Part I

Mike’s phone buzzed and he looked down at it, annoyed. It was another comment from that damned photo-sharing site. His phone had been buzzing all night, and he was ready to kill Zoe. He was not going to look at his phone. He was going to turn it off. He was not going to look…

>>Stud would be killer w/ a shaved chest<<

Mike shook his head. How the hell could he turn off these stupid comments? Shaved chest? He was not a man-scaper like those fruits at the gym. He didn’t shave anything but his face. Unconsciously, he ran his hand up his shirt and scratched his chest, sighed, and scratched again.

>>Shaved chest? DUDE SHAVES IT ALL!!! SHAVED PUBES ROOL<<

This completely grossed out Mike. Never. He was a man. He had no interest in looking like a fucking prepubescent boy. Mike reached down and scratched his crotch, absently. Shaved pubes? He snorted. Fuck no. He scratched again. This was just stupid. He forced himself to put down his phone.

This had been going on ever since Zoe posted those nude pics of him. She thought it was hilarious, but Mike couldn’t find the humor in it at all. There was one photo she had taken of him just as he was getting out of the shower, dripping wet, his long cock hanging down. She had taken the other one from behind, that time they went skinny dipping in Lake Michigan. The pics didn’t even show his whole face, really, but even so Mike had been pissed.

“You don’t have anything to be ashamed of, Mike!” Zoe had protested. “I’m just showing you off. You should be proud!”

Mike was nonplussed. “You know that only fags look at those photos, Zoe. Do you think I want a bunch of homos whacking off to pictures of me?” He shook his head, disgusted.

Zoe had frowned, saying, “Oh, Mike! Don’t be such a prude! There are probably plenty of women on that site. Just get over it. No one can tell it’s you anyway.”

“I just don’t like it,” he’d said, not liking the liberties that Zoe was taking with his privacy, but he’d let it drop.

The problem was that he couldn’t really let it go. He kept getting spammed by comments, and every time his phone buzzed with a new one, it just pissed him off all over again. He’d tried to block them or turn them off, but couldn’t figure out how to do it. And every time one of those fags would comment on his picture, his phone would buzz, and he just couldn’t stop himself from reading what they were saying. It was driving him fucking insane!

He surreptitiously scratched his crotch again. Maybe a shower would help. Bringing his phone with him to the bathroom, he put it down on the sink and got the water running. He slipped out of his sweats and t-shirt and admired his physique in the mirror while he waited for the water to warm up. He had to admit he was in awesome shape. He’d been voted most valuable player two years in a row when he had been a starting pitcher at Notre Dame. He’d always been proud of being a jock and had kept in shape after graduating, going to gym regularly with his coworker Dave, and running to keep the weight off. He grinned at his reflection, noting how his ripped abs were visible under the dark brown hair that covered his belly. He was muscular, but not bulked up like a lot of the guys had been on his team.

He saw steam billowing out of the shower behind him and he got in, savoring the hot spray. He was rubbing soap onto his chest when he noticed that Zoe had left one of her razors in the shower the last time she’d stayed over. For some reason, he picked it up and looked at it and then looked down at his chest. He wondered what it would look like if he shaved? Not bad probably. It might even make his chest look more defined… He froze. That was a weird thought. Where the fuck had it even come from? Then he remembered the comments on his phone. Fucking homos! There was no way in hell he was going to shave his chest.

Fifteen minutes later, Mike stepped out of the shower and stared at himself in the foggy mirror. His chest was shaved completely smooth. Same with his pubes and legs. He’d even shaved his butt and asshole. His cheeks were burning as he surveyed the damage. What the fuck had he been thinking? He looked fucking ridiculous!

He stared at the huge clot of hair swirling in the bottom of the tub and clenched his teeth. He wouldn’t be able to show his face at the gym for a least a month until his hair grew back. Fuck, if his workout buddy Dave ever saw him like this, he’d never hear the end of it. Even worse, what would Zoe say? The phone buzzed again and Dave wiped his hands off and picked it up.

>>Goodbye GF<<

Mike put it down and scratched his head? GF? What did that mean? He tried to remember what he’d just been thinking. Oh, yeah, Zoe. Well, he wouldn’t have to worry about her seeing him again any time soon. Hell, she said she never wanted to see him again, period. Mike hung his head when he remembered what had happened the night before. He’d been pissed about the photos she’d posted. In fact, he’d been so furious that he couldn’t get hard when they’d tried to fuck. He didn’t understand it. This never fucking happened to him. He was a total stud in the sack, even when he was wasted. But for some reason, his dick had just stayed limp, and nothing she tried made any difference. In the end, they’d gotten in a big fight and Mike had yelled some really mean things at her before she’d kicked him out of her apartment. Well, fuck her anyway!

Mike rubbed the towel over himself, heart pounding in his temples. He stared down at his shaved torso and sighed. What had he done to himself? He looked like a fucking freak. Like one of those fag bodybuilders down at the gym.

>>Tramp stamp. Dude needs one bad<<

Mike scowled, tossing the damned phone on the bed. There was no way he was going to get a tattoo. No way. Tattoos were for… Well, for guys not like him.

Mike rolled into work ten minutes late, and flirted with the secretaries just like he did every day. He scowled at Chris, the office fag, as he pushed his cart down the hallway. Mike did that every day, too. “Coffee,” he growled at him, his upper lip curling in disgust. Fucking pervert…

One of the new sales associates caught his eye as he passed through the bullpen on his way back to the office he shared with Dave. “Uh, Mike? Mr. Curtis? Can I talk to you about the Henrico file for a minute?”

“Later,” Mike replied tersely. He’d hired the kid himself. Well, he’d interviewed him anyway, and made the recommendation to Mr. Bennett. Mike had him helping out with some of his accounts, but couldn’t remember his name. Eric somebody. He was a nice kid, smart and ambitious, but also kind of a kiss ass. Always angling. Mike would have to watch him. “Circle back with me after the sales meeting this morning, okay?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he breezed into his office, flopping into his chair and powering up his laptop.

“So what’d you and Zoe end up doing last night?” Dave asked from across the room. He was buried in reports and clearly bored.

Mike looked up to answer him but his phone buzzed again. This time, he ignored it. He was just going to let the messages come; he had work to do. He tried to focus on his presentation but shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His boxer shorts were riding up his ass. He tugged at them and cursed, glancing sideways at his phone to see the latest comment.

>>Bro has a big butt<<

This was so fucking weird, like these messages were affecting his brain. He lifted his butt off his chair and tugged on the seat of his pants, trying to stretch them out. These were his favorite pants! He wore them every week and they always fit perfectly. Why were they suddenly so tight today? Sighing, he sat down again and then huffed to himself when he felt his boxers ride back up the crack of his ass. Perturbed, he scratched his arms and chest.

The phone buzzed again. He picked it up and glanced at the comment.

>>Nice tramp stamp!<<

This comment was followed by a repost of the pic of him skinny dipping. Mike’s brow furrowed when he saw that someone had Photoshopped a tattoo of a big, pink butterfly just above his ass. Oh, man! These fags were fucking destroying his photo! Now this one was going to show up everywhere. People would think he was some kind of fucking homo. Pissed, he stared at the photo critically and squinted. Something else wasn’t quite right. His butt looked pretty big in the photo. Zoe loved his perfect, tight butt, but in the photo he had a massive ass. What the fuck? He squirmed in his chair. It was probably his imagination but it suddenly seemed like there was more padding down there, almost like he was sitting on a soft cushion. This was getting crazy. He did not have a big butt. And he definitely did not have a butterfly tramp stamp.

He shifted in his chair again and rubbed his lower back. The skin there seemed to be raw, burning almost like he imagined it would feel after getting tattooed. Creeped out, Mike had to fight the urge to run to the bathroom and check himself out in the mirror. Maybe he was getting a rash or something, because there was no way that he would ever get a tattoo. No fucking way!

Mike sat there a moment, lost in thought. He didn’t have a tattoo, did he? He’d remember something like that. And he definitely would never get a fucking tramp stamp. Ever. You know, maybe like some tribal band on his biceps or something, but never anything as gay as a pink butterfly. This was just too fucking weird. Fuck! he thought and pulled on his boxers again. He was just so fucking uncomfortable!

Dave leaned back in his chair, idly tossing a hockey puck in the air and eyeing Mike speculatively. The wall behind him gleamed with his hockey medals and awards. “You still haven’t answered my question, Mike. What did you and Zoe end up doing last night?”

Ignoring him, Mike forced his attention away from that fucking photo website and the offensive comments. He needed coffee. He hadn’t had coffee yet. That’s what was wrong. That’s why his brain was so foggy. “Where is that fag with our coffee?” The office fag was taking forever to bring the coffee. Mike’s irritation had found a target. “He’s such a little fuck.”

Dave shrugged and continued to toss the puck in the air, repeating, “What’d you and Zoe do after you left the bar?”

Mike tapped his foot in annoyance. Where was the little fag?

“Mike!” Dave shouted, waving the puck in the air in front of him. “I asked you a question.”

“What?”

“I asked you what you and Zoe did last night.”

Unconsciously, Mike felt himself flush. He’d successfully avoided thinking about last night until now. “Uh,” he stammered, mind racing. “You know. We just went back to her place and fucked.”

Dave gave him a funny look before snorting. “You dawg! I couldn’t even get Madison out of her panties. You two sure fuck a lot.”

Mike rubbed his forehead with one hand and massaged the skin of his lower back. It was still burning. He really just wanted coffee. It took him a minute to realize that Dave was waiting for him to respond. Finally, he muttered, “Yeah, I guess.”

“I’m so jealous, dude. I wish Madison liked to fuck as much as Zoe does. I’m lucky if we do it once a week these days. You’re a lucky man, my friend…”

Mike thought he heard steps outside but it wasn’t the office fag. He growled to himself and got up, readjusting the back of his pants again. It didn’t do any good, they still rode up his butt. The phone buzzed twice.

>>Dude’s got man-sized nips!<<

>>Ya & so tender!<<

Grunting, Mike reached up and scratched his left pec and then shivered as his fingers grazed his nipple. His nipple was really sensitive! Fuck, he thought again. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Trying to act casual, he touched his nubs and then gasped. They felt bigger. He’d always had tiny nipples. What was going on? He glanced down and saw that they were pressing against his white shirt. He flushed. Were they that noticeable? They sure as fuck never were before! He fought the urge to put his hands under his armpits to cover them up. It was a good thing he always wore an undershirt. These comments were really starting to freak him out. Was it just the power of suggestion? Yeah – that must be it, he thought. That and fucking no coffee.

He fired off a text to Zoe, begging her to take the photos down from the site and then stood there, frowning and scratching. Absently, he reached up and touched his nipple again, almost passing out. It felt amazing—and really disturbing at the same time. He dropped his hands and fidgeted. Where was that fucking fag with the coffee?

Dave’s phone rang. “Bennett Insurance Agency,” Dave answered in a sunny voice. “This is Dave Hunt. How can I assist you today?”

Mike frowned. Dave was always getting calls. He had set the monthly sales record again last month. Mike had come in second but it was a distant second. Dave always made everything look so easy. Not that things were all that rough for Mike, but still. He was used to being the top dog, and didn’t like having any competition. And he sure as fuck didn’t like coming in second, even to a buddy like Dave. Not wanting to have to listen to another sweet deal just fucking land in Dave’s lap, Mike stalked out in search of his coffee.

>>Monster pecs & monster tits. Freak!<<

Mike gaped at the text. These fucking comments were really getting to him. Fuck, he needed coffee. He slammed the door behind him and one of the administrative assistants glanced up at him before quickly looking back at her computer screen. Anne, Mike thought. She’s got some nice tits. He leered at her as he walked stiffly by. Even his shirt felt constricting today. He shrugged his shoulders and pulled at his tie. It felt like it was strangling him. Had he worn the wrong shirt or something? He took a deep breath and felt the buttons on dress shirt strain under the pressure. What was going on?

The office fag was standing in front of the brewer in the kitchen, staring at his phone. He jumped when Mike stomped in and hurriedly stuck his phone in his pocket. But not before Mike caught a glimpse of a photo that looked suspiciously familiar. The guy’s face turned red as he stammered, “I… I’m just waiting for it to finish brewing, Mr. Curtis.” His eyes drifted away from Mike’s face and then widened slightly as his gaze landed on his chest. Mike felt like he was going to explode. Was the little fag looking at his pics on that website? Was he one of the commenters?

He was seriously in danger of losing it. Somewhat desperately, he stood up straight and yelled, “What the fuck? I you asked for coffee like ten minutes ago. How long does it take to brew a fucking pot of coffee?” He didn’t bother keeping his voice down. He yanked on his tie again. It was hard to breathe. And his pants felt like they were even tighter than a minute ago.

His phone buzzed. Mike tried to stop himself, but couldn’t keep his eyes from staring down at the screen.

>>Guy is stacked but not too bright<<

Mike’s head clouded. What was he doing again? Oh, yeah. Coffee. He stared at the fag in front of him. He’d been asking a question. What was the question? He couldn’t remember.

The fag wouldn’t look at him but eventually stuttered, “Um, six minutes, Mr. Curtis.”

“Huh?” Mike asked, forgetting his original question. What was six minutes? Oh, yeah, the coffee. The fag was talking about coffee. He crossed his arms and then abruptly dropped them again as he stared down at the hapless guy, resisting the urge to readjust his pants. “Then why didn’t you bring it, uh, six minutes ago.”

The guy took a shaky breath and stammered, “You mean four minutes ago.”

“WHAT?” Mike asked, shocked that the fag had the nerve to talk back to him.

“You see, ten minus six is four…”

“I fucking know that, you little shit!” Mike yelled. Why the fuck was this little fag talking back to him? “You think I don’t know that six and six is, uh… JUST BRING ME THE COFFEE NOW!”

“Yes… Yes… Okay,” the fag answered meekly. He grabbed a couple of cups and inadvertently knocked over the whole stack. Mike swore and stomped out of the kitchen.

Dave was hanging up the phone as Mike reentered their office. It was a decent sized office for two people, but this morning it felt claustrophobic. Mike could feel his pulse pounding in his temples. He kicked his chair away and leaned against his desk, waiting impatiently, adjusting his pants again. That spot on this lower back burned. He scowled. That fag had better bring the coffee in the next minute or he was going to kill him.

