The Return of Hip Hop Thug Dylan, and Justin Gets Changed by kooldoggie
For almost another year, things in Ryder's and Justin's relationship stayed stable, as they confined their skater life to the Venice Beach area, allowing them to live the mellow existence displaying a style similar to those golden boys portrayed in many a photo of 1970's Cali skate life. Their memories of being emo, those moody, darkly spirited romantics from Seattle, faded more and more as they grew used to being long-haired, tanned, nearly always barefoot skaters who enjoyed a sunny day and would even go out in the surf occasionally if the waves were good. Even Justin had let his hair grow out a little longer, to his shoulders, bleaching blonder under the sun each day, as a pleasant tan took possession of his once snow white complexion. Skater shirts and tank tops graced their lithe upper bodies when they weren't shirtless on the hottest days, and slightly sagging cargo shorts hung about their trim waists, showing off their taut, veiny calves and the numerous scars they got from falls on the halfpipe. All part of the life, after all. And sometimes when off the beach they would have to put their skate shoes back on, maybe a Volcom cap over their swaying bangs as they wandered the LA streets.
But for Ryder's 21st birthday, Justin suggested Ð once again bringing drama into their life Ð partying at one of the downtown gay clubs, having a kick-ass time as Ryder could now drink legally. How they ever wandered so far out of the way afterwards, neither of them knew, but they had come out of the last club, just on the edge of more sketchy territory, wasted, giggling like younger boys, as they took off their shirts on this hot night, tucking them into their low-hanging shorts. Walking more blocks than they had intended, and in the opposite direction, the sweaty youths soon found themselves in a ghetto area, dark, trash-filled, graffiti on alley walls, with no sense of how they should find their way back to the beach. "Dude,É" Ryder first spoke up plaintively, his voice cracking a little with fear, his greenish-blue eyes glancing from side to side as he looked for a way out, "IÉI think we're in trouble here!"
"Yeah, babe, no shit!" whispered Justin in fear, trying not to be heard by any sketchy characters that might be lurking nearby. Little white boys like themselves, despite being tall, carried very little muscle on their frame of any use other than for skating and surfing, and if some gangbanger jumped them, perhaps even suspecting they were a faggot couple, well, they might not make it out of here alive. Ryder, thinking just that, felt his heartrate soaring, the thrumming in his lean bare chest nearly visible under the tight, flat pecs. The growing fear hit him all of a sudden, like the dose of a very powerful drug, and he groaned, feeling every muscle in his compact body straining to push outward in the defensive posture that would bring back sexy urban thug Dylan, perhaps stronger than before.
He fucking needed to be part of the hood, if only to defend his boy, and so he doubled over, groaning again, as a concerned Justin went to his aid, placing a sweatband-covered wrist on his trembling shoulders, but Ryder shrugged him off, staggering toward an alley wall for some support to hold him up for the oncoming powerful change, as he turned his sweaty, cute face toward his boyfriend, saying, "Nah, dude, yah gots to let me go through it, yo. Just leave me alone for a minute, let it happen, and just remember I loves you, dude." Justin understood now the change was taking place, the easygoing skater voice already being replaced by a ghetto-style dialect, but Justin, despite his worry, stood aside and watched as the process took place.
Ryder whimpered a bit as the spasms hit him, sweat pouring down his glistening, tan muscles, which seemed more pumped than before, as if the lean skater had spent a few days at the gym. He grabbed his backwards-worn Volcom cap and tossed it aside, sliding a slender long-fingered hand, friendship bracelets traveling down his wrists and up his lean forearms, through his healthy brown, long hair, which already seemed to be retracting into his head. Justin watched, fascinated and turned on, his hand going into his shorts, despite his fear of being jumped, for he could tell it wouldn't be long before Ryder became a dude no one would want to mess with.
"Awww, fuuuuck," Ryder suddenly groaned, the transformation kicking in stronger. He closed his eyes and breathed in hard, drinking in the urban air, stretching his body as bones popped. This Dylan would actually be taller, a little more menacing than the old one, as Ryder's body stretched all the way up to 6'2", pounds of rock-hard muscle being added to his bare torso. He pushed out his skater legs, the calves pumping up more, as he kicked off his skater shoes, leaving him barefoot. His nice beach tan was fading, from his feet right up the growing body to his face, a face that seemed to be hardening and squaring just a touch. Dylan's smirk now adorned the lips, his confidence growing. The hair had shortened and reformed into Dylan's stylish hip-hop cut, the sides buzzcut into a spiral pattern, the top left as a runway strip to be spiked up into a chemically-bleached bright blonde. Now the ink started flowing across his chest, spelling out DYLAN in letters even more elaborate and detailed than before, spreading across much more rounded, powerful pecs that now had silver barbell rings through the bigger, stretched-out brown nipples. His more worked-out, pumped up, thighs were straining the seams of the once loose, low-slung cargo shorts, tears beginning to appear, and Dylan had to push them off the bigger legs before they cut off his circulation. He tossed those aside as well, leaving him in his saggy boxers. At that moment the friendship bracelets snapped under the pressure of his thicker forearms and fluttered away, replaced by a bright red doo-rag tied around his wrist.
