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The Curse

Chapter 02

“Rules of the Road”

Written by Leo_Todrius

Commissioned by Beardfull1

The golden light of dawn poured in through the windows of the AlphaHex Innovations lobby like sweet syrup. It couldn’t have been more fitting given the number hexagons employed in the decor; from the floor tiles to the support columns, even the light fixtures. The lobby was a work of art, distinct and cherished and touted in countless magazines and advertising campaigns. It was everything that its employees were not. To succeed in AlphaHex, one had to be the proverbial drones to the colony and none had excelled at being a drone more than Edward Davis… at least until his life had been taken from him.

Edward stood at the reception desk, his right foot tapping out of equal parts frustration and anxiety. From a distance he would have fit right in with any of the hundreds of employees filing into the elevator, ascending to their floors to handle the office work for a globally spanning company handling a dozen different fields. Edward had on a coral colored button up shirt, gunmetal gray slacks and nice shoes that had to cost at least one paycheck. His dark brown hair was well groomed, his features respectable, his physique fit and flawless. He had a face you could trust, but maybe not remember. It was his eyes, his green eyes, that betrayed the deep unsettled dread he was holding back with all of his might.

“Edward Davis, just like it says on the badge…” he repeated. The receptionist’s brow furrowed behind the rim of her glasses as she appraised it, then looked at her screen, then back at the badge.

“I don’t know what to tell you Mister Dallas, I don’t have any record of you on any system. I’ve checked payroll, human resources, resource planning, even the holiday newsletter. There’s no record of you.” the receptionist said before looking up at him. The last words stung the most. No record… No record of him anywhere. Edward reached down and took his card back in case she might have decided to keep it for some company policy on forgeries, erasing the last evidence of the life he’d had. Edward turned and stalked across the lobby, his shoes tapping on the hexagonal tiles before he pressed through the door and out onto the street - only this time he was mindful of everyone around him.

It had only been a few days since he’d bumped into the bearded man, the man on the street, the man that had cursed him. It had been a freak encounter, literally and figuratively… He’d bumped into a behemoth of a man that looked like he’d stepped out of the stone age, from shoulder length black hair to a billowing beard blowing in the wind. Of all things he’d hit on Edward, and when Edward politely turned him down, everything had unraveled - including reality itself. Edward closed his eyes and leaned against the outside of the building, his heart accelerating as he recalled how his very essence, his body, his mind, his tastes had torn him apart and rebuilt him into a grubby hipster barista. He’d walked in another man’s life, then turned someone into someone like him, and then snapped back into the empty space where his life had been… At least his apartment had still been his.

Edward turned, walking down the street, weaving between throngs of pedestrians. He always seemed to be looking for the man that had done this to him, the man that had stolen his life and forced him to take on another. Edward’s shoulders sagged as he walked, but they rose up again as he heard that familiar sound, or rather, felt it. It came on like a growl of some ancient mechanical beast. It reverberated in his diaphragm, his lungs, his chest, his bones. His entire body vibrated as if it was on the same frequency, and then the tingling started again.

Edward shuddered as his face tingled, as if it was being kissed with rain so hot it evaporated on impact. Waves and pinpricks of pleasure rippled outward, washing over him with a haze of euphoria. It was sublime, it was transcendent, and it was a trap. Edward shook off the feelings, looking one way and then the other. He turned away from the noise and started running. He’d become agile and nimble in his exile from his own life, phobic about bumping into anyone else. He bounded from foot to foot, getting ahead of the crowd. Adrenaline coursed through his body as he tried to resist and escape, looking down, seeing that his perfectly groomed hands were already looking different. His fingernails were longer and little wisps of hair were pushing out from his knuckles.

“No, not here, not now…” he whispered before cringing, feeling as if he was reliving some terrible horror movie. Throwing caution to the wind, Edward crossed against the light. Taxis and cars honked as he bounded across the crosswalk, getting to the other side. He scanned the cluster of buildings, trying to look for shelter before he finally saw something that just might work… Tucked in between steel and grass masterpieces as an old brick and mortar building, as much of an eyesore as it was a historical cornerstone of the downtown area. Maybe it was thick enough to block out the sound, to hold it back, to save him.

The growl was growing louder, the source getting closer and closer. Edward lunged for the door, grabbing onto the brass handle. He pulled the heavy door open just enough to slip inside before pulling it shut behind him. It hadn’t been a second too soon. The vibration came, accompanied by the muffled roar of the engine, but the tingling ebbed away. Edward closed his eyes, breathing deeply, in and out, in and out to steady himself. As he focused on staying in the moment and staying himself, he became aware of a strange aroma... Tendrils slipped in with each breath, lingering in his lungs, reluctant to slip back out again.

It was the most amazing blend of aromas with subtle notes. It smelled of cedar, hickory, of earth and dust and a tiny bite of pepper. Edward’s eyes opened and he turned around, feeling his heart sink as his refuge became something else entirely. He’d been running away from the magnetic pull of the motorcycles for over a day, feeling their siren song calling to him, threatening to trigger an episode of his curse. He’d ran, he’d fled, and now he had stumbled into the belly of the beast. Edward looked around at the leather shop that stretched out around him.

