Guys, I assume you like the work we do here (not always a lot of comments, so we may just be talking to ourselves!)
But here’s your chance to shine! for the next couple of weeks I’ll be posting an image, one a week.
Caption it or write a short scene and we might just make it into a story for you!
Don’t be shy – be anonymous if you want!
Guys, I assume you like the work we do here (not always a lot of comments, so we may just be talking to ourselves!)
But here’s your chance to shine! for the next couple of weeks I’ll be posting an image, one a week.
Caption it or write a short scene and we might just make it into a story for you!
Don’t be shy – be anonymous if you want!
Guys, I assume you like the work we do here (not always a lot of comments, so we may just be talking to ourselves!)
But here’s your chance to shine! for the next couple of weeks I’ll be posting an image, one a week.
Caption it or write a short scene and we might just make it into a story for you!
Don’t be shy – be anonymous if you want!
Jeff heard the front door open and then slam shut. He looked puzzled, and called out.
"Hey Tad, did you forget something?"
A few seconds later, Tad stormed into Jeff's room, a pissed expression on his face.
"I didn't forget anything, some fucker stole all my gear while I was at the gym."
"Why did you go back to the gym?" asked Jeff
"What do you mean, I didn't go back to the gym, my stuff was taken while I was at the gym." said Tad "I spent nearly an hour with the morons they employ there, looking for my stuff. All they kept telling me was that their ID system said I'd already left. In the end they gave me these crappy shorts to get home in." Tad ground to a halt as he saw the expression on Jeff's face. "What?" he asked Jeff
Jeff looked at Tad with a slightly weirded out expression. "Umm, what time did you go to the gym this morning?" he asked
"8 am, same as normal." replied Tad
"And what time did you leave?"
"By the time I finished searching the place, about 20 minutes ago, I don't know exactly. I just came straight back here."
"And you didn't come home once already and go back out again?" asked Jeff, carefully.
"No of course I fucking didn't! What the fuck?" asked Tad "Christ! I don't have time for your fucking shit right now, you douche!"
Jeff stood up and walked over to the table where his camera was sitting. "There's no fucking way you'll believe me, so I'm just going to show you." he said. "I was messing around with my new lens on the camera this morning, taking some test shots." he plugged the camera into his lap-top and started transferring the files.
"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?" asked Tad
"Well, when you got home from the gym about 10am, you let me take some test shots of you." said Jeff
"I didn't get home at 10. I've only just gotten back now. Weren't you listening to a word I..." Tad stopped short, mid-sentence.
Jeff had opened the files on his lap-top and there as a picture of Tad, large as life, grinning from ear-to-ear, wearing his usual gym gear. The picture was clearly time-stamped from 10.05 that morning, a good 90 minutes before Tad knew he'd actually got back. "That's...that's not me." Tad said.
"Sure looks like you though, doesn't he?" asked Jeff "And that's not all, he sounded and acted just like you. I honestly had no idea it wasn't you until just now."
"So you're saying someone looking and sounding just like me walked in hear and you didn't realise?" asked Tad, sounding angry.
Jeff took a deep breath. "Yep, that's about the size of it. Shall I tell you why? Because the fake-Tad looked and sounded just like you! Don't you get it? It's not my fault you've got an evil twin running around."
"Well what did he want?" asked Tad
"I don't know. He went into your room, got changed and left here about 10 minutes ago with a bag. I thought you were him, coming back because you'd forgot something."
Tad got up and went to his room followed by Jake. He ran to the closet and started checking to see what was missing. After a few minutes, he stopped and then went back to double check something, he grew more frantic and then turned round to Jeff.
"What was he wearing on his feet when he left?" he asked.
Jeff screwed up his face trying to remember "Umm, some kind of boots I think.. Yeah, hiking boots maybe?"
Tad punched the wall in frustration "Fuck!!" he yelled.
"Ehrr, what's the matter?" asked Jeff
"I know what the fucker's up to." said Tad "Jennifer's been at me to go on this hiking trip with her this weekend, but I told her I couldn't make it. But if fake-Tad turns up, looking just like me and with all my hiking gear, she's not going to ask any questions. Dude he's going to screw Jennifer and she'll never believe it wasn't me!"
"Well can't we just ring her?" asked Jeff
"Can't. She was going to leave her cell at home, cause they're no reception up in the mountains where she's going. And I can't drive up there myself, because my car's in the shop this weekend. Fuck! What I am going to do?" and Tad let out a groan as he put his head in his hands.
Jeff stood up for a moment and then said tentatively "You could take my car." he said slowly
Tad looked up at Jeff "You'd let me borrow your car? I mean I know we're roomies, but I can't say I've never been a jerk."
"Never mind that." said Jeff "Do you want to save Jennifer or not?"
Tad sprang into action and started to shove clothes into a bag. Jeff went into his room and found his car keys. Tad came in a few minutes later, now fully dressed.
"I've just thought, my license was in my wallet." said Tad
"Well then don't get pulled over by the cops." replied Jeff "You know where I park?"
Tad shook his head "No idea."
"It's in the lot round the back of the library. It's the red ford in the back corner space."
"I know the place." said Tad
"OK. Now drive safe, but go and save Jennifer" said Jeff
"Thanks dude" Tad punched Jeff on the arm playfully "I'll make this up to you." he said as he turned and left, the door closing behind him.
"I know you will." said Jeff to Tad's departing back.
Jeff, went back to his lap-top and shut it down. He wandered around his room, doing a bit of aimless tidying. All the while he kept an eye on the door, expecting Tad to come springing back in again, having forgotten something.