“Hey, dude,” Dave called out, grinning from ear to ear. “Just rung up another one…”

Mike said nothing.

Dave’s smile faded slightly. “What’s the matter with you, buddy? Why are you so stressed this morning? Didn’t you say that you just got laid last night? You should be totally chill.”

Mike glanced over at him and raised his lip in a snarl. Dave gave him a big, goofy grin and tossed the puck at him. Mike caught it absently. He had after all been the star pitcher at Notre Dame. Dave might be an all-star hockey jock, but Mike had been a legend in his own right. He just didn’t clutter his desk and wall with trophies like Dave did. Mike threw the puck back at Dave. It bounced off his desk and hit him in the chest.

“Yo, dude! That’s not cool,” Dave exclaimed, rubbing his chest. “Come on, tell me what’s bothering you. I know it’s not just the fact that Chris is late with the coffee.”

As if on cue, there was a hesitant knock on the door and Chris entered with two steaming cups of coffee.

“You fuckin’ forgot cream!” Mike spat, grabbing the offered cup. Chris shrank away from him reflexively. “Cream in my coffee! You should know that by now.”

“Easy, Mike,” Dave said placatingly. “I’ve got some creamer right here in my desk.” He pulled open a drawer and started rummaging.

“I don’t want creamer,” Mike said, voice rising. “I fuckin’ want real cream and this fag knows it. He gets it for me every goddamned day. He forgot it on purpose.” Mike pulled himself up to his full height (he was a substantial guy) and towered over the fag who was backing toward the door, his face pale and eyes wide.

In a moment, Dave was between them, putting a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “Yo! Mike! Take it easy, man. It was a simple mistake. Leave him alone. And his name is Chris, okay? Why are you being such a homophobe this morning?”

Mike batted Dave’s hand away, but Dave deftly grabbed his arm and held it with a surprisingly strong grip. “Curtis. Stand down. Now.” His voice had an edge of steel that Mike hadn’t heard before. “And apologize to Chris.”

Mike stared daggers at Dave, but Dave merely gave him a smirk and squeezed. Mike gasped. Dave was a lot stronger than he would have guessed. He had no choice but to relent. “Sorry,” he spat, but the fag had already fled the office.

Dave was staring at him. “What is up with you today, Curtis? That was way out of line. You can’t go around calling people fags. You want to get called into HR over this? You want to have to explain all this to Mr. Bennett?”

Mike scowled at him and said coldly, “Let go of me.” Dave dropped his arm but then grabbed Mike by the shoulders and shook him gently.

“Mike! We’re friends, remember? You can talk to me. Now, what the fuck is bothering you? I’ve never seen you like this.”

Mike looked down, cheeks burning. The memories of last night threatened to flood through him and he fought them back down. The look on Zoe’s face, the way she had laughed at him… There was no way he could possibly tell Dave what was really bothering him. No way. He shrugged Dave’s hand off of him and stalked back to his desk. The cup of black coffee was sitting there, some had splashed out onto his desk. The fag must have thrown it down as he fled the office. Mike grabbed it and took a drink. It was too weak and too hot. He cursed and slammed it back down on the desk, not caring that it spilled on his papers. This day completely sucked.



The daily sales meeting was torture. Mr. Bennett started as usual by praising Dave, and then went on and on about Dave’s amazing sales record. Then he had Dave get up and give a presentation that focused on market segmentation. Dave stood up, beaming. Mike wanted to kill him. His phone buzzed again, and Mike looked at it despite Mr. Bennett’s reproving stare.

>>Dude’s hot for his buddy<<

Mike wrinkled his brow. These comments were getting out of hand. What did they mean, anyway? Mike was no fag. Everybody knew that.

As Dave talked, Mike’s mind drifted. His skin was still itchy and his clothes were uncomfortably tight. And for some reason, he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off Dave. They drifted down from his face, to his muscular chest. The guy was really built. Mike knew that Dave worked hard to keep in shape; they worked out together every day, for Christ’s sake. But how had he never noticed how buff his friend was? His white shirt seemed to be straining to contain Dave’s massive shoulders and big chest. Mike was a little scandalized to notice the Dave wasn’t wearing a tie and didn’t have an undershirt on. His shirt was unbuttoned and a profusion of thick brown chest hair poked out of his collar…

“Mr. Curtis! Mr. Curtis! I asked you a question.”

Mike sat up abruptly, almost spilling his coffee. Mr. Bennett was glaring at him across the conference room table. Dave was watching at him with a bemused look on his face.

“Uh, sorry,” Mike stammered. “What?”

“I asked you to comment on Mr. Hunt’s analysis. Do you agree that we’re reaching saturation in the mid-level markets, especially when aggregate demand is weak?” Mr. Bennett crossed his arms and leaned back, his left eyebrow raised pointedly.

Mike flushed bright red. Everyone was looking at him. “Um, yeah, I guess,” he said. “Ya’ know, about the uh… I mean like the uh, saturation and all?” What the fuck? Mike wondered, his head spinning. Mid-level markets? Aggreg…what? Why didn’t any of this make sense to him? He and Dave just were talking about it all yesterday, but now it sounded like gibberish to him. For some reason, his brain felt like it was filled with mud.

“Brilliant analysis, Mr. Curtis.” Mr. Bennett’s voice dripped with sarcasm. Mike flushed and saw Dave cover a smirk with his hand. “Now perhaps you can edify us with your presentation.”

Mike’s heart dropped. His presentation! He’d completely forgotten about it. He was supposed to finish it up this morning. He only had a few slides ready. He froze in his chair, uncertain what to do.

“We’re waiting, Mr. Curtis.”

Mike felt his face go bright crimson and a trickle of sweat ran down his forehead. The room was completely silent. Mike felt like he was going to die. He looked wildly around and caught Dave’s eye. His friend gave him an encouraging nod and winked. Somehow this only made things worse. Mike scrambled to get out his chair; it slid out from under him and he had to desperately grab the table to keep from falling on his butt. Pulling himself up, he reached for his laptop and then felt the seam in the back of his pants start to split. Frantic, he stood up and sucked in his gut. NOT HERE NOT HERE NOT HERE NOT HERE, a terrified voice screamed in the back of his mind.

Somehow, the seam held—for the moment at least—but Mike was forced to keep sucking in his stomach while at the same time trying to breathe and get his laptop booted up and logged on. He mistyped his password twice (his fingers felt too big and clumsy for the keys.) There was a nervous titter from someone sitting farther down the table. Mike glanced up, and saw that new kid, Eric, quickly cover his mouth. Dave had taken his seat next to him, and Mike was keenly aware of his friend’s scrutiny.

Finally, he managed to log in. The Powerpoint slide was on his desktop. Plugging the projector into the port on the side of his machine, he looked over to Mr. Bennett and explained, “Uh…well, ya know, uh I ain’t…I mean…I’m not fin…um, uh, done with it.” His voice sounded thick and dull. Why was he talking like an idiot? He searched and searched but the words wouldn’t come.

“Just show us what you have, Mr. Curtis.” The boss was drumming his fingers on the table. Mike flushed again and fumbled with the keyboard. His fingers were so clumsy.

Double-clicking on the file, the program opened and the first slide of his presentation displayed on the screen. Mike stared at it aghast. There was a pause before the room burst out laughing. The slide was filled with childish stick drawings. There was a dog with the words “woof woof” in a balloon over its head. A poorly rendered cat said, “meow.” A yellow sun was sketched in the blue sky with puffy white clouds. Panicked, Mike yanked the projector cord out of the machine as he felt the seam on the back of his pants straining. He almost fell over trying to reach behind and hold his pants together.

“That will do, Mr. Curtis. And I think that’s all we’ll need from you this morning.” Mr. Bennett pointed to the door.

Mike wanted to die. Somehow, he managed to gather up his laptop in one hand and hold onto the seat of his pants with the other while backing out of the room. He kept his eyes on the floor but was all too aware that everyone in the room was staring at him. He was fuming as he backed out the door and lurched toward his office. He fumbled with the door knob and then snagged the door with his foot, slamming it behind him. He stood there shaking. Everything was going to hell. He was fucking ruined. He collapsed in his chair and put his head down on the desk.



An hour went by before Mike heard the meeting break up. He still couldn’t believe what had happened. It had to be the most humiliating moment of his life. Fucking blowing it like that in front of the whole office, and then Bennett dismissing him like some loser. It wasn’t fair!

Mike was still sitting there when the door opened and Dave entered, looking flushed and a little disheveled. His phone vibrated on the desk in front of him. He looked at it before he could stop himself.

>>Pitcher?! LOL Dude’s a total catcher<<

Mike had no idea what the fuck these text messages were even talking about anymore. Pitcher? That was his position on the college baseball team, but he’d never been a catcher in his life. Fuck. Nothing made sense anymore.

Dave sat on the edge of his desk. He stretched and scratched his belly, and Mike found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from him.

God.

Dave.

Mike swallowed, feeling like his tongue was swollen in his throat. He shifted in his chair as he felt a funny tingling in his ass…

“Man, that Anne is something else!” Dave exclaimed. “She cornered me after the meeting and nailed me in the lady’s room! Fuck! Can you imagine? I had no idea she was so hot for me.”

He sat there and bragged on and on about Anne’s tits, Anne’s ass, Anne’s cunt… Mike was in a daze but nonetheless found his eyes drawn to Dave. The tingling in his butt became more pronounced. He shifted in his chair, trying to get comfortable. Dave was sitting there, legs wide, leaning back, clearly savoring his conquest. He had unbuttoned his shirt further exposing the cleft of his pecs…

Mike let out an almost inaudible moan as he shifted in his chair again. God, what the fuck? Why was his ass so… so… ahhhh… He moved his butt back and forth in his chair. That helped a bit…

For some reason seeing Dave’s exposed chest made Mike wonder what Dave’s nipples were like. He must have a real man’s nipples hiding in there. He could almost see them. They were pressing again his shirt. He had real man-sized nips under that sheer fabric.

Mike reached down and scratched his butt. It was so fucking warm down there. He scratched some more. That’s it… that’s it… He’d seen Dave without his shirt before but for some reason had never paid attention to his nipples. Why was that?

His gaze drifted down to his friend’s narrow waist. Mike leaned forward a little and realized that he could see the outline of Dave’s package. Was he still hard from fucking Anne or was the guy just packing? He’d never even been tempted to sneak a peek at Dave when they were getting dressed in the gym locker room. Now, it was all Mike could think about. He wondered how big he was…

“Hey, man! Are you listening to what I’m saying?” Dave was looking at him with a puzzled and slightly annoyed look on his face. “What is wrong with you today? You made a complete ass out of yourself back there in the meeting.”

Mike snapped back to reality. He’d been leaning forward to leer at Dave’s package, and practically drooling. He straightened up and shook himself. He didn’t know what to say. “Uh, yeah. I was just… I dunno – like tired.”

Dave wrinkled his brow at this. “Tired??

“Fuck yeah! I mean, yeah, I’m tired as fuck,” Mike said, trying to sound somewhat intelligent but failing. His mind felt duller and duller.

Dave stared at him and Mike fidgeted. After a moment, a funny expression crossed his face and he walked over to Mike’s desk. Mike shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortably away. Fuck, his ass felt so weird. Finally, he couldn’t stand it any longer and he looked up questioningly at his friend.

“What the fuck do you want, Dave?” His voice sounded thick.

“Mike…” Dave began.

“Yeah, what?”

Dave’s mouth quirked up in a half smile. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

Jealous?! Angry, he started to say something but was distracted again by the burning in his butt and, unable to stop himself, he moved his ass back and forth in the chair, sighing. He glared up at Dave and Dave’s eyes softened.

“Aw, come on, bro. I’m sorry. I forgot about you and Zoe breaking up.” He sat down on the edge of Mike’s desk, causing Mike to push his chair away slightly. He was having trouble breathing for some reason and was unnaturally aware of the heat emanating from his friend’s body. Christ, Dave was like a fucking furnace.

“I’m not fucking jealous, man!” He pushed his chair farther away but his friend caught his arm and held on. Mike stared up at him, struggling to catch his breath and feeling like his butt was on fire.

“It’s okay, Mike,” Dave said seriously, pulling on his arm. “You’ll find someone else. I never liked Zoe anyway.”

Mike pulled back, finally managing to wrest his arm from Dave’s grip. “Dude, really, fuck!” he protested, standing up. “I’m fucking fine.” Dave was freaking him out.

Dave did something really weird then. Lowering his chin, he stalked over to where Mike was standing, stopping when he was only inches away. Mike tried to back away but he was already practically against the wall.

“Dave…” he began but Dave shook his head. Mike’s ass tingled and he felt a trickle of sweat run down his back. He took a breath and his nose was filled with Dave’s musky scent. His tongue felt swollen in his mouth and he tried to swallow.

“You know what you need, Mike?” Dave’s voice was low, gravelly.

Mike pressed his back against the wall, unable to speak. He looked over at the door. Could he squeeze by Dave and get out of there. This was too fucking freaky.

“You need a little guy time,” Dave replied, answering his own question. “Let’s hit the gym, Okay?”

Mike could only nod his head, feeling weak. Then just like that, the tension left the room. Dave stepped back, giving him an impish wink and a grin. Mike felt his shoulders relax and was starting to turn away when Dave surprised him and reached down to pat Mike on the ass.

“That’s my girl,” Dave said, “Now get your bag and let’s go.”

Mike grabbed his desk. His ass cheek burned like a brand where Dave’s hand had touched him. What the fuck was happening to him?

Part II

It wasn’t until they were just about to the gym when Mike remembered that he’d shaved off all of his body hair. On the walk over, he’d been so preoccupied with trying to keep his pants from splitting open that he’d forgotten about his stupid idea in the shower the night before.

Shit! he thought, kicking himself. He should have stayed back at the office. What was he going to do? There was no way he could change in front of the guys like this. He’d better think of something quickly. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!  Why did it feel like his brain was made of mud? He was a smart guy after all, proving everyone wrong that you had to be a dumb jock if you were good in sports. Christ, he’d been in the top quarter of his class in the business college. Think, Mike! Think!

Nothing came to him.