Much of the very pleasing aroma came from the exquisite leather jackets, coats, vests, bodysuits and cod pieces, but another element came from the faint haze of cigar smoke in the air. Edward’s eyes turned, seeking out the source, seeing a mustachioed clerk behind the counter, puffing away on the thickest, fattest cigar Edward had ever seen before. In that instant, Edward felt the stirrings of his other self, like a great leviathan swimming just behind the surface of the water, ready to breach at any moment.

The urge to run again was strong, but Edward couldn’t get himself to move his legs, let alone his head. He was focused and fixated on the clerk, the young man pulling him in like a magnet. The clerk was tall and sturdy, broad shouldered, arms reasonably meaty from a life of retail. His rusty reddish brown hair was respectably cut, but Edward’s entire focus was on the walrus style mustache adorning the clerk’s upper lip. It was worthy of a Victorian regent. The hairs were sturdy, looking as if they would have been wavy or even bristly if not for liberal use of beard oils and mustache wax. The ingredients had forced the robust, almost too-mature mustache into behaving, resting against and framing the fat cigar. Edward nearly drooled as he watched the clerk take a long puff, the embers glowing brightly before more tendrils of smoke escaped his obscured lips. The smoke rose up, playing with the mustache, no doubt adding to its unique and sophisticated scent.

“Hey pops, you’re just in time, your order’s ready.” the clerk grinned, though one could only infer it from the curve the thick, bushy ginger mustache took on.

“Y-You must be mistaken, I’ve never been here before in my life…” Edward said, though his voice was hollow. He could feel it happening again, the curse taking root. The clerk chuckled, taking another big drag on his cigar as he moved around the counter and toward the back of the store, chuckling.

“Oh yeah, the great Ed Davis, the Demon of Detroit, the man who single handedly got me enough on commission to get my own first bike, has never been here before.” the clerk smirked, “And I bet you’re going to tell me you weren’t the one that got me hooked on these babies either, right?” he asked, taking another puff of his cigar before he drew one out of his pocket, offering it to Ed. This time a chuckle escaped Ed’s lips.

“How could I forget something like that? If I were a younger man, Sam…” Ed murmured, accepting the cigar. He held it in his fingers, his brow furrowing in confusion. If he were a younger man? They were the same age, weren’t they? Or at least they were close… Despite that undeniable fact, Edward’s own memories were starting to contradict him. Another life was pushing up through the surf, rising into the light of day, supplanting what he knew and what he had experienced. Edward was powerless to stop it, but Ed didn’t want to.

Reflection came easy to a man that had gotten on in years, and it seemed Ed was no exception. When he looked at Sam, he saw years worth of life the boy had lived. He remembered meeting the clerk when he was a teenager, barely old enough to have peach fuzz… Ed had encouraged him to cultivate it even then, to take pride in it, to earn the envy of his classmates and to strive to be as manly as possible. Sam had done so. The peach fuzz had developed month by month, darkening to match the rusty brown of the young man. He’d shown Ed his driver’s license photo, complete with the mustache he vowed to have the rest of his life.

Ed’s pride had only grown for this young acolyte, this apprentice of masculinity. Sam had graduated, rising taller, wider, bigger. He’d outpaced his peers in nearly every quality. They’d shared cigars and then, when he was old enough, fine whisky. Sam had grown his hair long, then shaved it all off, then found a middle ground. His freckles had darkened as they were kissed by the sun, exposed to the rougher life of a biker - when business allowed anyhow. Through it all, through every part, Sam had stayed true to his promise. His mustache had been the one constant, developing from a fine strip of hair to a full handlebar and then something more. He cared for it like a loved one, just as he had promised his bearded mentor. It almost pained Ed how much he’d had to restrain himself from being a lecherous old man when it came to Sam.

“I wouldn’t let anything like that get in our way, if you ever decided to stick around long enough anyway.” Sam grinned, snapping Ed’s attention back to reality. The clerk turned, pulling a leather bag from a cubby hole at the back of the shop, holding it out to Ed as some sort of offering.

“Everything’s in there?” Ed asked, as much out of autopilot as anything, tucking the cigar into his pocket.

“Everything you need for a life on the road.” Sam said as he handed the bag over to Ed. Edward felt the weight of it on his arms, against his chest, sinking into his soul. He’d run, he’d even tried to hide, and yet it found him. His curse had struck again. His mouth was watering to taste that sweet cigar smoke first hand. His cock was throbbing, aching to embed itself in this man he had apparently watched grow up. His body was tingling and burning, trying to let loose. Edward murmured his appreciation and something about catching Sam later before he extracted himself from the shop, emerging back onto the street.

The heavy door slammed behind him and the quiet of the shop was replaced with the constant din of the street. He heard cars, trucks, cell phones and sirens. The air was clean and sweet. Edward felt a little bit of an anchor, a little bit of a connection. Maybe he could just get back to his apartment and hide out from the change. Edward turned toward home but froze, seeing one of the parking spots dominated by the bulky, weighty, heavy presence of the beefiest chopper he’d ever seen before. Even dormant, the headlight throbbed with energy. The chassis seemed well loved, pockmarked by grit and gravel but still showing the deep burgundy paint so lovingly applied. The leather seat glistened, well used and broken in. Leather straps dangled from the handlebar, blowing back and forth.