Finally after an hour, he went to the main door and pushed the deadbolt over.
Then he went into his room and opened his closet. He went to the back of the closet and moved an empty suitcase. Behind it was a ventilation grill. He slipped the grill cover off and reached inside. He drew out 3 bags in quick succession. The first was an unmarked sports holdall, the second Tad's gym bag and the third, Tad's back-pack. He carried the bags into his bedroom.
He opened the holdall and pulled out a skin-colored mass. He shook the mass out and laid it out on the bed, where it became more recognisable as a deflated version of Tad. Jeff shucked his clothes off and sat on the bed at the head end of the Tad suit. He drew his legs up and then reached down to the head of the suit and gently, but firmly stretched the mouth of the suit wide. He slipped one foot and then the other inside the mouth of the suit.
He moved his legs further inside the suit, sliding them down through the inside of the torso of the suit and then down into the actual legs of the suit. He moved as quickly as he could, torn between prolonging the experience and wanting to experience the finished product. He pushed his left foot and then his right into the inside of the suits feet. He reached down with his hands and smoothed the suit into place, pushing his fingers in-between the toes of the suit. As the suit lined up with his own body, he felt it begin to bond to his own feet. He pulled the suit further up his body so the widely stretched mouth sat around his waist. He pulled the suit into place around both legs, feeling the thick muscle of Tad's calves bind to his skinny legs and enjoying the sensation of his new powerful thighs.
He forced his rock hard dick into the suit where it easily slid into Tads slightly thicker meatier dick. He started to jerk off, but then stopped at the sight of his own small hands wrapped around Tad's dick. He slid the suit further up his body and massaged his new six pack into place, taking care there were no air bubbles trapped under the suit. He put his hands behind him and checked his ass cheeks were firmly in place, then pulled hard on the suit sliding it further and further up his body. He slipped one arm and then another under the edge of the suit and carefully manoeuvred his slim arms inside his new muscular forearms and thick guns. With his hands in place, he heaved upwards with his whole body and the suit sprang into place around his pecs and upper body. The mouth of the suit was still stretched wide around his neck, but there was far less tension on the suit than there had been a minute ago. He rubbed and smoothed the suit into place over his upper body, feeling it bond to his own skin underneath.
He gently stroked a new nipple with his thumbnail and felt a shiver as the sensation was passed onto his own nipple. After a couple of minutes he knew he'd stop feeling like he was wearing a suit and it would feel just like his own body.
Satisfied his new body was firmly in place, he placed a couple of fingers from each hand under the corners of the mouth of the mask and stretched wide, lifting up at the same time and pulling his hands up and over his head, bringing the mask of the suit over his own head. He lost sight of his reflection for a few seconds as the mask of Tad's face swallowed his own. He felt the mask fall into place over his own face and with his eyes closed, he gently aligned the mask, pressing delicately around his eyes, nose and mouth. He waited for a minute or so, continuing to massage his face, head and neck. As he felt the mask bind to his skin, he opened his eyes, feeling a slight pop as the eyes of the suit opened. He rolled his neck, checking the feel of the suit and then stopped and looked at himself in the mirror.
Jeff ran his hands over his hot new body. It was only the second time he'd been in the suit and it was the first time he'd been able to fully appreciate how awesome it was to have a body like Tad's. His hands explored his body and it wasn't long before he was jerking himself. The small moans of appreciation he made weren't in his normal voice, but in Tad's deeper pitched voice and hearing himself groan in Tad's voice was too much for Jeff. He came powerfully, spurting cum all over his reflection. As he relaxed, he licked his fingers clean and smiled at himself.
"See dude." he said in Tad's voice "I told you I'd make it up to you"
His initial arousal satisfied, Jeff wiped himself down with his towel and opened Tad's hiking bag. As well as Tad's hiking gear that he'd taken to throw Tad off the scent, he'd also taken a few more classical jock items of clothing, an A&F polo, a shell necklace, Tad's leather wrist band. He got dressed in his new clothes, enjoying the feeling of his shirt straining over his new pecs. Once he was ready he turned on Tad's iPhone and checked into Grindr with the profile of Tad he'd set up earlier that morning. A quick browse showed Jeff a few interesting prospects and then he stopped in amusement. There was one picture of a buff jock body that was headless, it's owner trying to stay anonymous. But the picture had been taken in the guy's dorm room and behind him on the guy's desk was a folder Jeff recognised all to well. It was Jeff's and it held some study notes he'd leant, under pressure, to one of Tad's buddies, Zack. It as too good an opportunity to miss.
It didn't take long for Zack to take the bait once Jeff contacted him. Jeff as Tad pretended ignorance of Zack's real identity, instead acting like one straight acting jock trying to hide his attraction to another. He was soon fixed to go over to his mystery jock fuck for an afternoon of fun and games. Jeff smiled at how he was going to destroy Tad's reputation, while having plenty of hot sex in the process.
Would like to thank Slick Psych for his GREAT story for the 1st “Caption This”. Let me know if you wish to post more Slick!
![1_thumb[1]](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS-WKwTQ1EaTSU-Ew-EVLepac_A41Y1OR9BkPDmpNaj38_-lIuAq4xUDqbtmhG2EP7bC4iNBU0ojJm3Bjpc6fgtafBVcA-j17YbMAF6liNh8LhMSmELLA88enbb_reRBVy0uzlB17EpCtB/s1600-h/1_thumb%25255B1%25255D%25255B4%25255D.jpg "1_thumb[1]")
“Fucker’s gonna be late, as usual” LaRon sighed as he leaned against the Winn-Dixie store wall, casually placing one foot on it careful to not let his fresh white Addis get scuffed. The sun was beaming on this late summer day and why he had chosen to wear jeans was beyond him. He thought to himself: “This kid’s got some damn good tree trunk legs… I ougtha not be ‘shamed to show ‘em off… hate to admit they beat my ol’ scrawny-ass legs… yeah, I oughta get used to shorts if I’m gonna be like this for a while.”
