"Boy and Man" by Seuzz

"Hi Dad!"

Ben Carstairs would have replied, but he had barely time to glimpse the back of his tow-headed son before Brian had vanished down the hallway and into the bedroom. He watched the boy's swirling wake with bemusement for a moment before turning again to gaze out the front door, at the blonde woman who stood by the minivan with her arms folded in a disapproving manner. He hunched as he trudged down the front walk to the street where she waited.

"I guess I'll say hello to him later," he called as he approached. "Hello to you, Cynthia."

"Hello, Ben."

Carstairs smiled thinly. "I guess we're speaking again."

"Of course we're speaking," she said, but her smile was also thin. "I don't want to give you any reason to think I'm feeling unfriendly."

"You mean aside from the restraining order? Or that letter your lawyer sent last week? Jesus, Cynthia, if you'd seen my expenses last month you wouldn't be asking for more alimony."

"I'm not asking for more, only for what you still owe. And I should be your primary expense."

"First mistakes are always the most expensive," Ben said bitterly. "Sometimes we never finish paying for them."

His ex-wife's eyes glinted coldly. "I had to come within a thousand yards so I could drop our son off at the curb. Don't say things that could be used against you in a court appearance."

Ben felt a nasty ripple up his spine, but he forced himself to smile. "Then let's both stop being unpleasant." He looked her up and down. "You're looking well."

"You're not. You've lost a lot of weight. You look haggard."

"Some people would say 'You've lost weight' and mean it as a compliment," he retorted. "But you're not like most people."

"Pretend I'm concerned. You're wasting away." She seemed to debate with herself before blurting out the sequel. "But you could disappear completely, and I wouldn't mind."

Ben felt a lop-sided smile creep onto his face. "I haven't been eating well," he admitted. "My work in the lab—and your alimony—have left me subsisting on ramen."

"Then blame yourself and not me." She paused, as though unsure how sincere he'd been in pleading poverty. "But if you need money for Brian over the summer, I can be patient a little while longer."

"I don't want your charity," Ben snapped.

"Then you won't get it. And it wouldn't be for you but for Brian. It's all he's been talking about for the last month. Coming to see you." She peered at him narrowly. "You've been promising to spoil him, haven't you?"

"The settlement says I only get him three months out of the year. Naturally, I want him to enjoy himself."

"And that's why he dashes past without speaking more than two words when he finally sees you."

"I told him in our last email that I had some new hardware for him."

"That virtual reality system that's been sucking up your life for the past five years?" Her eyebrows arched. "The one that busted up our marriage? Well, that and the abuse."

Despite himself, Ben found himself bridling. "My research may have pushed you and me apart—and yeah, it was bad for mu temper—but it's brought my son and me closer together."

"He needs sunlight, Ben. He needs fresh air, and exercise, and flesh-and-blood friends. He doesn't need to be shut up in a ... full-body glove, or whatever it is that you've designed."

"And he'll get all those good things. That's what summers are for."

She stared at him evenly. "Well, I'll just say goodbye to him, then."

She started to push past, but he blocked her. "Remember that restraining order, Cynthia," he said with a nasty grin. "You can call him tonight."

Red spots showed in her cheek. "You can be such an asshole, Ben." But she turned away without pressing the matter.

Ben Carstairs waited a few minutes after she'd driven away, and then with a quizzical smile returned to the house. Inside, he knocked quietly but firmly at the door to the spare bedroom. "Are you decent, son?" he asked. There was no answer, but he opened the door anyway.

The thin, blond, sixteen-year-old kid who had barreled past him was nowhere to be seen; only a pile of hastily discarded clothes suggested he had even been present. The room wasn't unoccupied, however. On the other side of the room, admiring himself in a full-length mirror, was a solidly built, well-tanned young man with chestnut hair. He was stark naked, and fully entranced with the biceps and pectorals that reflected back at him. For a moment he was too caught up pressing a strong palm against his chest to react to the intrusion; but he caught sight of Carstairs in the mirror, and grinned back at him. "It looks even better than in those jpegs you sent!"

"How does it feel?"

"Totally natural!" He rubbed his arm lightly. "I can't even tell I'm wearing anything."

"Anyone who caught you like this would say you weren't," Ben said wryly. He crossed to a chest of drawers and pulled out a pair of track pants, which he tossed to the seeming stranger who was actually his son. "I had to set the biochemical interface to my own signature, but I figured it would be close enough to yours. I can tweak it if there are places that are ... not quite sensitive enough." Naturally, he chose not to mention the number of times he'd taken the body suit out, to the gym, to the park, to nightclubs. To test it and refine it, he'd told himself, as though that were his primary excuse.

"I look ... older than sixteen."

"That's the least of the differences." Ben continued to be wry. "But yeah. Here's some ID for you." He tossed a thin wallet to Brian. "It says you're nineteen. I guess you could pass for twenty-one, though."

Brian blushed as he grinned. "I get it. Thanks, Dad. This is the greatest graduation present anyone ever got. Well, early graduation present, I guess."

"Keep your grades up, and you can take it to college next year."

"I wish I could go now. Junior year sucked."

"So you told me. Here," Ben said, his manner suddenly shy. "I'll take your old clothes and suitcases and put them away. Nothing you brought will fit you now, and I doubt you'll be wanting to get out of the suit any time soon." But Brian had already returned his attention to the mirror.

Ben Carstairs smiled in relief to himself as he opened the secret door at the back of his closet and deposited his son's things in the little space, behind the other flesh-colored suit, the lanky one with shaggy, light-blonde hair. It had taken a lot of exercise and starvation diet, but he could now fit inside this other suit, the one that made him into the physical duplicate of his own son.

From the way Brian was talking, he would hardly need convincing when the time came to suggest he not return home for his senior year. And then when Ben was in that other suit, and back inside his ex-wife's house, in the guise of the last person she would ever suspect meant her any harm ...

Then he would finally finish paying for that first, fatal mistake, and have the wherewithal to settle all his other financial problems.

'Old Wine, New Bottle" by Seuzz

There was something in Christine's tone —a note of breathless, of strained alarm, perhaps—that suggested to Ken that there'd been a magnificent cock-up in their little scheme. He didn't wait to ask her what was up, but quickly clapped his phone shut and trotted over to her apartment.

Sure enough, her brow was deeply creased and her cheeks pale when she answered the door. "He's not breathing," she said as soon as he was inside the doorway.

Ken stared. "Of course he's not breathing," he snapped. "He's not supposed to be breathing, not after you gave him the knockout drops."

Christine stared back. "But—" Then her expression changed—a subtle change, something deep in the eyes, but it clearly spelled relief. "Oh," she said.

"Jesus." Ken sighed. "Well, as long as I'm here." He pushed past her toward the bedroom, where he found Chad, her boyfriend, spread-eagled on the bed, completely naked. Ken bent over his face with a frown. Yes, he wasn't breathing, and his eyes were staring vacantly. "How long since you—" He did a mild double-take as he glanced back at the fully dressed Christine. "You put your clothes back on before you called me?" he asked wryly.

She folded her arms. "After I called you. You know, it was real tricky thing getting that eyedropper up close to his mouth while we were, um, ..."

"Alright, where's the rest of the stuff I gave you," Ken asked mildly. "We can talk later about the kind of fun you were having."

Christine gave him a look as she pulled open the top drawer of her bureau. "I guess we'll be missing our three o'clock Lit class," she said as she handed him the syringe and the small bottle.

"Maybe, maybe not," Ken replied as he stabbed the needle into the bottle and drew out a carefully measured dose of clear fluid. "This won't take long, so unless, you know, you want to take up where you and him left off ..."

"Stop it." She winced as Ken carefully lifted Chad's testicles and pressed the needle deep into the flesh where his genitals attached to his body. For his part, Ken smiled tightly at the size of Chad's flaccid cock.

"Okay, give it a few minutes, and then I'll need your help as he starts to deflate."

"Oh my God," she said. "This stuff really does ... I mean, it ... it actually ..."

"Yeah, I've seen it in action before," Ken said airily. "He's not really full of air, you know," he continued, and added "Just shit" under his breath. "But it will look like he's deflating."

Christine gave him a carefully measured look. "You mean you've seen other guys do this to ... other guys?" She paused. "Who?"

"Not really your business," Ken replied. "Let's just say there's more than one jock on campus walking around with someone else inside him." Christine swallowed.

"Alright, there he goes," Ken said. He gripped one of Chad's thick, lightly haired calves and began to massage it roughly. "Grab his foot and start kneading." With something like loathing, Christine picked up her boyfriend's foot and started squeezing it. "Come on, harder than that," Ken chided her. "I'm sure you two got up to rougher stuff than that when he was naked."

A red spot finally showed in Christine's cheek. "You know," she said in a voice that had a shrill in it. "The main reason I'm doing this is because he was a jerk and I wanted to give you as second chance. But if you're going to act like an asshole—"

"It's a little late for second thoughts now, isn't it?" Ken retorted. "But I'm sorry. I'm just giving you shit." He grabbed their victim's leg behind the knee and pressed; the joint bent at a painfully unnatural angle. "Still, it does kind of suck when your old girlfriend will take you back only if you pretend to be her new boyfriend."

"It was your idea," she said. "I'd never heard of this stuff till you mentioned it."

"I know," Ken said. He pressed both his hands down on Chad's hard-muscled abdomen. "I wonder if I'll like being on the lacrosse team," he added, as though following a thought.

They continued pressing and squeezing on Chad's body; it became softer and flatter, and finally became a limp, leathery thing. Ken had just dropped Chad's buzz-cut head back onto the pillow when there was a sharp rap on the front door. Christine looked at Ken with alarm. He shrugged. "Close the bedroom door and go see who it is," he said. "I'll finish getting ready."