Even without the bike being on, Edward knew it was his… It was his destiny, his partner in crime, his whole world. He could feel the vibration like a phantom memory in his legs, his balls, his cock, his… belly? Edward groaned slightly as his coral shirt strained, the buttons tugging as his fit, firm body fleshed out. The sleeves got tighter, his pants had a harder time containing him as his ass cheeks began to build and his groin ballooned outward as well. Edward grunted, hastily chucking the leather bag to hang onto the handlebar before he turned and started toward home. He didn’t care if anyone stole the bag. Maybe they’d change instead of him… but something told him he wasn’t going to be that lucky.

****

It occurred to Edward just how far he had fallen by the third block on the way bck to his apartment. Every step felt like a major feat. He operated on fear, paranoia and apprehension. His mind was working over drive to stave off the tells, the hungers, the urges. His eyes darted back and forth as he looked for threats to the status quo. He’d never had to do that before, he’d never had to… survive. He’d gone through the motions of school, then he’d gotten a job right out of college. He did what any good citizen was supposed to do. Thinking back on how easy it had all been, it almost seemed like autopilot. Even his fleeting relationships had been passing dalliances.

As Edward approached his apartment building, he had a half second of relief and then a long moment of dread. Parked right outside was the motorcycle, the leather sack still dangling from the handlebars. It had beat him home, waiting for him. Just looking at how powerful it was, how well worn the seat was, it made his cock swell, and his chest along with it. One of the buttons of his shirt popped off, rolling along the sidewalk. Edward watched the little plastic disc roll along before it wobbled and fell, skidding the last centimeter to hit the edge of the curb. It was so clean and pure, so smooth, just as he had been… but was no longer.

Ed looked down at his exposed chest, seeing the last remnants of his old life fading away. The smooth, virgin skin prickled with what looked like goosebumps, shifting as hundreds of tiny hairs began to emerge, pressing outward, growing like a new crop from spring soil. As the hair grew, it quickly faded. The earthy brown tones lasted mere moments, the hair reduced to a platinum grey. The skin around tightened and toughened, the youthful vitality ebbing. What had started as hundreds of hairs became thousands. They were growing in number and length all at once.

A rich, strange heat throbbed slowly from Ed’s chest. One hand drifted up, numbly undoing another button, revealing even more of his abdomen. It seemed the hair was conquering more than just his chest. There were hints all the way to his collarbone, edging near his pits. The hair trickled down across his stomach with nos signs of stopping. He wasn’t just becoming hirsute, he was becoming a beast. The forest of silver hair seemed strange to Edward, almost as if it belonged to someone else. He reached to sink his fingers into it in disbelief. As his fingers raked through the brush, he could hear its grit, feel its strength, and it felt so good against his fingers. It wasn’t a stranger’s, it was his… it was all him and he loved it.

His chest pressed outward, not just from growth but also from pride. Ed grinned, unable to stop himself. The thoughts were potent, addictive and alluring. He imagined how jealous other men would have been his entire life. His classmates would have been envious, his co-workers would have been awed, his lovers would have been transfixed. He was a monster in all the right ways. His fat, plump nipples were camouflaged amid the thick, wonderful hair. Ed caressed it, stroked it, and brushed it with his fingers, catching the spicy, musky scent that was him and him alone.

The sensation of feeling his pelt up was almost orgasmic, but it seemed his threshold of pleasure was shifting as much as his body was. All that joy, all that lust, all that heat only served to percolate something else inside of him. The heat grew more intense and, as it was prone to do, the heat rose. A strange, deep growl of satisfaction began to build from his throat before he grinned dully. The percolation hit the boiling point and all that energy had to go somewhere. Ed closed his eyes, able to visualize it all in his mind.

While reality was warping around him and the curse taking root, he had the body of a mature, hardened man and the face of a thirty year old. It was strange in the juxtaposition, almost ironic, but it brought with it a most definite opportunity. Just as Ed had salivated over Sam’s maturation process, he could feel his own starting. His skin prickled as the heat began to push outward. Blood circulated, hormones surged, pheromones were expressed. He was saturated in all the ingredients of manliness and they were finally taking shape.

Every man developed differently. Every man expressed his ultimate form in a different way. It seemed that Ed the Biker had started much like Sam, with a mustache that was a bit thicker and softer than most young men could grow before it filled out even further. Then came a downy dusting along the backs of his cheeks, connecting in a line up to his hair. Every tiny follicle pulsed like a star in the night’s sky. Ed could feel each one, cherish each one, encouraging them to grow. He reached up, tracing his fingertips ever so lightly over the surface, coaxing the hairs to push out longer, fuller, faster and thicker.

It would have been so easy to straddle his chopper, to feel its power between his legs, to set out and indulge himself in a life of debauchery. He could make a life of it, a long life at that. If merely existing could feel this good, how wonderful would living that new life be? How good would it be to embrace the freedom, the maturity, the experience? Ed let out another sensual, lewd moan as another button popped from his shirt, then another as the garment finally gave way. This time it had not been the growth of muscle that had compromised his clothes. It seemed a life of hedonism and self serving pleasure had brought with it a few consequences.

