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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The week between the meeting and the party was a quick one. I think I can say that for pretty much every week of college except for the two weeks leading up to midterms, finals or any vacation. I didn’t have to do anything for the costume, of course. I simply made myself into a Satyr for the night. I liked, and still like, the Roman style satyrs better than the Greek. The Greeks just add a horse’s ears and tail to a normal looking guy. The Romans, though, offered us the goat legs and hooves of what we think of today. I was looking pretty hot as a Pan-like fawn.

I had to make sure it didn’t look as real as it actually was or people would notice. I had to put on pants, for example, because just furring up my body and going naked would have been noticed. I’m very attentive to detail, though, and was looking pretty hot in the mirror. I sheathed my cock just like the little statue of Pan that I used as my model. My dick head was just visible out the top of the fur scabbard that encased it while it was flaccid. When hard, though, it was slid into full view and looked, well, incredible. That would have drawn a little too much attention, though. So, on with the pants. I did let the fur grow up my abs, though, into a point that ended just under my chest. I put a hole in the back of the pants so that my little tail could poke through. I thought people would just think that was funny. It is, however, what got me in trouble in the end. I had ears in the right place and read online how a person could use some foam padding to make their legs look like they were hinged backwards like an animals and how to make ‘hooves.’ I couldn’t have explained knees that bent the wrong way and a lack of human feet so I used the foam bits to finish it all off.

I showed up for the party a little late and, as instructed, avoided the bar. I’d done my own ritual at home to make sure all that was important to me happened. Samhain is the pagan new year. It’s an important Sabbat. When I got to the party I started looking for Calvus/Michael. I had brought him a little gift. I know it’s was possibly the gayest thing ever but my Mom taught me never to show up to a ritual empty handed. The person leading should always receive a gift of some sort and I assumed he’d be leading us tonight.

I was right. It was because of this, in fact, that he was nowhere to be found. I didn’t see him until it was time to gather for the ritual. There was, as there always is, plenty of time to give him the token, however.

“Merry meet, Glistern. How are you on this All Hallow’s Eve?”

(Naughty pics after the jump)

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

When Samhain rolled around, though, I was a little lonely for home. Non-witches just don’t celebrate Halloween the same way that witches do. Because of this, when I saw a call out for the pagan club on campus I was stoked! I don’t know exactly what I expected, but when I showed up for my first meeting I was more than a little shocked.

Their meeting space was on the first floor of the president’s dorm. All the black being worn by the members when I walked through the door took me aback. I’m a witch. I have maybe two black tee-shirts and they have print on them. These people did not strike me as witches on any level. I even paid attention for anyone drawing magic and there wasn’t much to be seen. It was looking like a fail for sure. I was already through the door, though, so I sat down quietly in the corner.

All around me people were having pissing contests about who’d read the most or been to the most rituals or who had the coolest ritual items. I was feeling more and more like leaving was a good idea. Sitting there with the bulge of my biceps testing the elasticity of the sleeves of my teal polo made blending in difficult. I looked like I was a frat wannabe taking part of some forced humiliation as part of rush week. The only problem was that it wasn’t rush week and I wasn’t going Greek.

Just as I was about to stand and depart the president walked in. He was, to turn a phrase, incredibly fuckable. He wasn’t built like me. He wasn’t thick the way I was. He looked to have that taught body of a swimmer. I was looking at his face but my mind was constructing a life-like replica of him to be used when I got back to my apartment. I was spending extra effort on his waist. You could tell that he had those great lines just on the outside of his lower abs. The kind made for licking. He wasn’t wearing as much black as the others in the group but what he was wearing made an impression. A thick black, leather bracelets on each wrist told me plenty. His clothes actually fit, unlike the outfits of most in the group. He had a mop of dark curls and piercing blue eyes.

As he’d walked in I’d been just standing up. I didn’t realize that I’d stopped moving in mid-motion while I stared at him. I was half out of the chair when he smirked and asked, “Leaving already or just sitting down? I can’t tell.”

I stammered over my response. I could have cleared that room with a wave of my hand. I could have bench pressed his body. I could have conjured up a dozen roses behind my back and handed them to him. Instead, I stammered. I couldn’t talk. I was speechless in the face of his beauty. I finally spit out, “Sitting.”

He laughed.

That was when I knew I’d found a challenge. College life had turned up a lot of sex. It was incredible, really, what some big arms, a flat stomach and a legendary cock will do for a guy’s sex life. I used the magic to make my body and all of its accoutrement. I used none of it to get a guy into my bed. The rule of 3X3 doesn’t exactly apply to beings like me but it still applies on some level. Bewitching someone into your bed is never a good idea. At a small, liberal arts college, however, all you needed was a body like mine. This guy, though, seemed anything but impressed. We’d see about that.

Needless to say, I stayed at the meeting with the sexy leader. It seemed that there was nothing to talk about besides the big party being held for All Hallow’s Eve. There would be a ritual during the party, it seemed, in a separate part of the building they were to use. The group was encouraged to not drink or otherwise alter their minds lest it interfere with the magic of the evening. While there did seem to be a spark of magic around the president, I was doubtful there’d be any actual magic done by this group of pretenders. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

“I’m Calvus. How’d you like your first meeting?” was how he started it.

I’d prepared myself for this through the entire meeting. I had my game face back. “It was pretty good as far as meetings go.”

“Yeah. I feel you there. I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t pitch it.”

A grin. That was all he gave me on that one. I had been waiting to use that line for a seeming eternity. He was killing me. A grin was all it took. Red-faced I told him, “Glistern.”

“Last name? What’s your first?”

“I go by Glistern. First name’s a family name and it’s not one I give out readily. You’ll have to work for that one.”

“We’ll see. Calvus is my craft name, I guess I should tell you. Michael is what you’ll hear anyone not in the club calling me.” He’d introduced himself with his craft name. I wasn’t sure if I should take that as a compliment or as a sign that he had no business with a craft name. With a smile like his, though, I opted to give the benefit of the doubt.

“Right on. I’m thinking about coming to this party and ritual that you guys are doing for Samhain. Anything I should bring? Anything I should know as a first timer?”

“Just yourself. Come in costume, though. That’s almost the best part. We have a theme every year. This year everyone is supposed to dress like a favorite character from Mythology.”

“Greek, Roman, what?”

“Good question. Most people just giggle and say okay. You decide, though. I’d imagine most people will go with Greek since it’s what they know.”

“I’m set, then.”

“Yeah? What you going to wear, or do I have to work for that too?”

“You do now. See you at the party.” And with that I’d grabbed the proverbial joystick and sunk his battleship. I wasn’t very good with the metaphors at 18. What can I say?

Check out Part 1

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

—————————————-

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.

———————————————

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…”