“Shit, Mike, hurry up!” Dave called to him. “We’re going to be late!”

Mike sighed heavily and struggled up the stairs. His gym bag snagged the handle on the door, trapping him briefly in the doorway and scraping his shoulders painfully. He cursed. Had the doors gotten narrower or something? He grunted and yanked his gym bag off the handle; the door swung shut, nearly slamming on his hand. The whole fucking day sucked. He stomped into the Y, Dave was already at the front desk scanning his membership card.

Every step brought them closer to the locker room and certain humiliation. Mike grew frantic. What was he going to do? He should just make up an excuse and go back to the office. He couldn’t do this. He’d already embarrassed himself enough for one day. Remembering the horrible business meeting earlier, he thought, God, how am I ever going to make it up to Mr. Bennett? He was going to get himself fired! 

They were passing the bathroom on the way to the locker room when Mike finally had an idea: He would change in one of the stalls in the bathroom!

“Dude, I gotta take a piss,” he said, breathlessly, swerving into the bathroom.

Whew! That had been too close!

Dave stopped. “Oh, yeah. Me, too,” he said, turning around and following Mike inside. “Too much coffee.”

Fuck. Mike’s stomach sank. Of fucking course, he thought. He lowered his head, feeling the desire to punch his friend. Should he walk back out? What was he going to do? He struggled with the decision for a few moments before heading toward the stall at the far end of the bathroom. He would just stick to his original plan and change in the stall. Why did Dave have to follow him everywhere?

“Uh, Mike, where are you going?” Dave called out behind him. “I thought you had to take a piss? Are you pee shy or something?”

Mike stopped, hand on the metal handle of the stall and feeling his ears get hot. Pee shy? He was not fucking pee shy! Dave was doing everything to taunt him. He fucking hated his friend right then. Gritting his teeth and trying to figure out a Plan B, he turned and glowered back at his friend. Dave smirked as he unzipped his pants.

“That’s more like it,” he goaded. “Piss like a man, bro.”

Mike gave him a murderous stare but nonetheless trudged back to the urinals to take position next to him, fighting with his zipper. His fucking pants were so tight that it took forever to get the zipper open. Jesus, his pants were digging into his waist like a motherfucker. While he was yanking on the zipper, though, his attention wandered over to Dave. His friend was standing there, shoulders back, feet spread, zipper wide open, cock hanging out.

Mike started to feel disgusted (Dave is so fucking full of himself!) but then saw the size of his friend’s tool. It was fucking enormous! Jesus. How had he not noticed that thing before! Mike was proud of his own long dick but it was nothing compared to Dave’s. He didn’t know it was possible for a guy to have a cock that big. And Dave was uncut, too. Mike stared as Dave slowly peeled thick folds of foreskin back, exposing his fat, pink glans head. It looked moist. Mike was transfixed, swallowing. For some reason, seeing Dave’s cock got him heated up and he felt his own cock begin to stiffen. Fuck! What was wrong with him? 

Look away, Mike, he ordered himself. Look away. You’re no fucking fruit. You’re not a fucking faggot!

Instead of looking away, though, he stood there transfixed, unable to stop staring. Fuck, the dude practically had to hold it with both hands it was so big. What would it be like to have a cock that big? What would it feel like to…? He swallowed, feeling his hands tremble. His cock was straining in his pants making it even harder to unzip. 

He couldn’t unzip now. Not when he was a sporting a fucking hard on! Fuck, Mike, get the fuck ahold of yourself! This was really freaking him out. What the fuck was happening to him?  Inexplicably, he felt his butt tingling. It was all he could to stop himself from rubbing it. Dave had finished pulling his foreskin back and let loose with a stream of piss that hit the urinal with such force that Mike felt little spatters on his face. Christ, the dude even pissed like a total fucking stud.

Mike’s mouth was half open. He had stopped fumbling with his zipper and was just staring at Dave while he pissed. His cock was jammed painfully in his pants and his ass was tingling and hot. Unconsciously, he reached back and massaged his ass cheeks, stifling a moan. Fuck. That felt fucking great. But why did his ass feel weird? Had it always been so big and soft? He should have been more worried but it just felt so fucking good to massage it. He sighed.

 “Like what you see, dude?” Dave asked, startling Mike out of his reverie. Mike jumped and Dave winked at him, tapping his member and pushing it back in his pants.

Mike’s face flamed brilliant red. What the fuck had he been doing? He had been staring at Dave’s big dick. He’d been fucking staring at his friend’s cock and wondering what it would feel like to touch it. And not just touch it. He wanted Dave to… He wanted Dave to… He shook himself. He was fucking sick. He needed to get out of there. He just had to go home. This day completely sucked. He turned away, defeated. He walked out as fast as he could, breathing hard, his gym bag slumping down on his shoulder. Maybe he could just call in sick?

He’d made it halfway down the hall before Dave caught up to him. “Mike, hey! Wait!” he shouted, running up and catching him by the arm. “Where are you going, bro? We have a game to play!”

Mike gave him a sidelong glance. “I don’t feel so good. Goin’ home.”

Dave looked crestfallen. “Don’t go, Mike! We won’t have a full team if you go. Come on, man! You don’t want us to lose to the Falcons, do you?”

The Falcons were the team from the rival insurance company across town. They met at lunch hour to duke it out over basketball. The Bennett Insurance team, the Vipers, were barely holding onto a one-game edge. Mike stopped and stared at Dave. Dave grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him gently, his handsome face pleading. “Come on, buddy! Don’t let us down. Do it for me!”

Everything about that horrible day told Mike he should just pack it in and head home. Did he really think that he was in any shape to play basketball? He could hardly muster the energy to walk. There was no way he could run around on the basketball court. He should just tell Dave to piss off and keep on heading out the door. He should…

Dave didn’t give him the chance. He spun Mike around and propelled him down the hall to the locker room over Mike’s protests.

Throwing his bag down on the bench, Mike felt his hands shaking. Get it together! he thought to himself. What the fuck is wrong with you? 

Dave grabbed a locker next to him and was standing close. Mike moved away, feeling uncomfortable, but Dave just shifted closer to him. What the fuck? Mike thought. What is Dave doing? Couldn’t he have a little privacy? It was freaking him out. He turned away, determined to do his best to conceal his denuded body from Dave’s prying eyes. He should just go. What was he doing here? He was in no condition to play basketball.

Fighting with his instincts, Mike reluctantly turned his attention to changing. His clothes, he discovered, had turned against him. When he reached up to loosen his tie, he realized it was strangling him. He’d been so preoccupied with keeping his pants in one piece that he hadn’t even noticed. Christ, he could barely breathe! He ripped it off and tossed it in his locker. His relief was short-lived; the button in his collar was so tight that it snapped off and zinged across the room when he touched it. The next three buttons popped off when he touched them, too. The tie must have been holding his shirt together.

What the fucking hell? he thought, trying to undo the remaining buttons. Why were the buttons so small? Mike’s fingers felt like fat sausages as he strained to get them to work. With great effort, his shirt finally came off and he threw it in the locker. Would he even be able to get it back on?

He stood there, shaking; he was starting to get angry. This all started happening last night after Zoe posted those pictures of him on that fucking site. But how could posting a couple of photos cause his whole life to go to hell? Was it some sort of weird subliminal thing? He thought that hypnosis was a bunch of crap but something bizarre was going on here.

Then a thought struck him. Maybe it was all an elaborate hoax? Maybe Zoe had planned all this to get back at him for breaking up with her? Mike felt himself grow cold. Maybe she had drugged him or something and Dave was playing along? His hands were shaking. He forced himself to take a few deep breaths but his anger only kept rising. He felt like he was ready to explode. Yeah, that must be it. Zoe had drugged him, making him susceptible to the power of suggestion. And she had changed out his clothes overnight, replacing them with smaller sizes. And then she had talked Dave into playing along.

He eyed Dave suspiciously. His friend was nonchalantly stepping into his gym shorts, standing so close to Mike that he was practically touching him. Mike clenched his jaw. Dave was acting too innocent. It was too fucking creepy. Mike turned away, seething. Fucking Dave. How could he do this to him? How could he be such an asshole? He had thought that Dave was his friend.

Just then, Mike’s phone buzzed against his thigh. What a fucking coincidence, he thought, glaring at Dave. Mike knew better by now. He was not to going to look at his phone. That was what Zoe and Dave wanted him to do. They wanted him to humiliate himself. And he just kept playing along like their stupid puppet. Well, he wasn’t going to let them do this to him anymore. He was not going to do it. He was not…

Without realizing it, he had pulled his phone out of his pocket and had glanced at it before he could stop himself.

>>Hot thong, dude!<<

There was another buzz.

>>R boi luvs colorful thongs & jocks. Fruit!<<

Mike swallowed, momentarily distracted from his anger by the disturbing comments. Jocks? Thongs? Only fags wore such things. Not him. Even when he’d been on the baseball team, he’d never worn a jockstrap. All the guys wore tights with a protective cup. No one wore jockstraps anymore. He didn’t even own any; he’d never gone near them. Zoe had tried to get him to wear a thong once as a gag but he had flatly refused. He was wearing a pair of boxers like always. Lip curled, he tossed the phone down on the bench. 

Ha! he thought to himself, secretly pleased that he’d figured out what was going on. Zoe might have been able to sneak in and replace his clothes with smaller sizes while he was asleep but he remembered putting on his grey boxers that morning. There was no way he was wearing a thong; he would remember that. No way anyone could have fooled him into putting one on. No way. He looked over at Dave and gave him a cold look. Dave appeared not to notice; pretending to be busy pulling on his tank top.

Mike sneered. The fucker doesn’t know that I’m onto him, he thought, clenching his jaw. Dave wasn’t going to succeed in getting the better of Mike. Mike was going to show him. He was going to go up there and play basketball even if he felt like crap. Shit, even on his worst days, he could still kick Dave’s ass. He wasn’t going to let Zoe and Dave win. He would go up there and win. He still had his pride. He was still Mike Fucking Curtis!

Grimly, Mike returned to fighting with his zipper. His pants—or at least the pants that Zoe had slipped into his wardrobe without him realizing—were so tight that he had to peel them off and they stuck on his ass until he wrenched them down with great effort. The more he had to fight with them, the more disgusted he became. He had been betrayed and humiliated by his best friend and the woman he had once loved. How could they do this to him? Mike wrenched down on the pants, not caring when the zipper gave way and they ripped open. Fucking serves them right! He was not their stupid plaything. He was a fucking man. He was fucking better than both of them. He shoved the pants down, relishing his new-found sense of power. Mike was no idiot. He was so much bigger than this. He would not let them get to him again. He was done with this bullshit.

He bent over to pull his pants the rest of the way down his thighs when he heard a whistle behind him.

“Whoa, dude! Did you put on Zoe’s underwear by mistake this morning?” Dave’s voice was teasing. “And, shit, man. That’s some tattoo you got. I would never have guessed that you would go for something so…whimsical.”

This was followed by a few chuckles from guys changing on the benches around them. Mike felt his confidence waver. Huh? What was he talking about? He straightened up slowly. Zoe’s underwear? Tattoo? 

Was he imagining things or did he feel an unnatural breeze on his butt cheeks?

Holding his breath, he looked down. 

WHAT THE FUCK!?!

He was wearing a screaming pink thong.

Mike let out a strangled yelp, trying desperately to pull up his pants again. They got stuck on his thighs, though, and he lost his balance, pitching forward. He would have hit the bench if Dave hadn’t caught him.

“Easy, Mike,” Dave said as he hauled him back to his feet, winking. “At least they match. How did you find a thong in the same color as your tattoo?”

Mike stood there, shaking with rage. This was going too far. How the fuck had Dave and Zoe tricked him into getting a tattoo? And a pink thong? They must have given him that date rape drug and then done this to him while he was knocked out. That was just wrong. And illegal.

“I…” Mike started to say. He felt so humiliated. The guys were all staring at them. He was standing there, pants around knees, wearing a pink thong. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t. He…

Dave’s hand was still on his arm. Mike glared at him and batted his hand away, hard.

“Ow!” Dave exclaimed. “What is wrong with you, dude?”

“Fuck you, Dave!” Mike spat. “I’m not your fuckin’ dog toy. What did Zoe do to get you to do this? Did she fuck you?”

“Dog toy? Zoe? Huh?” Dave’s brow wrinkled as if he didn’t know what Mike was talking about but Mike wasn’t fooled.

Mike rolled his eyes, kicking off the shreds of his pants. They landed in a pile against the lockers. “Come on, Dave! I’m not dumb and this isn’t funny.”

Dave looked so bewildered that Mike laughed harshly. “You asshole, Dave. I thought you were a friend.”

Silence. A dark shadow seemed to fall between them as Mike stared defiantly at his friend. Belatedly, he realized he was clenching his fists and looked like he was about to throw a punch. The benches around them grew quiet. Mike forced himself to unclench his fists and crossed his arms. He fixed Dave with a cold stare. Dave blinked and then to Mike’s complete surprise, his friend busted out laughing.

“Good one, bro! You had me going there for sec!” Dave said, reaching over and slapping Mike hard on his bare ass. Mike yelped and rubbed his butt. “Now put these on and stop acting like a pussy,” he commanded, stuffing a wad clothes in Mike’s hands.

“I’m no pussy!” Mike hissed. God, Dave was such an asshole! Did he think he could order Mike around like a fucking slave? He was not a fucking child! Momentarily forgetting that he was wearing a hot pink thong, Mike bent over and jammed his feet into the leg holes of the shorts, pulling them up. (His shorts were white? He could have sworn they were a different color. What color had they been…?) The elastic in the shorts stretched as he pulled them on but they fit. They were really snug, though. And why were they made out of mesh? Mike looked down at them, brow wrinkling. The thong was clearly visible under the straining mesh. Wait a sec. These weren’t his gym shorts…

“You need a shirt, too,” Dave commented. “Or maybe a bra would be more like it.”

Mike’s head snapped up and spat, “Fuck you, Dave!” Nonetheless, he took the wadded up shirt that Dave had given him and pulled it on. It was tight but his pecs nestled into it after some effort. He didn’t remember having a tank that was robin’s egg blue…

“There. Now let’s go shoot some hoops. The guys are waiting.”