A beautiful black girl wearing shorts that only accented what nature had given her walked by, catching LaRon’s eye. Subconsciously, he let out a whistle. “Ay baby, what’s yo know-good taday?”
The girl pulled down her sunglasses and looked at him peculiarly. “I think you barkin ‘up da wrong tree honey.”
“That’s funny cuz you stopped ta look back at who’s makin all da ruckus.”
“Haha, and maybe if a chiuaua wasn’t yappin’ ta try to tap something he ain’t got no know-how how ta tap we’d work somethin’ out.”
The girl removed a buggy from the holding rack and proceeded to go inside while LaRon continued to watch her from his distance, never moving from his pose – his head just nonchalantly turned in her direction.
“Baby, I don’t know what a pretty boy like you is doin’ round in these parts tryna holla at girls wearing that shirt is up to, but if you tryna be cute it’s workin. Just be careful cuz there a lot of people round here who you can’t be funny with.” She saunters inside.
LaRon let a coy grin creep on his face. Even wearing this college-aged white kid’s body he still had his charm. Even wearing this queer-ass shirt he still could get some pussy. His thoughts were interrupted by a loud voice approaching him.
“You’ve got to be the craziest muddafuca I ever seen standing in that white body wearing a shirt like that outside of a ghetto food store.”
“I been haunting this spot for 35 years & I know this neighborhood like the back of my hand. People here ain’t bad like them white folks have you think they is. You know dat fool.”
“I hope you don’t mean that hand! Cuz the hand you have now ain’t never had to touch nothing that wasn’t catered!”
“You always got some jokes,” LaRon playfully punched and fought with his comrade.
“So what’s it like?”
“I’m hornier, I never thought that the sex drive between 35 and 24 was so different, butcha learn somethin’ everyday.”
“Yeah? You find some fresh man meat?”
“Shuddup fool. Just cuz Jonny here’s gay don’t mean that I got to be.”
“So why you wearing that gay-ass shirt?”
“Got to play the role dog. I been struggling all week tryna be dis kid. But since the incantation only joined our physical bodies and not our minds or souls, it’s hard tryna pass as him.”
“When you ready we can go back to my place and finish it. You fool his family and friends up in the Hills?”
“Yea, tho dey think I be talkin like dis because I listen ta too much rap or shit like dat.”
“Fuckin’ rich folk, once you got his memories, we can rob dem all blind from dey bank accounts & everythin.”
“Dey deserve it for hirin those lawyers to convict yo brother of rape. Classic tale o pretty white daughter can never tell a lie especially when she don’t wanna confess to bein a slut.”
“Yea man, your “sister,” is gonna get hers…”
As the two conspire, the woman from earlier comes out of the store carrying her bag. She hands LaRon the receipt and he takes it with his index and middle fingers. He looks at the back and realizes that she wrote her number on it. He puts his hands to his face, let’s out an audible grunt as the woman looks back. She quickly smiles and walks away.
“Daaaamn Ron! You tryna get some wit dat body already?”
“Hellz yea. This boy got a hella fine body. I’m thinkin dat instead of me transferrin back to my ol one I just run away wit you in dis one. And maybe bring dat girl. Haha” He starts to act cocky by tip-toeing around his friend.
Wayne stays still and looks amused. “Listen, Ron, there’s somthin’ I gotta tell you.”
“You attracted to me? It’s all good, I can see why.” He flexes and teasingly licks his bicep. “Always known you like you boys… especially the creamy ones haha.”
Ron lifts up his shirt, showing off a defined chest and abdomen.
Wayne blushes. “Ron, fuck, stop dat. You can’t be doin dat shit round here lookin like you do and uhhh.. dressed like day.. listen… the spell… “
“Yea man, what?” He pulls down his shirt.
“This next part, about joining your mind and soul to his body… dat means dat you become him.”
“Yea, the master plan.”
“No, it means you become everything he is.”
“Yeah, and we take all that is his and his thievin’ family.”
“Yes, but that also means… you will be everything that he is… even gay.”
“Nah man, dat can’t be it.”
“Ron it is. Either you take the next part of the spell and accept being him totally with you as the dominant personality… or let his personality come back with you along for the ride. I’m sorry man.”
“Ah, damn.” Ron tears the receipt in two and drops it to the ground. “All’s well dat ends well.”
“You takin this really good? I don’t kno whether you mad at me or not…”
“Life has a funny way sometimes… ‘sides… I never go without a fight. What’s important now is deliverin some justice… some real equity. “ He puts his hand on Wayne’s shoulder, making wane blush again.
But we ain’t got to do the spell tonight… right?”
“We gotta do it relatively soon Ron….”
“Fine.” LaRon picks up the receipt pieces. “But tonite, before I start using my talents and his body to please some boys… Imma get this chick… maybe trigger some new cravings in this body.”
The two smile knowingly at one another, and give each other a soulful dap and pound.
- Slick Psych
Christian looked down at his friend Oliver. He was laying face down, motionless.
Checking the clock on the wall he’d been like this for 8 minutes now.
Squatting down Christian checked Oliver’s pulse, he could feel it – just. He’d give him a couple more minutes.