As he slipped off his own clothes, Ken heard the muffled sound of the front door opening and Christine's voice as she greeted the visitor. The voices continued after the door closed; he smiled wickedly at the thought that he'd get such a quick chance to model his new identity.

He flopped his new body onto the floor and sat on the edge of the bed; carefully he stretched open Chad's mouth and slipped his own thin leg into it and down the flaccid throat and through the torso. He pulled the mouth open wider and stuck his other leg in. It took a little bit of fishing around before he got them into the separate leggings, and it took even longer to get his feet and toes inside Chad's. But once he had them arranged he felt his new skin and muscles adhere to his own, and the warm prickle as Chad's old nerve endings became his. He waggled his toes appreciatively and ran his hands and fingers up the back of his new thighs.

It was trickier getting his ball sack and penis into Chad's, since he had to fight a swelling erection while trying to get Chad's flaccid skin over his own stiffening member. Then he gasped with intense pleasure as the new skin adhered; with a groan he fell back on the bed and stroked his new penis and fondled his new balls. He glanced down; it was very thick and very long, and it was straining mightily toward the ceiling. His pleasure at the size of his new cock was slightly equivocal; it was, after all, not originally his own. But whatever envy he might have felt was quickly transmuted into the hot and panting anticipation of thrusting it deeply and violently into soft, moist, warm tissues. He bit his lower lip and gradually mastered himself.

The hard part was now out of the way, and he soon had his thin arms inside Chad's hard-muscled ones, and his shallow chest enclosed in Chad's slab-like pectorals. Before pulling Chad's head and face up over his own, though, Ken went to closet, where he knew Christine had a full-length mirror. In its reflection he regarded his nearly transmuted self: Chad's stocky, tawny body, lightly downed with blond hair on the calves and forearms and chest; more thickly and darkly under armpits. Set incongruously over this athlete's body was Ken's own narrow face with its thick mop of mousy-brown hair and his round spectacles and dark eyes. He gave himself a lopsided smile; yeah, even he'd worked out he would have looked ridiculous. He closed his eyes and drew Chad's face over his head and down over his own visage; he rubbed and pressed it into place. When he opened his eyes again, it was Chad who stared back out of truculent, hazel eyes: and it was Chad's flushed cheeks and chapped lips and a mouth that seemed permanently set in a semi-sneer. He quickly pulled on some dirty underwear and athletic shorts, but didn't bother with a  shirt or anything else.

"Hey Tony," he said brusquely as he entered the living room. It was one of Chad's teammates, sitting on the sofa and chatting casually with Christine. Ken swaggered on his new legs into the bathroom; without closing the door he pulled out his cock and let a long stream of piss geyser out and into the toilet bowl. He pointedly ignored the dangerous expression on Christine's face when he re-entered the living and dropped onto the sofa next to her. "So what the fuck do you want," he asked Tony as he dropped a meaty arm around his girlfriend's shoulder.

Tony shrugged. "I was bored. Thought I'd hang out with you guys."

"Chad and I have a Lit class at three," Christine said. "In fact, we need to leave now if we don't want to be late." She stood up.

"Take notes for me, won't you, babe?" Ken said insolently. "I'm gonna skip today, hang out with my bro here."

Christine turned so that Tony wouldn't see her face and stared hard at him. "Remember what we talked about this afternoon?" she said sharply. "There are going to be some changes in our relationship. Like, you're going to start going to class every day."

Ken looked up at her with an amused expression. "Sure thing. But let's put the new stuff off until tomorrow. I wanna squeeze a little more juice out of the old life first." He smirked and rubbed the front of his shorts with the heel of his hand. Christine turned very pink but didn't say anything; she said nothing, in fact, as she scooped up a few scattered books, shoved them into an over-the-shoulder bag, and stomped out the door.

Neither Ken nor Tony said anything either, but the former snickered after she'd gone. "Fuck, I'm in trouble now," he chortled as he rose from the sofa and swaggered over the refrigerator in the nearby kitchen nook. "Wanna beer?" he asked as he opened it and looked in.

"Fuck yeah," Tony said. Ken didn't look around as he heard Tony come up behind him. Then he felt Tony's hand on the small of his back, and his dick, which had never entirely collapsed, sprang back to vibrant life. But he ignored the approach, even after Tony leaned in and lightly kissed the back of his neck.

"Playing it dangerous, huh?" Ken said as he straightened back up. "I ought punch you out for that, you know."

"I was watching through my front window," Tony said as he took a beer from his friend. "I saw you running over. Unless you and Chad were fucking each other in the bedroom, I knew it was going  to be you when he came out."

"Can't keep your eyes off the fucker, huh?" Ken grunted. He leaned in and snatched a quick, noisy kiss from Tony. "You got more of the knockout drops?" Tony grinned as he dug a small brown bottle with an eyedropper stopper out of his front pocket. "Sweet," Ken said as he took them. "I'll use them on her tonight, give you a call around midnight when I've got her ready for you." He leaned back against a kitchen cabinet and rubbed the front of his shorts again. "After you're out of Tony and inside Christine, there's going to be some changes in our relationship. Like, she's going to start giving me blow jobs every night, and three times on Sundays."

"Old Habits" by Seuzz

I tilted the iPhone so Paul could see better. "How about this one?"

"He's okay."

"Only okay? Alright, how about him?"

"Better, I guess."

"You guess?" Flick. "Him?"

A shrug.

I continued flicking through the pictures, more and more rapidly, but I stopped looking at them, and watched Paul instead. He was a quiet one, had been ever since I'd known him; not diffident, but thoughtful. If he seemed unenthusiastic, I was sure, it wasn't because he was uninterested, but because he was looking at things from an angle I hadn't appreciated.

He caught me staring at him, blushed a little, and looked away. "Are these the only ones I get to choose from?"

"They're the only ones I have access to."

His eyes crinkled with skepticism. "You can't just go pick up someone?"

"I could," I shrugged. "Within reason. But then you wouldn't get to choose. You'd have to take whatever the special was that day."

He leaned back and gazed over my shoulder, out through the large plate-glass window that looked into my back yard. "And there are no take backs?"

"I'm afraid not. It's a one-way trip."

He smiled softly when I'd expected him to frown, and nestled closer against my shoulder. "Show them to me again. Tell me about them. I have to know more about who I'd be getting into."

Ah. Of course. Paul's a smart one. It was one of the reasons I loved him so much.

"Well, this is Will Coakley," I said, flipping back to the start of the gallery. "He's a finance major, good grades, probably going to get a good job at a major firm. As you can see, he's a snazzy dresser, and he jogs for exercise.

"This is Greg Czernowicz. He's still just a sophomore, hasn't settled on a major yet. I met his family. They're good people. His grades are not spectacular, but then he was mostly interested in athletics in high school. Great starting material, since he's in terrific shape, but totally unformed upstairs."

"This is Adam Elgar. He's already losing his hair, which is why he keeps his head shaved. I don't think the other guys like him much, and he was probably a bully back in high school. Maybe that's why he interests me/—I bet he'd be fun to ... ah ... wrestle with."

I looked up in time to see Paul smiling privately.

And so we went on in this way. I had to concentrate on the pictures, dredging up the memories of who these fraternity brothers were, and which of their qualities might pique Paul's interest and which of their quirks he might find a turn off.

And so it wasn't until I'd lighted, again, on Richard Tigh, that I figured out what Paul was up to. I'd been dying to get to Tigh again: his skeptical, obsidian eyes and level, alabaster teeth; his broad chest and strong shoulders that could not be hidden under a dress shirt at official functions, and which glistened brownly when with hard discipline he drilled a basketball down a blacktop; the fraternity president who quietly boasted that he would clerk for a Supreme Court justice, and no one really doubted that he one day would. I outlined these and all his other advantages to Paul, and glanced up to find him grinning at me.

"This is the only one who really makes you come alive, isn't he?" he said.

"He's the one I'd pick for you."

"Then he's the one I pick. Because you're already in love with him."

"I'm in love with you."

"It'll be the same thing." We kissed lightly. "Are there any disadvantages to him? Bad breath? Dandruff? A hangnail?"

"He has a girlfriend," I shrugged. "We'd have to do something about her."

* * * * *

"Pages two-forty through three-ten for next time," I said, writing the numbers on the board. A groan went up from the room. "It'll go fast," I promised. "Just try to keep the Guelphs straight from the Ghibellines. Mr. Tigh," I called to him as he rose from the table in the corner. "May I see you a moment?"

He came dutifully to the front of the room, his face the very portrait of neutrality.

"I'd like to have a little talk with you tonight."

He shrugged lightly. "Sure. If you stop by around six I think we were gonna be grilling some steaks."

"I'd prefer we meet alone. It's kind of a delicate matter."

His brow clouded. "Nine o'clock? Pool at Ernie's?"

"Private. I was thinking a drink at my place. Around seven. After that, maybe pool at Ernies."

He tensed visibly, but assented. I couldn't help but stare at his retreating back as he left. He walked with a slight rocking motion—I knew his family owned horses—and he was wearing a t-shirt with very short sleeves, so that the bulge of his biceps made everything south of my diaphragm quicken. I started a little when Paul—the last in the room; he'd sat in, to get an in-person view of his home-to-be—materialized at my elbow.

"Pretty impressive that you can get the president of a major fraternity chapter to just come over to your house at short notice."

"You can do that when you're that fraternity's faculty adviser," I smiled.

"Still, you were masterful," he said quietly, and a faint flush rose up his throat.

* * * * *

"This is probably going to sting like no one's business," I warned him. "It hurt like the very devil when I did it."

Paul leaned forward in my bathtub and clasped his arms around his nakedness. "How did you even manage to do it?"