The usual group of guys were waiting for them when they got to the third floor. Mike was still so worked up and angry at Dave that he didn’t notice the strange looks they gave him. He marched over and, grabbing a basketball from the bench, whipped it at Dave’s head. His friend was caught off guard and barely managed to catch it before it hit him.

“Whoa, Mike! Easy!” Dave said, giving him an injured look.

“Prepare to get your fucking ass kicked, dude!” Mike spat.

Unfortunately for Mike, it was he who got his ass kicked. And slapped and pinched and taunted. His butt was the butt of constant joking throughout the game. The guys, especially the members of the rival team, were merciless. As soon as he stepped on the court, it was like his ass was the target, not the hoop. Mike realized too late what he looked like out there on the court, wearing a tiny pair of white shorts that were all but transparent, the preternaturally pink thong glowing underneath. And, fuck, the shorts were tight, making his ass feel huge. He was acutely aware of how it pushed against the flimsy fabric of his shorts, jiggling and bouncing with his every move.

To his undying embarrassment, every other guy on the court seemed to be just as aware of his big ass as he was. And they wouldn’t let him forget it.

Finally, after one of the guys came up behind him and slapped him hard on the butt, saying, “Ooh, dat ass!” it was the last straw. Mike threw down the ball and stalked off the court, grabbing his phone and heading out the door. His face was burning with humiliation. This had been a huge mistake. How the fuck would he ever be able to show his face at the gym again? He would be laughed off the court.

There was another comment waiting for him on the phone.

>>Basketball? Nope. Lil’ twink is too short<<

Mike stared at the message. Huh? Twink? Short? WTF?

He was puzzling over the comment when he suddenly felt lightheaded and grabbed onto the railing going down the stairs. In the process, he dropped his phone and watched helplessly as it clattered down, disappearing around the corner. Mike cursed and tried to go after it but his head was spinning. He stood there, clinging to the railing for a few seconds, seeing stars and trying to catch his breath. After a while, his head cleared somewhat and he started back down the stairs to rescue his phone. As he went to take a step, though, his foot came out of his shoe and he had to windmill his arms and grab onto the railing in order to catch his balance. 

Perplexed, he looked down to see if his laces had come untied but the shoe was fully laced. That’s weird, he thought, shoving his foot back in and finding the shoe roomier than expected. It was like it belonged to someone else. Someone else with big feet. He lifted up his other foot and that shoe fell off, too. Even his socks looked like they were too big for his feet.

Okay, Mike thought, What the fuck is going on here? Why were his shoes suddenly too big?

“You doing okay, kiddo?” he heard Dave ask behind him and he felt his shoulders slump. Dave was the last person he wanted to see right now.

When he didn’t answer, Dave came to stand next to him on the stairs. “You left the game in kind of a huff. You okay?”

Mike turned to snap at him when he realized with a sick feeling of vertigo that Dave was towering over him. What in the fucking hell? Mike had to grab onto the railing to steady himself again. Dave was taller than him? But how? Mike had always been the taller one, a good three inches taller. He looked down, just to be sure Dave wasn’t standing on a higher step. But he wasn’t. A cold feeling settled in Mike’s stomach as he realized he wasn’t imagining things. He was definitely shorter than Dave. By a lot.

Dave was staring down at him, a quizzical look in his eyes. Finally, he reached out and put a hand on Mike’s shoulder, saying gently, “Mikey, buddy, what’s wrong? You don’t look so good.”

Mike swallowed and worked his throat, trying to say something but all he could do is gape up at Dave. Dave was so big! He had to be at least six inches taller than Mike. He held up his hands and stared at them. They were thin. Almost delicate. They were the hands of a small guy. And, looking down, he saw that his body had changed, too. His waist had slimmed and his skin was smooth and supple. Somehow, his tank top had shrunk as well, exposing his midriff and bellybutton. The narrowness of his waist contrasted with his lower body. He couldn’t see his ass but he could feel its weight; clearly, it was still just as big as ever. And then there were his pecs! Shit, he had quite a rack! His pecs pushed up hard against the stretchy fabric of his tank, clearly outlining his nipples. Fuck, his tits could cut glass, he realized, shaking. Mike felt like weeping. He looked fucking ridiculous! He looked like a fucking…what? He didn’t let himself complete that thought. What the fuck had happened to him?

Dave grabbed him and shook him, saying, “Come on, man! What’s the matter? Talk to me!” 

When Mike still didn’t answer, Dave turned and said “Sorry,” to someone behind them before pulling Mike aside to allow the people who were lining up on the stairs to go by. He bent down and picked up Mike’s shoes; Mike’s feet had slipped out of them again. He offered them to him but Mike just stared. He couldn’t believe his good old shoes no longer fit his feet. He hung his head.

“Look, Mikey, I know you’re pissed about the game. It sucks that nobody passed you the ball or anything. But dude, what did you expect? You’re a head shorter than anyone else.”

Mike’s head hurt. None of this made sense. He wasn’t pissed that he wasn’t in the game enough, was he? He was pissed that everyone kept teasing him about his ass. He was a jock, for fuck’s sake! He was good at basketball!

Dave gave him a playful punch in the shoulder, and then ruffled his sweaty hair. “C’mon, Mikey. I told you going in that we just needed you so we’d have a full team. We couldn’t forfeit to the fucking Falcons, man. That’s why I twisted your arm so bad.”

And then, suddenly, Mike remembered that conversation. Back at the office. Dave talking him into playing, even though he knew he was too short for basketball. Don’t worry about it, Dave had said, just cover your man and try to stay out of my way. But—that just didn’t make sense!

They were still standing there like that when a woman walking up the stairs asked them, “Did one of you drop your phone?” Dave reached out and took it from her, saying thanks. Mike just stared at her uncomprehendingly.

Finally, Dave put his arm around Mike’s shoulder (his hands were huge!) and guided him down the stairs toward the locker room. Mike had trouble getting his legs to work as Dave steered him into the locker room and over to his locker. Mike stood there, dumbfounded. The bench was higher than it should have been, and the handle on the door of his locker was practically at eye level. This could not possibly be happening to him. This could not be real.

As if in a trance, he turned the dial on his combination lock, opening up his locker. His work clothes hung there in tatters. He had forgotten that they were so messed up, but he knew he couldn’t wear them back to the office. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Wearily, he closed his locker and leaned his forehead against the door. The cool metal felt good. He closed his eyes. Maybe this was all just a bizarre brain fart? Maybe when he opened his eyes, everything would be normal again?

He plopped down on the bench, head in his hands, trying desperately to ignore the fact that his feet didn’t quite touch the floor when he sat down. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. Everything seemed surreal.

Dave sat down next to him, his shoulder pressing against Mike’s. Mike was uncomfortably aware both of his friend’s absurd height, and the heat emanating from his body. He felt like he was sitting next to a giant. Dave sighed and put a friendly arm around him. Mike tried to pull away but Dave playfully tugged him back.

“Come on, kiddo! Let’s get ready and go eat.”

Mike didn’t reply. What was he supposed to say? Dully, he reopened the locker and stared at his shredded clothes inside.

Dave sighed. “Jesus, Mikey. Just wear what you’ve got on. You’ve got a change of clothes back at the office, right? We’re just going to the diner on the corner.”

The diner on the corner? That was always full of hipsters and fags? Why would they go there? Mike and Dave always joked with each other that Chris the office fag ate there every day, and there was no way they would ever go there. They didn’t want to eat in some gay hangout. No fucking way. Mike stared up at Dave. Was he joking?

His stomach growled loudly then and Dave smirked, getting up and pulling his clothes out of his locker. “See? I knew you were hungry. You’re always such a little bitch when you haven’t had anything to eat.” He slapped Mike on the butt again (why the hell couldn’t Dave keep his hands off him?) adding, “Chris just texted that he’s saving a table for us.”

Chris? Little gay Chris? Coffee boy Chris? Mike sighed loudly. Nothing made sense anymore. The whole world had gone to hell, taking his life with it. Why bother? He hunched over and tossed his worthless business clothes into his gym bag before doing his best to tie his shoes so they would stay on his feet. They looked so huge on him! He felt like he was wearing clown shoes. He slammed the locker door dramatically, but Dave was already striding confidently toward the door, looking smart and professional in his business suit. Mike slouched along behind him, feeling like a total freak.

Chris waved at them as they entered the diner. The place was packed with guys on their lunch hour. Dave called out and pushed through the crowd. Was it Mike’s imagination or were the guys leering at him as he walked by? Now that he was smaller, Mike felt exposed and vulnerable. He didn’t resist when Dave reached behind him and took his arm, leading him over to the table.

As they approached, Chris said brightly, “Hey, guys! The kitchen was slammed so I ordered for you already. I hope that’s okay.”

Mike did a double-take when he saw Chris. This was Chris the fucking coffee boy? He was…so grown up looking. Instead of his usual hipster garb, he was wearing a tailored grey suit and blue tie. Mike didn’t remember him being so built. Shit, the cut of his suit made it obvious that the guy was packed with muscles. Almost like Dave. His black hair was fashionably styled, swept back on top and buzzed on the sides. Even his beard looked fuller and thicker, even though it was closely trimmed. He’d taken off his glasses and Mike flushed as he realized that Chris’s tie really brought out the blue in his light hazel eyes.

Mike was just standing there awkwardly, feeling like a kid in his super tight shorts and cutoff tank. Chris smiled up at him as he stood there and patted the seat next to him. “Hey, Mikey! You look great. Did you have a good workout?”

Mike swallowed, nodding. He sat down and folded his hands in front of him on the table, looking straight ahead. He felt completely out of place. Dave laughed as he flopped down on the seat across from them. “Mikey’s all hurt because we didn’t let him shoot the ball enough,” he said, and then groaned theatrically. “Fuck, man! I’m starving!”

Dave and Chris immediately struck up a work-related conversation. Mike struggled to follow what they were saying. He felt like he should know what they were talking about. The words they used all sounded familiar, but none of it made sense. It was so technical and his brain was just so tired. They tried to engage him at first, but when he just stared at them blankly, they gave up. Soon enough, Mike was completely lost. He was starting to feel really bad about being so dumb when, inexplicably, Chris put his left hand on his leg.

He shifted, but Chris didn’t let go and instead pulled Mike’s leg a little closer to him. Soon, their thighs were touching. Mike turned to look at Chris, but he was still engrossed in conversation with Dave, completely ignoring him. Mike tried to move away but Chris gripped his leg, keeping him in place. Chris’s hand felt hot on his leg, and Mike felt his pulse begin to quicken. What was going on? 

The moments stretched on, as slowly – very, very slowly – Chris’s hand worked its way up his leg. Mike went rigid when he felt Chris’s fingers move under the fabric of his shorts. What the…? The guy was feeling him up! Soon, he was fondling Mike’s cock! Christ! Mike flinched but Chris had him. In a moment, he flushed as he felt his cock stiffen in his shorts, responding to Chris’s ministrations. He exhaled loudly, and Dave’s gaze momentarily flicked over to him. Chris kept on talking as if nothing unusual was happening, but his fingers had succeeded in liberating Mike’s cock from the thong and now closed around his shaft, gently jacking him.

Fuck! Shit! What the fuck was Chris doing to him? Mike knew he should resist. He wasn’t a fag! He wasn’t… But Christ, it felt so good. He blanched, and glanced nervously around the diner. What if someone saw them? The tables weren’t that private. His heart began to pound in his chest. Despite his panic, his dick continued to harden. He could feel it throb in Chris’s hand. Chris and Dave continued to prattle on about insurance stuff, as Mike’s breathing grew more rapid. Mike could see Chris’s member was tenting his slacks. Clearly, Chris was enjoying this as much as he was. 

Mike was in shock, feeling both horrified and incredibly aroused. He looked down and saw pre-come was staining the front of his shorts and his cheeks burned. Instead of pulling away, though, he slid down a little in the seat, allowing Chris to draw his cock from the thong until it pushed out the leg of his shorts. Mike’s cock was now on full display under the table, for anyone who cared to look! 

Nonchalantly, Chris took his finger and rubbed it around to smear it with Mike’s pre-come. Mike stifled a gasp as Chris worked it against his piss slit. Shit, that felt amazing! And it kind of hurt, too. He started to moan but caught himself. Shit, what the fuck was going on? Chris’s finger probed further into his piss slit, getting it nice and lubed up. Mike’s whole body tensed.

Shit!

Fuck!

Still talking animatedly as if nothing was going on under the table, Chris slid his hand around behind Mike, and started playing with the waistband of his thong, teasingly pulling it up so that the string rode up against his butthole. Mike tensed and moaned softly.

“You okay over there, Mikey?” Dave asked, eyebrow raised.

Chris turned to him with a questioning look while at the same time moving his hand further down Mike’s butt until his finger was poised over his butthole. Mike flushed and cleared his throat while Chris very slowly grazed his delicate pucker with a rough finger. 

Mike couldn’t think straight as Chris teased his tight little hole. Why was Chris doing this to him? And why the fuck was Mike letting him? He wasn’t gay! He didn’t like it! He didn’t even like Chris. And yet he was just sitting there, letting the office fag play with his butthole in the middle of a crowded restaurant.

Suddenly, Chris jammed his finger in, just a tiny bit, but that was enough to send Mike over the edge. He jumped in his seat and let out a high pitched squeal, before he was able to stifle it.

Dave snorted. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Mikey?”

 “Nothin’,” he squawked, his voice cracking. “Just hungry.” 

Chris smiled, wriggling his finger in Mike’s pucker, and shook his head.

Dave laughed. “Me, too!” he exclaimed. “I wish the food would hurry up and get here!”

Just then the waitress walked over to their table with their tray of food. She placed burgers in front of Dave and Chris. Mike just got a salad, but he was too worked up to worry about why the fuck Chris would have ordered him a salad. It took all his concentration not to moan like a bitch in heat as Chris fingered his hole.

Smoothly, Chris extricated his hand from Mike’s shorts while Mike hurriedly tried to slip his throbbing cock back in before the waitress saw it. Chris stood up, rubbing his fingers together and wrinkling his nose, “Guys,” he announced, “I better go wash my hands before I eat. They feel kinda dirty for some reason.” He winked down at Mike as he sauntered off to the restroom.