Stretching, Christian felt his new body tense. It’s true he’d only occupied it a couple of hours earlier but it still felt unusual to him.
Checking the clock again; 10 minutes elapsed. Suddenly Oliver groaned.
Christian crouched down, resting it palm on Oliver’s back - “easy big guy, deep breaths.”
It had been Oliver’s first transfer, the first ones are always the most difficult.
Oliver groaned and cleared his throat; “Fuck, what happened?”
“Yeah, bit of a rush eh?” Christian replied as he watched his friend push himself up, his broad back and thick neck tensed as he came to sit on the floor with Christian.
“Check out your new package buddy”, Oliver looked at his hands, arms, his pecs stretching the t-shirt.
“Fuck how old is this kid?” Oliver questioned.
“Hehe, you’re 18 now.”
“Shit! you are kidding me! That’s 20 years I’ve lost!”
“Yeah, kinda cool eh?”
“So what happened to the kid?” Oliver asked
“He’s back in your body – its a one for one swap. The hit on the cop will go down in history; still I guess the cop deserved what he got eh?”
“Fucker! Yeah! made him sweat, beg– called his family and when he was talking to them I shot him in the back of the head!”
Christian just smiled “You got that?" he shouted into the air. Suddenly the whole room was full of cops, seconds later Oliver was pinned to the floor cuffed.
I guy in a crisp white shirt and black pants walked in, the police saluted him.
He glanced at Christian and gave him a nod; “Good work Jones! We’ve got it and he’s already been judged – LIFE!”
“WTF?" said Oliver, “You double crossed me you FUCKER!” He struggled his bindings, but even though he was in a much stronger body now it was still futile.
“Actually, it’s Sergeant Jones you FUCKER!” punching Oliver in the stomach.
“We intercepted you colleagues transfer about 2 hours earlier and I took his place inside Christian here. Your buddy is trapped in a binary loop serving his sentence. The real Christian is waiting to be transferred back into his body.”
“You Fucker what about this kid? you can’t swap me back my bodies dying slowly! I made sure I wasn’t going back I shot myself in the gut!”
“Yeah, we know. We got that information from your buddy. It’s not a real problem though, you see the kid you’re in is just from hospital. He was brain dead, nasty accident but he was a registered donor. Now a life sentence with this kids body will be even longer you SHIT!”
The officers dragged him away screaming and shouting.
Guys, I assume you like the work we do here (not always a lot of comments, so we may just be talking to ourselves!)
But here’s your chance to shine! for the next couple of weeks I’ll be posting an image, one a week.
Caption it or write a short scene and we might just make it into a story for you!
Don’t be shy – be anonymous if you want!
Guys, I assume you like the work we do here (not always a lot of comments, so we may just be talking to ourselves!)
But here’s your chance to shine! for the next couple of weeks I’ll be posting an image, one a week.
Caption it or write a short scene and we might just make it into a story for you!
Don’t be shy – be anonymous if you want!
Stuart stared wide-eyed at his reflection in the mirror: bulging pecs; large, rounded biceps; flat stomach with well-defined abs; all topped by a face with flashing black eyes and a thatch of thick, dark-brown hair ... He swallowed, raised the phone, and pressed another button—
The vision vanished, to be replaced by another well-sculpted torso and handsome face. This one was a little less moody, and he sucked on his lower lip thoughtfully. Then raised the phone and pressed another button—
Another image, and this one, to his surprise, came with a shirt and jeans. He glanced down and fingered the buttons running up and down where he normally wore a featureless gray hoodie. If it was illusion, it was a firmly tactile one. He held up the phone again ...
... Twenty minutes later, and he hadn't repeated a single image. Some were very tall, which gave him vertigo as he glanced around his small bathroom. Some were packed with muscles while others were slight, even elfin. Some were clothed, and some had tattoos.
And when he pressed "C" he returned to normal: a skinny, acne-scarred seventeen-year-old with scared eyes set over an incongruously lop-sided grin.
* * * * *
He'd found the phone sitting on the wall near the park where he liked to skateboard. Bored, he'd picked it up; being an honest sort of kid, he'd checked to see if he could find who it belonged to. But there were no messages, no calls, no directory, no nothing. It seemed like a fake; and when, after twenty minutes, no one had appeared to claim it, he'd taken it as his own. Not that he'd get any use from it. But his mother wouldn't buy him a phone, and it would make him feel better if he could at least flash it as school and pretend that he had one. And it did have a functioning camera, even if it didn't seem to want to record any of the shots he took of the urban landscape.
We could describe the small series of coincidences that put him in his bathroom some days later, to try taking his own picture (successfully) and to discover (accidentally) his new possession's occult ability to impress the image of handsome strangers over his own. But it is a tedious story that would only delay our arrival at his excited decision to turn it to his own advantage. Why, he almost certainly wouldn't need a fake ID to get into any of the nightclubs, not when he was walking around looking like most of the guys in the phone's database.
* * * * *
"What's your sign," he asked the luscious red-head at the bar. He danced slowly in place to the beat of the deafening music.
"Stop," she curtly replied, and turned back to her friend.
He complied and sheepishly retreated, bumping into a blonde in a very tight black dress. "Hey, come here often," he cheerfully asked.
"Only when I don't feel like putting up with jerks," she snapped. She snatched up her drink and huffed away.
Must not be their type, Stuart told himself hopefully. He wormed his way through the crowd to the bathroom for a quick change ...
"I love this song," he shouted to the girl with the cascading blonde curls, and did a fast thrust with his pelvis.
"Good for you," she said. "Maybe you can try dancing to it some time."
