Cuddling on the
Wild Side

I liked the effect my ‘costume’ was having on him. I decided I’d leave it on while we started. In this kind of situation I knew that it would be a while before he got to touch me anyway and it was pretty exhilarating to be part satyr. When we walked into my apartment I think he was a little surprised at the surroundings.

I was lucky enough to not have roommates to deal with. The family had plenty of money from way back and Mom didn’t think my dealing with non-witches looking over my shoulder all the time was the kind of life lesson I needed. Bless her heart. Because of that, I was able to keep an apartment that didn’t look like a college crap-house. No posters on the wall curling down around thumbtacks marred my walls. There were a few pieces of art hanging. The furniture matched and was clean. There weren’t dishes in the sink. There were candles everywhere. It was impressive for an 18 year old and it went to work on Calvus immediately.

“Michael, take your shoes off at the door. When you are done come take mine off for me.” I’d already sat down on the sofa and put my feet up. He did as he was told. He didn’t manage to hide the cringe when I called him by his birth name, though. That one hit the mark. “Now, strip down to your underwear.”

“Yes, sir.”

And he did. I was very turned on by all of this. I’d never played this kind of scene out during sex. Normally my taking over was in meetings or work groups for classes. It was a bit of a defense mechanism in those situations. This was different, though. This felt good. It felt good to have this guy standing in front of me in nothing but a jock strap rubbing his dick. He evidently thought that’s what underwear were. I was glad.

“Did I tell you to touch your cock? Take your hands off of it.” Having watched a lot of porn was finally paying off. “Kneel on the floor but don’t come any closer to me. I want to see what you’ll look like if you get to suck my dick.”

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Check out Part 1

Also, check out the rest of the Witch’s Son series.

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I snapped this picture of him a couple weeks after our encounter.

“Over to the squat machine boy. Let’s see what those legs and ass are made of.”

“One problem coach.” I wonder if he knew every time he called me coach, my cock jumped a little. “I only planned to do chest today and I can’t do legs with these pants on.”

“Good thing there’s no one here then. Take off those pants and you’re doing squats. No questions!”

“Yes, coach.”

He was hesitant, but when he saw the look in my eyes, he knew I was serious. He grasped the top of his pants revealing an old, stained jockstrap. It was one of those white ones he’d had for years. The pants around his ankles revealed a couple of holes in the jockstrap pouch showing his thick, cut cock. It was already soaked in sweat too.

He willingly took off his shirt too, which was nice because then I didn’t have to ask. “What’s your max for 6 reps on the squat boy?”

“350, coach.”

“Not bad boy, but based on how you did with your bench. I’m going to start you at 400.”

“Yes coach. Whatever you say.”

I had a pretty solid chubby going on through most of this now. I wasn’t wearing a jockstrap like him, so it was definitely showing through my gym pants. I was getting a little hot, so my shirt came off. Ian gazed at my thick chest and seemed to be attracted to my big, round nipples.

He pounded out his first set and his second set. His ass looked hot with each rep too. It flexed and relaxed and somehow even rippled. It was time we got him doing some real heavy weight though.

“Boy. What’s the heaviest you’ve ever seen someone squat?”

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Editor’s note: This section of the story was started by the contributor, then an extra sex scene was added by me, WildCuddler.

Check out the rest of the Witch’s Son series.

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While a lot happens for a boy witch between 16 and 18, I’m somewhat sorry to say that it is pretty much the same tiresome curriculum that any teenager experiences. I learned that my body, while easy to come by for a guy who can manipulate his physicality by means of magic, has a huge impact on the opposite sex and, more importantly, the same sex. I learned that all the magic in the world doesn’t make getting dumped the first time any easier. I found out that underwear, while seemingly required by everyday standards, are uncomfortable and unnecessary. Above all else I learned that one of my favorite things to do is make out.