"Sheer force of desire," I said as I peered at the amber liquid in the heavy syringe. "I baited and hooked him at the dance club, then let him reel me here, to his place. Sucked and swallowed, sucked and swallowed, until I wore him down. He was magnificent, but I was better." I couldn't resist a boast. "Together, we are unstoppable."

"I didn't want to mention anything," Paul murmured, "but you have been on fire since you joined the university faculty."

I said no more as I warmed the needle between my fingers, then swabbed the back of his neck with some alcohol. In truth, it had been a horrifying experience. I'd left him exhausted in his bed, finally, as the fingernails of the dawn dug into the horizon, to hide in his bathroom, in this very tub, where I had plunged a similar syringe into the base of my own skull. Afterwards, outside my skin, I had wobbled and staggered, then crawled, and finally bonelessly clambered back to his bed, and with nerveless, fleshless, flimsy fingers stabbed the object of my lust with the complementary solution. Crawling inside him had been like a return to the womb after the raw, gasping hell that had taken me from my own shell to his, and I slept for hours, hammered into oblivion by the struggle, swimming in the vomited filth that was all that remained of the old professor. The cleaning, the laundering and the scrubbing that ensued had been a vacation by comparison—a reward, even, for I had gained a fine and beautiful body with which to do it.

"There are no take backs?" Paul said to my surprise just as I was about to prick him.

I could have hesitated. I should have, probably. I didn't. I wanted no take backs, even before it became impossible. I wanted him—I needed him—in Richard Tigh's body.

"No take backs," I said, and I drove the needle deep. "I don't know where this stuff came from, I don't know who made it or who wrote the instructions. There were six of these paired syringes when I found it, and I spent four of them on the lab animals, testing it, and testing again, to see if there were take backs." There weren't, and the attempts left a residue whose stench I never wanted to smell again. "And so here we are, with only one shot each, even if we had more of the stuff. I've taken mine—" Paul suddenly heaved forward— "and now here is yours."

He twitched and gasped soundlessly, and flopped onto his side. His mouth opened and closed, and his eyes stared. I swallowed hard and wanted to look away. It had been bad enough with the mice, and naturally I'd not witnessed my own transformation. To see it happen to another human being, to one that I loved ...

His eyes glazed, and he sagged, and suddenly his very form curled up around the edges. He had, of course, split open along his spinal column, and what was left of his exterior tissues curled up, like paper burning in an invisible fire.

And then there was Paul, a livid pink thing of roughly human form; he had limbs and a trunk and a head. But his eyes—though I knew they could see—were blank white protuberances, and his mouth was a sucking, swallowing hole, like that of a toothless hagfish. Tears sprang into my eyes as it trembled and tried to speak. I knew it could feel no pain, but the fear it must have felt ... I patted its head tenderly. "Don't try to talk. Just rest. You'll be fine for hours yet, if you have to wait even that long." The spasms stopped, and the thing became much calmer, though the mouth continued to slowly gulp at the air. "In fact," I said, glancing ostentatiously at my watch. "He should be here in fifteen minutes, for he has never been tardy in my experience."

Quickly, I gathered up what was left of my lover's skin—his face, his hair and coverings, everything I had ever directly perceived of him. I didn't even glance at them or give them a farewell before stuffing them into the bottom of the trash.

* * * * *

"This is the good stuff. The very good stuff. The stuff that is so good that you never ever drink it because the occasion is never right." I set the tumbler of amber liquid down in front of him, and the glass made a satisfying clack against the tabletop. "So that gives you an idea of how serious this is."

Richard looked up at me from beneath his brows. He had dressed for this "official" visit in a crisp white shirt and tastefully casual khakis; his white ball cap—which was at least brand new—was his only concession to fratdom. "It means it's either really good news or really bad news," he said, and his sour tone suggested he was expecting the latter.

"Perhaps you'd better drink up before I tell you which."

He didn't flinch and he didn't stir. He just stared until the moment became uncomfortable, and I had to swallow and look away. I hadn't counted on having to temporize.

"How is your relationship with Megan," I said abruptly, chasing after a train of thought that had begun with the thing in my bathtub.

He tilted his head stiffly. "It's good."

"How is it progressing?"

"You want clinical details?"

"No. I mean, have you discussed future plans?"

"Yes."

I stared intently at the glass in front of him, trying to will him into picking it up.

"What are they?"

"Our plan is to keep them in the future."

"Do you have any idea what her attitude is toward those ... future plans?"

His lips had whitened as they compressed. "I think her attitude is that future plans will remain in the future until she decides that the future has arrived."

"Then let me ask about your present plans. Do they include allowing each other to play the field while waiting for the future to arrive?"

His eyes, which had merely been dark before, flashed that obsidian glint that excited me. "Is that a hypothetical, professor?" he softly asked.

"Let us call it a freighted question, Mr. Tigh."

I had calculated successfully, though the timing was very close. He slung back his drink in one swallow without expression and set the tumbler back down with a noise that was closer to a crack than to a click. His eyes were now flat, with the reptilian hardness of a serpent with a grudge. His hand still held the tumbler, and I saw the knuckles whiten, and I had the sudden vision of him hurling the heavy glass at my forehead. Probably that is what he intended.

Instead, he of a sudden fell sideways, like tree knocked over by a landslide. Fortunately, I caught him before he could damage his beautiful, beautiful self.

* * * * *

I quickly had him out of his clothes, and bending double I lifted him under the armpits and clasped him close to my chest and dragged him to the bathroom, inhaling deeply of the back of his neck as I went. The thing in the tub smacked its orifice—hungrily, I thought—as I gently laid Richard with his throat on the rim of the toilet and his face hanging over the water. "Five minutes, lover," I said. "That is all. Just five minutes now."

From the medicine cabinet I snatched the last needle and quickly but carefully slid it under Richard's skin. (I wanted not a scratch on his perfect carapace!) A gurgle rumbled from inside his body, and then a groan went up: the air of his last breath, rushing from his lungs, to echo in the porcelain bowl. And then came the slurry, the yellow, foaming slurry that poured out of his mouth in a soundless stream. I flushed the toilet to clear it, and flushed it again; and as it poured out Richard's frame grew slacker and slacker. And when the last dribble of the thing that had been inside his skin dropped into the water, his flat, flap-like head slipped heavily onto the tile floor.

"Now, just slip in here," I said with what I fear was a snigger, "like you've done so many times before. It'll be so lovely." I hauled the heavy skin over to the toilet and pulled apart the flanks of the flaccid buttocks. "Just slip in. You won't get caught on anything."

The process was like watching a snake shed its skin in reverse. First one pink limb, and then the second slid up into Richard, and then the head. The thing's torso narrowed and contracted and wriggled, and the legs merged seamlessly into a worm-like tail to follow. The skin billowed and bulged like a sack, but never came close to splitting. Instead, it filled out, and tightened, and flexed. There were muscles beneath it, and they bulged and swelled before relaxing inside their tight casing.

And then it turned over and took a deep breath, and the eyes opened. They settled on me, skeptical and querying, and then they softened, and a faint smile, of the sort the old Richard had never turned toward me, appeared.

I held out my hand to help him, but he effortlessly rose to his feet and stretched and sighed. He rubbed his forearms and his chest and his taut belly, then stretched down to briefly grip his calves. Without a word he stepped out of the tub and brushed past me, to gaze into the mirror. Gently, curiously, he laid an open palm against his cheek, and turned his face this way and that, to catch the light on its planes. He smoothed his hair, and then, charmingly, blew softly into his hand, to catch a sniff of his own breath. His eyes lit with amusement, and he smiled.

I reached out to stroke his back, but he pushed my hand away. "Lemme get dressed first," he said in a gentle baritone. "We'll start with the how-dye-dos and work slowly from there.

* * * * *

He sat back on the leather sofa, another glass of Scotch dangling lazily from his fingers. He crossed his legs. He was entirely at ease, and gracefully leonine.

"That was bullshit about Megan cheating on me, wasn't it?" he said with amused contempt, and took an appreciative sip.

"What makes you think I was talking about Megan cheating?" I smiled back at him. I was sitting across from him, and though I was the professor I was feeling more like the abashed student, trying to show off.

His chest swelled with an unreleased laugh. "Of course I'm cheating on her," he said. "Right and left. But I didn't think you'd have known that, and so you wouldn't have meant it."

My eyes widened, for I hadn't thought that Richard would be so casually unchaste. Still: "That will make it easy for you to end it with her. For her to end it with you, I mean."

His eyes dropped. "Maybe. On the other hand, it would be a useful cover. She has her good points, and she is attractive."

"Still, you would make time for me, wouldn't you?" I meant my wheedle to sound like a joke, but it sounded too plaintive, even in my ear.

His smile widened, and he looked over my shoulder. "The faculty advisor can get the fraternity president to stop by his house whenever he wants."

"I promise I won't abuse the power." I was starving by this point, and lurched rather than rose from my chair. I wanted to pin him to the sofa and drive a kiss down his throat. But he intercepted me, standing up and pressing his hand against his chest.

"Paul?" I asked in puzzlement.

The use of his old name seemed to stir something, for he blushed and hung his head. "Sorry," he said. "New reflexes and all."

"I don't mind the new reflexes," I said. "In fact, I'd like to see how they work."

He smiled and relented, wrapping his arms around me and drawing me in. I decided for my part to let him take it slow, and contented myself with nibbling and sucking rather than biting. It wasn't as satisfying as I'd hoped it would be, in part because he was much sloppier than I'd imagined he'd be. He became less ardent, too, until he finally withdrew, even dropping his arms and stepping back.

"What's wrong," I asked, for something queer seemed to coil in the air between us.

He tilted his head to the side. "The instructions ... Did they say anything about ... Well, about how old habits would interact with new ones?"

"Only that the person who took the skin would be the dominant personality, but would be able to convincingly fake being the person whose skin he had assumed."