He stepped back, causing a shriek. "Watch where you're going, you elephant!" a voice yelled, and he had to look down to even see her. Angry, beady eyes flashed up at him.
"Sorry," he said. "Can I buy you a drink?"
"You can leave her alone!" Another girl took his accident victim by the elbow and helped her stagger away.
Maybe the third time will be the charm ...
"Are you a poet," she asked him. She wasn't pretty, but she had a happy, breathless expression on her face as she stared hungrily at him.
"Uh ..."
"Because you look like one. I mean, not to stereotype or anything, but you look so ... sensitive."
He shrugged and leaned back against the wall with a smile.
"Would you tell me one of your poems?"
He pondered a moment, remembered one he thought would be appropriate for the circumstances, and leaned forward to whisper it in her ear. Halfway through, she yelled and smacked him across the face. He only had to watch her retreating back to imagine what her face looked like. Guess she was looking for sonnets, not limericks ...
His fourth attempt also got slapped ...
His fifth, like the first four, got some appreciative looks. Until he opened his mouth.
The sixth was doing well with this one totally awesome, super-cool chick who smiled but did not laugh at him. And then this guy who claimed to be her boyfriend came up, and Stuart could have totally taken him except this other guy knew something about using his fists or maybe it was karate or tae-kwan-do; and Stuart, despite having some really great arms, couldn't even figure out if he should close his fingers around his thumb or leave it exposed.
He didn't even make it out of the bathroom in his seventh guise because he bumped his head on the top of the door frame and the three chicks just outside burst out laughing and one of them even spilled her drink all down her front.
None of the next five had shirts, and the three after that didn't even have pants ...
The bar was a lot quieter when he finally re-emerged with an air of grim determination. The floor was mostly empty, and he couldn't look at the remaining women without deflating. By now it was so much easier to imagine defeat than victory. He took a barstool, ordered a beer, and just hunched over.
It was like they all had X-ray vision. But when he looked in the mirror he saw a face that wasn't his own. He tugged at his front, and felt a shirt he'd never owned. He regarded his hands, which were strong and ended in well-trimmed, unchewed fingertips. He took a pull on the beer and cupped his chin in his hand. Only dimly did he sense the new presence at his shoulder.
"Oh, man, I thought you said you'd lost it," the voice said. He looked over in surprise; it was a guy in his mid-twenties with an open shirt, rakishly cut hair, and cheeks that glowed a healthy pink beneath the light tan. His eyes gleamed hungrily. "Awesome surprise. It's like my birthday again to walk in and find you here, decked out like this," he continued warmly. Stuart didn't react, even when the stranger leaned in to whisper. "Love it when you're wearing Ryan. He's just about my favorite. Last time you were wearing him ... Oh my God!" The guy shuddered pleasurably.
There was a suspended moment as Stuart waited for the punch line to the joke or the howl of anger or something. But the guy just kept smiling. Then he pulled back, cocked his head quizzically, and walked to the nightclub door. There he stood, gave a little gesture of invitation, and slipped out.
Stuart looked around the nightclub. He looked at himself in the mirror. He rubbed his eyes wearily.
Oh, what the hell.
He dropped a tip on the bar and shuffled his way outside, where he let the stranger put an arm around his shoulder and pull him close. The car wasn't far, and it wasn't even much of a drive back to his place.
"Holy shit," Kevin gasped as he gaped into the mirror. "It worked!"
Micah snickered. "Toldja it would. You think I was full of shit?"
Kevin hung his head; there wasn't really a good answer to that question. He peered up furtively from beneath his eyebrows, to gaze back at his reflection. He felt guilty about scoping out his new body, which until a few minutes ago had belonged to Micah Johanssen. Even now, when at six and a half feet, he towered over the other, with muscles that could easily press him into jelly, he didn't want Micah to catch him scoping out the broad, slab-like chest or the flat stomach; still less did he want him to notice the erection that was slowly but noticeably distending his underwear.
But Micah—now very short and slight under a shock of blonde hair—just grinned. "Go ahead, drink it all in. You're looking good, if I say so myself."
Instead, Kevin licked his lips and glanced around. The school basement was spooky enough, but this was the sub-basement, maybe even the sub-sub-basement, whose discolored walls sulked menacingly in the underlit gloom. The change had been done in a cistern, the deepest part of the school's unexplored depths, and he shivered when he remembered the peculiar scratches on its walls and the ghastly, backwards-running chant Micah had uttered as the two of them lay on its floor with the iron grillwork of the drain between them. "How does it work?"
Micah shrugged. "Fuck if I know. I just know it does. This place used to be a nunnery or something, you know. The Church closed it down a hundred years ago. Some scandal or other." He shied away from using the word "witchcraft," as even he was unsettled by the thought. "City bought the building ages ago and turned it into a high school, but they never tore out its roots."
"And how'd you find out about the ... the changing room, or whatever you call it?"
"Lore that gets passed down from generation to generation of students. Of course, you have to be one of the chosen ones. Which I guess makes you kind of special now, since you've been inducted."
"So you've done this before?"
"Of course," Micah snorted. "First time was when I was dating Alison. Peter wanted to fuck her, and I was hot for Sarah, but they wouldn't go along with a bed swap, so him and me did a body swap instead, for a weekend, and the girls never knew the difference." He grinned, and it startled Kevin to see the face that had been his twisted up into a leer.
"And this kind of thing goes on all the time?" Kevin asked in alarm.
"Well, not as much as you might think. It's hard pretending to be somebody else 'cos you only get their body, not their memories or anything, so we never change places for very long."
