. Maybe get some good tats on my arms. I fished around in my jeans for my pocket knife to hack off them and the ones on my camo shirt, but I couldn’t find it. Strange. Usually, I never went anywhere without it.
I rolled down the windows of the sedan and took off the cap I had just regained so I could let my mullet fly while driving. I’ll deal with my sleeves when I get home, I decided. First, I have a couple of stops to make.
“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Franklin, but—”
I cut off the car salesman. “I done told you before, Chris, call me Bob.”
“My apologies, Bob. I was just saying that I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Is something wrong with the car you bought last month?”
I took a deep breath. All the air in the car on the way here had cleared my head a bit. No, there wasn’t anything wrong with the car I had bought last month. Hell, it was practically fucking brand new. I had gotten it from Chris when I traded in the truck I had bought from a different lot a couple of days earlier when my full moon redneck bender was beginning.
I had resigned myself to keeping all the personal items and clothes I bought every month under my moon curse—initially, I had thrown them away every month, but that became too much of a hassle. My shitty condo in the city, however, only had one parking space for me, so I couldn’t keep both the truck and a sedan, and I wasn’t ready to drive a lifted gas-guzzling behemoth every day of my life. Fortunately, I had the money to make these swaps.
I glanced over at Chris and my eyes centered on the few curls of chest hair that came up from his white shirt collar and tie. I felt my dick—no, my lizard—nah, Jumbo Jack—plumping up. The man wasn’t too bad looking. Pretty straight-laced with his short blonde hair and goatee, done up in a tight suit.
Fuck! The curse always got a lot faster when I was horny.
I thought back to his question. What I really needed to do was to move out to the country where I could have the truck full-time. I’m gonna work out there anyway, so it just makes sense.
Chris cleared his throat, giving a strange look at my prolonged silence. “I’m sorry, Bob. Was there something wrong with the car?”
“Yeah, it ain’t a huge-ass, motherfucking truck. I want the biggest you got.” Shit. That wasn’t exactly what I done meant to say. I had tried really hard to leave out the “ain’t,” but had said it anyway.
Chris looked at me strangely. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Bob. When you came last month…” he glanced down at the papers on his desk, “twenty-six days ago, to be exact, you specifically requested a car.” He paused. “And I don’t want to offend you, of course, but you also looked rather different.”
I laughed and threw my arm around his shoulders. He got a funny look on his face when he smelled my pit-stink, but hey, a man’s gotta smell like a man. “People change, Chris. Now, I ain’t gonna ask for no refund on that baby car you sold me last time. I’ll let you buy it back at whatever you think is right. But I want a truck. And I know you’re the man who can give it to me,” I said, punching him in his pec.
He gave me another funny look. “Whatever you say, Bob.”
We sauntered out to the trucks, and I took a look at what he had to offer. “Ain’t you got nothing lifted?” I asked, taking my can out of my pocket.
“Lifted?” Christ asked, looking at me.
I shook my head at him. City boy. Probably ain’t never been huntin or nothin. “Ya know, lifted. Raised.” I snapped the can a couple of quick times and cracked the lid.
Chris finally saw what I was doing. “I’m sorry, Bob, but you can’t dip here. This is a place of business.”
I popped a fat load of Copenhagen into my lower lip and then added one more small pinch as a filler. I put the lid back on the can and meandered over to Chris. I slung my arm around him again and pulled him close. “Now, Chris, we’re outside. The great outdoors. We ain’t in your little office. And besides, you want your customer to be happy, right?”
He nodded briefly, overwhelmed by my alpha smell. “Yes,” he gulped out.
“Well, I need this here dip to be happy. And seeing as how you ain’t got nothin lifted, I’m gonna have to pay to do that myself. Probably have to get the mudflaps and the truck nuts myself, too.”
“Truck nuts?” he asked while I ran my hand over my grizzled jaw. I had finally decided that I could lift the Ford truck the highest. Replace the muffler so my engine ground out loud every time I pushed the gas.
I clenched him tighter with one hand and put my other on Jumbo Jack. I shoved him forward. “You know, truck nuts. Bull balls.” I laughed. “Not as big as mine, but hell, I ain’t givin these up just to go on no truck.”
Chris looked uncomfortable, but I told him, “Fuck, man, I done picked out the truck I want.” I pointed at it. “Let’s go to your office and make this a deal.”
I slammed my seventh beer, motionin to the bartender to bring me another.
Fuckin stuck-up assholes! Here I got done up just to go to that fuckin op’ry and they wouldn’t let me in the damn door. Said I didn’t look good enough. I showed them my fuckin ticket, and they still wouldn’t let me in.
I showed up right at 7:30 just like the ticket said. I looked up at the full moon and felt a surge of some kind of somethin. I flung the dip outta my mouth with a finger, wiped it on the Wranglers I was wearing, and meandered up to the ticket agent. And then the fucker wouldn’t let me in!