"And the best way to do that would be to have the same habits and preferences," he mused.

"What are you saying?" I asked, and something cold clutched at my heart.

There was a peculiar gleam in his eye as he turned toward me: not the obsidian gleam of hate, but a jewel-like gleam of amusement, which frightened me almost as much.

"You were gay, and the professor was gay, so of course you didn't notice a change there," he said. "But don't you find yourself like the foods he likes, now?"

"I hadn't paid attention," I admitted.

"Well, start paying attention," he said. "We'd both better start. Because the fact is—" He took a deep, ragged breath and scratched the back of his head. "The fact is that Richard Tigh wasn't gay. He was totally, completely, 100% straight."

"But you're in control now," I protested wildly. "What about your feelings?"

His laugh sounded like a hiccup. "His feelings are so strong that I can't bend them. I've tried, I've been trying. Very hard, believe me. But they won't bend. By even a tiny little bit." He hiccupped again.

"Oh, baby," I said, and I don't know who I pitied more: him or me.

"And that's the good news," he said, and his voice began to teeter toward hysteria. "Now, you want the bad news? The crazy-ass, awful, horrible, not very good at all news?"

There was something like a flame in his eyes now, and I was so fascinated by his gaze that I didn't answer, couldn't answer, and certainly didn't see his fist before it was suddenly in my face. My jaw cracked and I hit the ground hard.

I looked up and could see only a blur. But through the ringing in my ears I heard perfectly the perfectly horrible conclusion to our affair.

"The bad news is that I— Richard— I—" His voice cracked and broke.

"I hate fags! I mean, I just. Fucking. Hate them!"

"Internal Affairs" by Seuzz

The rain falls on the just and the unjust alike, he mused to himself as the cold drizzle trickled off his cap and down the back of his neck. And which one am I now?

He tugged his uniform tight, but some of collected water slipped down his spine. He squirmed a little. Something didn't fit quite right, but he had to content himself with pulling the heavy coat closer around his shoulders. That did help, though he still wanted to find a changing room someplace, to tighten things. But there wasn't time.

And it wasn't a long wait, either, before a patrol car swam out of the diminishing afternoon murk and growled to a stop in the alley by the river. His eyes lit up when he recognized Danny Vance stepping out from the behind the wheel: Danny the dark; Danny the trim; Danny the panther-like, just out of the academy.

Greg Yarborough was with him, though, and the man waiting by the warehouse carefully composed his features so that the twenty-year street veteran—too smart not to be a detective, but held back from promotion for never-disclosed reasons—wouldn't spot his chagrin.

"Can't handle a punk by yourself, huh?" Danny jeered in his good-natured way.

"There's two of them." The man who'd put in the call for back up jerked his head toward the metal side door into the warehouse. "I knicked one of them, I think. They're unarmed, but I'm not stupid enough to go in alone."

Danny and Yarborough checked their pistols. "Then what are we waiting for?" Yarborough said curtly. Most of the guys at the precinct liked Yarborough for his cool, tough, confident ways.

But at least one of the other two cops in the alley didn't. "I took a look around before calling," he said as he opened the door. "Just long enough to know it was a bigger job than I could handle alone. It's a maze, and the light's bad." He and the others stepped into the gloom, where tall metal shelves, packed closely with anonymous crates and boxes, stretched toward the grimy skylights.

Yarborough found and flicked at an electrical box, but nothing happened. "You and Vance take the north side," he said. "I'll cover the south."

Yarborough and Vance struck out into the gloom, but the third hesitated. He liked the idea of splitting up, and he liked to be paired with Vance. But he didn't like the assignment. He felt in his pocket for the syringe as he followed Danny, hoping he'd get a chance to use it quickly.

But Vance moved swiftly, with cat-like tread, never pausing, swinging around each corner with practiced ease, and cocking his head in every direction; he left no blind spots as he swept along the wall. He left his partner breathing heavily through his nose, but not from exertion. No, he breathed heavily because his gaze was hooked helplessly onto Vance's dark, close-cropped hair and broad shoulders; he wanted to clasp Vance's neck and gnaw on it. Memories that had once belonged to another but now belonged to him swam to the front of his mind, of Vance in the precinct changing room, in his tight gray briefs and their enticing package. There weren't many such memories, for the man whose eyes he now looked out of hadn't the interest to stare, but they were distracting. At least once he missed a chance at Vance because he was concentrating on the gleam off the man's cheek as he stepped briefly through a dim patch of light.

They moved quickly, and Yarborough must have been similarly swift, for they heard a sharp, short bark not long after they had separated from him. For a moment Vance exposed himself, but soon moved out of reach, and his partner hurried along behind, unable to catch up until they found Yarborough standing over a huddled heap on the floor.

"Is this the one you shot?" he asked. The heap resolved itself into a human figure, dressed in dirty jeans and a plaid shirt, propped up limply against the wall. The head, shrouded in darkness, lolled to the side at an unnatural angle.

"I thought I only winged him."

Vance clucked his tongue. "We'll back you up, Bobby, if anyone asks," he said. "You can't see for shit in this place."

Yarborough, however, merely knelt down to examine the suspect, which naturally alarmed the officer that Vance had called "Bobby." "Shouldn't you wait for the detectives?" he asked.

"There's something wrong here," Yarborough said, and the others could see his moustache bristle. He poked at the figure. "Jesus, it's like there's nothing inside the clothes." He reached up to touch the man's face. "Christ, it's a mask. It's like a goddamn latex mask."

"Danny, go get a flashlight from the car," the one called "Bobby" said. Vance nodded grimly and retreated into the darkness. For an instant, the one left standing over Yarborough almost hurried after him. But sense won out over desire after the briefest of struggles, and a moment later he had the syringe out, and jabbed it deep into the back of Yarborough's neck.

The patrolman gasped and gargled, and collapsed. The other quickly shoved him onto the ground face down, then pulled him back by his heels so that the ochre-colored foam that began gushing from his mouth wouldn't wash back and stain his uniform. He jumped a little at the sound of another man dropping lightly onto the concrete floor nearby. "He's not my first choice for you," he said to the newcomer, whose face and form remained shrouded in shadow. "But we gotta take the hands we're dealt."

"He's a fat one," his friend sniggered.

"But smart. There won't be any embarrassing questions if he's the one making the report."

"What about the other one?"

He felt himself die a little as he slowly pulled his gun from its holster. "I know our motto is 'Never leave a body behind,'" he said with vast reluctance, "and that's not a body I want to leave behind. But I think we're gonna have to in this case."

But the other grinned and drew from his pocket the last thing his friend expected to see after they had depleted their most recent stock: a syringe. "Be prepared," he gloated. "That's another motto for us. I took it to heart after we were Boy Scouts last summer."

Impulsively, the cop grasped him about the torso and kissed him deeply.

* * * * *

"Gonna be a shitty few days for awhile," Yarborough said grumpily. "Even I'm gonna have a hard time explaining how Rodriguez disappeared." They had, in fact, found a trap door leading to the river below, into which they'd dropped the clothes and the three skin-suit remnants, the former to eventually wash up and the latter to be devoured by the fish.

"What's gonna be shitty is making love to your fat, bald, middle-aged face for three months while waiting for a new batch of fluid to mature," Vance joshed as he slid behind the patrol car wheel. He closed his eyes and massaged the back of his neck. Everything fit beautifully, and he softly grunted as he swelled with pleasure.

Yarborough gave him a slit-eyed, sidelong glance. "Don't underestimate me, Danny," he said in a mock warning tone. "I know a hell of a lot of tricks, not all of them relating to Internal Affairs. Haven't you and the boys speculated about how come I never married?" He reached over, to grip the younger cop's thigh.

"Cocktail and Chaser" by Seuzz

"You sure you okay?"

The cop's voice seemed to come from a long way away, and Ryan Glaser had to jerk himself out of an unwilling reverie. The effort to concentrate left him dizzy—a feeling amplified by the way the hard strobe of the club's neon lights fought with the blaze of the patrol car's flashers against the late-night urban darkness. He blinked and tried focusing on his interlocutor's face.

It was a friendly visage, though craggy and lined. The eyes were set deep, but they seemed warm and liquid with concern. Glaser was absurdly conscious of the way his own face twisted unbidden with puzzlement, and he felt as though we were falling, and he had to fight the urge to grab onto something. Not that there was anything to grab onto except the detective, and at least he had sufficient control of his limbs not to do that.

"Yeah," he said, and his tongue felt thick, like it belonged to someone else and had crawled into his mouth. He swallowed—a hard trick—and tried to nod.

"You look like you're about to fall over. You, uh, have a little something you shouldn't have?"

His heart—another foreign object—hammered inside his chest, and he stared. In fact, he came very close to blurting out that there must have been something in his last drink, and he came almost as close to begging that he be taken to the hospital to have his stomach pumped. Queerly, the hard suspicion that he had been drugged was twinned with the terrible certainty that there had been a cocktail of something's in his beer; but this sense of certainty, far from reinforcing the fear that he'd been poisoned, fought against it.

And then as he struggled another thought slipped in. A memory. "Uncle Paul," it whispered behind his ear, and he suddenly knew who the detective was. No, not a parent's brother, but a family friend much closer than the distant uncles and cousins. He felt himself relax.

"No," he said, and he was steadier now. "No, just a little freaked out that that—" He glanced over at Maxwell.

Ewan Maxwell, a lanky junior with limp hair down to his shoulders, slumped in defeat and staring at the ground as two patrolmen glowered at him. His hands were behind his back, though there were no bracelets around his wrists. Not yet, at any rate.

"Uncle" Paul Garrett followed his glance, and shrugged grimly. "It's always the small ones that surprise. Don't let it eat at you."

"I guess I'm lucky you were here too," Glaser said. He felt more in control of himself, but he could still feel the blood drain from his face. "Jake too."

