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terrymaloch · 1 month ago

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The Woods

Snapping a picture of myself breathing in the fresh mountain air was the best feeling in the world. I still had two hours before my shift started, and I was soaking in every bit of peace the woods could offer. It felt good to be out here — protecting nature, showing visitors its beauty, and keeping the land safe. I loved what I did.

After sunbathing a bit, I jogged down the hill toward my cabin tucked deep in the woods. I wasn’t as spry as I used to be — my breath was shorter now, knees a little stiffer — but I still pushed through the terrain with a kind of silent pride. As I reached my cabin and started suiting up, the sharp crack of gunfire snapped me to full attention.

Without hesitation, I grabbed my belt, strapped on my radio, and bolted toward the sound.

Not far from the trail, I stumbled into a shirtless man with a rifle casually slung over his shoulder. His skin was damp with sweat, chest heaving, the sun catching the copper strands in his beard. He looked startled to see me.

“Hey,” I said firmly, “I’m Stephan, one of the park rangers in this area. Did you just fire off a gun out here?”

He blinked. “No sir. Uh… my buddy did. We saw a deer, that’s all.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You and your friend need to stop immediately. This land is federally protected. No hunting, no firing. Period.”

He gave a short chuckle and shifted his stance. “Relax, man. We’re just testing out a few guns. No harm in that.”

“None of that is allowed here,” I snapped. “You’re looking at a fine, or worse. I’m off-duty right now, so I’ll let you go with a warning. But don’t test these woods again. This isn’t just about law — it’s about respect.”

He smirked, rolling his eyes. “Alright, alright. Cool it, ranger. No need to lecture me.”

“What’s your name, son?”

“Devin.”

“Devin,” I repeated slowly. “Let me make this clear. I see you out here again, and it won’t be a warning next time. You understand?”

He nodded, barely.

As we parted ways, something in me knew I’d see him again — some men just don’t listen.

The day went on. I gave my usual tours, shared facts about native plants and wildlife, and watched city folks marvel at nature like kids in a candy store. But the skies turned quick. The sun vanished behind a storm front, thunder rolling in like a slow drumbeat. My ranger duties were canceled for the day, and I can’t lie — I was grateful.

But as I headed back to my cabin, I heard it again: gunfire.

I clenched my jaw. “I bet it’s that damn Devin,” I muttered, breaking into a sprint.

Sure enough, there he was, shirtless again, shotgun in hand, trying to shoot ducks out of the air.

“HEY! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” I shouted.

Devin flinched but turned to fire again. That was it. I tackled him to the ground, pinning his arms as the shotgun clattered to the dirt.

“Get the fuck off me!” he barked. “Just trying to have some fun. You don’t gotta snitch. Let’s keep this between us.”

“You’ve had your warning,” I said through gritted teeth. “Now you’re done.”

But Devin squirmed free, grabbed his gun, and pointed it at me.

“No, you’re done. You’re gonna turn around and walk away like you didn’t see shit.”

The storm above us groaned. I raised my hands slowly. “I get it. You’re trying to prove something. But this land doesn’t play. You mess with it, and it messes back.”

Devin’s grip tightened.

Then: FLASH. A bolt of lightning slammed into him.

I woke up on the ground, singed leaves fluttering around me. Somehow I was unharmed. I looked up to find Devin’s body collapsed where he had stood.

I crawled toward him, heart pounding. No burns. No blood. Just… still.

I reached for his neck, checking for a pulse.

And that’s when it happened.

His body deflated beneath my fingers — like air rushing out of a suit. His chest caved in with a slow whoosh, his limbs softening, his skin turning rubbery and hollow.

Not my first time seeing this.

The woods protect themselves. They warn. Devin didn’t listen — and now he was a skin-suit.

I looked around — the trees creaked, but no one was watching. The wind howled in short gusts, and the smell of ozone still hung thick in the air.

It was time.

I knelt beside the husk of the man. The air around me had a humid electric charge, thick with pine and storm. I pressed a hand into Devin’s collapsed chest — still warm, smelling faintly of woodsmoke, salt, and masculine musk. His torso rose slightly under my touch, pliable now, welcoming.

I found the seam along his back — right at the base of the spine — and slid two fingers along the line. It opened like a zipper.

A musky scent hit me full force: a mix of sweat, gunpowder, and a faint trace of soap and skin. There was a rawness to it — intimate, animal, oddly inviting.

I undressed slowly, my own skin prickling in the cool post-storm air. My boots sank into the wet earth as I stepped out of my clothes and stood naked, surrounded by trees and thunder.

The woods had gone quiet.

Even the birds were silent, watching, maybe.

I took a breath, then stepped one leg into Devin.

The inner lining of the suit clung to my skin immediately — slick, warm, tight. Like wading into living latex. The hairs on my legs brushed against the inside of his, and I could feel the friction, the soft slurp as I pushed deeper.