I tried tellin him that I had cut off the sleeves of that camo shirt special for the op’ry, so everyone could see my fine barbed wire tats on these huge arms. I had even changed into new jeans and had rubbed most of the mud off my huntin boots. I even had my special cowboy belt buckle on, the one that cuts into Jumbo Jack, just for this occasion. I’d washed the dip out of my beard and combed my mullet. And hell, I even thought about taking a fuckin shower. I didn’t, of course, ‘cause at two weeks, my pit stink was at peak ripeness, just like a garden plot in August. You don’t mess with none of them.
Whatever. Who the fuck wants to see some old op’ry anyhow? No clue why I even had the ticket. My bastard boss probably gave it to me.
I was happier here in the bar suckin down some Bud and checkin out the men.
Just then, I noticed Chris come in, still wearin that monkey suit from work. I didn’t even know he was queer like me! I ought to have picked up on it from the way he was meltin under my stink earlier. Fuckin sober brain. I always think better when I got a few beers in me.
He looked around the room and saw me. His eyes got a bit bigger, and he started to move to the other side of the bar. Nah, that ain’t gonna happen. I chugged my beer and walked over to him, my boots slammin on the wood floor. I knew he was my target. It was just like huntin out in the woods when you spy the perfect buck.
I stuck my hand out at him and spat a line of chaw juice onto the floor. I towered over him; I felt taller than I ever had in my life. “Son, what’re you doin here?”
“Um, hi, Bob. I just, um, dropped in for a drink.”
I pulled him close to me and stuck his nose straight into my pit, rubbing his head around to really coat it with my sweat. After a moment, he pulled himself away for air.
I laughed. “Can’t get enough, can you, Chris?”
“Huh?” He seemed kinda out of it.
“I seen you today when I was down at your lot buyin my truck. Don’t worry. I know what you want.”
“Um, well, I…” he stammered as he stared at me. I looked down and saw his pants getting tighter. “I didn’t, but, um, I think I do now.” He blushed.
“Aw, man, ain’t no need to do that.” I put my thumb under his chin, feelin the scrape of his goatee. Not as nice as my beard, but it would do. I lifted his head up and bent down to give him a long kiss.
He stepped back. “Ugh, that dip is disgusting.”
I laughed. “You ain’t gonna be feelin’ that way for long, boy. Come in the back with me.”
He was a bit confused, but he followed me into the special room I had rented earlier. It cost a lot of money, but bein the biggest farmer in town gives me some extra cash to throw around when I want to. As Chris followed me, Jumbo Jack lived up to his name, and I had to shift myself several times as we walked through the bar.
All the customers seemed to know what was goin on. I passed a couple of daddies in leather—real men—and gave them a high-five as we walked by.
After we were in the back room, I yanked Chris around and told the boy to bend over. This wasn’t about havin a partner for me. This was about me getting what I needed, about breeding.
As soon as I saw his hole, I unbuttoned my Wranglers, leaving my belt buckle on. Let him feel its cold metal slammin into his ass. I fished out Jumbo Jack and guided him toward Chris’s waiting asshole.
I paused at it, gently pushing my head against him until he relaxed a bit. I like it rough, but somethin told me to take it easy with this man. I slowly pushed myself into him. He grunted a bit, but after I had myself in him, I paused for a minute, fillin him up. As I pulled out, his ass followed me, wantin—needing—me inside.
I pushed in again, a bit faster this time. And again, a bit faster. Over and over while he moaned louder and louder until I felt my bull balls start to clench.
It was then that I bent over and sank my teeth into Chris’s neck while Jumbo Jack spewed into him. Chris yelled out and collapsed under me. I pulled out from him, wipin myself on Chris’s ass, and then flipped him over. Little fucker had cum on hisself when I bit him. Perfect.
The next morning, I woke up in my bed and looked around. A pair of jeans and a camouflage T-shirt were on the floor. There were a few cans of dip scattered on the nightstand. I suddenly felt a little sick to my stomach and ran to the bathroom. I didn’t throw up, but I was shaky for a few minutes.
When I looked in the mirror, I saw my regular self: thin, conservative hair and no beard.
Sighing, I walked back into the bedroom, rubbing my eyes. I started picking up the clothes to hang them up again for next month when a set of keys fell out of a pocket in the jeans. I didn’t immediately recognize them, but I knew what they meant. I was going to have to go to a car dealership again this afternoon and swap out vehicles.
I paused, thinking back on the previous night. I had been driven to infect somebody, and maybe it was good it had been Chris. It might save me money in the long run. Maybe once a month, he could use his dealer privileges to get us each a truck for a day.
I laid back down in bed and felt my smooth body and chin. At least I still have a job on Monday and will be able to do it well. And even enjoy it.
As I drifted off to sleep again, I wondered who I would infect next month. Maybe I should just bite my boss and save myself some trouble.
Who would Chris infect? What about the guy I turned last month? My last thought before I went to sleep was that in a few months, there were going to be a lot more rednecks out during the full moon.