"Like I said, don't let it eat at you that you couldn't take him alone. He had you wedged in pretty good in that bathroom stall."

"That doesn't have to go in a report, does it?" Glaser suddenly asked. The less anyone—at home, in the community, but especially at the high school—knew about the way a scrawny junior had pinned the captain of the basketball team inside the nightclub and gotten most of his clothes off him, the better he would feel.

"Depends on if it goes to trial," Garrett said, and his tone came freighted with several unspoken cautions, not all of them consistent with each other. "Are there any other details you'd like left out?"

"Don't think so." Glaser shook his head.

Garrett drew very close and gave the athlete—who was at least a head taller—a very penetrating gaze. "Are you sure?" Glaser felt a rustle at the pockets of his hoodie, and glanced down to find that his benefactor had drawn a large plastic bottle from it. It rattled.

Glaser turned red. "That's not, uh—"

"It's not asthma medication, I'm sure," Garrett said. He sighed. "Laws are one thing, and morality is another. You wanna screw around, save it for the cheerleaders. Don't go hitting nightclubs on a fake ID, and don't go putting shit like this in the ladies' drinks."

Glaser bit his lip; it felt a little numb, but there was more feeling in it than there had been only a few moments ago. But he bit it not from shame, but to suppress a dangerous smirk. He tried affecting shame. "Do you think you could, uh, drop those in a gutter someplace? Out of the report, and out of temptation, you know?"

The detective snorted but smiled. He backed off and took a slow tour of the sidewalk. Glaser saw a flash of white in the shadows as the bottle dropped through a grate. Without meaning to, he glanced back again at Maxwell—just in time to see that Maxwell had witnessed the same drop. As he stared at the junior, the latter turned his face slightly to look back at the ballplayer—and Glaser, despite himself, quailed under the baleful gaze of hot hatred. It only broke off when the metal cuffs finally went around Maxwell's wrists, and then a cop was pushing his head as he shoved him into the back of the squad car.

And yet though that would have seemed the best end to a nearly catastrophic evening, Glaser gave in to a dangerous feeling of reluctant fascination, and on feet that felt both very close and yet only distantly under his control he walked over the squad car. His muscles seemed to catch fire as he went. The sensation puzzled him at first, until Maxwell turned to look up through the window, and then Glaser recognized the feeling of adrenaline pumping through his powerful frame. Though Maxwell tried again to stare him down Glaser felt no new stab of terror. Instead, he balled a fist and pressed it into his other palm and stared back.

"Save it for the schoolyard." Uncle Paul's voice was close behind. Glaser ducked his head deferentially and backed away.

The police left soon after, and Glaser found his friend and teammate Jake Mercer loitering just inside the club entrance. "That was fucked up," Mercer said flatly.

"Thanks for being there," Glaser said. "It wouldn't have been any fun explaining things if you hadn't been."

Mercer shrugged. "How's your head? That shit wearing off yet?"

"I think so." Glaser pressed the heels of his hands against his temples. "The cop confiscated it, though. I talked him into dropping it into the sewer."

"They found it on him?"

"No, me. I put in his—" He caught himself and smiled crookedly. "I mean, I put it in my pocket just before the transfer started."

"Losing that stuff will piss Kevin off," Mercer said. "It'll take a month to whip up another batch, and he wanted to get inside Trier before the game this weekend."

"Piss on him. He can keep an eye on our old bodies and their new owners a little while, keep 'em from talking to anyone who might listen."

Mercer smirked. "Don't you think we can handle them ourselves?"

"Oh, we can help." The team captain balled his fist again and admired the way the muscles in his forearm flexed. "You know tonight wasn't the first appointment me and Ryan Glaser have had inside a bathroom, and fuck me if it's gonna be the last."

"Male-Order Suit" by Seuzz

Robert pressed the flat of his palms on the rough cardboard packaging and rubbed it slowly. He bent over and lay his cheek against it. A soft moan escaped his lips. "Twelve weeks of waiting," he murmured. "Twelve weeks of waiting, and watching for the mail truck every afternoon." He closed his eyes and breathed softly. Then his eyes snapped open and he stared excitedly at his roommate. "You as excited as I am?"

Craig smiled slightly but didn't meet his friend's eyes. "I'm just happy if you are," he said. His tone was unmistakably tactful, but if Robert noticed he didn't say anything.

Robert closed his eyes again, then with a deep breath straightened and fished some nail clippers out of his pockets. His roommate could see the tremble in his fingers as he clumsily slit through the tape and unfolded the flaps.

Craig withdrew and flopped back against the cheap sofa. "You know, I hope you're not going to be too disappointed with it," he said in a tone that continued to be guardedly neutral.

"And why would I be disappointed," Robert asked brusquely. Perhaps it was only the exertions as he tugged at the Styrofoam box inside the cardboard box that made his voice strain. "You sound like my mother."

Craig reached over to rub Robert's shoulder. "I just mean ... Well, just remember it wasn't my idea that you order such a thing. You don't need to impress me. I like you just the way you are." The hard squeal as the inner box turned loose drowned out Robert's muttered reply. "If it makes you feel better to wear such a thing," Craig continued, "then I'm all for it. And if it's a change of look you're only after ... Well, a new wardrobe would have done as well. Woulda been cheaper, too."

"It was my money, it didn't come out of the household expenses," Robert said curtly. He cut open the tape that kept the two halves of the packing box together. "And it wasn't that much more expensive than a top-to-bottom, inside-out, first-class wardrobe would've been."

"Well, maybe that's the other thing that has me worried," Craig said. "You ordered from a discount catalog, made in China—"

"So you pointed out at the time."

"Really top-model body suits are a hell of a lot more expensive than what you paid."

"Well, like you said, it's a change. If it turns out to be a piece of junk I won't wear it outside the house."

"And then what's the point?" Craig grimaced despite himself. He leaned over and gave Robert a hard kiss on the side of the neck, and ignored the way his lover twisted away. "Maybe I won't want you in it, even if it's awesome, when it's just the two of us."

But Robert had the box open now, and he gasped as he drew out the heavy, fleshy material. "Oh my God, just feel that!" he exclaimed. He gripped a flopping appendage, then held it up against his cheek. "It's so smooth." His eyes popped wide with a thought. "I bet that's how come it's so cheap!" He pulled it all out and draped it out over his lap; it was, mostly, featureless and a uniform color—light brown—all over. "No body hair. That probably saves a lot, not having to put all the little hairs on the arms and legs and stuff."

"I guess," Craig grumbled. "Though my Mach 3 can—"

"Oh shut up." Robert snapped up the mop of hair at one end and frowned. "Black. Or dark brown. I guess maybe that's a cost-saving measure too. I was hoping for one of the blonde models."

"Didn't they let you pick?" It was Craig's turn to frown. At the time he had pointedly refused to look over the order form as Robert filled it out.

"No. I mean, there were all kinds of models in the ad, but the actual form didn't have any, uh, any real place for, you know, customization."

"One size fits all?" Craig's face tightened, but at least he realized how counterproductive it would be to voice his doubts aloud.

"But they know what the customers want," Robert said with complacent satisfaction. "I mean, feel these abdominals." He gripped the muscles around the midsection, which even in their flaccid state remained stiff and well-defined.

Craig watched carefully as Robert kneaded the suit between his fingers, and then let all the fight slump from his shoulders. He clapped Robert on the back. "Well, don't keep us in suspense. Go try it on."

* * * * *

He picked up the living room after Robert had disappeared into the bedroom, and then he washed the dishes in the sink, and then he cleaned and scrubbed down the counters, and he took out the garbage; and when all that was done and there was still no sound from the bedroom and the door remained closed he gave serious thought to emptying out the refrigerator or pulling out the vacuum cleaner. He had suspicions about what was going in the bedroom, and he felt a hard twinge of pique that Robert should be satisfying himself without any help, but he was fair-minded enough to realize that his boyfriend had a right to act a little selfishly after all the scepticism he had had to endure.

But finally Craig could endure it no longer, and knocked softly at the door. "Robert?"

The reply was indistinct, but it didn't sound friendly. Craig frowned and twisted the door open. He just had time to see Robert swing around on the bed and turn his back. "I said go away!" He buried his face in his hands.

"Oh, Bobby," Craig said softly. "Let me see." But Robert remained hunched over, unmoving. "Well, it looks very nice, what I can see of it."

And it did. Robert's back was very smooth and entirely natural looking, with no weird bumps or protrusions. He touched his friend, and the muscles tensed and relaxed in an inviting way. He ran his hands gently up and down his boyfriend's back, then reached around to clasp large, firm pectorals, and abdominals that were as rewarding when filled out as they had suggested when they were empty. He was also relieved to notice that the false skin felt very real as well; he'd half-worried that it would be cold or even plastic to the touch.

"How does it feel?" he asked. "Does it fit?" He put his other arm around Robert.

There was silence for a moment, and then the other sighed deeply. "Yeah," he muttered through his hands."

"Not too tight? Not too loose?" Robert shook his head. "Does it feel natural? I mean, does it feel like your skin, or like you're wearing something?"

"No, it feels alright. Totally like it's my skin."

"Then what's the problem?" Craig wrapped his arms around Robert and tried laying his cheek against the other's; after a moment, Robert dropped his hand and let his friend pull him closer; but he remained downcast with his chin pressed against his chest.

"Come on, what's wrong?" Craig asked again.

Robert raised his head, and Craig raised his too, and the two of them stared across from the bed into the full-length mirror that hung on the closet door. Craig couldn't help but start at the apparition of the stranger that he now held in an intimate embrace. He tried hiding his reaction, but Robert had clearly seen it, and a red flush darkened his cheek. "I guess this just wasn't the look I thought I'd be getting," he said tightly.