Kevin suddenly felt very cold, and he clasped his arms around his torso. It felt good to touch his new body this way—everything felt very tight and beautifully formed—but it didn't bring much relief. "I can't really pretend to be you, you know," he stammered. "I mean, I can't play basketball, and I don't know how to act—"
"That's why I waited until the Friday afternoon before break to do it. While we're out of school the only person you have to hang out with is Bea."
Kevin hunched a little more and chewed the inside of his cheek furiously. "You want me to get in good with her."
"Yeah." Micah reached up and put his arm around Kevin and tried pulling him down closer to eye level, but it was like trying to tug at Gibraltar. "Listen, her and me have been having problems. I'm gonna fuck things up if I have to spend a week with her, just the two of us. That's why I want you pretending to be me. Smooth things over, keep her happy during the break, make her think I'm a wonderful, sensitive, caring guy who isn't just trying to get inside her panties. I mean, come on, you're her best friend."
Kevin jerked a little. "You trust me? I mean, you can, I never tried anything with her when we got together to talk—"
"Come on, Kevin, give me a little credit," Micah said. "Everyone knows you're gay. Really, that's how come you thought I was dragging you down here, right? To beat the shit out of you?" Kevin swallowed. "But that's the whole reason I trusted you around her. Still trust you, to do the favor I'm asking. The only other thing I ask is that you don't cruise any of the guys on the team while you're using my body. Got it?"
"Well, if we're only going to be swapped while we're on break," Kevin muttered.
Micah clapped him on the back and smiled. He then drew out his cell phone—or, rather, Kevin's cell phone, as it was Kevin's he was now carrying. "Give me a pose," he said. "Let's preserve the moment."
Afterwards they got dressed in each other's clothes and left. Naturally, Kevin thought the photo would stay on his cell phone. In fact, Micah quickly sent it off to a specific recipient. Such a photo, coming from that phone, was the agreed-upon signal.
* * * * *
An hour later, Micah was stretched out in the driver's seat of Kevin's car, his hands clasped behind his back, smiling with beguiled anticipation. The smile only grew wider when he saw the headlights of the other car draw up, and as he watched the shadowy figure cross the evening gloom and open the passenger-side car. But instead of getting in, the newcomer froze at the sight of the other, and at the cock that stood at attention like a flagpole in front of the steering wheel.
"Where the fuck are your clothes?" Bea Reynolds demanded.
"Back at my house, in the closet," Micah grinned. "Or do you mean, 'Where the fuck are Kevin's clothes?' Well, I thought we'd just cut to the chase."
"I gave you a script, you dingaling," Bea retorted. "You know how I want this to go."
"Aw, come on, baby," Micah sighed. "Don't tell me you're the kind of girl who refuses to open her Christmas presents early and then rewraps them?" She just stared back. "Alright, fine." He struggled back into Kevin's slacks and shirt and shoes while she watched him with grim bemusement. When he was done he looked at her expectantly. Still she said nothing, even after getting in the car and shutting it behind her.
"Okay," he shrugged. He closed his eyes, rubbed them, and tried to remember the limp way Kevin acted around girls. He scratched his arm uncertainly, looked around the car in every direction but hers, and put a quaver in his voice.
"I've been thinking a lot," he said with fake nervousness. "About what I've said, and about what you've said. It's—" He swallowed. "It's a pretty big thing, you know. But— Well, I think I'm willing to try. I mean, I figure if any girl can turn me straight, it would be you, Bea."
Her smile could have melted chocolate. "Oh, Kevin," she simpered. She reached over to touch the edge of his collar with her finger tip.
"It might take a whole week," he warned her.
"I'm counting on it!" she exclaimed, and drew very close to him.
He's waiting for me, I thought as I slunk through the school corridors. There was no fucking way I could have dodged him all day, not if he'd wanted to find me. And I knew he'd want to find me, because I knew the bastard, and I knew the way he thought. He was just looking for the chance to catch me and humiliate me: that, I knew. And if I hadn't seen him yet, it could only be because he was lurking somewhere, the asshole, probably smacking his lips in anticipation. I bet he can taste my fear on his tongue.
I felt a sharp elbow in my ribs, and I jumped, but it was just a random someone in the crowd, jostling along like me, eager to escape the school. Still, it made me suck in my breath. My heart was already racing, and my skin felt clammy, and I felt self-conscious at the way my eyes darted desperately about. Not that it mattered. No way I could have spotted the bastard in the crowd, even if my slightly panicked brain could have registered faces. As it was, I could only make out bits and flashes of what was a multi-bodied, multi-throated beast: hair and teeth and cheeks and the upturned collars of varsity jackets and the pastel prints of blouses and scarves. A shrill, chattering hum hung in the air, like a sonic froth boiling up out of the adolescent soup.
Classes had let out at three o'clock, and I had until three-thirty to dodge the asshole. I looked at my watch. Three-oh-nine. I grimaced. I'd wasted as much time as I'd dared in Mr. Cornelius's classroom after the bell rang. If I was lucky, the bastard would have looked for me at my locker first, and then gone hunting for me in Cornelius's. So when I'd left I'd taken the back way, around B-wing instead of through it, so I wouldn't run into him, hoping I could hit my locker while he was looking for me in the civics wing. After that, I could probably lose a few more minutes in the hallways before they began to thin dangerously. And then? Maybe I could hide out in the orchestra room. It would be an obvious hiding place, but the asshole wouldn't have an excuse to swing by there.
"Timothy!"