All this, though, is secondary to what happened after I turned 18. I moved away from home the summer after high school graduation. I moved to a smaller town than where I grew up in a more conservative part of the country. Mostly, though, I moved away from the Grans. I took my Mom’s warnings to heart about going crazy with magic, and other stuff, when away from home. I’d nearly blown up enough things to know I had to be careful. It was such a relief, though, to not have to hide so much of who I was when I was at home. Typical gay story, I suppose, except that my Mom and the Grans couldn’t possibly care less about me being a homo. The Grans just couldn’t know how readily I was able to pull from the threads of magic. College was like heaven.

I excelled in all my studies first year despite my constantly being distracted by some extracurricular activity. Most of the time those were sports or clubs. Sometimes it was some guy’s ass. The best times were when it was both. Oh boy, those wrestlers sure were slippery. The fun with them starts when you pin them down though.

To keep people from asking too many questions about why I was so big and muscled, I went to the gym most of the week. It was never hard for me to lift anything there, but it was a great place to meet some guys. Being that it was a small college, the wrestling team would always workout right after my last class late at night. Normally, everyone left the wrestlers alone, but I wasn’t like everyone else.

I saw a hot fucking wrestler boy one day in there. He was doing a some extra bench presses after most of the team had left. I was on the bench next to him and had seem him look my way a couple times, probably just admiring my size. I had a plan to make me into the hero and him the stud in distress. He may have thought he had 250 lbs of weight on the bar, but I made those plates just a little heavier. He was struggling on his 3rd rep so I went over an gave him a spot. Well, and I lightened the weight back up making him crank out a total of 12 reps.

After that set he laid on the bench, looked up at my and said, “Thanks big guy!”

With that I stepped around the bar and gave him a hand up. “I’m Glistern”

“Name’s Ian.” He tried to be all macho and masculine, and he definitely was. He just threw in a little extra. “I thought I had the weight. I mean, I know I’ve lifted more than that easily before.”

“It must have been something in the air.”

“Well then, I better get going. Looks like I’m spent.”

I can’t let him get away this quickly. “I don’t think so. You’re going to do some more sets for me.”

“Yes, coach!”

With those two short words, the fantasy had begun to play out in my head, but it was time too see how it played out in real life without me influencing it; too much.

I forced him to do 3 more sets on the bench press. He grabbed my water bottle and took a drink without even realizing it wasn’t his. What he didn’t know is that it was a muscle growth elixir, which tasted just like water. I made it for myself just for a little extra pump.

He was wearing a sleeveless shirt with the sides cut out. Lucky for me, he cut a lot out of those sides showing me his thick, furry slab of chest with some perky nipples. I even got a glimpse of his tight stomach. His already hot physique just improved more with the elixir I gave him.

After the bench press, I could tell he was geared up to do some more. He kept asking me “What’s in your water? It’s making me feel great.”

“Nothing special. Just some spring water my mom got me.”

“I’ll have to get me some of that. What’s next coach?”

Ian was bulging out everywhere, and I mean EVERYWHERE. Damn did his cock look good, and I hadn’t even helped him grow it yet. It looked like it was contained by a worn jockstrap.

The gym was closing up, but that wasn’t any concern for me. I’d stayed late plenty of times to workout naked and jack off. I told the gym attendant I would take care of everything. Ian looked very excited about the prospect of staying late and working out with me.

Ian looked over at me and gave me a puppy-dog look of “what’s next?”

Part 2 will be later this week.

The whole Witch’s Son Series so far

“I will not be a Luddite because you women choose to disdain all things electronic! I have 3 papers due next week alone and I’m not about to sit down with a quill to scratch out a missive to the mistress. Do you remember what century this is?”

“You’ll show respect, man-child!”

“Gran, really? Man-child? I’ve been in this house as your grandson for 16 years. Will you please not speak to me as if I’m some sort of shocking abomination?”

“You were a shock!“

“I know. I’d think you’d be used to the idea of a grandchild with a prick by now.”

“Such language!”

