Back in the Bottle (Patreon)

The world changed and there’s no going back.

That’s what I say.  You don’t need to agree with me.  But ever since Andre Klein rubbed the lamp, the genie’s been loose in our world.

We all know the story — he was playing hooky.  Called in sick from work and drove out to the woods for a mental health day.  An experienced hiker would have brought a friend along, but an experienced hiker wouldn’t have gone into that cave either.  He got stuck, he got scared, and his hand landed on polished brass.

Nobody knows where or when the lamp came from.  The genie isn’t telling.

But he’s here to grant wishes.  He transported Andre back to the surface, filled his truck with gas, and rode shotgun back to civilization.

One little genie.

We’ve all got that friend who’s no fun — the one who’s done the math on Santa Claus.  Eight billion people on the planet, let’s say Santa travels at a hundred miles an hour, we’re talking over a hundred and fifty years just to deliver the gifts.  And that’s with some generous assumptions.

So how does a genie do so much in only a few months?  I’ve see the documentary — everyone gets three wishes, but the average person takes six days to use them up.  The genie claims you’ve got his full and undivided attention, so…

Six days per person.  Six months since Andre Klein.  That’s about thirty people who have had their chance at a wish.  Ninety wishes total.

There’s a website that catalogs the wishes.  I’ve got notifications turned on.  Who watches the news anymore?  Politicians can’t hold a candle to the genie.

Lisa Vanderhoff wished that blonds really do have more fun.  So that’s 2% of the population that’s partying every night and hooking up like there’s no tomorrow.

Michael Quincy wished for unlimited breadsticks.  Very funny Michael, but at least all those blonds have something to eat after a night out.  Just reach into any cupboard and you’ll find a freshly baked stick.

Coltan Hartt’s wish impacted me directly.  He asked the genie for a legion of rabid fans, and it’s the best wish anyone’s ever made.  I’m a total Hartt-Heart.

Me and like… a million other people who hang on his every word.  Take my views, take my likes, take my money — Coltan Hartt is the best wisher ever!

Like I said, I’m a fan.

You know who’s not a fan?  The government.  They’ve been trying to put the genie back in the bottle since day one.  Ryan Peter’s second wish totally fucked up the tax system!

They’ve tried everything.  If the Prime Minister got a wish, I bet he’d just wish the genie away, but nobody’s figured out the algorithm that takes the genie from person to person.  Only one government employee has ever gotten the genie, and he used his three wishes on curing cancer, repopulating the Orcas, and being totally irresistible to dudes.

You can’t be mad at that, right?  After all, he’s so totally hot.  And that’s not even weird, ever since Brie Nichol’s first wish, everyone’s a little bit gay.

It’s no big deal.  I brought two guys home last night.

One of them’s blond.

----------

I woke up to a protest outside my apartment.  It wasn’t about me — just a few thousand people matching down my street and chanting.

“Kill the genie!  Kill the genie!”

“Dude, like… what’s going on with those guys,” the blond one chuckled in my ear.

He’d stepped out onto the patio after me and wrapped his thick arms around my torso.  I could feel his bare cock poking between my cheeks.  Eager for round two I guess.

“Oh, these losers again?” my other hookup groaned.  He was an Arab looking guy — olive skin, thick black hair, and the kind of muscular build that made me drool.  Sure, if I had my way, guys would all be hairless below the beard, but I haven’t gotten my wishes yet.

Between the two of them, he was the modest one.  He’d bothered to slip into a pair of silky boxers before stepping outside.  Still… he was a pure piece of eye candy.

“Yeah, I don’t get it,” I shrugged.  Blondie played with one of my nipples, making it impossible to form a deep opinion.  “I guess… like… mmmm… uh… they’re just… uhhhh… not good with change…”

“Nobody is,” the dark haired one moaned into my ear.  He kissed his way down my neck and slipped his hand inside my sweats.  I was half-hard already — he worked his grip and helped me up to full mast.  “My ex-wife… terribly angry at the genie.”

“But he didn’t… like… make the wishes…” Blondie laughed, dumb and easy.  “And some of the wishes are really good!”