Ed looked down, watching as his fit, firm stomach began to grow and bloat, distending and stretching, rounding outward. A lattice of muscles curved over the surface, but on top of that was a thin layer of fat, padding to give comfort to those that rode his cock just as he rode his hog. The same bristling came as the grey fuzz spread down, connecting his chest hair to his bush, ringing his navel and fanning outward. The biker hardly knew where to touch himself. A hand felt the fuzzy curve of his belly, the stalwart strength of his chest before returning to his face.

Centimeter by centimeter, the hair pushed outward, growing unabated. Ed even tugged on it, trying to pull it out faster, feeling his heart and cock both thump at the effort. Here he was, catching up to where he should have been in life. He was experiencing all of the growth that Ed would have cherished. Days of growth passed a second, months of growth in moments. It was sensual, sexual, heavenly, and yet there was another nagging feeling, an urge and hunger that was rearing itself up, giving the biker one more thing to yearn for. It really had been too long since his last cigar…

“No!” Edward shouted to himself, trying one last time to get a grip, to resist the curse, to hold on to who he really was. Despite his outburst and the fact that he was half naked, the other pedestrians didn’t seem to notice. Edward tried to shake himself free of the self indulgent reverie. He stomped his way past the motorcycle in defiance, intent on leaving it behind. It could follow him across town, but there was no way it could make it up to an upstairs apartment. Edward swung the door open to his apartment building and took a big stride through the doorway… into some sort of bathroom? It took him a moment to process what had happened. Instead of the stairwell of his apartment building, he was standing in a grubby, worn down bathroom. The mirror almost looked painted on and the faucet fixtures of the sink looked like they were from the fifties at the most. The yellow and brown linoleum tile had cracked and peeled in corners and there was ample graffiti on the walls boasting about ways to find a good time.

Edward turned and looked back through the door, seeing his motorcycle and his bag, but the city was gone. The highway beyond was sun scorched and desert parched. The ground was a reddish brown grit, fine and almost like sand. Edward slowly stepped out of the bathroom and looked around, realizing the facilities were attached to an old abandoned gas station. The convenience store was dark with newspaper taped to the windows and the pumps pre-dated credit cards. Ed ran his tongue over his parched lips and, out of habit, brought the cigar from his pocket up to meet them. A hand dipped down into a pocket and fished out a lighter. With a practiced click, the flames erupted and licked at the tip of the thick, fat, long cigar. Ed had taken a few puffs, drawing air through the length of the stogie, catching the tobacco alight before he had even realized what he was doing. It was too late.

The rich, sweet, musty earthy flavors hit his tongue like an old friend. His cock hardened, pressing out against leather pants. His nipples were massaged by the leather vest that rubbed back and forth, up and down, side to side. His bare arms hummed with the warmth of the sun warming the well toned flesh. Ed drew in longer and longer before he exhaled. A plume of pungent, thick smoke billowed out into clumps and curls. It slipped back around him, blowing against his face, tickling at the tips of his stubble.

Puff by puff, Ed gave into the cigar, feeling his cock swelling longer and fuller. Each and every breath, each and every exhale, in and out, heartbeat by heartbeat, it was all connected. That strange zen-like zeal settled back over Ed just as when he’d been growing out his chest hair. He pulled smoke into his mouth and held it, feeling the tingling heat inside his mouth and through his body.

When he held the smoke, his beard grew out more. The downy fuzz toughened up and thickened. When he exhaled, his balls seemed to descend and plump. When he breathed in, his cock got fatter and longer. Puff-puff-puff, another two inches to his cock. Holding that breath, that smoke? His nipples hardened with use and abuse, the vest pulling apart as his stomach round and stretched further, pressing out in every direction. It firmed and hardened, certainly setting him apart from the every-man. At long last he exhaled, blowing the smoke like a frustrated dragon. The smoke tickled and licked at his thickening beard, coaxing it to grow, the particles of smoke nearly adding onto the ends of the hair and solidifying in place.

Somehow, it all felt better than sex. Edward spoke not ust with Ed’s experience, but now his own. He’d had two lifetimes added to his own, and nothing had felt that good or compelling. A calloused, sun spotted, hairy hand reached up and pulled the cigar from his lips as he blew out another cloud. The smoke danced around his head, clinging to him, almost as if it was passing through his essence, corrupting and tainting it. It spilled into his memories and his thoughts. What was life without smoke, without sex, without the open road? What other way was there to live, to be?

It only took another puff for Edward to realize how much better he felt about everything. The fear, anxiety, and paranoia was gone. It had been replaced with a tranquil, zen like contentment. It felt like a life of experience, as if there was no need to sweat the small stuff, just an urge to enjoy things as much as possible. That seemed easy enough, and it wasn’t like he was going to stay around in an abandoned bathroom all day either. Ed returned the lighter to his pocket before fishing out some mirrored aviator glasses, bringing them up to shield his eyes from the sun. With them firmly settled, he advanced towards his chopper.

The mechanical beast was a true thing of beauty. It was powerful, masculine, a testament to what mankind could achieve. Ed’s boots kicked up a bit of the red dust, but the leather didn’t hold the stain and it fell back off just as easily. With a practiced gait, Ed swung his leg up over the bike and settled down. The leather seat welcomed his firm and yet fat ass, fitting it like a glove. Smoke crept out around the corners of Ed’s mouth as he gripped the starter, moved his foot and brought the bike to life.