Before he could stop himself, Craig let out a bark of laughter, and the flush in Robert's cheek blackened. "Oh, I'm sorry, babe," Craig said. He tried to hang on, but Robert pulled away, to huddle with his knees drawn up at the head of the bed. Even then, he couldn't resist applying the obvious needle.

"Come on, you have to admit it's funny," Craig grinned at his newly Sinicized lover. "Of course, the country that sends us Asian mail order brides would send you an Asian mail-order body suit!

"Hide & Seek" by Nemo

The sound of a fist hammering on a door, echoed down the alley. A curious observer would have seen two heavily built guys in suits, pounding on the basement door of a near derelict building. After a few seconds the door was cautiously opened outwards.

"Hey dudes? What’s up?" asked the blonde surfer guy who opened the door

"FBI." said one of the guys in suits, flashing his ID "Are you the only person in this property, kid?"

"Sure, dude." said the kid in a slightly stoned voice "Just me."
"You got any ID?" asked the first agent. The kid, dipped his hand into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He gave his driving licence to the agent, who looked at it for a few seconds and handed it back.

"Do you mind if we come in and check?" asked the second agent.
The surfer kid, scratched his head for a second "Don't you need like a warrant or something?" he asked.

"Well if we wanted to search without your consent, yes, but if you agree to let us in then, no" replied the first agent.

"Umm.. What exactly are you looking for?" asked the kid, looking slightly nervous.

The second agent, smiled to himself for a second "Relax kid, we're not interested in anything you might have for personal .. recreation... We're after a very dangerous guy. He was seen coming down this alley, and we're just checking all the properties."
"Well if that's all, then sure guy, come on in." said the kid, stepping back from the door.

"Could you just step outside for a few minutes?" asked the first agent. The kid shrugged, nodded and stepped outside.

The two agents entered the property, both with weapons drawn. The kid whistled quietly to himself as he leant against then wall.
After five minutes the agents came back outside, putting their weapons away as they came out.

"Thank you for your cooperation." said the first FBI guy, sounded vaguely disappointed

"No worries dude." said the surfer kid, as he headed back inside. As he closed the door, he heard the two FBI agents talking to each other.

"I don't understand, that was the last place in a dead end alley. Where has he gone?"

"Who knows. Just another one of his miracle escapes. I don't know how the guy does it."

With the door firmly locked and bolted behind him, the surfer kid headed into the bedroom. He went to the bed and ran his finger along the base of the bed which was fixed to the floor. At a certain point he pushed hard and there was a faint click.

He put his fingers under the edge of the bed base and lifted hard. The whole base pivoted up on hidden hinges. Revealed beneath was a small hollow, just large enough for a person to lie in.

Laid out in the space was as an exact duplicate of the surfer kid, eyes closed and immobile. The surfer kid reached down and checked his double's pulse. After a few seconds he leant back, satisfied. He looked at the kid and now that he was safe, took the time to check the originals body against his body. He noted a couple of new scars on the surfers body and meant a mental note to alter the body-suit to match the original.

He smiled and closed the bed. He almost felt sorry for the FBI. With his network of hypnotically pre-programmed dupes all trained to go into a trance at the sound of a trigger phrase and the body-suits they kept unknowingly stored for him, he had a network of hideouts over the whole of the eastern seaboard.

That was the fifth time he'd allowed a pair of FBI agents to look for him right under their noses, but always in a different body. He had to admit, after the male fitness model he kept in NYC, surfer dude here was his favourite 'hideout', perhaps he'd take the time to have a break for a few days....

"Shoe Shine Boy" by Nemo

"That's it boy. You get my boots good and clean and then we'll see about plugging that tight little hole of yours"

At the sound of his master's voice Martin's licking became even more furious as he tried to polish his master's boots with his tongue. He was in a haze of ecstasy at being allowed to serve a master as strong and as powerful.

When Martin had been transferred by head office to this dead end town he was sure his occasional nights of leather worship would have to end. He'd taken his frustrations out on his new staff, right up until the moment he'd bumped into master at a bar. It had been a sign of how powerful master was that he'd spotted Martin for the slave boy he knew he really was, even though Martin thought he passed as straight most of the time.

But from that first meeting master had made it clear that Martin's role in life was to serve him. When master had first taken Martin back to his house and shown him the contents of master's dungeon, Martin had dropped to his knees and started to worship master the way he deserved.

Lost in his internal reverie, he missed the first couple of grunts from master, but caught the third and looked up just in time to catch a face full of cum as master shot his load over Martin and the freshly cleaned boots. There was a pause as master stiffened and then relaxed. Then he took a long drag from the stogie in his hand and blew the smoke over Martin.

"Well what are you waiting for boy? Get them boots clean." laughed master. And as Martin started all over again to shine his boots, master enjoyed his own personal reflection on their meeting. He's never expected when he's hacked into his new boss's computer at work that he was a closet case boot licker, but the sites he visited and the videos he watched had soon made that very clear.

The timing has been perfect as master had only just made contact with a guy on the internet who could give him the body he knew he deserved. As soon as the body-suit had arrived, he’d wasted no time in accidentally running into Martin at a local straight bar, taking care to make sure Martin got a good hard look at his full length leather boots.

It hadn't been too hard to persuade Martin that master could read him like a book and he soon had him bent to his will. Now he enjoyed the full attentions of an eager to please slave, while at the same time, he and his work colleagues enjoyed a more relaxed and laid back attitude from the boss. Not bad for a 23 year old computer nerd he thought.

"Birthday Present" by Nemo

Jim sat and watched the waves moving gently. It was still early and the boardwalk on the seafront was nearly deserted. He yawned, he wasn't an natural early riser and getting up before dawn to make it here in time to meet his buddy Mike had left him craving another hour in bed and as much coffee as he could get his hands on. Sadly neither of them were available so he just yawned again and tried to stay awake.

He was beginning to get grumpy. Bad enough that Mike had dragged him out here so early, but now he was late. He had no idea why Mike had insisted on such an early meeting or even why they were meeting. All Mike had said was that he wanted to show Jim his birthday gift, but he wouldn't say why or even why so fucking early. The whole 'cloak and dagger' routine was typical Mike, charming at first and then a total pain when it all went wrong.

As he began to work out how long he would wait for Mike, he saw a figure jogging towards him along the boardwalk. He didn't pay much attention at first, as he was still inwardly cursing Mike, but as the figure came closer, Jim suddenly realised that not only was the jogger a stunning looking man, but that he was nearly naked. Suddenly, the wait for Mike didn't seem to bad and Jim sat back to enjoy the view, trying not to look like he was staring, while simultaneously trying to get as much of an eyeful of the guy as possible.

As the guy jogged closer to Jim, he began to slow down, until he stopped right next to the bench Jim was sitting on. The new guy turned to face the bench and lifted up his right leg and rested his sneaker on the bench. He began to tie his laces, which had come undone. Jim tried to act like he wasn't interested, but he kept stealing glances at the stud standing right next to him.

"I know what you're thinking." said the stud to Jim suddenly, in a deep, relaxed voice.

Jim startled "I..I'm sorry?" he asked.

"I said, I know what you're thinking." repeated the stud "I caught you looking."

Jim went red "I... I...." he stuttered.

"Hey, no need to look worried." said the stud "I know they're really cool sneakers."

Jim nearly sagged with relief "Yes, yes! Your sneakers. I really like your sneakers.." he garbled at the stud. He was so relieved that he nearly didn't catch what stud was saying

"Yeah, I only just got them. Little present I treated myself to for my birthday." said the stud "Still wearing them in, really."

"Well they really good on you." Said Jim and then cursed inwardly, that sounded way too much like he was hitting on the guy and he was desperate to play it cool.
The stud, just flashed him a quick grin as he finished tying his laces and put his foot back down on the ground. Instead of heading off, he started stretching his legs out and he kept chatting to Jim.

"Thanks dude. It's good when people appreciate the trouble to go to to look good." He offered his hand to Jim  "I'm Mitchell."
"Jim" replied Jim shaking Mitchell's hand

"So since you've got great taste, what do you think of one of my other presents to myself?" asked Mitchell. A brief look of puzzlement appeared over Jim's face before Mitchell continued "My new Speedos.." he prompted.

Without even thinking about it, Jim's gaze dropped to Mithcell's crotch, where the pale gold Speedos did absolutely nothing to hide the impressive package Mitchell had. Once again, Jim felt a blush begin to bloom on his cheeks. Aware that he had to say something, he managed to stutter out "They're...they're awesome."
"Thanks dude." replied Mitchell enthusiastically, oblivious to Jim's blush. "But the best thing about them is how they feel. They're some cool new material that feels just like silk. They're incredible to wear, it's almost like I've got nothing on. Here see what you think." and Mitchell reached out and grabbed Jim's hand and placed it on the waste band of his Speedos on the side of his leg.
Internally Jim tried to talk himself calm 'Just play it cool' he thought to himself 'Just feel the material and don't think about how good he feels...'  He barely even registered Mitchell talking, he just concentrated on not making a dick of himself, in front of Mitchell. "Yeah, really soft" he managed to say and then had to force himself to remove his hand when Mitchell let go of his own hand.

"Dude you've got great taste" said Mitchell, I'm so stoked I ran into you. So listen I've got to ask, what do you think of my last birthday present?"

Jim looked at Mitchell for a second and then spotted the chain around his neck. He leant closer to get a better look at the chain, but Mitchell stopped him with one hand on Jim's shoulder. He gently guided Jim upwards so they were looking eye-to-eye "No dude." said Mitchell "Not the chain..."

Jim went still, totally confused. "I don't.. I'm sorry...what other present"

Mitchell stepped back from Jim with a smile and spread his arms out wide. "This dude, this"

"Erhmm, you got a spray tan...?" guessed Jim

Mitchell laughed out loud "Jim, dude you're fucking hilarious. No, not the tan, the whole fucking deal. The anatomically correct, fully functional muscle body-suit."