Oh my god, right?  I know lots of people — more than half? — just wish for the first thing they can think of.  Not me!  When it’s my turn with the genie, I’m gonna really think things through.  I’m gonna make sure I do something awesome!

“Let’s go back to bed,” my dark haired lover begged.  “I want you to do that things with your cock again…”

“Like… the thing where he puts it up your ass?” Blondie giggled.

“That’s the thing,” he nodded, nibbling the side of my neck.  “Come on, I don’t work til noon.”

My phone dinged.  His phone dinged.  Blondie’s phone… was somewhere at the bar.

“What is it?” Blondie asked with wide eyes.

“Looks like there’s no work today,” I grinned.  “Greg Penward made it a holiday!”

“No way!” Blondie lit up.  “We should… like… we should totally celebrate!”

“I know how we can celebrate,” the dark haired one grinned at us.  “Come on… or do you have some silly rule about no second dates.”

“I do,” I grinned sheepishly.  “Colton Hartt posted on his Insta that second dates are the worst, so I only do one night stands.  Of course… this is still the same date, right?”

They left me soaking in a pool of sweat and cum and twilight.  It took the whole holiday.

----------

“Someone had a good day off,” my boss teased when I swaggered in late.  “You’re glowing.”

I glanced in a display case.  I work retail at one of those big box electronics stores.  The uniform is jeans and a red polo — sleeveless in my case.  Wish #79 by Ty Halloway.  Guys who workout should always go sleeveless.  I wear a size small to make my chest pop.

“Hell yeah,” I smirked.  “What’d you get up to?”

“Oh you know,” he shrugged in his plain old polo.  “Went for a walk with the wife.  Got the grass cut, that sort of thing.”

Some people don’t take advantage of the genie at all!  Tony had exactly the same benefits I did, but he refused to enjoy it!  Get blackout drunk and wake up in some hot dudes apartment.  Hit the gym and feel those pecs get HUGE — it doesn’t take years anymore, not since wish #24.  Bleach your hair and have more fun like… instantly.

Hell… just… do something.  Anything.  But stop eating the breadsticks.

I was about to give him a pep talk when a customer walked up with a cart full of boxes.  I put on my peppiest smile and grinned.

“Good morning sir, did you find everything you need today?”

He took one look at me and decided he hated my cuts.  His eyes darted over to Tony.

“You’re the manager?” he asked, talking right past me.  “Can I get someone else to ring up my stuff?”

“Sir?” Tony looked confused.

“This fucker’s one of those genie worshippers,” the guy snapped.  He waved his hand in my direction, like he was pointing out the details.  “Look at that stupid fuckin’ look on his face — if he knew a damn thing he wouldn’t have to make all those wishes.”

“I didn’t actually make the wishes…” I pointed out, scanning his items through as he raged.

“Just shut the fuck up,” the customer growled at me.  “Fuckin’ genie bros, one of these days the government’s gonna get off their ass and bomb the hell out of the genie.  Then where will you be, huh?  Acting all high and mighty with your fake ass god gone?”

Tony gave me the side glance.  The one that says “don’t bother”.

“You think the government can bomb the genie?” Tony asked, trying to play nice.

“Hell yeah,” the guy puffed out his chest.  “Nuke the fucker.  He acts like he’s magic, but that’s nothing next to a F-16.”

When he finally left the store, I turned to Tony.

“You think they could take out the genie with a nuke?” I asked.  “Wouldn’t he just… I dunno… snap his fingers and turn it into a soap bubble?”

“I don’t know man,” Tony shrugged.  “They say he’s all-powerful, but maybe he’s not all-knowing?  If they surprised him, maybe they’d vaporize him before he noticed?”

“No way man,” I chuckled.  “You could throw the whole of NATO at him, he’d walk away clean.”

“Let’s hope we never find out.”

----------

The Genie War started two weeks later.  It lasted a little under five minutes.

I was at a bar with my friends.  Johnny and Pete were both fans of the genie, same as me, so our eyes went wide when the TVs showed the news.

“Breaking News this hour,” the anchor announced.  “US Military forces have shot and killed the genie in an operation the White House is calling Operation Lamplighter.”