That deep, resonant, unearthly grown erupted from the silence of the desert like an oil vein tapped for the first time. It roared to life between his legs, humming and vibrating, pulsing with vitality. It felt so good… Too good. Ed clenched the cigar in his teeth as he reached down, unzipping the fly of his leather pants, withdrawing his fat, hard cock. He began to squeeze and stroke it, his hand riding the length up and down, faster and harder, teasing it and tightening around it. Ed purred to himself just like his bike did, but it wasn’t enough… at least not yet.

The biker tucked his cock back into the pouch of his pants for the moment before he pulled out onto the highway, picking up speed. The chopper growled harder, feeling its master guide it closer to its true purpose. The wind began picking up, adding an icy bite to the hot kiss of the sun. Ed picked up speed, coaxing more and more out of the Chopper until the wind whipped against him, his eyes the only part protected from behind the shiny aviators. It almost seemed absurd in that moment that Edward had fought the urges. Why would he have turned away from a life of true contentment? Away from a life of peace, joy and living in the moment. The road felt good and the wind felt better, whipping through his hair and across his head… a head that was feeling lighter by the second.

At first, Ed hadn’t really noticed, but as the wind whipped and sifted through his hair, his hair was coming loose and scattering into the breeze. Strand by strand, it was thinning away. His sunkissed, well tanned forehead crept back further and further as his well groomed mane was shorn by the ravages of nature, of time, or perhaps by the other life that was weaving itself into the tapestry of his history. Even when he realized what was happening, Ed didn’t want to stop or turn back. His hands tightened and he accelerated. The chopper jumped forward, speeding faster. It felt almost like a wind tunnel as it blasted around his head, curving over a newly smooth, bald scalp.

There had never been anything that felt quite like wind on a bald head. There was nothing between him and the road, at one with nature and freedom personified. His head weighed less, it was unfettered, almost as if the wind was kissing and licking him as he rode. It sent chills down Ed’s spine, but those chills grew hot again as the icy cold air blasting against his face turned white hot. While the biker’s head had lost all its hair, his face seemed to be trying to make up for it.

It would be hard to keep his eyes on the road, but thankfully there wasn’t any other traffic this far into the middle of nowhere. It was hard for Edward not to think of seeing the wind blow across vast fields of grass, how the blades whipped one direction and then another in unison. The same mesmerizing dance was taking place on his face as the hair pushed out centimeter after centimeter, growing fuller, thicker and longer. The wisps at the back of his cheeks whipped around in the wind while the strands pushing out from his lip and chin were held back by the force of it.

The biker swayed a little, drifting toward the median and then the shoulder of the road. He let the wind hit the hair from different angles, letting it shape and groom him. His cock grew fat and rock hard in his pants, his balls throbbing and aching, all without him touching himself. It all came from the celebration of himself, of his body, of what he was cultivating. He felt his mustache filling out, thickening and descending. Surely this was the man Sam had seen growing up, this was the man Ed had been for years and years. He’d never shaved, he’d never trimmed, he let his masculinity flow in tangible form. His beard was a badge of pride, a hallmark of success.

The last patches of skin disappeared from Ed’s cheeks as the platinum hair filled in like falling snow. The beard closed the gap. It was bliss, it was pleasure, but it wasn’t enough. Edward knew how much he had changed, how far he had fallen, but the beast within wasn’t even close to sated. Ed wanted to exist, to be, to live… and that hungry yearning was there, reaching for more than just pride in his body. He needed to embrace every part of his essence. Ed drew in on his cigar as if it was the key to life itself, the end glowing bright red as he filled his mouth with smoke, held it and then exhaled. It leaked out of his lips like invisible exhaust from the motorcycle, scattering into the air behind him.

Embracing himself, embracing what he was meant to be, it all seemed to bring it into focus. Every hair, every strand, every wisp and curl was vibrating with the same intensity of the motorcycle. He and his bike were one living, breathing, smoking being. As much as Ed had tried to tuck it away, his hard, manly cock pushed back out of his leather pouch, rising up against his round, bare belly. It throbbed and ached with need, rising higher and higher, the head blunting and growing outward like a blossoming flower.

Ed cherished the freedom of the open road, of his motorcycle, of his life… a life that seemed longer than he had last recalled. Memories filtered into his mind, memories of an America that seemed different, more liberated and tolerant in the past. He dreamed of putting his problems behind him, of letting the years drift by like so much smoke. The biker took another drag of his cigar. As the smoke filled his mouth, it seemed to seep through him. What little color remained in his beard drained away, blanching to salt and pepper before even the pepper diminished. The only color was a tinge left by the kist of the red dust of the road.

It was strange, perhaps stranger than any of the other changes Edward had experienced yet. He could feel himself aging, trading the uncertain, hesitant, healthy and vibrant youth for a more weathered, experienced, well used body steeped in experience and wisdom. He felt the years hitting him like bugs on a windshield. His skin toughened up, his muscles firmed, a dull ache filled his lower back and yet it brought such a contentment. More memories filled his mind, sinking into his soul. He remembered his fortieth birthday… and how it felt almost like a second puberty. He’d gotten so much hairier, from his chest to his back, his shoulders, his hands and his feet… As he thought about it, the pillar of the cock rising up from his leather pants was ringed with a forest of thick, bushy, burly white hair. He felt like a yeti.