“I’ll just ask mom.” She’d tell me no again but I’d still ask. I’d been trying to get a laptop since the start of school a month before. Having to use friends’ computers who were working on the same papers as me at the same time was not working. We had the money but these old women believed that magic and technology couldn’t co-exist. That I was using a computer in a room filled with computers everyday was of no interest to them because they thought my being male meant that I had no connection to the threads of Light that only they could perceive. They thought this because of how few threads connected to me, they said. I was like all the other people walking around blind to magic. I didn’t know then how it was possible that I could do what I could do with magic without them knowing but I was glad that it was how it was. They looked fairly normal but the old crones were powerful beyond imagining. I needed to stay shrouded.

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My mother was a witch. Her mother was a witch. Her mother, too, was a witch. The women in my family have been witches for as long as there has been a family. Each woman has had only one daughter and has never kept a man longer than needed for conception. On the day of my birth, my grandmother and great-grandmother cast the circle into which I would emerge. They were excitedly awaiting the continuation of a tradition, of a lineage. They were not expecting me to be born a boy.

The women grieved for years as if they had lost a member of their family who’d been with them for a lifetime. They looked upon me as if I’d somehow intentionally thrown a wrench into the gears of their most intricate plans. My Gran and Great-Gran faulted my mother. It had been part of her earliest training in magic to enable herself to only conceive of a daughter. My Grans’ scrying throughout her pregnancy had consistently delivered the message that I was a healthy, baby girl, however. There was no precedent for any of this in our lengthy and detailed family history.

Doing a little levitation practice with my mother.

Even through my mother’s bitterness at having bore a son. she secretly taught me magic. My Grans had forbidden it. They felt that a “man-child” not only shouldn’t, but couldn’t know of or practice magic properly. My mother took secret pleasure in my natural aptitude for all things arcane. She still tells me the stories of my correcting the spells that she was teaching me for the first time and of how quickly I moved from the crutch of spellcasting into advanced practice. I suppose that the most evident show of skill that I showed was my keeping from my Grans not only that I had magic but that I was a boy before even being born. While I was the first male born into our family I was not the first conceived. My Grans blame their failings upon my being gay and confusing the magic with my very being. My mother has a differing opinion. I believe she is right. She holds it as truth that I was blessed from my first blinking into existence because my father was no mundane sperm donor. He had an understanding and command of magic that had dazzled my mother into defying her mother and producing his offspring.

Being born into such a fucked up life in a world that isn’t so great itself could have made me a bit fucked up myself. While some people in the ‘magical community’ are just misfits trying to connect with other misfits and people walking through the motions of spells, my people are natural witches. We walk the wheel of eternity and we move magic in our lives and through the lives of others. There are rules, of course. We follow them. The rules that your average new age bookstore kitchen witch knows, however, are not the rules that govern our existence. Those women would never dream of aborting a child for being male. That is just the tip of the iceberg.

For all the unscrupulousness of my family, however, I have been pushed the other way. It is a relatively odd thing for rebellion to make you do what is right but that is how it has gone thus far. Life is an interesting thing.

I record this telling of my life not because I think it terribly interesting or of great import. I record this telling because there are other men, like me, who have stumbled through life learning less than they should from where they should learn it. Perhaps this telling will help them move forward more smoothly than I was able to do. May my mistakes be the foundation of your understanding.

A note on organization: I have scratched out these tales through the years. I have arranged them mostly in order of my gaining new magical skills or on the ways I have learned to be of service not only as a witch but as a person of power. That power comes not only from my ability to impact the perceived reality but from my having made a decision to hold up and encourage others as they work to change their own world. Some of the stories, admittedly, are revealing and sometimes steamy. A life without love is a life half-lived. I have lived my life thus far and continue to do so. Love shows up in many ways and for differing lengths of time. This does not change that it is love. Blessed be.

Excerpt from part 2:
“…let his fingers slide into every ridge between his abs. He squeezed his own biceps. He molested his pecs like he was afraid…”