Part III

Mike fled the diner as quickly as possible after the check was paid. He hadn’t been too keen on Dave and Chris paying for his lunch. Until, that is, he saw how little cash he had in his wallet. He always had a couple hundred at least, but today there was only like—seven dollars! Where the fuck had he spent it all? But it was so strange. They just split the check between them without so much as a discussion about it. It was like they couldn’t even imagine that Mike might want to pay his own way.

As they walked out, Chris’s hand still firmly on his butt, Mike had finally had enough. He told Dave and Chris that he was going to take the rest of the day off, and dashed off toward the parking garage. He had to get out of there. He just needed to go back to his condo and go to bed. This whole day had to be a freaky nightmare. There was no way it could be real. When he woke up, everything would be back to normal.

Yeah, that was it; he just needed to sleep.

The string from the fucking pink thong he was wearing rubbed painfully against his sensitive butthole, and his short, beefy legs made walking difficult. He was sweating after a only couple of blocks, and out of breath by the time he reached the parking lot. Fuck! That wasn’t right. He should be able to walk a mile without breaking a sweat. What was wrong with him?

He was nearly to his car when he remembered that he’d left his keys on his desk at the office. He stopped and cursed loudly. He just wanted to get home! He couldn’t show himself at work looking like this! He would be laughed out of there! Shit shit shit shit shit! He briefly contemplated walking home but that would take hours, and he was already exhausted from the short walk over from the diner. He had no choice but to go back to the office.

Shit, what did he have to lose? Mr. Bennett was probably getting ready to fire him anyway. His life in the insurance business was over. He felt a sense of doom descend upon him as he trudged back to the building.

People stared at him on the sidewalk when he walked by. He tried to ignore them but some of the business guys smirked openly and one guy even grabbed his ass. Mike slapped the man’s hand but the fucker just leered at him. “Nice ass!” the dude commented as he walked away. Mike flipped him off.

The door woman at his office building gave him a funny look when he walked up, acting like she wasn’t sure whether to open the door for him or not. He slunk inside and was standing in front of the elevator when he realized that he could take the back stairs up. It was a slim hope, but there was a chance he might slip in and out of the office undetected.

Please, please, please, let Mr. Bennett be out, he prayed as he opened the door and made his way up the stairs. The stairway smelled like smoke and stale beer, making Mike’s stomach turn. He’d been so freaking worked up by Chris’s bold advances that he had gorged on his salad at lunch and felt slightly ill, even though he couldn’t imagine being so full from just a salad. He was huffing and puffing by the time he reached the fourth floor, and the thong string was driving him nuts. Shit, his legs felt like they were made of lead or something. He purposely refused to look down at them; he couldn’t stand seeing his massive thighs encased in the transparent shorts. His hand was poised on the doorknob when he heard the fateful sound.

He stopped, heart in his mouth. His phone had just buzzed with another message. Mike fought for control. He would not look at it. He would not look at it. He would not…

He looked at it. The message didn’t make any sense. All it said was:

>>Coffee boy<<

The door opened and Mike stumbled inside. For once that day, fate had smiled upon him: Mr. Bennett’s door was closed and most of the staff appeared to be in meetings. Feeling a bit more confident, Mike reached up and opened the door to his office. He quickly stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.

Dave and Chris looked up at him, seemingly in the middle of some big project. Mike froze. Chris was sitting at his fucking desk!

“What the…?” he started to say but the words got stuck in the back of his throat.

“Mikey?” Chris asked, a sly smile on his face. “I thought you said you were going home for the day?”

Mike swallowed, his mouth dry. What was Chris doing at his desk in his office? What the hell was going on? Chris was the coffee boy, for fuck’s sake! Not a sales executive like Mike. Why the fuck would Dave want Chris to help him with a proposal? That was Mike’s fucking job!

“You okay, Mikey?” Chris asked, standing up and walking over to him. Was it Mike’s imagination or did Chris move as if he were stalking prey? There was something undeniably predatory about the way he moved and Mike shivered, inadvertently clenching his butt and retreating a step. What had happened to Chris the office fag?

He swallowed and Chris stopped, looming over him. Barely three inches separated them.

“Mikey? You doing okay?”

Mike was getting so fucking tired of being asked that. He pulled himself up to his full height (which was still only up to the middle of Chris’s chest) and spoke as confidently as he could. “I’m fine. I guess,” he said. Then, turning to his friend and ignoring Chris, “So, uh… do you, like – need me to do anything, Dave? I mean for your, uh… whatchamacallit. Ya’ know – proposal?”

Dave looked up from his work for the first time since Mike entered. He raised an eyebrow, and then smiled dismissively. “That’s okay, kiddo. I think Chris and I got it covered.”

“But I can, like – help and stuff maybe…”

Dave shook his head. “I said we got it, okay? Besides, I’m sure you have loads of really important shit to do already…” Then he turned back to his work.

Mike felt stung. He couldn’t believe Dave would want Chris’s help but not his. What the fuck was going on? He turned to Chris. “Um, please?”

Chris’s brow furrowed. “Yeah. Okay. I guess maybe you can collate the reports…” Chris stood up and walked Mikey over to the work table, where there were piles of papers. “See. You just have to put these papers all in order. Now there should be fifteen copies of each, so you’ll end up with fifteen piles in the end. And they each have a sheet number on the bottom so you shouldn’t have any trouble keeping them in order, okay?”

Mike nodded, and started working eagerly, sorting the papers into various piles. He was glad Chris let him help, finally. But still, everything seemed so fucked up. Chris – Chris the fucking office fag – was helping Dave on an important proposal. And he was being so patronizing to Mike. Giving him such a menial task to do when he should have been working on the document with Dave. Talking to him like he was some sort of idiot. And then making him work at the side table while Chris was sitting at Mike’s own desk. I mean, what the fuck? He was a Notre Dame grad, for fuck’s sake. And here they were treating him like…

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Mike jumped. Dave was standing behind him, looking down over his shoulder at the papers on the table. “I-I-I’m, uh—I was just sorting…”

“You’ve got them all out of order, you idiot,” Dave raged. “Can’t you do fucking anything right?”

Mike was shaking. Terrified. He’d never seen Dave so mad. And then Chris was there standing between them. “Sorry, Dave,” he said. “It’s my fault. I asked him to do it. I know I should have kept an eye on him, but he was only trying to help…”

Dave rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay. No problem.” He turned to Mike. “Look, we have to get this proposal done, so just… Can you just get the fuck out of here and let us finish in peace? If you want to make yourself useful, then go get us some fucking coffee.”

Mike bolted out of the office in a tizzy – scared and hurt and confused. He couldn’t believe Dave would treat him like that. Like he was just some office flunky. And at the same time, what was up between him and Chris? God, his brain was so tired!

He went to the kitchen, but of course there wasn’t any coffee made. Fucking coffee fag… Mike froze. Wait a second – Chris was the office fag, wasn’t he? But then again, that didn’t make sense either. Chris was tall and smart and… Mike just didn’t get it. Either way, he didn’t want to get Dave any madder at him than he already was, so he just went ahead and made a damned pot of coffee.

While he was standing there waiting, the new sales associate popped his head in. Mike couldn’t remember what the kid’s name even was. Eric somebody? Stensland? “Oh there you are,” he said cheerily. “Good. I’m meeting with the guys from Henrico in like ten minutes. Can you set me up with coffee and shit for—oh, let’s say a dozen people? In the North Conference Room, okay?” And then he was gone, without even waiting for a response.

Who the fuck does this kid think he is, Mike thought, telling me what to do? And why is he meeting with my clients anyway? But he really didn’t need any more trouble, and he was standing there already making the coffee for Dave and Chris, so he just started another pot. I mean, why the fuck not, right?

While the second pot was brewing, he ran back to his office with Dave and Chris’s coffee. Dave grunted a thanks and took a sip. He spit it back into the cup. “Jesus, Mikey” he snapped. “One fucking Splenda, okay? The yellow one. You know that…” He handed the cup back, and Mike stammered an apology as he ran back to the kitchen. Fuck, he thought, what’s wrong with me today? I know Dave doesn’t take sugar… So, he fixed Dave a fresh cup, ran it back to him in his office, and then rushed back to the kitchen to set up the coffee for the Henrico meeting. But, of course, he got there ten minutes late, and the meeting had already started. Mike felt like an idiot walking into the middle of the meeting pushing the coffee cart, when Henrico was… Shit – weren’t they supposed to be his account? That Eric kid was running the meeting, and stopped talking and just glared at Mike while he set up the coffee. Mike’s cheeks burned with humiliation as he slinked out of the room.

In the meantime, Mike was continually getting sidetracked by people asking him for stuff. “Hey Mikey, can you go grab me the Pendergast file from Doreen?” or “Mikey, be a doll and drop this off for Mr. Bennett.” or “Yo, Mikey – can you bring me some of those little square Post-Its from the supply room?” And before he knew it, he had been running around like that for half the afternoon. And he wondered, why the hell is everyone treating me like the fucking office boy? But there was something even stranger going on. Inside him. Something that made him want to do what they said. Made him need to comply with their requests. Made him obey.

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and groaned. Not again. Not with all the running around he was doing. But he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stop himself.

>>Who’s the fucking office fag now? LOL<<

What the fuck? Mike thought. That made zero sense. That was so far fucking off base that…

“Mikey?”

Mike looked up. Mr. Bennett’s secretary was standing in front of him. “The boss wants to see you,” she said. “But you’d better not go in dressed like that. You know how Mr. Bennett can be.”

Mike looked down at himself, and was shocked to realize that he had been running around the office all this time wearing his gym clothes. No wonder everyone had been treating him so weird! But what the hell was he supposed to do? “My work stuff got messed up at the gym…” he offered meekly.

The secretary smiled and said, “But you have a spare outfit here at the office, right? Just in case of a ‘coffee emergency?’ Don’t you keep it in there, honey?” She pointed at the small closet in the corner of the room.

Mike looked in, and sure enough, there were a pair of khakis and a polo shirt, fresh in their dry cleaning bag, hanging from a hook on the back of the door. Not his regular suit and tie, but at least it’s an improvement over the tank top and mesh shorts. He thanked her and told her he’d be right there, and then ran to the men’s room and quickly dressed. The khakis were fine – a little tighter than he was used to, but no big deal. The shirt was totally wrong, though. It had “Bennett Insurance” printed over his heart, and he would never wear anything like that, even on ‘Casual Friday.’ And it was tight, and so short that whenever he bent over or reached up or did practically anything, it pulled up exposing his navel and his asscrack. And the top of his pink thong. He knew he would have to be careful when he was in with Mr. Bennett.

Mike was nervous and scared when he timidly knocked on Mr. Bennett’s door. He wondered if this was about the mess he had made of his presentation that morning (God that seemed like forever ago!). Or maybe messing up Dave and Chris’s proposal. Or interrupting the Henrico meeting. Or maybe just doing such a shitty job at everything all afternoon. The boss was talking on the phone, and Mike stood there in front of the huge mahogany desk for what seemed like hours, nervously tugging his shirt down to cover his belly.

Finally Mr. Bennett finished his call, but before he had a chance to say anything, Mike jumped in. “Mr. Bennett, s-s-sir? I’m really sorry about, uh, messing up my p-p-presentation this morning. I was just so nervous about t-t-talking in front of all those people and I, uh…”

“Nonsense, Mikey. It wasn’t all that bad, I suppose. Certainly no worse than I expected. But I think it’s terrific that you even tried. If you want to succeed in this life, you have to push the envelope a bit. What is it they say? A man’s grasp should exceed his reach?”

Mikey couldn’t believe that Mr. Bennett was being so nice. And yet somehow, it stung. He was being so patronizing. He gulped and nodded. “I, uh—I want to do good and all, s-s-sir. And I’m happy to, ya’ know, do whatever…”

Mr. Bennett smiled grandly, “I’m so glad to hear that, my boy. I’ve been hearing good things about you from the staff, especially from Dave and Chris. They seem to think the world of you, and Chris tells me that you’ve even been trying to help them out with their work. Albeit with mixed results.” He chuckled at that, and Mike fidgeted nervously. He couldn’t believe Chris had told Mr. Bennett about that already. “But never you mind, Mikey. I like a young man who wants to better himself. To pick himself up by his own bootstraps and try to make something of himself. I’ll be keeping an eye on you from now on, my boy. That’s a promise.”

Mikey blushed. Mr. Bennett was talking down to him like he was some dumb kid, not one of his ace salesmen. Not a college graduate with a business degree from Notre Dame. And yet, he was overcome with a strange feeling of pride. It just didn’t make any sense. “Th-th-thank you, s-s-sir.”

“Very well. There is something else I need to talk to you about. Something I’d like you to help me out with.”

Finally, Mike thought. Finally, something good was happening. He’d been waiting for Mr. Bennett to bring him in on one of his accounts forever. “N-n-no problem, sir…”

“Now, it’s a little outside of your normal duties. You see, my anniversary is next week, and I want to give Mrs. Bennett something special this year. I’m not very good at this sort of thing, but—er, you people… I mean to say, people like you… That is, I’m told, young man, that you have something of an eye for style. A knack for it, if you will. Or so all the ladies around here seem to think. In any case, I was hoping you would be able to help me pick something out for her. From Caldwell’s? Some piece of—‘bling,’ do you call it? Nothing to flashy, mind you. But something stylish and modern and well, special…”

Mike stumbled down the hall, head down, shoulders slumped. His boss had just asked him to go jewelry shopping for his wife. Of all fucking things. What was going on in the world? He was a graduate of the University of Fucking Notre Dame, for fucks sake! Not some idiot office boy! Not some fag who could…

Mike stopped outside his office. The names on the door were wrong. The plaque read “David Hunt, VP Sales” and “Christopher Matthews, Sales Executive.” Christopher Matthews? What was Chris’s name doing on Mike’s door? Chris was the office fag, not a sales executive! Was this some kind of stupid joke that Dave and Chris had cooked up after lunch? The plaque looked pretty convincing, though. If it was a joke, they had been planning it for a while. As if in slow motion, Mike pushed open the door.