All of it had been perfect, cementing Ed’s existence, rooting it in his memory, filtering back to reshape the life he’d led in this timeline - but it wasn’t enough, he wasn’t enough. The biker’s beard growth would have been impressive to anyone, but the centimeter by centimeter approach seemed almost paltry. Ed was a beast with a hunger and need, and he needed more. He needed to reach his potential.

Once more, the bike growled as it accelerated, bringing an equal shift in Ed’s transformation. The hair that had edged out little by little began to grow faster. His jawline burned with heat as the hair extruded, surging out with an unwavering steadiness that was almost frightening. Three inches, four, five, six. His beard dropped down and flared outward, cresting back in the breeze. His mustache thickened enough that it would have hidden his mouth if not for the cigar extending from his lips.

A quick flash of wet - silky and hot at first before the wind blast chilled it. Ed shuddered, feeling the splatter of pre… then another, then a third. The sticky, salty goo dribbled around the curve of his belly. It all felt so good - too good, even. His beard was like an extension of his cock, his entire body electric with vitality and strength. While Edward had been afraid and scared, Ed embraced his destiny like the open road. He tilted his wrists, adjusted his foot, and pushed the chopper as fast as it could go. The bike growled with power and need, pushing harder and harder, picking up the pace.

The wind was furious, enough to extinguish the burning tip of Ed’s cigar, although it was mostly spent anyway. The thick, full, orange tinged white beard continued to emerge from Ed’s face, surpassing any limits society could have placed. He was the proud owner of a beard that had been growing for twenty five years, thirty, then forty. The leading edge draped over the curve of his belly. It was a beard worthy of the memories he had, of impressing Sam and the other bikers, of showing it off, of having his lovers sink their hands into it, to stroke it and feel it, to see he was the true king of the road.

Ed was older, sure, but he had no less zeal when it came to living life to the fullest. He’d earned a reputation on his travels, along with a nickname - pops… Then again, some still knew him as the Demon of Detroit too... As those memories wove themselves into Ed’s mind, he truly lost himself to his new history as a mad, lecherous grin crossed his lips and the tip of his beard managed to tickle the top of his muscle gut.

At long last, Ed remembered what was in the leather sack from Sam… Aside from more cigars and a nice helping of the finest whisky, his outfit had been finished. His leather cap with metal spikes embedded like horns, something to compliment his harness and his leather jock. He was the aloof leader of a biker gang, a master of ceremonies, a patriarch to those that felt the call of the open road, and it was his duty to help them live life as he had. It was a glorious life, one no one should turn away from. The only problem with being a wild biker daddy was that the urge to sire new leather cubs was dangerously powerful. Now Ed just needed to decide which territory to stalk his next prey…

****

There was nothing else on Earth like the sunset stretching across the desert. The soil seemed like it was from another world, glowing orange and red even as the fires of the sky gave way to cooler jewel tones. In the midst of such natural splendor, Hallvale seemed like some quaint oasis. A few of the homes and buildings glittered in the distance, but the outskirts were left as much to time as anything. An old drive-in theater sat dormant, and a functioning gas station offered only the light of the roadside sign to indicate the pumps were working. Still, it was enough for Ethan. Anything outside of his tiny town was enough.

The nineteen year old held the gas spigot to his Kawaski’s fuel tank, quenching his bike’s thirst. His custom black and red biker jumpsuit creaked a little with how new it was and the evening breeze licked against his ever-so-slightly manscaped hair. Ethan had cut the sides shorter than the top - not enough not to raise the ire of his regressive town but just enough to make him feel rebellious, different, a little wild.

When the teenager heard the growl of a real motorcycle, he looked up, his jaw dropping a bit. Ed rode in with the sunset at his back, the blazing disc of reddish-hold casting him in silhouette. Metal spikes glinted from his leather cap, tattoos spiraled down his beefy, hairy arms. His bike looked as if it could eat Ethan’s for breakfast. Even the headlight gleamed with unearthly power, looking like its own miniature sunset. Ethan gawked at the biker, nearly spilling gasoline from the nozzle before he remembered to let go.

Ed pulled to a stop, looking over at the youth nearly a third of his age… and yet he felt a kinship. This pup had a bit of a wildside in him. He had changed his hair, he had bought a riding outfit, he’d gotten himself a bike, and it seemed he had an appreciation for other riders. Ed reached up and lowered his sunglasses, revealing irises that were no longer quite human - at least in that moment. His irises glowed with a burning heat of the setting sun, his irises as deep and far reaching as the open roads. He looked at Ethan, then into him, reaching into his very soul with a hypnotic grip.

“Daddy needs the dust washed off his pole…” Ed growled, his deep bass voice resonating. Ethan’s hand relaxed and the gas nozzle fell to the ground. He trudged over obediently as Ed leaned back, revealing his musky, earthy, peaty cock. Ed sat on the bike like an ancient god, his head as smooth as marble and his platinum beard as long and full as all the forests of the world. Ethan’s blue eyes looked milky under the biker’s sway. He moved right over and lowered his head, his youthful lips parting over the experienced head of Ed’s cock. The biker growled, reaching to sink his fingers into Ethan’s hair, pushing him down around his cock. It felt easy, but that wasn’t a problem for Ed… They called it easy riding for a reason.