I guided my second leg in, muscles flexing to adjust to his form. The skin molded around me, sealing me in from the ankles up. A slight pop echoed as my heels settled into his feet.

I shivered. Not from cold — from sensation.

As I pulled the torso up, the scent intensified — beard oil, leather, forest air. His chest hair pressed against me as I slid into him, the suit hugging every rib, every inch of my torso like a vacuum seal.

When I reached the arms, I guided one in, then the other — each finger slotting into his like we were meant to merge.

With a final heave, I slipped my head inside.

POP.

The sensation was overwhelming. His face enveloped mine — soft, stretching, then snapping snug. My vision blurred, then cleared through his blue eyes. My tongue now tasted what Devin had last eaten. My nose inhaled his world.

The beard itched softly against my new jawline. His happy trail now mine — thick, coiled down to a crotch I now owned.

I looked down.

Devin’s body was me.

The sounds of the woods returned — distant bird cries, the rustling of leaves, thunder still murmuring far away.

I flexed. His muscles moved. I smirked. His lips curled.

He was mine now.

The fit was perfect.

I ran my hands down my—no, his—chest, fingertips grazing the coarse hair that trailed from pectorals to navel. Devin’s skin was sun-warmed, soft over muscle, with a faint, lingering scent of sweat and earth baked into his pores. I adjusted my stance, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. Everything responded effortlessly — like I’d lived in this body my whole life.

And his voice…

“Fuck,” I whispered, just to hear it — deep, cocky, laced with a drawl that could charm or threaten depending on how you wielded it.

I cleared my throat and tried again, louder.

“Yeah, we bagged a couple out near the ridge.”

I smirked. Perfect.

I grabbed Devin’s shirt and jeans, still warm from his skin, and yanked them on. His scent enveloped me — something boyish and wild. I shoved my own ranger uniform into his worn camo backpack, zipping it up tight just as footsteps crunched down the trail behind me.

“Yo!” a voice called out.

I turned, slowly, confidently — Devin’s half-smirk curling on my lips.

Connor.

Shorter than Devin, with a slim build and a nervous energy. Baseball cap, red flannel, rifle casually slung over his shoulder. He trotted up to me with a grin, unaware of anything off.

“Shit, man. You get anything good?”

I met his eyes. Tilted my head.

“Oh yeah,” I said, low and smooth. “I got exactly what I came for.”

Connor laughed. “Damn. Alright, alright. You still got your rounds? Mine are jammed. Mind if I swap with you?”

I glanced at his rifle. Then back at him.

“You trust me with that thing?” I teased, stepping closer.

Connor shrugged. “You’re the better shot. I’ll meet you at the hotel later anyway. We’ll do the check-in and clean the gear there.”

I took the rifle from him, our hands brushing. His fingers were warm. He gave me a quick nod, none the wiser.

“I’ll see you tonight,” I said, giving his shoulder a pat — friendly, firm.

As Connor turned and jogged off down the trail, I stayed still. Watched him disappear behind the trees.

Then, with a satisfied exhale, I turned and headed toward the ranger cabin.

+++

The storm had passed, leaving the woods slick and steaming. My boots—his boots—crunched wet gravel as I stepped onto the porch and unlocked the door to my cabin.

Inside, the familiar smell of cedar, coffee, and damp fabric met me. The place was simple: a bed, a desk, a wood stove, and a large mirror beside the dresser.

I tossed the backpack onto the bed and peeled off Devin’s clothes slowly, piece by piece, savoring the weight of the body beneath each layer. I stood in front of the mirror, bare again, lit only by soft amber light from the window.

I ran a hand across Devin’s jawline — solid, beareded, his. I flexed his biceps. Stretched his arms. Watched the way his chest rose and fell. Turned to see the way his back muscles shifted under his skin.

“This body…” I murmured in his voice, “...was meant for someone who knows how to use it.”

I climbed onto the bed, still naked, laying flat with one hand resting on his stomach — just above the soft, thick trail of hair that led downward. The smell of him — raw, leathery, faintly like bonfire — clung to the sheets. I inhaled deeply and let the aftershock of power ripple through me. I saw this print of Devin's cock waiting for me to use it.

Devin had been reckless. Arrogant. Disrespectful to the land — and to me.

I couldn’t just wear him.

I had to make him learn.

I quickly downloaded Grindr on Devins phone and created a profile, snapping a picture and immediately getting attention. I found a top that was more than willing to pound his virgin hole as I was prepared to give the new Devin the fuck of his lifetime.

+++

It had been a month.

Every morning began the same now — with a ritual, almost sacred in its rhythm.

Stephan stood naked in his cabin, early sunlight spilling through the slats in the blinds. Outside, the woods whispered: birdsong, rustling branches, the distant gurgle of the river near the falls. But inside, all was still — just him and the suit.