"The what?" asked Jim

"Look dude I'll show you." replied Mitchell

He raised both hands to the back of his neck and dug his fingers into the middle of it. For a split second nothing happened and then, with a wet sticky sound, Mitchell pulled his hands slowly, but firmly apart. As his hands moved further apart, the skin on his neck began to distort. Then his ears popped loose, first the right and then the left. Mitchell shifted the position of his hands moving them in behind his ears. He lifted upwards, again straining hard and as he did so his facial features began to distort until his eyes became hollow voids. With a slight grunt, he pushed his arms forward and his whole face and head slid forward.

By now Jim had finally worked out what was happening and he wasn't too surprised to see the face of his buddy Mike revealed behind the mask of Mitchell's face. As Mike relaxed his arms, the mask sprang back into shape but it now hung below Mike's own face, suspended from the thick muscles of the suits' shoulders.
"So what do you think of my birthday present?" asked Mike
"Where the fuck did you get this thing?" asked Jim. No longer shy he stepped forward and ran a hand over the arms of the body-suit feeling it "I can't tell it's not real. It's amazing"

"Found this guy on the internet. I thought it might be a hoax site, but he really came through, didn't he?"

"Damm right!" exclaimed Jim "So what are you going to do with it?"
"What do you think I'm going to do with it?" asked Mike "I'm going to get laid bro. The chicks are going to be lining up for this stud."
"Yeah, of course. Sure you'll have no problems pulling some hot chicks." trying to sound enthusiastic.

"Course not." smirked Mike "Listen, are you OK if I put the face back? The suit's a bit uncomfortable like this?"

Jim just nodded and Mike slipped his hands back inside the mask and lifted it over his own head. The mask snapped back into place and as Mike massaged the edges, they sealed themselves together.
"So there's just one other thing you can help me with." said Mike, his voice once again sounding like his Mitchell persona. "You see your buddy Mike, knows you're gay, dude." as Jim spluttered and tried to interrupt, Mitchell held up his hand. "Dude, don't worry it's cool. Mike's known for ages, in fact he's been a bit of a jerk about it, because he's kind of got a kick out of prick-teasing you. It's a real ego boost when anyone finds you hot."

As Jim tried to come to grips with Mike knowing about Jim's real feelings for him, Mitchell moved closer.

"So dude, Mike thought that maybe I could make things up to you. You see although you're buddy Mike is straight, I'm more... Bi"

"B..Bi?" asked Jim

"Sure dude. I still like chicks, but I figure that looking this good I shouldn't limit myself. Of course I've not ever done anything about it and I wondered if you could maybe help me out...." Mitchell's voiced trailed away.

Jim shook his head, he was struggling to cope with the morning's events and he was still expecting Mike to announce this was yet another prank.

"Mike.." he began, but Mitchell interrupted

"Not Mike,... Mitchell. Boring old straight Mike's not here. There's only me, Mitchell."

"OK... Mitchell." said Jim and then stopped again as Mitchell leant forward and kissed him firmly on the mouth. Jim didn't resist as Mitchell slipped his tongue inside Jim's mouth, nor as Mitchell grabbed Jim's body and pulled it tight against his. As Mitchell held onto Jim's face with his hands, Jim's hands started to explore Mitchell's ass.

Finally the couple parted and Mitchell gazed into Jim's eyes. "So... do you think you can help me celebrate my birthday in style..?"
Jim finally allowed himself to smile. "I'm sure I can think of something." he said as the couple started walking back towards Jim's car.

"Nor Iron Bars" by Nemo

Adam nervously tapped his fingers on the door in front of him. He still couldn't believe his boyfriend Brian had gone through with his plan.  It had seemed utterly unbelievable when Brian had first come up with it, like something from a bad made-for-TV movie. But Brian had insisted that he could pull off his mad scheme and had worked on the details of his plan for weeks. Now he'd sent Adam an SMS telling him that his plan had worked and for Adam to get his ass over to Brian's new place.

So there Adam was standing outside the door of Kyle Masters, top jock on campus, not sure if he was about to live out his fantasies or have the crap beaten out of him. After a few minutes standing in the corner, he realised that his knock might have been too quiet and had lifted his hand to knock again. As he did saw the door was snatched open and Kyle stood in front of him, his six-foot plus jock body filling the door frame. Kyle looked down at Adam, who at barely five foot seven just came up Kyle's chin.

Adam involuntarily took a step backwards, out of Kyle's shadow. He was self-conscious about his shorter stature and slight build, even though he was good-looking enough to be on the handsome side of cute. He looked up at Kyle, who was wearing a tight polo shirt that didn't quite meet his A&F shorts, the waistband of a jockstrap clearly visible in the gap between the two. For a second Adam, was distracted enough by the sight of Kyle standing in front of him that he forgot to speak.

He was brought back to earth with a bump when Kyle spoke to him "What do you want dude?", he asked Adam in his usual low growl, that made Adam weak at the knees every time he heard it. Adam looked Kyle right in the face, searching his blue eyes for any hint of understanding, but Kyle just looked at him with a slightly puzzled expression. Adam cleared his throat "I, umm, got this message." Adam said, holding out his cell to Kyle.

Kyle reached out and took the phone from Adam's unresisting grip. He read the message, rubbing his short beard with his free hand and then ran his hand through his mid length spiked  brown hair. He finished reading the message and looked at Adam. "Guess you'd better come inside then." said Kyle standing to one side and gesturing for Adam to step inside. Adam was still unsure of what was going on, but he stepped inside after only a moment’s pause.

As Adam stepped inside, he heard Kyle close the door behind them and then the unmistakable 'snick' of the lock being turned. Suddenly sure he'd made a mistake, Adam felt his heart pounding and a fine sweat broke out on his forehead. He knew it was too late to turn and leave and he tried to resign himself to not making it out of Kyle's room without a beating. Kyle stepped towards Adam and he flinched back. Kyle smirked at Adam's obvious discomfort, but said nothing, and walked straight past him, limping slightly and Adam noticed a knee brace just visible below Kyle's shorts. Unsure what to do, Adam paused for a moment and then followed Kyle.

As they turned a corner, Kyle suddenly stopped and spun in his tracks. Adam tried to step back, but hit a wall and realised he was trapped. Kyle leant over him and put one arm against the wall Adam had his back against and moved closer until his face was only inches from Adam's. "So," asked Kyle "What's this plan that's meant to have worked?"  Adam tried to say something, but his lips were dry and the words didn't seem to come out. Kyle studied him for a second then moved even closer and dropped his voice to a low menacing growl. "You know what I think?" Kyle asked "I think you look fucking adorable when you're scared shitless."

Before Adam's wired brain had a chance to process Kyle's last sentence, Kyle lent in and kissed Adam, full on the lips. Adam was too stunned to resist initially and then as his brain began to catch up with events and he started to work out what was happening he began to kiss Kyle back. The feel of Kyle's beard gently tickling Adam's lips was new to Adam and he enjoyed the sensation. Kyle suddenly broke away and pulled back slightly looking Adam straight in the eye. "You're still not sure, are you?" Kyle asked Adam and he shifted his weight back, pulling away from the wall and Adam. he reached over and opening the door next to him, he pushed it open.

As the door swung open, Adam moved next to Kyle and looked inside. There, lying on the bed inside was another Kyle. Only this one was securely tied up. His ankles were tied to each corner of the bottom of the bed, while another roped joined his two ankles together. Leather bracers on his wrists were tied together and yet another rope ran from his wrists to join the rope between his ankles. Finally a length of duct tape kept this Kyle's mouth firmly shut, while his eyes glared. At the sight of Adam, the bound and gagged Kyle started making muffled noises and tugged hard on the ropes holding him down, but all in vain.

Adam looked from one Kyle to the other and then swung his fist into the stomach of the Kyle standing next to him. "You fucking bastard!" yelled Adam. The Kyle he'd punched, who'd just made a small grunt, when Adam's punch had landed, just grinned at Adam. The sight infuriated Adam, who swung again, but this time Kyle grabbed his wrist and held it firmly in place. "Hey, come on now, baby. You don't want to damage the suit do you?" asked the free Kyle.

Adam struggled to free himself, ineffectively, for a few seconds and then gave up. "What the fuck, Brian?! Why didn't you just tell me it was you when you answered the door?" asked Adam.

Brian grinned, but not with his usual sly smirk, instead he grinned with Kyle's wide toothy grin "Well partly because I wanted to make sure no-one was listening in the corridor, partly because I wanted to see if you could spot I was wearing the suit," Brian moved closer to Adam again and continued "and partly because you really are cute when you're scared." he finished, leaning in and kissing Adam again. This time, Adam kissed back from first lip contact and Brian released Adam's wrist and brought both hands up to cup Adam's face. In turn Adam ran his free hands over Brian's new body. The pair separated, but Adam continued to run his hands over his boyfriend's hot new jock body.

"Fuck Brian! I've got to be honest, I never really thought the suit would look or feel this good. It feels perfect..." said Adam, his voice trailing off as he ran his finger down Brian's newly muscled forearm.

Brian smiled at the tone of longing in his boyfriend's voice "Trust me baby, you ain't seen nothing yet." he said, moving his hands to the bottom of his polo shirt. He began to peel off the shirt, but paused after only a few seconds. "There's just one thing you've got to do if you want the whole show." he said to Adam "You've got to start calling me Kyle, even when we're alone, so you don't slip up when we're in public. OK?"