No one was around, so Mike sat down heavily in his chair. Chris must have adjusted the settings, because he felt like a little kid sitting in a grownup’s chair. The arms were too low, and his feet dangled above the floor. He also noticed that there was a bunch of Chris’s stuff all over the desk. Photos and other personal stuff. And piles of work stuff in Chris’s handwriting, and with his name on it. He felt a jolt of annoyance. It was one thing for them to play with the sign on the door as some kind of joke, but to mess around with his desk just wasn’t cool. He was going to really let them have it when he saw them.

He tried to log onto his computer to check his email, but his logon kept getting rejected. What the fuck? he thought. They better not have messed with my computer too. That is way over the…

“Dude – what are you doing at my computer?”

Mike looked up. Confused. Nervous. Chris stood there, frowning down at him. “I-I-I was just trying to check my—your computer?”

Chris crossed his arms across his muscular chest. “Yeah, Mikey. My computer. My desk. My office.”

Mike’s head was spinning. “But-but-but…”

Chris stood there glaring at Mike. “No buts, little guy. I don’t have a problem letting you check your email on my computer when I’m here, but you shouldn’t even be in here when Dave and I aren’t around. Much less fooling around with my computer. I like you and all, but that doesn’t get you any special treatment around here.”

Mike felt smaller than ever as he stood up from Chris’s desk, shoulders hunched, head down. “S-s-sorry, Chris.”

“It’s not a big deal, Mikey. But don’t let it happen again. Understood?”

Mike nodded meekly, and shuffled toward the door. “Yessir…”

“Aw, c’mon, Mikey. Don’t be so formal. We’re still buddies.” Chris squeezed his shoulder as he passed him. “No hard feelings?”

Mike blushed and shook his head ‘no.’

“Cool.” Chris smiled and ruffled Mike’s hair. “Listen, I’ll talk to Bennett and see if maybe I can get him to set you up with one of the old desktop PCs. No reason you shouldn’t be able to check email at your own desk.”

“My desk?” Mike asked dumbly.

“Yeah. Down the hall.” Chris pointed casually over his shoulder with his thumb.

Mike’s mouth was hanging open. He looked up at Chris and back at his desk. Chris smiled before glancing at his watch. “Sorry, man! I have a meeting with Mr. Bennett in a few. I’ve got to get my sales projections finished.” He turned, patted Mike fondly on the ass, and sat down at the desk. Squinting at his screen, he began typing furiously. “You better get back to work now, Mikey, and shut the door on your way out. Oh, can you grab me a bottle of water, too? Thanks, buddy…”

Mike walked numbly down the hall to get Chris his water. He could have sworn that was his office. His desk. But now that seemed wrong. Everything was so mixed up in his head.

And then, right in front of him, there it was. The small desk pushed up against the wall at the end of the hall, right there between the kitchen and the supply room. How had he not seen it before? His keys were there, right on top. And all of his other stuff, too. Only, it seemed different than he remembered it. Sort of. Photos of him in his softball uniform. A little baseball player teddy bear (he remembered one of the secretaries giving it to him). A small rainbow flag. And a cardboard placard with his name printed on it. “Mike Curtis.”

It was his desk, he realized. But there was no computer or phone on it. No files or important looking papers. It wasn’t the desk of a sales executive. It was…

“Hey Mikey!” It was that new sales associate again. The one who had the Henrico meeting earlier. “We’re all done in the North Conference Room.”

Mike stared back at him. “I—okay?”

“So I need you to clean up after the meeting. Get all the coffee and shit out of there.”

Mike nodded, biting his lip. “Because—because I’m the coffee boy?” he asked, his voice quavering.

“No, dumbass. Because you’re the fucking Pope. Now move it!”

Mike gulped for air. He felt dizzy. “Yes, Mr. Stensland. Right away, s-s-sir…”

Mike stumbled into the kitchen, and grabbed his cart. He was halfway down the hall when he remembered Chris’s water, so he dashed back for that, nearly tripping over his own feet. Dammit! he thought, I need to quit fucking up all the time… So, he was the coffee boy. He knew that now. Only it didn’t feel right to him somehow. Like how he kept thinking that he was supposed to be a sales associate like Mr. Stensland. Or wait. Wasn’t he a sales executive? Nah, that was just crazy. He wasn’t nearly as smart as Chris…

Chris. There was something fucked up about him, too. Sort of. Mike could remember always thinking of Chris as the office fag. Only he knew that wasn’t right. Chris wasn’t the office fag. No way. He was a sales exec. He was Dave’s right-hand-man. He couldn’t be the office fag, because… Well, because Mike was.

Mike left work at 4 o’clock. That’s when all the admin staff got done. He walked out of the office in a daze. Everything was all twisted up in his head, and he didn’t know what to believe anymore. He felt like he had started out the day as a big deal, and now he was nothing but the fucking coffee boy. Running errands for associates that he’d helped bring into the firm. Bringing coffee to meetings with his fucking accounts! He just couldn’t understand how things got so fucked up.

He walked across the parking lot and up to some junky old Honda. He stood there staring at it, dumbfounded. A crappy old CR-V! And it had all these gay bumper stickers and shit. Equal signs and pink triangles and rainbows. This was his car. Fuck! Didn’t he have a BMW? Yeah right, he thought. Like I could ever afford a BMW.

The ride back to his condo was a blur. Mike was only vaguely aware that he had to adjust the seat as far forward as it would go and that his feet felt funny on the pedals. He was too worked up to pay much attention. It took everything he had to just to keep his crummy ride on the road.

He stumbled up the stairs to his place and fought to steady his hand so he could get the key in the lock. He half expected to walk into his condo and find someone else living there. At this point, it wouldn’t have surprised him.

Mike threw down his gym bag and keys when he entered. He locked the door behind him and, for good measure, put the safety chain across the door. No one could get in. He was finally safe. And finally alone.

He stood there, chest heaving. Everything seemed to be normal inside. Sure, his perspective was skewed (it was like he was looking at everything standing on his knees) but it looked just like his condo was supposed to. Sort of. He couldn’t really say what was different about it, though, just sort of a weird vibe. But it was close enough. Part of him felt like collapsing on the floor in tears, and part of him just ached to go to sleep. He was so tired. His body felt drained of life. His whole life felt drained of…everything. He hardly even knew himself anymore. He teetered down the hall to his bedroom and collapsed on the bed (well, “climbed up on the bed” was more like it), not bothering to get undressed. He dropped his khakis, but didn’t even have the energy to pull off the skintight polo shirt and horrendous pink thong. He just wanted to die. And failing that, sleep was the next best thing.

He awoke when the sun was getting low and streaming in his bedroom window. He rolled over and stretched, momentarily forgetting everything that had happened to him. He reached for his phone, lying beside him on the bed, and checked for message. Two had come through while he was sleeping.

>>Fag? Shit, the dude’s a total slut LOL<<

>>Yah! Cock Slut!!!<<

Fucking Zoe, he thought. Bitch posted those pics fucking yesterday and he was still getting comments! Then he noticed something. He wasn’t in his bedroom after all. He was in his den. Only it wasn’t his den. Gone were the desk and couch and flat screen TV. In their place there was a single bed and dresser. And all of his stuff, of course, only that was all different now too. But he knew it was his. He knew that this was his bedroom now. And then he saw the pictures on the wall. There were black and white photos of naked guys everywhere. And not just any naked guys but really buff, muscled guys. And the walls were painted lavender. He sat up in bed and stared. Lavender? He fucking hated lavender! Even though, he had to admit, it did look kind of pretty now that he thought about it.

Then he remembered his horrible day and buried his face in his hands. “God. Oh, god. Oh, god,” he said over and over. What was going on?

Heart pounding in his chest, he pulled his hands away from his face and stared at them. Yep, they were still small and slender with just the barest trace of his old callouses. They looked almost like a boy’s hands. And why was he wearing his baseball uniform?

Wait, was that his baseball uniform? It looked weird. It felt weird. Breathless, he got up from the bed and looked down at himself. Yes, it was a baseball uniform, but not his baseball uniform. Not the one he remembered from college. His college uniform had been loose fitting. The fabric sort of rough. This one was almost skin tight, hugging him across the chest and ass. His cup was clearly outlined in the front, too. And it was silky, satiny smooth. Like lingerie almost. And the color. The color! There was no way his uniform was supposed to be striped lime green and white!

And why the fuck was “Catcher” emblazoned on the front of his jersey? Mike wasn’t a catcher! He was a pitcher! He’d never played catcher in his life. Catchers were losers.

The restful feeling from just moments ago vanished as he descended back into the nightmare that had been his reality ever since fucking Zoe had posted those fucking pictures on that fucking site. How was any of this possible? Was she a fucking witch? No one could change reality. No one could…

Shaking, he padded over to his mirror and gaped at his reflection, struggling to recognize himself in the—the man boy staring back at him. Only his brown eyes were the same, everything else had shifted or changed. How was this fucking even possible?

The kid staring back at him from the mirror couldn’t be more nineteen years old. His round face and big eyes made him look young and naïve, and his small stature didn’t help. Gone were his rugged good looks; his formerly chiseled features had softened, and he realized with a shiver that he was merely cute. A cute kid with big, brown eyes, full lips, and spikey, bleached-blond hair poking out from under the bright lime green baseball cap on his head. But there was something else about his face that he didn’t like. Something was off.

Maybe it was the patchy scruff on the tip of his chin and above his lip. Or maybe it was…

“What in the fucking hell?” he said out loud, startling himself for a moment. Why were his ears gauged? He reached up and felt his lobes. There were half-inch plugs in both ears.

Shit! He swallowed and stared. Then something else caught his eye. There were marks on his arms where the uniform had slid down his wrists. What was that?

He held up his arm, pulling back on the sleeves. They were tight and didn’t give much but they didn’t need to. Under the sleeves of his jersey were, shit, more sleeves! Only these sleeves were permanent. Rainbows were tattooed on both wrists. Gay rainbow swirls that extended up his arms further than he could see.

Fuck!

In a panic, Mike popped open his jersey, exposing his hairless chest, and immediately forgot about the tattoos covering his arms. His pecs were HUGE. Obscenely so. His pecs were so massive and pumped up that they couldn’t possibly be real. They almost looked… fake.

No.

Wait.

He cupped them in his shaking hands. Shit, they were fucking massive! Not wanting to, but feeling helpless to stop himself, he squeezed them and cursed. He suppressed a shudder of revulsion. When squeezed, he could tell that there was something under his skin. Feeling both a sinking dread and a burning curiosity, he hesitatingly probed under his soft, pliable skin. What was that? What…?

There was something hard under there. It was like a plate or something. He probed at it again with his shaking fingers. The plates under his skin were rigid and thick, formed to fit over his pec muscles. He was right: They weren’t real.

Shit!

He had fucking pec implants! I mean, fuck! Was he the sort of person that would actually do something like that? No. Totally not. Never in a million years. And yet, there they were. Bigger than life.

Mike warred with himself, wanting simultaneously to cover his freakish pecs, and fondle them. The desire to fondle them won out and he stood there, moving them up and down in his hands (the fuckers were so big that his hands could barely hold them!), both appalled and captivated by their freaky size. He let his hands fall and watched them sag heavily downward, his puffy nipples pointing down at the floor.

He had the biggest fucking pecs he’d ever seen on a guy. The implants caused them to swell beyond the normal bounds of decency. Even his nipples looked swollen. He lifted one and then quivered when a shot of pure pleasure rocketed down this spine, electrifying his crotch.

Whoa, sensitive!

His nipples had never been that sensitive before! And they were all puffed out; the dark brown areolas were huge. There was no way his tits were that big. No way. He squeezed his nipples lightly. Another blast of pleasure rushed through his body and he cried out, both in ecstasy and horror. “Fuck.” The nipples were all him. He had a fucking pair of bitch tits. “Fuck!”

He went to bury his face in his hands but froze. He noticed something else.

What now? What the fuck else could possibly go wrong with him? As if he wasn’t a big enough freak already?

Helplessly, he looked down at himself.

There was something on his belly that he’d missed because his freaky pecs pushed out so far. Stomach sinking, he pushed his huge tits out of the way and stared at himself.

“Cock Slut” arced in bold, rainbow-colored letters over his smooth, hairless belly.

“FUCK!” he yelled, not caring if his neighbors heard. Frantically, he rubbed his hands over the fruity, neon-bright lettering on his soft, smooth belly in a vain attempt to wipe off the ink.

“FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!”

It didn’t work.

His skin was permanently tattooed, labeling him forever. Labeling him a fucking “Cock Slut” forever!

No!

Not forever, he reminded himself, somewhat desperately. He’d heard that you could have tattoos removed with laser treatments!

Yeah, that’s it! I’ll get them removed! he thought. I’ll pay whatever it takes to get them removed!

But.

That meant that he would have to go to a clinic and expose the humiliating tattoos to the staff who worked there. His ears burned as stared down at the flamboyant lettering. Shit, it would take fucking hours to burn away the hideous tattoos! There were so many different colors! And he vaguely remembered that some colors took even longer to burn away. Shit, it would cost thousands of dollars. And many, many visits.

And then he remembered his sleeved wrists, and the pink butterfly tramp stamp over his ass.

Shit shit shit shit shit…

It was going to take forever to get these fucking tattoos removed! And cost a fortune! And he didn’t make shit at the insurance company! Christ, how many extra shifts was he going to have to take on down at the club?

He collapsed back on the bed, defeated, only to jump back up again in surprise.

Something was wrong with his ass! He went to grab his butt cheeks but then stopped himself, panting. He didn’t want to touch himself. He couldn’t take one more thing right now. When he’d sat down, it felt like he was sitting on something foreign, something that wasn’t part of him. Something…

Mike couldn’t stop shaking. This was too much. He couldn’t take this. He fucking couldn’t take any more. His brain and every other part of him rebelled against the waves of changes that were washing over him. There almost wasn’t anything of his old self that he recognized. He was becoming a completely different person.

A freak.

That is what he had become.

A fucking freak.

Wait, what was that?

Panicking, Mike realized that there was someone at the front door of his condo. He could hear keys jingling and then the unmistakable sound of the lock turning.

Shit! Who the fuck was that? The building manager? No one had keys to his condo, not even Zoe!

He slammed the bedroom door shut as the door opened. There was a surprised grunt followed by a shout.

“Hey, Mikey! Why’d you lock us out? Are you doing something naughty in there?”

It was Dave. Why did Dave have a key to his condo?