The screen showed a drone shot of smoke rising from a field.  My gut clenched for a second.  Penny Salk had the genie, and she’d only made one wish so far — she taught eighth grade, and wished that iPads would run forever without needing a recharge.  I hoped she hadn’t been caught in the crossfire.

The news cut to a shot of Penny, being interviewed in front of the smoke.

“It was horrible,” she said, tears in her eyes.  “I was just out for a walk, talking through my next wish with the genie when I got swarmed by marines.  They pushed me down and there was this loud sound and… he’s gone.  The genie’s just… gone!”

Behind her there were a half dozen marines in full tactical gear.  They looked relaxed and happy.  Mission accomplished, right?

Except the smoke behind her wasn’t rising anymore.  It was starting to form into a vortex.  One of the marines saw it, and suddenly their weapons were drawn.

“You won’t get rid of me that easily,” the genie grinned, emerging from the wind.  He looked like he always does in pictures — old and frail and wicked.

“Oh thank god,” Penny choked out.  She ran and embraced the genie, lifting the tiny man off the ground and spinning him around.  “I thought they’d got you.”

“It’s okay,” he soothed her.  “I’m okay.  But… is it okay if I take my attention off you for a moment or two?”

“Of course!” she said.  “Take all the time you need.”

“The world is watching,” the genie told the marines, pointing straight through the camera lens at us.  “I understand you were just following orders, but young men like you need to be aware… there are consequences to harming a genie.”

The lead marine — maybe twenty-five years old — muttered something into his radio.  He needed orders and he needed them now.  He had a direct line to the situation room.

But the genie didn’t give them time to reply.

“You young men… so proud of your big… strong… bodies…” the genie smirked.

He waved his hand and they were stripped of their weapons and gear.  Six marines looked more like six college seniors, standing there in their t-shirts and boxers.  Another wave and their bodies started to shrink, years of hard-won muscle melting off them and vanishing.

“Wait, genie!” the leader yelled, but it was too late.  He started to shrink, his newly tiny body growing shorter and shorter by the second.  If he broke five feet, I’d be shocked.

“Dude, check it out,” Johnny poked me.  “They’re making him a total twink.”

“All of them,” Pete agreed.  “Twitter says it’s like… the entire marine corps.”

“Really?” Johnny raised an eyebrow.  “My buddy Greg’s a marine…”

Pete pulled up a livestream on his phone.  Someone was streaming from a military base where dozens of marines were shrinking down into the pocket sized versions.  We were watching it live on TV, but it seemed so much more real from a shaky cellphone.

“Oh my god,” the leader of the group on TV purred at the genie.  He swatted at the genie’s chest with a limp wrist and giggled.  “I can’t believe you did that!”

We watched as his t-shirt became a pink croptop with the initials USMC stamped on the front.  His boxers shrunk into a tiny pair of white running shorts that showed off a massive bulge.

“Relax,” the genie snorted.  “You’ll have a blast.”

With a final wave of his hand, the marines all found themselves with bleached blond hair.  The camera swung away as they started to tease each other playfully.

The livestream showed the rest.  The newly slutty marines were on the hunt for cock, begging any man they could find.  Whoever was filming had his phone pointed down at the blond boy riding his cock.

“That’s right jarhead,” the guy moaned.  “Serve your country.”

----------

A couple weeks later I was at work and frustrated.

I’d been showing off TVs for this guy for at least a half-hour, walking him through the different technologies and showing him how different movies looked.  Deep blacks over here, vibrant colour over there, cost/value tradeoff at the end.

Some people shit on retail, but I like the education aspect.

But none of the customers were actually interested in the TVs.  They were keeping me busy for an hour or two, and all they wanted to do was leer.  I spent a lot of time grabbing things from the bottom shelf, just so they could stare at my ass.

“So you can see yourself watching movies on this bad boy, huh?” I said, showing off the new 72” OLED.

“I dunno bro,” the older man stared at my bicep.  “I mostly watch Youtube on my phone, but… say I buy this one.  You wanna Netflix and chill?”

I could fuckin’ kill Raj Khan.  He’d made all three of his wishes in one day.  Wish #103 wasn’t bad — now dancing at the club is the fastest way to get shredded.  I go twice a week to keep these abs.  But wish #104 and #105 absolutely wrecked my world.  Gym sluts all wear short shorts, and everyone who works out is a total gym slut.

