The Jock and the Sissy

[pre-story]So, this happened. I was originally intending this to be last month's 'free' musing. Then I was just gonna double up and have it count as both last month's and this month's. Now here we are, and it can only be called a full-on chapter.
Mostly, I just wanted to try writing something new, something I hadn't tried before, and I've have a lot of requests for gay stuff. Personally, I consider myself like, a 1 or a 2 on the Kinsey scale, but I've never felt particularly inspired to write about male-on-male stuff, and, obviously, the market leans toward straight stuff. But then I started writing, and the story just kept coming! Inspiration is a fickle mistress.
As always, if you like what you see [redacted]! 
Anyways, I hope you all enjoy!

WARNING: If you couldn't guess, this story is about two dudes gettin' it on, so if you're not interested, avert your eyes now.[/pre-story]

The Jock and the Sissy 

At first glance, Brad looked like the stereotypical dumb jock, with a looming, six-eight, musclebound body, broad shoulders usually draped in a loose-fitting jersey, short-buzzed black hair, a square jaw with perpetual stubble and a heavy brow that made him look like vaguely caveman-ish. But appearances are often deceiving. While he wasn’t particularly smart (or, at least, didn’t consider himself to be), he thought of himself as a rather accepting, progressive sort of guy, a counterpoint to the stereotypical homophobic bully jock. Unfortunately, in his smallish, semi-rural town, he was definitely the exception to the rule, and the rest of the football team was more than happy to live up to that expectation. Though, they quickly learned that Brad wouldn’t tolerate bullying in his presence, and he was big and strong enough to make the fight not worth it, even for a group of them.

That wasn’t to say they didn’t do any bullying. Brad couldn’t be everywhere at once, after all. There was one target in particular the team loved to pick on when Brad wasn’t around. Sam. Short and slim, with mid-length tousled brown hair, even though he was a fellow senior it was easy enough to mistake him for a freshman… or a girl, if you looked at him from the back. It turned out he had some sort of medical thing where he didn’t make testosterone right, and by the time he’d found out about it, it was too late, puberty had passed him by. It left him looking, well… girly. Barely any muscle, almost no body hair, and a face that tread the line between ‘childish’ and ‘feminine’.

[Musing] The Tale of Mirabel and Erik the Pure, Part 1

[pre-story] [redacted][/pre-story]

Everything was dark. Then, he heard a voice, soft and feminine. “Erik…” it called, and suddenly, he saw a light, small and far away. “Erik…” The voice called again, it was coming from the light. It sounded… familiar, somehow. Unconsciously, he felt himself drawn toward the light, the voice…

His eyes fluttered open. It was so bright, but somehow, the light didn’t make his eyes ache as it so often did in the mornings. Had the nurse left his light on? But as his vision cleared, he didn’t see the light above his bed. In fact, he didn’t see anything above his bed. The sky was so incredibly blue, dotted with fluffy wisps of cloud, it just seemed to go on forever in all directions. The sun hung high above him, but he didn’t feel the heat of its rays on his skin, and it didn’t hurt to look at it… The air was so clean, cleaner than he’d ever experienced, and it smelled sweet, the fragrant scent of flowers filling his nose with each breath. A gentle breeze caressed him, flowing over his skin from head to toe as he lay there for a moment, it was so nice, so unlike the still, sterile, stale air he was so used to... Wait… Where was his oxygen mask?! His hand shot up to his face, moving with a swift responsiveness he hadn’t had in years, and touched his face, groping for the stiff plastic that wasn’t there. His skin… It felt so smooth on his fingertips. His eyes widened as he caught sight of his hand, it wasn’t the bony claw, twisted by arthritis and marked with liver spots, that he was used to, no, it was… young. What...

[Musing] Lien's Adventures Part 3: Curious

[pre-story] [redacted][/pre-story]

Lien's Adventures Part 3: Curious

“Welcome to Mesa Medicinals! What do you need?” The tauren woman greeted from her seat on the blanket near the back of the shop, her voice cheerful, but with a slight drawl to her words. The shop was small, really just a tent with some blankets laid out on top of the grass, a half-dozen or so shelves placed around the periphery, stocked with baskets of dried herbs and bottles of colorful liquids. She was flanked by shelves full of empty bottles and baskets of herbs, a mortar and pestle on one side, and a low table on the other, covered in beakers and bottles connected by crazy, twisted tubing; everything she needed, all within arm’s reach.

The woman in the middle of the blanket sat cross-legged, a long, faintly-smoking pipe delicately nestled between two fingers. She had warm, evenly-toned honey-brown fur, and had a mane to match, her hair tied into two thick braids that hung down in front of her shoulders, the tails dangling just above her chest. An impressive chest, to be certain, even in her relatively modest robes, it was easy to see the woman’s udders were enormous, easily the size of a human’s head. Between the loose robes and the sitting position, the rest of her figure was hidden from view, but nothing could truly hide such a spectacular chest from the world. She smiled softly at the new customer, a placid, almost sleepy smile, the corners of her hazel eyes crinkling slightly, showing her age. She wasn’t old, by any stretch, but she certainly gave off an impression of maturity. 

[Musing] Lien's Adventures Part 2: Hungry

[pre-story] [redacted][/pre-story]

Lien's Adventures Part 2: Hungry

“Well, well, well, what do we ‘ave ‘ere?” Rolf grinned, wolfishly, as he stepped out from the treeline at the edge of the slowly-flowing river. The looming worgen’s silver fur looked shaggy and unkempt, matching the ragged trousers he wore and the jagged parallel scars that ran across his wolfish snout. His golden eyes were fixed on the water’s edge, where a lone pandaren woman lounged, half-submerged in the nude, her full, pale-furred breasts floating slightly, their dark nipples standing hard from the river’s chill. He’d only been planning to rob whatever poor sap he found, but the sight of her body was already inspiring a very different sort of plan.

The pandaren woman opened her eyes, slowly twisted around to look at the source of the voice, then smiled, a placid, relaxed smirk, her eyes half-lidded. “It seems I’ve been spotted. Who might you be, stranger?”

Rolf had seen a lot of reactions to getting jumped. Some folks panicked, some folks froze, some folks got mad… But he’d never seen ‘em smirk before. This was… new. Vaguely unsettling. But he couldn’t let it shake him. “Name’s Rolf, lady. You mighta’ ‘eard of me. Wanted posters call me ‘Rolf the Ruthless’. Wanted for robbery, assault… and murder. And you best cooperate if ya don’t want to find out first-hand how ruthless I can get.” He half-growled, flexing his claws illustratively in front of him. Truth was, the ‘murder’ charge was fake, probably just some feral that got mistaken for him, but it helped his reputation, and anyways he couldn’t exactly go marching into the guard station to get it corrected.