The body lay open on the bed like a second skin, supple and warm from resting near the heater all night. Devin’s face stared blankly up at the ceiling, beard still soft, chest hair still thick and slightly curled.

Stephan pressed his palm to the chest and exhaled slowly.

“Time to rise.”

One leg slid in. Then the next. The familiar wet warmth greeted him like a lover. The inside of the suit clung and hugged and swallowed him whole.

The sounds: slurp, stretch, shffft — wet latex over skin, the faint snap of hair catching as it settled over muscle and sinew.

The scent: Devin. Still there. Musky, slightly sour in the best way — like old flannel and fresh sweat and the ghost of gunpowder. A scent that clung to the lungs and curled in the brain.

He pulled the torso up, guided his arms into the sleeves, then slowly eased his head into the hollow of Devin’s — the final moment always a little breathless.

POP.

Vision sharpened through icy-blue eyes. A satisfied sigh left his borrowed lips.

Devin’s voice, warm and full: “That’s more like it.”

I stepped outside, the morning sun washing over his bare chest — Devin’s chest — golden light catching on the sweat already beginning to form in the hollow between his pecs. The air was cool, pine-laced, alive.

I stationed the phone to snap a picture.

The camera shutter caught the angle he liked best: shirtless, chain glinting on his collarbone, cap on, sunglasses on top, the forest stretching wide behind him. That stoic face — cocky but calm — was all Devin. And now, all his.

He slipped the phone into the side pocket of the bag slung over his shoulder. The one Devin used to carry. A towel and protein bar tucked inside, just like the man himself would’ve packed it.

His thumb traced the edge of the gold chain around his neck — once Devin’s, now a morning staple. Then, without another word, he took a deep breath, felt the air rush across his hairy chest, and began his jog — feet pounding dirt, heart steady, body strong.

Stephan-as-Devin stepped outside, breathing deep.

No wheezing. No sore knees.

Just wind across chest hair and sun on his arms.

Jogging now was pleasure — the body gliding over the terrain, each step powerful, efficient, owned.

The path wound uphill, then dipped down through the shaded trees. Every footfall was muscle memory now — Devin’s legs sure and strong. Sweat beaded gently under his collarbones as he passed a group of hikers, offering them a quick nod and a smirk.

They had no idea.

Not a clue that the man running shirtless past them wasn’t born in that skin — but had chosen it.

And kept it.

Connor had barely blinked when “Devin” told him he’d decided to stay. Said the woods were just too good to leave.

“Hope you find a job, man,” Connor had said. “Good luck.”

That was the last time they spoke.

Now Devin was more than a disguise. He was attire. Workout gear. A hookup skin. A little thrill worn like cologne. Stephan sometimes thought about hitting up guys on Grindr with that charming, cocky smirk and seeing what kind of attention Devin’s body could draw in.

And it always drew.

The waterfall was close now.

Moss-covered rocks, slick and humming with mist. The air turned cool, electric with memory.

This was where Devin had fallen. Where the woods had taken their price.

Stephan slowed his pace as he approached, breathing in deep.

The falls roared, powerful and constant, carving through the stone like time itself.

He stood there for a moment, sweat drying on his chest, heart beating steady beneath borrowed ribs.

Someday — maybe next month, maybe never — he’d unzip the seam at Devin’s spine. Walk him back to this sacred place. Let the water wake him up.

But not today.

Today, Devin was his.

And as the wind whipped across his chest, carrying pine and mist and memory, he smiled. Then took off running again — deeper into the woods, the sound of the falls fading behind him.

Rounding a bend near the edge of a fern-lined path, he slowed—eyes catching movement ahead. Another man had stopped in his tracks. Mid-thirties maybe, lean, in a tight black tank and trail shorts, water bottle in hand. His gaze was locked on Devin’s bare torso — lingering, hungry.

Their eyes met.

The air seemed to thicken between them.

The man didn’t say a word, just tilted his chin slightly, a quiet invitation.

Devin smirked — a slow, knowing curl of the lips that said yeah, I know what you’re thinking.

He adjusted his cap, let his eyes rake over the stranger’s body, and then nodded once toward the thicket just off trail. No words. No need.

The man followed.

And as the trees closed in around them, the scent of moss and sweat and anticipation rising, “Devin” disappeared into the woods again, finding a secret place to kiss the new stranger's lips— this time not to protect them, but to get lost in them.

He pulled out his new dick as the stranger got on his knees to put in some work.

"Fuuuck Man, you’re the hottest guy I’ve seen on this trail," the stranger murmured before going back to sucking Devin off.

Devin felt the warmness of the strangers mouth envelope him as the pleasure surrounded his new member.

He chuckled to myself before saying "Yeah you'll be seeing me around a lot more cutie."

+++

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