The nineteen year old was clumsy at first, but Ed’s guiding hand helped him with that. Hesitation melted away, replaced with eager acceptance. Ethan’s hasty hand unzipped his jumpsuit, revealing his fit, firm, perfect chest, flat stomach, and swelling cock. He steadied himself with one hand on the chopper while the other wrapped around his own cock, jerking off as he suckled and slurped on his biker daddy’s.

Ed growled with contentment, knowing he could fill this pup up like a gas pump all on his own. He pushed the punk’s head down further and further until Ethan’s face plunged into the thick forest of white hair around the base of the biker’s cock. It smelled like musk, like cigar smoke, like real men, and it felt even better… The hair bristled against his face. At first it tickled, then tingled, then pulsed, but Ethan couldn’t stop. He had a growing hunger growing inside of him.

Wet, lewd, sloppy slurps smacked from the biker’s groin, but Ethan’s grip shifted from the chopper to Ed’s leg. Ed growled happily, feeling the hand latch on. It wasn’t the grip of a teenager, it was the grip of a man… a man that liked to do what men did. As good as the blow job was, the feeling of welcoming another biker to manhood was a drug in and of itself. Ed reached to the bag on the back of the bike and pulled out another cigar, bringing it to his lips before he lit up and took a long draw. The end glimmered with heat and fire and light before a thick cloud of smoke spilled from his lips once more, sinking down over Ethan, ensnaring him all the further.

Ethan’s hand pumped his own shaft furiously, up and down with as much speed as an engine piston, but he was focused just as much on his mentor. He rose and fell, leaving behind more and more of his innocence with each passing moment. Ed found it hard not to cum right then and there as he felt the sway he had over this youth… There was an odd pleasure, feeling the curse connecting to him, sinking in, changing him in a way far more lasting than even Ed could hold onto. He was permanently corrupting this biker, creating a new soul that would always be out there, living the dream… and Ed wanted to make it especially perfect.

Shadow shrouded across the twink’s face as stubble blossomed, flesh darkening with each hair that broke through the virgin soil of his cheeks. The dusting brought with it a disregard for authority. Ethan’s life writhed and recoiled, reshaping as his school record filled with detentions for violating the dress and grooming code. His stubble had become a hallmark, rumors spreading about him. He’d shown it off from the first day he could grow it, but the stubble was nothing compared to the thickening fuzz pushing out from his upper lip.

Once more Ed groaned, feeling like the lecherous old man that he had become. In that moment the experienced biker could feel the curse stretching, trying to ensnare another, bloating and entangling. There was just enough give for him to guide it, to coax it, to manipulate it. Ed imagined Ethan as a street punk he’d seen around town, admiring his bike. He imagined complimenting the youth on his attempt at a mustache, just as he had done with Sam, encouraging him in just the same way; extolling the virtues and pleasures of being a man’s man. Imagination lingered before sinking into fact. The response was electric.

All doubt and hesitation drained from Ethan’s mind. Every time he’d shaved had been erased from history. He’d been teased, coaxed, prodded and threatened but he’d never caved and he’d never shaved. His mustache grew out, coming faster than even Ed’s had. It thickened and toughened, firm and full. The hairs took on a sheen, standing apart from one another as wax and day old cum seemed to form across each strand. The edges curled just a little, taking on a bit of style. The mustache signified to all that he was a man, a real man that operated by his own rules, but it was just the start of the man he was becoming…

While Ed had lost his hair to time, it seemed that Ethan was gaining it. The biker’s firm grip at the back of Ethan’s head got loose as the young man’s hair grew out. The nineteen year old buried his face in Ed’s crotch, inhaling his master’s aroma, filling his lungs with it. He nuzzled and ground his face into the nest of hair even as his own mustache crept down on either side of his mouth, framing the orifice filled with biker cock. Unlike Ed, Ethan was not aging. His history was rewriting itself in a short, compressed amount of time. In a year and a half he’d reforged himself into the biker bitch he was now, and he’d loved every second.

Ethan suckled and slurped, feeding on his mentor’s meat pole. The edges of his mustache continued to descend, thickening and growing longer just like the mane from his head. New memories were crafted of just how that felt in the wind, whipping around behind him. One by one, haircut after haircut were erased from his personal past. He’d looked like a rocker well before he’d started growing his mustache, and once he had, there’d been no going back. Ethan bobbed his head up and down on Ed’s cock, sucking for everything he was worth, feeling as if each time he went down on the cock, he discovered more about himself.

A sheen of sweat beaded across Ethan’s brow as he felt a growing heat in his lungs. It was hard to identify at first until he realized it was the lack of air. Reluctantly and with great hesitation, Ethan pulled up and gasped for air, his longer mane of wavy hair flipping back to come crashing down across his shoulders like waves breaking on a beach. Ed was taken aback, looking at the young biker with his thick horseshoe mustache. It wasn’t just impressive for someone his age, it was radical and legendary. Ed didn’t just feel proud or lecherous. He felt something deeper and far more sinister. He had made Ethan into the man he was, not just with the curse but in that new history. He’d guided him into being a hairy, horny, slutty, rebellious biker that needed nothing more than the open road, a good cigar, and a good fuck… Ed couldn’t have been prouder.