That sounds like heaven, right?  But now customers were spending all day macking on me.  Something about a sleeveless polo and short shorts turns customers into total horndawgs.

Still… I’m on commission.  I sold the TV and swapped numbers with the dude.

“Hook it up this today,” I growled into his ear.  “I’ll drop by after my shift.”

“Don’t make me wait,” he said loud enough for the store to hear.

Tony had the good grace to wait until the guy left.  He sauntered over to me and gave me a grin.  Ever since wish #98 — all marriages are open marriages — Tony had gotten a lot more into the genie’s wishes.  I’m not the only gymrat in the store anymore.

“Another dude who wants that cock, huh boy?” Tony chuckled at me.

It had only taken him three days at the gym to completely blow up with muscle, but he still had twenty years on me.  He could call me boy anytime he wanted.

“I spent like… half an hour helping one guy shop for a new TV,” I whined as I checked out Tony’s hard body.  “Turns out he doesn’t even like movies!  He watches YouTube on his phone… that’s it!  What a freakin’ waste of time!”

“You got his number?” Tony asked.

“Yeah,” I smirked.  “We swapped numbers.  He sent nudes.  Wants me to fuck him.”

“Why not?” Tony laughed.  “It’s like… an hour!”

Ever since Tony and his wife opened up their relationship, he’s been horniner than a freshman fratboy.  I’m sure he’s fucking customers in the stockroom… not that it’s any of my business.  Management does what they want.

“Yeah, maybe,” I shrugged.  “He bought the TV.”

I zoned out and stared at the wall of displays.  There was some kind of news thing going on.  A guy in a suit was talking to reporters.  Every channel was carrying it.

“Hey Tony,” I said.  “You know what’s going on?”

“God, your generation just doesn’t follow the news, huh?” Tony laughed.  “It’s the CEO of SmartNow Technologies, they make… about half the stuff we sell.  He’s trying to buy off the genie.”

Tony grabbed a remote and turned up the volume on one of the big screens.  A reporter was asking the next question.

“Given the results of the US governments recent military action, do you believe you’ll have better luck influencing the genie?”

“Absolutely,” the CEO said confidently.  “The military did what it always does — it tried to use force to create compliance.  That’s not what we do at SmartNow, and that’s not what we do in corporate America.  I’ve got a compelling proposal for the genie, and hopefully with the right incentives, with some finesse and some negotiation, we can find a way for everyone to win.”

“What does a win look like?” another reporter asked.

“I’d like to see the world return to a place of stability,” the CEO answered.  “Sure, we can all admit these wishes are fun, but when the global environment changes daily, it’s impossible to do forward planning.  Corporations like mine need a steady environment to work in.”

The news cut away to a shot of an anchor at a desk.

“That press conference took place earlier this afternoon,” the musclebound man behind the desk said.  He was wearing an elegant white tanktop, and I knew he’d have short shorts on under the desk.  “We’ve just learned that a deal has been reached.  Let’s go live to Wall Street, where we expect to hear an announcement in a few short minutes.”

They cut just in time, showing a distant shot of the CEO and the genie stepping out of a glass office tower.  They seemed friendly, chatting as they approached the camera.  But something was different about the CEO…

Oh yeah, he was dressed entirely in leather.  Leather pants.  A leather jacket.  Even a black leather tie.  His beard had grown out a bit too, his cheeks covered in scruff.  His aide trailed behind them looking shellshocked.

“Damn Daddy,” Tony gasped as he realized.

“Afternoon boys,” the CEO said confidently into the microphone.  “I’m pleased to announce that I’ve reached a deal with the genie.  There’s been give and take on both sides, but I’m pleased with the conclusion.”

He stepped aside and let the genie take the mic.

“Hello, thank you,” the genie said disarmingly.  “The details are as follows — I’ll continue to grant wishes in the same way that I’ve been doing.  In exchange, I’ve helped our wayward CEO friend see that what his company really needs to compete in this new world is discipline.”

He stepped back and let the CEO take the mic again.