He cracked open the bedroom door, yelling, “Go away, Dave! I don’t want to see anybody.”

Dave chuckled, a rich throaty sound. “C’mon, man! Open the goddamned door. You can’t lock me out of my own condo!”

His own condo? What the fuck was he talking about? This was Mike’s condo!

“Leave me alone, Dave!”

“Yo, Mikey!” Wait, that was Chris. What was Chris doing here? “I know you’re mad at mean old Dave for yelling at you today, but don’t take it out on me, too. Let us in, little buddy!”

Mike was silent. His head was spinning. Dave and Chris…lived with him? What…?

“Come on, man! Open up!” Dave yelled again, losing patience. “This is bullshit.”

Mike cowered in his bedroom, trying to figure out what to do. He couldn’t go out there looking like…this. He couldn’t.

Just then, his phone vibrated on the dresser. Before he could stop himself, he looked at it.

>>Our ball boy has a short bat. LOL<<

Ball boy? Short…bat? What…?

Mike felt a sickening tingling in his groin. Ouch! Fuck, it hurt! It felt like his cock did when he jumped into really cold water. He grabbed at his cup but couldn’t feel anything under the rigid plastic except his balls. Shit, they were really swollen, though. They were pushing so hard against the cup that they threatened to come out the sides. As he stood there, his nuts pulsed and swelled even more. At the same time his dick felt like it was encased in ice, it was so tight.

Huh?

Dave pounded again, even louder.

“Mikey! I’m going to fucking bust down this door if you don’t let us in now.”

Reluctantly, Mike snapped the buttons on his “uniform” closed, covering his freaky pecs and the majority of his gay-ass tattoos and trudged awkwardly out of the bedroom, adjusting his nuts in his cup and feeling his cheeks burn in humiliation. He felt totally ridiculous.

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to let them see him like this, but they clearly were not going to leave. He crept up to the door. Dave’s foot was stuck in the crack and the chain was threatening to pop off. Mike stood on his toes and tried to look through the peephole, but it was too high. Damn I’m short, he thought.

Mike didn’t want to show himself through the opening. He didn’t want Dave and Chris to see him like this. But what choice did he have? Fuck! He leaned against the door to steady himself, and peered through the crack. Dave and Chris were standing there, looking mildly perturbed. They were both dressed in their running clothes and looked sweaty. Chris was holding a pizza, and a Dave had a couple of six-packs of Mike’s favorite beer. Mike scowled at them and pushed against the door, closing it on Dave’s foot.

“Ow!” Dave exclaimed. “Not cool, dude!  C’mon, Mikey. I’m sorry for losing my cool with you today, okay? I was under a lot of stress to get that proposal out, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Look,” he said, holding up the six-packs, “I brought you a peace offering. So just open the door and let us in.”

“Fuck you,” Mike spat, still pushing against the door. “Just leave me alone!”

 “Sorry, bro,” Dave spoke up. “No way.” He stepped back, his foot disappearing from the crack in the door. Mike was about to shut the door and lock it again, when Dave threw his shoulder against it. Not hard, but with all his muscular bulk it was enough. The chain popped off and Mike sprang back as Dave fell through the door. Chris stepped in behind him as Mike swore at both of them.

“What the fuck? Get out of here!” he shouted, holding his hands instinctively in front of his crotch, hoping his neighbors would hear and call the police.

Dave stood up, panting, and moved closer. He stood there, inches away, and Mike could feel the heat emanating from his body. It made him feel uncomfortable; he started to back away.

“Sorry, dude, but you can’t lock us out of our own condo,” Dave said, moving even closer. “Why are you acting so weird, anyway?”

Mike didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say. His friends (and he still couldn’t believe that he now considered Chris to be his friend) had just broken down the door to his condo, and now they were telling him that it was theirs. Why was everything so fucked up?

 “And why are you wearing that?” Dave asked, his eyes lighting up mischievously as he took in Mike’s get up. “You aren’t working at the club tonight, are you? I was hoping you had the night off.” He paused before grinning, “Or were you trying it on just for fun?”

Mike swallowed uncomfortably. Club? Fuck, did he have a shift tonight? He wasn’t sure. Then again, he wasn’t even sure what the fuck the club was. He felt like he was getting another headache. Dave was leering down at him, and he took another step backward. But Dave only stepped closer again. The space between them dwindled as he stared up at Dave, feeling very small next to his friend’s towering bulk. He was taking another step back when Dave surprised him by reaching out and pulling him into a tickling hug.

“You know I can’t resist you when you’re wearing your costume,” he said, laughing. Mike struggled to get away but Dave had him; he was pressed firmly against the bigger man’s body. Dave’s heady scent filled his nostrils and his sweat soaked through Mike’s baseball outfit. Dave was holding his face against his heaving chest, refusing to let loose. Mike could hear his friend’s heart beating through his sternum.

“Hey!” Chris complained, stepping in to grab Mike from behind. “No fair hogging him all to yourself!” Mike blanched as he felt Chris’s member press against the small of his back. As he gasped for air, Chris started rubbing himself up and down against Mike’s body. In moments, Mike felt his cock get hard in his cup. Was it his imagination or did it feel different somehow? Like it should be straining uncomfortably against his cup. But it wasn’t. There wasn’t the pressure down there that he was used to. Not that he made a habit of getting hard in his cup…

He struggled and finally worked free enough to complain. “Hey, guys! Stop it! Let me go!”

Reluctantly, Dave and Chris relaxed their holds and stepped away. Their faces were flushed and their eyes were on fire with…with something that Mike found profoundly unsettling. No man had ever looked at him like that. It was the same look Dave got when he talked about fucking Madison. Or Anne. The look he used to get himself when he was thinking about Zoe

With great effort, Mike managed to catch his breath. “What is going on here? Why are you both acting like this?”

Dave gave him a bemused smile, reaching up and scratching his chin. “What do you mean, Mikey? We do this shit all the time. Why the hell do you think we let you move in with us?”

Mike stared at him, bewildered. “Let me move in? What the fuck are you talking about, Dave? This is my condo!” He motioned expansively. Both Dave and Chris stared at him.

There was a long silence.

“Um, you know I hate to bring this up,” Chris said finally. “Because we’re friends and all. I mean, it was supposed to be temporary when we let you move in. You know, after you got kicked out of your last place. And we totally want you to feel at home here and all. But – well, you don’t even pay rent, dude. So if you’re going to be our houseboy, Mikey, you gotta know your place around here.”

Mike’s jaw dropped. He felt like the bottom had dropped out of his world. How could that fucking be? How could this be happening? “Houseboy?” he whispered.

Dave and Chris both had sympathetic expressions on their faces. Chris stepped up to Mike and put his arm around his shoulder. “You know we don’t think of you that way. You’re our friend, Mikey, and we love having you here. Fuck, we wouldn’t keep loaning you money all the time if we didn’t. But you’re acting so weird today, and—dude, you can’t fucking lock us out of our own place. Got it?”

Mike dropped his head and nodded. “I-I-I…” he stammered.

Before Mike could finish, though, Dave interrupted. “Forget it. Come on, guys. The pizza’s getting cold, and the game started five minutes ago. Let’s eat pizza, drink a few beers, and watch the game. We can—talk—about Mikey’s houseboy duties later.” He motioned with arm to the couch. Chris didn’t wait for any further invitation. He put the pizza and beer on the coffee table and plopped down. A second later, he found the remote on the back of the sofa and switched on the TV.

Dave grabbed plates and napkins from the kitchen and, returning to the living room, steered Mike by the elbow over to the couch. He tossed a beer at Chris who caught it deftly and then cracked one open for Mike. Mike took it, woodenly, but refused to sit down. He was stupefied. All he could do was stand there and gape. This was the weirdest fucking day ever.

“You need to chill, dude,” Dave continued, punching Mike lightly on the arm as he sat down. “We know how hard you work. All day at the office, and then all those fucking shifts at the club. I don’t know how you do it.” He shook his head, smiling.

Chris nodded and then cheered as the quarterback on the opposing team threw an interception. Dave grabbed a slice and a beer for himself and settled down on the other end of the couch. Mike stared at them. The room was growing dark as the sun set and their faces glowed in the light of the television. Dave patted the cushion between him and Chris and motioned sideways with his head.

Mike took a tentative sip of his beer before leaning against the arm of the couch, still carefully covering his crotch.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Curtis! Take a fucking seat already!” Dave ordered. “What is wrong with you today?”

Mike jumped, startled. How dare Dave yell at him like he was a kid! How dare he! Nonetheless, he surprised himself by sitting tentatively down between the two big guys.

They watched the game and sipped beer together and gradually Mike felt less on edge, although he was far from settled. There was no way he could feel settled with everything that had happened him during this bizarrely surreal day. Still, he did like watching football. He took a slice of pizza and gobbled it down, not realizing how starving he was. But he was already getting full as he nibbled at the crust. How the fuck could one slice of pizza could fill him up like that? He tossed his empty can on the floor, and helped himself to another beer.

Dave and Chris were mesmerized by the game, and Mike slouched back between them. He knew one or two beers should have been nothing to him, but small as he was now, he was already feeling the effects of the beer. Dave was leaning back, legs spread wide, his knee pressing against Mike’s. Mike tried to scoot away from him, but then his legs bumped up against Chris’s.

Chris was lying practically flat, legs splayed open like Dave’s. His eyes were half- closed. Mike closed his legs and positioned the plate over his crotch, realizing he’d been staring at Chris’s package. Those running shorts didn’t hide much. He felt his face grow hot when he realized that he could smell Chris’s body odor. Rather than repulsing him, he found it kind of… stimulating. How could this big stud be the same office fag that Mike had teased and bullied? How was he a sales executive now, and Mike just the coffee boy? And how could he be their fucking houseboy? It didn’t compute. He took a deep swig of his beer, finishing it and reaching for another.

He was nearly at the end of his third beer when Dave yawned dramatically, allowing his arm to settle over Mike’s shoulders. Mike stirred, shrugging it off, but Dave draped it over his shoulder again.

“Dude!” Mike started to say but Dave shushed him.

“Shhh…” he said. “Just chill.”

Mike warred with himself. What was going on? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chris stretch, too, but when he put his arms down again, he tugged at his shorts as if he were adjusting himself. Mike felt his pulse begin to beat in his temples. Was it his imagination, or was Chris sporting some wood? He didn’t dare turn his head to look.

Mike sat there, nervously squirming between the two big studs. He felt like a little kid sitting between two grownups. Chris adjusted himself again, letting out a soft moan. This time, it was Dave’s turn to stretch and adjust himself. Mike swallowed. And felt himself growing hard as he looked and saw the outline of Dave’s monster growing steadily more defined in his shorts. Dave reached down and casually put a finger under the elastic in the crotch of his shorts. Mike watched transfixed as Dave slowly moved his finger up and down, his bulge growing bigger and firmer with each passing second.

Chris put his hand on Mike’s leg and squeezed. Mike fought the urge get up. This was definitely not normal. This was definitely not what happened when three buddies watched a game together. This was wrong. He should leave. He should get up and get the hell out of there.

But where the fuck was he supposed to go? Back to his fucking tiny room? The spare room that Chris and Dave were letting him stay in? In exchange for being their fucking houseboy? What the fuck!

So Mike just stayed there, sitting down on the couch as Chris’s big hand slowly moved up this thigh. Mike held his breath and swallowed. On his other side, Dave’s thigh moved closer, inch by inch until it was pressing firmly against Mike’s. Then Dave’s hand moved down Mike’s shoulder and he gently tweaked his left nipple. Mike shivered and felt both of his nipples grow erect. He pushed his plate down on his lap; cock strangely comfortable, even though it was at full attention inside his cup.

The opposing team scored a touchdown, but the room remained completely silent. No one said a word. Chris’s hand was working its way slowly up Mike’s thigh and Dave thrust his hips upward, the tip of his cock just beginning to peek out of the waistband of his shorts.

Mike felt like he was going to explode. He couldn’t take it any longer, and started to stand up, saying, “I gotta piss.”

But Dave wasn’t about to let him leave. He simply reached up and grabbed Mike by the waistband of his silky baseball pants, pulling him back down onto the couch. Chris carefully took the beer can out of Mike’s hand and set it aside. Mike sat there, frozen. What the fuck was happening now?

“I’m really glad you have the night off, buddy,” Dave whispered breathily in his ear. “It’s been way too long since we all played together.” Mike’s pulse was pounding in his ear as Dave slowly unbuttoned the top buttons on his jersey. Mike shivered. Chris reached over and undid a couple more buttons, as inch by inch, they pulled open Mike’s jersey, leaving his enormous pecs and his huge, obscene nipples fully exposed. Mike stared straight ahead, too terrified to move, and didn’t resist at all when Dave picked up his right hand and moved it onto his lap. Mike stiffened, his cock pulsing in his cup, as he felt his friend’s massive member. Christ! It was long and fat! Reflexively, Mike’s fingers curled around it. Dave sighed and leaned back.

Chris reached over next, and took Mike’s left hand and moved it onto his lap. Fuck! Mike thought. Chris’s cock was even fatter than Dave’s, though not nearly as long. He caressed the outline of the tip through Chris’s shorts, and gasped as he realized that he was feeling the ridge of Chris’s circumcised cockhead. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He moved his hand up to the elastic of Chris’s shorts and reached inside. Chris’s skin was moist and hot and… totally smooth. Chris shaved his pubes! He reached up and felt Chris’s belly. Totally smooth, too. Chris apparently shaved everything. Then Mike realized. Just like me… He was rock hard in his jock.

Simultaneously loathing himself and exquisitely turned on, Mike shut off the part of his mind that was repulsed, allowing himself to savor the sensation of holding the meaty cocks of his two best friends (Two best friends?!). Chris’s cock was so fucking fat that he couldn’t close his hand around it, but Dave’s was a perfect complement, long and veiny and uncut. Chris and Dave both stiffened and sighed next to him as he gave their cocks a hard squeeze.

“Fuck, dude! You always did have magic hands,” Dave exhaled. “If Madison had ever been able to treat a cock half as good as you do, I might have stayed on the other team.”

Chris snorted, “Madison? Why do you always have to talk about fucking Madison? I’m tired of hearing about that bitch. Can’t we please just take this into the bedroom now?”