Ethan had broken only for a moment’s breath, but it seemed Ed wasn’t done. He reached out, a hand groping the young biker’s ass, fingers revealing a zipper that had not been there moments before. Ed drew the zipper down and pulled Ethan off his feet. The young man fell backwards, coming down on the saliva soaked rod he had been sampling mere moments before. Ethan howled out in bliss, his voice noticeably deeper as Ed’s cock impaled him like a dipstick sinking into an engine.

It took a moment to maneuver Ethan into perfect position, though one thing became clear. There wasn’t quite enough room to fuck him bareback and still smoke the cigar. Ed decided that sharing was caring and brought the cigar around to Ethan’s lips, popping it in. The young biker drew in, nearly taking the smoke in too far before Ed began to thrust up and drop down, letting gravity impale Ethan over and over again. Ethan’s toes curled in his boots, his hands grabbed onto the Chopper’s handlebars for support.

With the bike to support himself, Ethan gave into the reaming he was getting with his mind, body and soul. Each thrust shook him, his hair surging out longer and longer, wave after wave. His signature stubble that he’d sported for so long finally began to thicken, pushing out along the back of his cheeks. This time it had nothing to do with a shifted history, it was in the moment, it was the magic, it was Ed’s influence. Ethan drooled and groaned, eyes squeezed shut, cock throbbing and aching, balls pulsing as he felt his sideburns growing out, realizing his true destiny and the heritage he was gaining from Ed.

The cascade of long hair crashed across the young biker’s shoulders, threatening to obscure his forming sideburns if it hadn’t been for how bushy and bristly they were. The coarse, harsh hair kept back his smooth mane. The sideburns crept down to his jaw, swept forward across his cheek, pushed outwards. Each hair curled and twisted and coiled. If it hadn’t been for how compact they were, they easily would have been six or seven inches long. The hair was wild and crazy, but as it crept forward enough to connect to that thick, wonderful, full horseshoe mustache, there was practically a crackle of energy.

Seeing his apprentice reach such a manly zenith, Ed tried to hold on to his libido, to make it last, to live in the moment… but it was too good. Ethan had turned out perfect. He was a cocky, slutty, horny, self assured, self realized, fantasically gay bearded biker. He was only nineteen and he already would catch the eye of men of all ages. It was almost as if he was Ed’s son, his progeny, his gift to the world and his lasting legacy… Ed threw his head back and bellowed a triumphant howl as his full, fat balls unleashed their rich, sticky seed. His manhood pumped its load into Ethan’s ass, squirt by squirt, filling the young man’s fuel line to the brim. Ethan clenched and unclenched his ass, milking the biker for every drop, writhing in pleasure and passion. It was true, some things just got better with age and Ethan felt lucky to have been chosen by the Demon of Detroit.

The two kept at it even after Ed’s flow had stopped and their movements got sloppy. Ethan crumpled against the handlebars of the chopper, back arched in the last dying light of sunset, his cheek searing hot against the cold metal. He panted, head sideways, eyes looking over at his own Harley-Davidson motorcycle sitting at the pump. For a moment, his eyes narrowed as he tried to pull from a memory that wasn’t quite there anymore, but as his grasp slipped and he fell completely into his new life, the smile spread on his lips. How could anything be better than this?

****

The sound was almost something out of mythology, the twin engines rumbling with a power that surpassed the day, the night and everything in between. Ed and Ethan had ridden through the night, putting more miles behind them than should have been possible. They had left the desert behind and headed into the plains, and in the thick of night a fog had rolled in. The fog erased the distant towns, the plains, the mountains. It wiped everything out until all that was left were the motorcycles and the road ahead of them.

Ed looked past his aviators at the perfectly spaced beacons of the street lights, glowing orange, filling the fog with an aura. The overpasses were bathed in the same orange light. It was as if it all had been reduced to an idea, the basic concept of being free, to a dream… The fog swept in around Ed just as the smoke had, washing over him and through him, making him feel warm, hollow, together, and alone. It was surreal, it was strange, and for a moment he felt that lurching weightlessness of a sinking elevator.

Edward sat bolt upright in bed, panting hard, sweat rolling down his smooth chest to sink into the satin sheets. He looked around his apartment, at the paintings, at the matching lamps, feeling sick to his stomach and achingly alone. For the first time in his life, Edward turned, looking next to him in bed, wishing that he had anyone to talk to, to share his burden with, to explain… He longed for the companionship of Ethan, or Sam, or Brian. That thought alone made him push himself out of bed with a grunt of disgust.

Bare feet padded across the waxed wooden floors, taking him into his bathroom. Edward turned the water on, filled his hands with some and washed the sleep from his face. He stood there, eyes closed, the water running down his smooth cheeks before dripping to the basin below. His chest rose and fell. For just a moment he stood there, trying not to think, trying to clear his mind so that whatever came back to him first was his own thought, but what came instead was a question.

Why was it that when he woke up from his curse, from his nightmare, that he longed for a man’s company instead of a woman’s? Why was it that he had forged deeper connections with them than he ever had with anyone else? Somewhere, out there, they were all going on with their lives… lives he had reshaped even if they didn’t remember him. Was that his curse? Was that what the bearded man had done to him? Was there a chance of redemption? If there was, he wasn’t going to find it by mourning the loss of his life. He would have to do what any good driver did and learn the rules of the road.