“That’s right,” the leather clad man grinned.  “As CEO, the genie has been kind enough to transform me into a leather daddy, suitable for running a disciplined organization.  And as part of this deal he’s gone above any beyond.  All of our employees — from the COO right down to the mailroom — will begin new lives as rubber drones today!”

The genie nodded and waved his hand in the air.  Behind him, the CEOs aide’s eyes went wide.

Rubber was crawling up his body, erasing his clothes and trapped him inside a skintight suit.  The slick black latex sealed up everything except his nostrils and his eyes, with a thin zipper left over his mouth.  As the suit settled on him, the look of panic dropped away from his eyes, replaced with something better.

Obedience.

“One hell of a world we’re living in, ain’t it?” Tony chuckled.

----------

A year after the genie arrived, the Catholic Church decided to take a stand.

Wish #163 had eliminated taboos around sex in public.  Wish #188 made it so guys have to cum at least three times a day.  Wish #199 practically made modesty illegal.

“Though we all recognize the risks that come with pushing back against the genie, I believe it is my responsibility as a moral leader,” the Pope said on the TV.  The pontiff was addressing the world, dressed only in his pure white thong and that giant hat he wears.

The whole store was gathered around, watching what would happen.  My bet was on the Pope becoming a porn star.  A scratched my arching balls and glanced around… were there any dudes at the store I hadn’t slept with yet?  I really needed to get my rocks off.

There’s one twink who just started… I hear he used to be in the marines.  Back when the marines wore clothes.

I put the thought on hold.  The news cameras were showing the genie poofing into existence in the middle of St. Peter’s square.  The press kept a respectful distance — nobody wanted to get caught up in whatever was about to happen.

The Pope stood outside, waiting as the genie approached.  The world was watching.  The genie made a show of going to kiss the Pope’s ring, but the Pope waved him off.

“We don’t really do that anymore,” the Pope said graciously.  “We don’t expect people of other faiths to perform our rites and rituals.”

“How very modern of you,” the genie chuckled.

“Of course.  The church has… evolved over the centuries.”

“The last Pope I met thought I was the devil,” the genie joked.  Beside me, Tony took a sharp breath in.  Assuming it was true, that was the most the genie had ever admitted about his past.

“Our current policy is to show courtesy and respect for the beliefs of others,” the pontiff said, as casually as if he was meeting a head of state.  “We regard what is true and holy for you with sincere reverence.”

“I’m pleased to hear that,” the genie’s words echoed out over every news channel on earth.  “I hope that you and your followers will respect my beliefs.”

“I view them as followers not of me, but of Christ,” the Pope corrected gently.

“Fair enough,” the genie chuckled.  “Regardless, I hope they will respect my beliefs.”

“Of course,” the Pope gave a slight nod of his head.

“The belief that for far too long, humanity has wallowed in shame,” the genie said.  “You can respect that?”

“I respect it is your belief,” the Pope said.

“The belief that now is the time for people to step forward and live a fulfilled life,” the genie continued.

“I believe that by walking with God, we can achieve fulfillment,” the Pope added.

“And the belief…” the genie grinned wickedly.  “That it’s better to be a ripped… slutty… bro…”

A look of panic flashed across the Pope’s face, but it didn’t last long.  The genie waved his hand vaguely in the air and the Pope’s body started to transform.

It was already on full display — old wishes had already seen to that.  But now instead of an average-at-best body, the Pope was swelling up and leaning out.  His pecs pumped up into big round pillows that made my mouth water.  His waist got tight and solid, each fibre of his muscle vain and obvious.

His iconic hat crumpled and collapsed down, remolding it’s fabric while keeping the same colours.  White with gold accents, but now in the form of a backwards baseball cap.

It showed off his now-infinitesimal body fat.  His sharp jawline.  His stunningly symmetrical face.  He was ripped just like Jesus on a crucifix.

More like an underwear model than the head of a religion.

He let out a dumb chuckle, then looked down at his tented-out thong.

I think we have a convert.

-------------

I actually went to church that Sunday.  All anyone could talk about was Catholicism, and I didn’t want to be left out.

The place was packed.  Maybe a third of it was real Catholics — dudes wearing cute little underwear and that signature backwards cap.  Most of them were obviously gym rats already.  Young, old, it didn’t matter, they’d run to the YMCA the second the Pope was transformed.