I flinched, then wilted in relief. It was only Coach Bennigan, gesturing me into the biology lab as I passed. "Found your test," he said as I ducked in after him, grateful for the chance at another temporary hiding place. The coach picked up a stack of white paper, licked a meaty fingertip, and flipped through it. "Pretty good, though not up to your usual standards." He gave me a fatherly wink as he handed it over. Ninety-five percent.
I pretended to study it for a bit, started to ask a question, pretended to think better of it, and went back to chewing my lip thoughtfully. Bennigan watched me with evident amusement. "Think I pulled a boner on the grading?" he said.
"No sir," I replied. "Just double checking." I stuffed it into my backpack. "So, are some of these questions going to be on the final?"
"What do you think?"
"You have my brother's test?" I asked.
"Gave it to him yesterday. What's with you guys? Think you can just keep switching off days and sharing notes?"
"Something like that, sir. It's complicated."
"Well, don't get too fancy. You're slacking off, both of you." He winked again. Bennigan was the school's wrestling coach, but he was also a good—and dedicated—science teacher.
I smiled thinly and turned back toward the door. Three-seventeen, the classroom clock said. The hallways would be pretty empty by now. I'd have to hurry at my locker.
Sure enough, most of the students had already split. F-wing lockers were mostly taken by freshmen who'd have to get to their school bus, so there were only a few stragglers in the hall as I hurried up to the locker that I shared with Travis, my twin brother. I spun the lock, the one whose combination was our shared birthday, and tugged at it. It stuck.
I swore and tried again, going more slowly. Again the lock wouldn't spring. I punched the locker door. Then, as I spun and spun and spun the dial, to completely clear it, I suddenly stopped and stared at it. I touched it.
It was a new lock.
The bastard had changed locks on me!
"Somethin' the matter, Wimpole?"
With a hard blow from behind he caught my neck in the crook of his arm and pulled my face close to his—so close I could smell the cinnamon on his breath. He favored cinnamon gum, as an affectation, the way he favored a toothpick in the corner of his mouth, and he pulled my head down at such an angle that that was all I could see: that damn toothpick and the upper lip twisted up over white, white teeth.
Only ten minutes to go, and he'd caught me. Yes, he must have been lurking. Probably he'd been planning this denouement all day.
I said nothing, and he just kept breathing lightly in my face. I heard snickers from behind me, and knew that he had his crew with him. I felt the fingers of his hand skitter down my chest to my shirt pocket; he pulled out my two pencils and my pen, one by one, and let them clatter to the floor. "You'll wanna pick those up," he said, but instead of letting go he just gripped my neck even more tightly in the crook of his arm.
David Kirkwell was not a big guy; in fact, he was shorter than me and shorter than most of the other juniors at the school; and he didn't even go out for sports. But he was fast and had strong, rounded muscles, and he knew exactly where to punch someone so that it would hurt, and he was strong enough to make those punches really hurt. He could also take almost any punch without flinching, without even slowing down, really. So everyone, even the seniors on the football team, tended to pay him a lot of respect and stay on his good side. Not that he had a good side. Generally David Kirkwell had only two ways of treating people: calling them foul names and luring them into a good beating, or just giving them a good beating without any excuse. I didn't even have the merit of being one of his special projects.
Until recently, that is. Which is why I'd been desperately trying to avoid him all day.
Kirkwell sucked on his toothpick and smirked at me, and lightly tweaked my left nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He had his other hand, the one not draped around my neck, on his hip, and he pulled me back and around so he could lean his shoulder casually against the lockers. I made the mistake of looking up into his face. He had his shades on, but I could still make out the dark eyes behind them: the dark eyes that would be gleaming maliciously at me. His grin widened. "You wanna good fucking, Wimpole?" he asked in a soft voice that was just a little ragged from the cigarettes he liked to smoke between classes. "That how come you're scoping me out?"
"You changed my combination lock," I replied. I didn't want to say anything to him, actually, but I didn't want him filling the silences either, and I figured that little accusation would throw him.
I figured wrong. He dropped his arm and gave me a sharp shove to the chest, so sharp I bounced off the lockers. "I wouldn't touch your gay-ass locker if you hired a hooker and got her to ask me with her warm, dripping pussy." His lip was curled in a really ugly way by now. "Pick your shit up off the ground, Wimpole, or I'll make you pick it up." He flexed his right hand menacingly, and behind him I saw Thomason and Evans and Mendoza grinning at each other.
Damn it, I swore to myself, and followed it up with a lot more choice words. Because I was actually getting aroused.
It was only to hide my swelling boner that I acceded, bending over to quickly snatch up my pencils. But as soon as I'd ducked Kirkwell clapped his hands on either side of my head and pulled it toward his crotch. "Kiss it, Wimpole," he ordered. "Kiss it, and I won't make you suck it."
"Bite me," I snarled back. Still, I could only stare at the front of his jeans, and I felt my cheeks flaming.
A chorus of chortles and guffaws broke out from his crew, and I heard one of them start to clap. "So you do want a good fucking," Kirkwell gloated. He grasped the front of my shirt and hauled me up. "I know just the place to take your virginity. Take it good and hard, too." He swung around behind me, gripping the back of my belt with one hand and with the other pushing me along with a forceful palm between my shoulder blades. In this manner he frog-marched me off toward the custodian's closet.
I didn't struggle much. The hallway clock read three twenty-three as we passed, and I figured he couldn't do much to me in seven minutes.