Adam just nodded, distracted by the thought of seeing his boyfriend's new body. Brian just waited though and eventually Adam realised Brian wanted more than a nod. "OK... Kyle" he said with a slightly sarcastic stress on Brian's new name. "So Kyle, why don't you show your new boyfriend the whole show, Kyle?" Adam finished, again stressing Brian's new name. Brian however seemed satisfied and continued stripping out of his polo shirt. The real Kyle, still securely tied on the bed, began struggling again at Adam's use of his name, but he was ignored by Adam and Brian.

As the polo shirt came free Brian tossed it straight at Adam's face. Adam brought his hands up and caught it. Without intending too, he inhaled. He was used to the smell of Brian's clothes, but this smelt different, more musky and more masculine. He took another sniff and raised an eyebrow at Brian. Brian grinned back at him and gestured to the bound and gagged Kyle "So do you like my new scent? I call it Eau-de-Kyle, straight from the source." he said.

"I like it." replied Adam "It suits your new look, Kyle" he finished, and this time there was no additional stress on Brian's new name and then he stopped as he got a good look at Brian's hot new muscular torso. Adam's jaw dropped slightly and he made a let out a small moan. Brian just smiled from ear to ear, as he pulled pose after pose, flexing his semi-naked body, only his shorts and jock strap still in place.

Brian watched Adam closely, following his eyes as Adam appeared transfixed by Brian's new body. After a few poses he moved closer to Adam until they were almost touching. Brian reached out and held Adam by the wrist, guiding Adam's hand up onto Brian's new pecs. "See baby, this is all yours now." said Brian, as he moved Adam's hand down onto his tight six-pack "All this," he continued as he moved Adam's hand lower and lower, until Adam found his hand resting on the obvious bulge in Brian's shorts "and of course, all this." finished Brian as he moved in to kiss Adam again, grinding his crotch against Adam's.

Brian moved his mouth, down around Adam's neck, forcing Adam's head back. Adam let out another moan and then managed to clear his mind enough to say something "Oh God! Brian.. I mean Kyle.. I want you." he moaned into Brian's ear. Brian who's begun to pull away at the use of his old name, moved closer again when Adam called him Kyle.

"That's just what I had in mind baby." Brian said, walking Adam backwards until he was against the end of the bed, "Just remember to get my name right. Most guys don't like it when you call them by the wrong name..." he trailed off as he lowered himself to his knees, the brace forcing him to take his time. "Especially when you get their name wrong while they're giving you head." He unzipped Adam's fly and drew out Adam's rock hard cock. Adam gripped onto the end of the bed as Brian slowly moved his lips up and down Adam's cock, while Brian ran his free hand gently over Adam's balls.

Adam could hardly believe it. Brian normally hated giving head, although he was always quick enough to ask for it. But in his new Kyle persona, Brian was giving him the best blow job of his life. He turned his head and glanced at the original Kyle, who's groans had become more frantic at the sight of the life sex show Brian was putting on for him. He smirked at the gagged jock's obvious distress and turned back and closed his eyes as Brian brought him to climax. He came forcefully, but Brian managed to catch the whole of Adam's load in his mouth. "Oh fuck yeah, Kyle!" Adam moaned as he came.

At the sound of his name, the original Kyle went wild, thrashing around on the bed and straining with all his might to pull free from the ropes, while he moaned as loudly as he could from behind the duct-tape. The sound disturbed the warm fuzzy feeling that Adam was enjoying and he looked down at the new Kyle. "Hey Kyle. Do you think you can do something about your noisy neighbour? He's kind of killing the mood.."

Brian stood up and winked at Adam. "Sure baby, let me just see if I can persuade him to keep the noise down." said Brian and he stepped over to the bed and without pausing he sucker punched the original Kyle straight in the gut. Kyle collapsed forward, making grunting, retching noises from behind the duct tape.

Adam started forward in surprise "Br..Kyle!" he nearly yelled, the shock of Brian's violence, making him nearly forget his boyfriend's new name.

Brian turned, a puzzled look on his face "What's the matter, baby? You wanted me to shut him up?"

"Not like that!" said Adam, he took a deep breath and tried to stay calm "Look I already feel bad enough about you stealing his identity, without watching you beat him up as well"

"What are you worrying about him for?" asked Brian, gesturing at the bound and gagged Kyle "He's just another muscle head jerk of a jock"

"That doesn't give you the right to treat him like a punch-bag. Anyway what do we really know about him?" asked Adam.

"Enough that no-one is going to think I'm anything other than the real Kyle." Brian shrugged "Look baby, I don't want to fight." He moved closer to Adam and cupped Adam's face in his hand. "I'm sorry I lost my temper with the guy. As soon as we're finished, I'll give him the knock-out juice and he can have a nice long rest. Then when he wakes up he'll have forgotten all about this. OK?"

Adam nodded and Brian drew him into a bear hug. Adam relaxed into his boyfriend's powerful new embrace and just enjoyed the sensation of being held. Brian gently ran his hands down Adam's back until his hands were holding Adam's ass cheeks. Brian began to fondle Adam and he felt Adam's cock stiffen against his body in their embrace. Brian leant over and kissed Adam again, while he slipped one hand down inside Adam's pants and began to finger Adam's hole. Brian pulled away from Adam's mouth and whispered in Adam's ear "Do you want to really try my new body out?" Adam's answer was to turn around inside the cage of Brian's arms and to push his ass hard against Brian's rock hard cock. Brian kissed the back of Adam's neck as he tugged down Adam's pants. Brian pushed Adam gently forward so he was bracing himself on the end of the bed, while he dropped to his knees for the second time that morning. Brian stuck his tongue deep into Adam's ass and worked at Adam's hole, while Adam moaned in pleasure and rubbed his cock against the end of the bed.

After a couple of minutes of tongue action, Brian stood up again. He took a rubber out of his pocket and pulled his own cock free of his jocks-strap.  He slipped the rubber over his cock and leant over Adam. "You sure about this?" asked Brian "I'm bigger than I used to be." Adam just moaned and pushed his ass back against Brian's cock. Brian needed no further encouragement and grabbed Adam's hip with one hand while he used the other to guide his cock into Adam's hole. As he pushed hard against Adam, the tip of Brian's cock entered into Adam. Adam stiffened as Brian pushed harder, and Brian stopped pushing for a second and asked "OK?" Adam nodded and Brian continued to slowly push his way into Adam. Adam made small gasping noises of part pleasure and pain as Brian pushed himself into Adam to the hilt. Satisfied that Adam was OK, Brian began to thrust in and out, slowly at first, but gaining speed as he progressed. As Brian rocked his powerful body back & forward, Adam moved into time to the thrusts, making more and more noise as Brian fucked him, harder and harder. Brian reached round and began to pump Adam's cock with one hand, while he steadied himself, with the other hand on Adam's shoulder. As they fucked more vigorously, Kyle could only watch, a look of horror visible in his eyes.

Finally Brian came and as he did so, Adam came for the second time that morning. As Adam collapsed onto the bed, he gasped "Oh Kyle, baby, that was the best fuck of my life!".

Brian smiled as he withdrew from Adam and slipped off the spent rubber. "Well baby, your new boyfriend Kyle's going to fuck you as much as you want." he said as he pulled his shorts back up. "Speaking of which, I think it's time I introduced my new boyfriend to the guys at the frat house..."

"You're sure you can pass as Kyle in public?" asked Adam "I mean what if you need to turn up for practice or something. Everyone will figure out you're a fake."

"Relax, baby. The real Kyle busted his knee last week. That's why he" Brian gestured at the bound and gagged jock "is wearing that knee brace and why I'm wearing one as well. Nobody's going to expect me to turn up for practice until this knee's better and as for passing as the real Kyle, well I had you fooled didn't I? Listen don't worry it's all going to be fine. Why don't you go back to your place and clean up while I sort out getting jock-boy here off to sleep, then you can come and help me break the news to my bros that I'm a big faggot."

"OK, but go easy on the guy. No more beating him up." Brian nodded and led Adam back to the main door. They kissed passionately again and then Adam left Brian alone with Kyle.

Brian walked back to the bedroom, limping slightly as before. He stepped up to the bound jock "Did you hear that?" he asked "that was the best fuck of his life. Looks like he really likes this body, ehh?" As the bound jock started struggling again, Brian laughed out loud before reaching over and ripping off the duct tape.

"You fucker!!" yelled the jock "You're not going to get away with this."

"Of course I will" gloated his captor "The body-suit is perfect, remember? You told Adam that yourself. And since he was expecting to find the real Kyle tied up and his boyfriend acting like a Kyle double, that's what he saw. Of course he couldn't have known that the real Kyle was a closet case who thought Adam was the cutest guy on campus, or that my last knee injury ended my playing career so there's no point in hiding in the closet anymore. But then you couldn't have known that either, could you Brian?" asked the real Kyle, revealed at last.

"You'll still have to tell him eventually." said Brian, still struggling with his ropes "And he's not going to think too much of you when he realises you've been playing him for a fool."

"What Adam will realise is that the real Kyle is about to come out of the closet to his closest buddies, all so I can be with Adam. Oh, he's also going to realise that you weren't exactly being faithful to him either, once I tell him about all your little bits of fun on the side. You probably shouldn't have kept all their messages on your cell" Kyle waved Brian's cell at him "There's some pretty interesting reading here..."

"You bastard." snarled Brian, but there was an air of desperation to his voice as he realised just how thoroughly beat Kyle had him. "What are you going to do with me?"

"Same thing you planned to do to me." replied Kyle "Knock you out and leave you tied up, while I fuck Adam senseless. Then once I've had a chance to show Adam how I feel about him and tell him the truth, well you can fuck off back under a rock then, although I will have that suit off you before you leave." Kyle flipped the cover off the syringe Brian had brought with him and jabbed it into Brian "Sleep well." laughed Kyle as he turned and walked away from Brian. Brian fought to stay awake, but blackness washed over him and he passed out, trapped in a cage of his own making.