Dylan was almost there. He took another deep breath, stretching his pumped body against the wall, making sure his calves were rounded, agile and powerful should they need to make a run for it. The ink continued to flow across his triangular torso, across his shoulders and down his upper arms with colorful skulls, daggers and marijuana leaves. Plus, Justin noted endearingly, his own name JUSTIN done in Gothic letters appearing on one bulging bicep, over the tattoo of a heart. This was one confident boy who wasn't going to back down from gay-bashers. His ears were once again filled with silver rings and cuffs, his neck circled by gold chains, and the eyes fluttered open, revealing their hard, intelligent greenish-brown. "Yeah, Dylan's gonna protect his boy," the urban stud whispered in a ghetto cadence. He finally removed himself from the wall, his swaggering posture very self-assured, as he picked up the clothes that had appeared on top of a nearby dumpster. Justin nearly came while watching the nearly naked hip hop stud pace down the alley in just his boxers, but he had to control himself for now.
Dylan pulled his baggy jeans up the powerful legs, letting them drop enough to expose most of the boxers before he cinched them with a studded brown belt, snapping on the thick wallet chain as well. He pulled on the athletic socks and his favorite bright silver high-tops, then reached for the sheer muscle shirt, pulling it over the pumped-up chest, where it ended just above his shallow navel surrounded by bulging, well-worked abs. He then paced slowly toward Justin, smirking, as he pulled the smaller skater boy in for a hug, letting him embrace the warm, thick chest of his boyfriend. "Hey babe, you gots no worries now," Dylan slurred in a hip-hop lilt, "'cause Dylan's in the house!" And he leaned down to kiss the panting beach skater, initiating another changeÉ
Justin could feel the warmth growing in his lean, bare chest now, too, as the tall urban stud and the slightly shorter beach skater sucked face, and he knew some of it was being transferred to him. His shoulders trembled, his anxiety increasing as he doubted his slight body could withstand the extreme change needed in this case. Dylan broke the kiss to whisper in his ear, now with his sexy husky voice, "Let me change you into one o' ma boysss."
"Aren't I your only boy?" Justin panted in a challenging response, trying to control himself despite Dylan's rough hand massaging his rock-hard member through his thin shorts. The thug snickered: "C'mon, dude, ya know what I meansÉ" Justin nodded in understanding, allowing the more dominant of the two, now, to pull him gently toward an area behind the trash cans, where Dylan could have his way with the skater. Justin understood that his once more submissive boyfriend would now naturally be in charge, and so he cooperated in letting the stud pull down his shorts and remove his skater shoes. Dylan kinkily sucked and licked on the skater's tan toes for a bit while Justin moaned, the changes kicking in. Already, his chest looked formidable, more like a pumped-up fitness model than a lean skater, a gold ring through one stretched-out nipple. The shaggy, nearly shoulder-length blonde hair quickly receded into his scalp, finishing off as a very close buzz, while the diamond studs in his ears were joined by a few more rings and a cuff on the upper cartilage. He was starting to look like a very young Eminem.
Dylan licked his way up the taut legs that were growing some truly hard muscle, bulging and lean for a powerful sprint or kick if necessary, should they have to fight their way through the streets. He pushed his boyfriend against the wall, exposing his firm, whitening butt, and after fumbling with his belt and pulling down his boxers to release the leaking cock, he rubbed against Justin's hole, causing him to moan in a huskier tone than the skater had. Dylan began his many thrusts, watching as Justin's cute, once-tan face matured, remaining beautiful in a harder, urban way, the cheekbones a bit higher, maybe just a bit more ethnic, the brows now dark and pierced by a couple of gold rings, a marijuana leaf tattoo now appearing on his long neck. The chest was now nearly as powerful as Dylan's, a few abstract tribal tattoos tracing across it, across his shoulders and down the bulging bicep. And a couple of studded leather wristbands appeared, a bit less innocent looking than the ones the emo Justin once wore.
With the final thrust, both Dylan and Justin moaned with release, Justin's pitch now a few octaves lower, a little raspier from all the weed-smoking he did with his boy Dylan. The bleached blonde buzzcut thug now fluttered open his eyes, which were an even more crystalline blue than the skater's had been, looking somehow more exotic in his more almond-shaped eyes over high cheekbones. He turned to kiss Dylan passionately for a minute, locking tongues, until they realized they were hearing shouts, the smashing of bottles on nearby streets, reminding them they were still two white boys, hip hop and thuggish though they might be, in a neighborhood that might want to start something with them. Dylan handed Justin his new clothes, the boxers and baggy black jeans which he shimmied into quickly, keeping them sagging low as was proper. Justin also now had a really sweet black leather jacket that he slipped on over the hard bare torso. He was a bit more of a show-off boy than Dylan and rarely wore shirts if he could help it, preferring to just slip on his jacket at night and zip it up if it got cold, but this was a warm summer night, so he left it hanging open. A Raiders ball cap on his bright blonde head, his size 12 feet slipped into a pair of socks and basketball shoes, and he was ready to roll. "C'mon, babe, we gots to get hella outta here!" Dylan breathed in a whisper, and taking Justin's hand, they sauntered out of the alley, ready to rumble if necessary, but hoping they'd just find their way home.