He made me open the door and then pushed me in and closed it behind me, leaving me alone with the stench of cleaning solutions and ... something else. I fumbled about until I found the light switch. Under the ghastly yellow light I saw that that something else was a moldy old gym mat. I couldn't figure what it was doing here until the obvious answer occurred to me. Some enterprising students had dragged it in to make their illicit, on-campus coupling more comfortable. You can get away with that when your school custodian is just out of college, and willing to trade copies of the closet key (and privacy) for blow jobs.
I could hear voices through the door. Undoubtedly Kirkwell was inventing excuses for sending the others away, which I took to be a good sign. But when the door opened again and he stepped in, his face wasn't any friendlier. If anything, he looked even more sadistically gleeful. "Take your pants off," he ordered.
This surprised me. "You're not fucking serious," I stammered.
He pulled his shirt up and over his head and tossed it away; his torso was smooth and hairless and well-defined. "You wanna make this hard or you wanna make it easy?"
"Jesus, you're really into this." Slowly I began to untie my shoes. I would have to take them off sooner or later, and normally would have been eager to get them off sooner. But these circumstances, as they played out, were unnerving me.
I had barely gotten them and my socks off when Kirkwell grabbed me and shoved my face into one of his bare armpits. "You like the smell, cocksucker?" I mumbled something in reply—the game was proving a lot less fun without an audience—and he began kneading the back of my neck. "Yeah, you like my stink, don't you? You want it all over you."
Yes, I admitted to myself. I do want it all over me.
Then he shoved me away. "How come you still got those pants on?" He pulled his own belt off with a quick snap and ripped the front of his jeans open. He burrowed down into the front of his boxers and pulled out his cock. It was small and very limp.
"Christ, all that foreplay and you still haven't got it up?"
"You're gonna suck on it until it's hard and raging," he taunted back, and his chin tilted up. "And then I'm gonna fuck you up the ass until I cum. And then you're gonna suck your own greasy shit off it until I cum again."
I rolled my eyes, but then I caught the dangerous light in his eyes, and I actually quailed inside. He stepped up close—head tilted back a little, because he was shorter than me—and slowly reached up and grabbed my hair at the top of my head and pulled it back. "Shit!" I squealed, and sank to my knees.
"You think I'm fucking with you?" he said softly. "I can make you do whatever I want. Because you're a pussy and you know it."
Hot tears were in my eyes, and the top of my scalp felt like it was on fire, but I said nothing. How long did I have to delay? Two minutes? Three?
And then the tinny electronic alarm on Kirkwell's watch went off. "Saved by the bell," he said, and let go of my hair.
* * * * *
"Fuck, that was intense," I said as I tore the rest of my clothes off. Kirkwell already had his back on.
"You liked that?" he grinned. He reached back behind some boxes and took out the leather case. "You're gonna have a hell of a time living it down."
"What did you tell the guys, to get rid of 'em?"
"Nothin'." He had the case open and picked out a syringe and a vial. "I figured I'd leave it to you to tell them what happened, or was gonna happen." He plunged the needle into the bottle and carefully drew out the prescribed dosage.
"Set it down over there," I said when he offered it to me; I was still getting my underwear off. "Well, at least you were having fun. Did you have to keep it going to the last moment? I'm glad your—I mean, his—watch was a few minutes fast."
"Is it?" Kirkwell didn't even glance at the watch; he was filling another syringe from another vial. "I was actually trying to time it so I'd get you on your knees or something at the last possible moment. I think I nailed it pretty close."
"Close enough," I said as I picked up my syringe. "That was a performance that's gonna be hard to top. Skoal!"
I raised the needle in a toast and then carefully I slid it into my forearm. It hurt like hell, but it was a pleasant hurt because of what I knew was to come. Kirkwell was doing the same with his syringe. When we were done we quickly packed the equipment away.
It took only a few seconds for the changes to start. Kirkwell's shot hit first. He bent double, then dropped to his hands and knees. His back arched and his chest heaved in an inhuman way, like something was trying to burst out. And then the stuff began to pour out of his mouth. It was red, like arterial blood, and full of ropy tendrils and tubes. It lashed and throbbed as it hit the floor, and flopped away as still more poured out of him. He made snuffling, gagging noises as it slid wetly out of gullet; even when he paused to take deep breaths it kept gushing out. Eventually he began to weaken, and as the last of it slipped to the floor his joints buckled and he toppled over, unconscious, onto the floor.
The bubbling mess, meanwhile, had begun to pull together, becoming darker and more opaque, and then sheathing itself in a livid membrane. First one appendage, like an arm, shot out of it, and then another, and then it split halfway up the middle. It jiggled and then solidified, and a sudden shadow passed over it. And when it sat up it turned a friendly, familiar and mischievous face toward me: my own identical twin brother, Travis.
"Jesus, you look like shit," he said. I glanced down at my arms; yes, they were mottled and red, and growing transparent. I could guess what my face and head looked like: like his had looked just a few moments before.
"Tip him over," I said, nodding my head at Kirkwell, and Travis obliged by rolling our victim over onto his back. Kirkwell groaned and his eyes fluttered open. He stared up as I sauntered over and gazed down at him, then focused on me. Fear ... terror ... pants-shitting horror flared up in them, and weakly he tried to wave me away.
"Please ... Don't," he gasped. I barked a laugh and started to reply, but then the serum hit full force, and I buckled and collapsed to the ground. My vision faded, so that I couldn't even see my final transformation into a semi-gelatinous mess similar to what Travis had just transformed from. I felt as a vibration, rather than heard as a sound, Travis's mocking reply.
"We're not gonna hurt you, Kirkwell. We're just gonna fuck around with your body."
And then I was over his face and inside his mouth and forcing myself down his throat.