I’m not religious, but this was the perfect place to pickup bros.

Church hadn’t changed since I was a kid.  A couple songs — dance music to help us stay ripped — and then the priest went up to the front.

“I see a lot of new faces this week,” he said, bouncing his cock through his thong.  “I expect we all watched the news.  Unbelievers always ask me… why did God stop performing miracles?  Could it be all the cameras?  All the cell phones?  Is God like the Loch Ness Monster — believable until the age of evidence?”

The churchgoers nodded along.  It didn’t take a scholar to know where this was heading.

“But no, miracles have a place and a time, and that time is now!  A miracle, on live TV!  This genie should not be mistaken or the devil, but for an instrument of God!  Over two hundred miracles so far, and we all believe them!  We can all see the evidence with our own two eyes!  Film it, record it, play it back!  I tell you my friends — God has returned!”

He went on for almost an hour, building in intensity as he went.  He got louder and faster and every word served to reaffirm that GOD, all caps, was back in the building.

There was more music.  Readings from the Bible.  Reminders that our bodies are temples.

As the service stretched into the late morning, the priest invited us up for communion.  I thought it was only for Catholics, but he made a point of inviting everyone.  There was no bread and wine this time — the priest simply pulled off his thong and stood at the front of the room,  letting man after man kneel in front of him.

When it was my turn, I knelt down and slipped my mouth over his hard cock.  I barely had to touch it with my tongue, it was so sensitive.  His salty load blew down my throat, coating my tongue and filling me with that contented haze.

I can barely cum six or seven times a day.  How he fed a church of three hundred…

I vaguely remembered a story about bread and fish, divided and divided and divided but still managing to feed all who needed it.  A miracle.  Just like this.

We danced to one last song, letting our sweaty bodies touch.  I groped the Daddy beside me and felt my cheeks squeezed by a ginger twunk.  Definitely my type… did I have a type anymore?  Or was it just… men?

“That’s all bros,” the priest eventually shouted from the pulpit.  “And don’t forget to buy the Pope’s new jazzercise video — Ripped Like Christ!”

-------------

It’s been a while since I heard anyone protest about the genie.

I always think about how I felt the first time I heard about the genie.  My first thought was ‘better watch out!’  After all, I’ve never seen a movie where there wasn’t some catch.

I guess I was worried that he had some kind of ulterior motive.  An agenda from way back in the reaches of time.  Ancient revenge or corrupted morals or even just a sick sense of humour.

I remember talking with Johnny and Pete — they figured the genie was going to amplify our wishes all out of proportion.  You ask for bigger muscles, you end up with your body so blown out of proportion that you can’t see your toes anymore.  That sort of thing.

Last time I saw them, neither of them worried about that sort of thing anymore.

Pete’s a Catholic, so he follows the Pope’s lead and treats his body like a temple.  He builds it, maintains it, and lets people inside to… worship.  I actually broke my own rule and slept with him three or four different times.  He brings a religious fervour to the bedroom and it gets me off so good.

Johnny went the other route.  Instead of conforming like Pete, he’s been trying a little bit of everything.  Top, bottom, middle of a fuck train, he’s into everything.  Modesty is out of fashion, but Johnny’s a bit of a contrarian — he struts around in this three inch pair of sequinned shorts and he doesn’t even care it makes him look prude.

“Dude, do you think anyone else is gonna try?” Pete asked as the three of us laid in bed and caught our breath.  “I mean… like… like the Pope did?  Try to bottle the genie back up?”

“Who would try?” Johnny laughed.  “I mean… like… who’s left?”

He had a point.  The President had made one last ditch attempt at a diplomatic solution, and now he was such a himbo he couldn’t spell the word.  Our Prime Minister had taken the smart road and invited the genie to run our country — the genie declined.  No interest in power, he just wanted humans to stop acting so shameful.

The Vatican was a sex party.  The White House was a disco.  The UN was basically an orgy.

This could have gone horribly wrong.  We could have gotten a genie who turned us all into mindless slaves or uptick pricks or boring accountants.

But the world got lucky with our genie.  He granted our wishes.

I grabbed a breadstick and chowed down.