In unison, the two studs stood up and turned to look down at Mike. Mike just stared back up at them. He shook his head slowly back and forth. “I-I-I…” he stammered.

Dave and Chris looked at each other, then laughed and rolled their eyes as they both reached down and grabbed Mike under the arm and lifted him up off the couch. He still just stood there, not moving, so Dave shrugged and picked him up by himself, carrying him down the hall. Mike struggled, but only halfheartedly. He knew it was futile for a little guy like him to try to resist a big stud like Dave.

Time slowed down and the journey to the bedroom seemed to stretch on forever in Mike’s fevered mind. After what seemed like an eternity, they pushed through the doorway and into what used to be – what was supposed to be – his bedroom. Only now it was Dave and Chris’s apparently.

Dave used his elbow to flick on the light switch. There was a pause.

“Huh?” Chris’s voice was gruff. “Someone’s been sleeping in my bed.” The bed was unmade from Mike’s nap earlier. But he’d woken up in his own room, hadn’t he? But then, wasn’t this supposed to be… Oh fuck, everything was so mixed up in his head!

Dave tossed him down onto the king sized bed, and Mike let out a little yelp when his butt bounced on the mattress. (What the hell was that weird—thing—he felt down there?) He scrambled backward on his elbows. He was scared and excited at the same time. He knew he was completely at their mercy.

Dave laughed, leering down at him. “It looks like someone’s been sleeping in my bed, too.” He paused before adding theatrically, “And he’s still here!”

Chris crossed his arms, erection bulging luridly against his skimpy shorts, and Dave grinned.

“What should we do to him, Daddy Bear?” Chris asked, savoring the moment. “Goldilocks looks pretty helpless and weak down there, doesn’t he?”

Dave lowered his voice to a deep bass. “I dunno, Mama Bear, but I’ve got a few ideas…” Mike felt himself begin to shiver, both with fear and excitement.

Chris made a growling sound in the back of his throat and, pulling off his tank to expose this shaved, tanned chest, knelt on the edge of the bed, a predatory look in his eyes. He leaned forward, catlike, and Mike drank in the sight of him: Square shoulders, bulging arms muscles, satiny dark skin. A lock of his black hair fell across his forehead as he took hold of Mike’s jersey, now wadded up around his waist. He scarcely registered that this was the same fag he’d bullied around the office. Chris oozed a pungent masculinity.

Mike held his breath, waiting for Chris to pounce. Before he could, though, Dave let out a loud whoop, pulling off his own tank and tossing it in the corner of the room. He launched himself onto the bed, landing with a thump beside Mike. Smiling broadly, he propped his head on his hand and watched Chris pull off the jersey, inch by inch. His eyes burned with desire.

Mike glanced at him momentarily and flushed, looking away again. Dave had never looked at him that way before. He wasn’t supposed to look at another guy like that. He was straight, right? Mike was straight. The only fag there was Chris, but somehow… Somehow…

Dave chuckled and pinched his nipple. “Good thing we’ve got a king-sized bed. Plenty of room for us and our little boy-toy…” He smiled sexily. “You sure are one hot little twink, Mikey! And I love your new tits. I’m so glad that you finally let us talk you into seeing that Brazilian doctor. That guy is a fucking artist!” He pulled off his shorts and threw them across the room. Mike looked over at him and caught his breath, struggling to process Dave’s disturbing words (Had he let Dave talk him into getting his pec implants? Some doctor in fucking Brazil? No wonder he couldn’t afford an apartment!) while fighting the overwhelming desire he felt as he stared at his friend’s naked flesh.

Mike had never seen Dave like this; it was almost too much for him to process. Dave’s body was one massive slab of toned, hairy muscle. Sandy brown hair covered his chest, tumbling down his rippled belly, and piling up around his massive cock. Mike could see the pink tip of his cockhead peeking out through the thick folds of his dark foreskin. It was the biggest cock Mike had ever seen, and the glimpse he had gotten earlier at the urinal was just the tip of the fucking iceberg. And now that it was fully erect, pointing straight at him and leaking pre-come, it was something entirely different. Seeing Dave naked might be one thing, but seeing him naked, and sporting a throbbing erection, while he was staring lustfully at Mike himself was too much. Mike licked his lips, frozen.

Chris had finished pulling off Mike’s jersey and, throwing it aside, reached down to release the button on his baseball pants. “Tits?” he asked in a flippant tone. “What about that fucking awesome new ass he’s sporting? Turn the fuck over, Mike, and let’s get a look at that thing!”

Not waiting for Mike to respond, Chris flipped him over onto his stomach and started yanking on the waistband of his pants. They got stuck on his butt, though, and Chris let out a startled exclamation.

“Whoa! Would you look at that ass? Shit!”

Dave smacked Mike hard on the butt, causing him to yelp. It hurt! What had they done to his ass? What had this fucked up Brazilian doctor done to him? Had they done something down there, too? How could Dave and Chris do this to him? How could he have let them? What the fuck was wrong with him that he would have agreed to let them turn him into some kind of a twinked out freak!

“Here, bro,” Dave said, slowly running his hands over Mike’s pecs before getting up. His enormous erection bobbed between his legs. “It’s gonna take both of us to get at that ass. Those pants look like they are practically sewn on!”

Mike lay there stoically while his “friends” worked together to get the pants over the gigantic mounds of his ass. A low whimper eventually escaped his lips as they pulled and pulled. The material of his uniform was stretchy but even it had limits. Finally, after a lot of cursing and tugging and yanking, they managed to get his pants off. Chris whooped, holding them up like a prize, before he threw them on the floor.

Mike was mortified. He lay on the bed, bare ass up in the air, breathing heavily, while both Dave and Chris stood there and stared at him. His cup was still on, but just barely. Mike felt the straps of his jock straining for dear life to hold on.

Silence.

Mike felt his neck and ears grow hot.

Finally, Chris exhaled. “Oh. My. God!”

“Yeah, I know, right?” Dave said, a note of smug satisfaction in his voice. “The doc said he’d never be able to wear normal pants again, and I fucking believe him. Mikey’s gonna need to have everything custom made if it’s gonna hold that ass.”

Mike wilted when he heard these words and hung his head. How could this get any worse? What had they done to him? Chris and Dave seemed not to notice his humiliation, though. They were too busy admiring the doctor’s handiwork.

“Shit, Dave.” Chris was almost speechless. “How did he get it so huge and yet still so realistic? It’s the most perfect bubble butt I’ve ever seen. And that fucking tattoo! The butterfly sets it off perfectly.”

Mike sank lower in the bed. His whole head and neck had to be bright red by now.

Dave laughed. “I hear that the doc makes his own silicone implants; he’s the best in the business. And expensive! Boy let me tell you! Mikey boy’s gonna be in hock to me for the rest of his life!”

“Shit,” Chris said in an awed voice. “Shit.”

Mike wanted to die and was about to crawl off the bed when Dave reached over and snapped one of the straps on his jock causing him to jerk in surprise. He felt his massive ass jiggling with the motion and blushed.

“Christ,” Dave said, his voice reverential, “I could stare at that ass all night!”

Chris made a bestial sound in the back of his throat. “You can stare at his ass all you want, Hunt, but I’m fucking it!”

(What!? He wants to fuck me in the ass! Mike’s mind went blank.)

These words served to snap Dave out of his reverie. “No fair!” he exclaimed. “I fucking paid for it!”

Chris grinned. “Wrestle you for it!” In an instant he had reached out to grab Dave around the midsection. Dave was too quick, though, and dodged out of his grasp. Instead, he turned and lunged at Chris, catching him by surprise. The two of them collapsed on the bed next to Mike, wrestling furiously. It didn’t take long before they had rolled over onto Mike and pulled him into the fray. A heartbeat later, they were on top of him, each of them fighting to be the one to claim Mike’s bubble butt as his own.

Mike’s face was ground into the blankets and he gasped for air. Finally, he was able to scream, “Stop it! Stop it! You’re hurting me!” His voice was a plaintive whine. What had happened to his old, deep commanding tone? The one that instantly got everyone’s attention? The voice that girls loved. Now he sounded weak, pleading.

Despite his pathetic tone, Dave and Chris stopped wrestling. They were both naked by this point and Mike could feel their twin cocks pressing down against him. He could even tell by feel which cock belonged to which guy. Chris’s was closest to his butthole, an advantage that Chris didn’t have to be reminded to exploit. In a second, he took advantage of Dave’s hesitation and, shoving him aside, ground his cock furiously against Mike’s hole.

Mike cried out. He wasn’t ready! He didn’t want to be raped! He cried out again. How could Chris treat him this way?

“Dude! Chris! Stop!” It was Dave. He was gasping for breath. “Ok, you win! You can have his ass first. I’m cool with fucking that sweet little mouth of his anyway. But let’s take our time and do this right. I’m sure Mikey wants to enjoy this, too! Don’t you buddy? You ready to get plugged at both ends?”

Am I? Mike thought. Do I really want this?

No. He didn’t want this, did he?

He couldn’t possibly want this.

He wasn’t a fucking fairy.

Nope.

Not him.

No…

No…

No!

Then it hit him.

He did want it.

He fucking wanted it so bad.

He fucking wanted both their cocks as far up inside of him as they would go. He wanted to feel Chris’s come flooding his gut at the same time he swallowed Dave’s steaming load. Of fuck, he wanted it so fucking bad!

Shit.

No way.

He wasn’t…

Was he?

He was…

Yes.

He was a fucking fag. Just like all the comments on his phone kept telling him. Mike Curtis, college baseball star and ultimate hetero stud. He was – incredibly – a fucking fruit. Worse still, he was a slut. He knew that now. A cock slut! The tattoo on his belly didn’t lie.

He swallowed. All his strength faded out of him, and he sank down on the bed and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t care about Chris’s cock pressing insistently against his pucker. He didn’t care about anything now. Everything was lost. He was lost. He didn’t recognize anything about himself anymore. There was nothing of the old Mike left. Nothing left of the Notre Dame baseball star. The cocky sales exec. The fucking jock stud who could fuck a different girl every night if he wanted. No, now he was the one who was going to get fucked. He was the bizarre, tattooed, pierced, augmented, silicone-filled, club kid freak.

“Yo, Mikey. You okay?”

It was Chris’s voice. He sounded so sweet, so kind, so sincere.

“I’m sorry if we got a little carried away.”

“Me, too.” That was Dave. The note of contrition in his voice sounded genuine.

Mike opened his eyes. His head was lying on Dave’s lap now. Dave had taken the baseball cap off Mike’s head and set it aside on the nightstand. He gently stroked Mike’s spikey blond hair with his calloused hand. Chris was leaning down over him, face only a few inches from his own. His brown eyes were soft. He smiled down at Mike and caressed his shoulder.

“It’s just that you’re so hot now, and your body totally drives us wild,” Chris continued. “We’re gonna be gentle, though, buddy. We’ll take it nice and slow for our hot little fuck toy…”

And then Dave leaned over and kissed Chris. Mike lay there, watching as the two big studs kissed above him. He couldn’t believe it. He had never seen anything like it before. I mean, he’d kissed a hundred girls. A thousand. And it was always great. But this was incredible. They were grunting and moaning as their mouths pounded together, tongues wrestling, teeth grinding together. And suddenly felt a pang of—what? Jealousy? What the fuck? His cock throbbed in his cup, and he let out a soft moan.

Chris groaned, and caught Mike’s eye. His studly friend smiled down at him, and leaned back, breaking off the kiss. He slowly lowered himself until his face was just inches from Mike’s. They stayed like that for a moment, just looking into each other’s eyes. Mike didn’t understand what was happening. All these strange new feelings were fucking totally fucking him up. But he knew he was totally turned on. Totally hot for Dave and Chris. Mike licked his lips nervously. He blinked, and suddenly Chris’s big, soft lips were on his. Stars exploded in his head. Shit, he was kissing a guy, and it felt… right. So right. His lips parted and Chris’s tongue delicately brushed the inside of his mouth. Mike made a funny noise in the back of his throat but then he responded, opening his lips further, inviting Chris’s tongue in deeper. They locked in a passionate kiss, tongues probing and locking. Chris’s beard was rough against Mike’s smooth skin, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was for Chris’s tongue to explore every part of him. He didn’t care if he wasn’t supposed to want this. He did. He wanted it. He fucking wanted it so bad.

Chris pulled back then and Mike let out a little moan of disappointment.

“Let’s get that cup off of you, little guy,” Chris said, sighing. His voice sounded thick. “I mean, as much as I love seeing that lime green jock on you, I want to let your little cock out of its cage.” He winked, and Mike obediently raised his hips so Chris could pull down on his jockstrap. It was crazy how far he had to lift himself before his butt came off the bed. He almost couldn’t do it. He realized belatedly that his dick was still rigid, pressing fiercely against the molded plastic of his cup.

Chris grimaced as he wrestled to get the jock off. “Shit, are we going to have get our boy toy custom jocks, too?”

Dave laughed. “Fuck yeah! Our little fucktoy is going to need custom everything from now on!”

Mike flinched. Why did they have to keep rubbing his face in this…thing they had convinced him to do to himself. This thing they had done to him?

Mike stretched the strap over his butt finally, and the jock slid down his smooth legs. He heard a sharp intake of breath. Almost like a squeal. It took him a second to realize that it had come from him.

Wait!

Shit!

What the fuck?!

That couldn’t be his dick! It couldn’t be! He had a huge fuck stick! Didn’t he?

“Awww,” Chris exclaimed happily. “I always forget how cute it is. The perfect little dick!”

Dave laughed. “Yep, a tiny boi dick and man-sized balls. Just the way I like ‘em!”

Mike could only stare down at his tiny member. It was standing at attention, all four slender inches of it. The only thing that he recognized from his formerly hefty schlong was the cockhead, but even that was different now. Smaller. But everything else about it was ridiculously small, shrunk down to near-adolescence. As he watched, a drop of pre-come dribbled off the tip. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. What…?

Chris reached down and cupped Mike’s balls in his hand, rolling them around. Mike shivered with pleasure before registering their size. They were…bigger. Not just in comparison to his tiny little cock, but just fucking enormous.

“Big bull balls and a cute little prick. The perfect twink bottom boi!”

Mike swallowed. In a far off corner of his brain, the last traces of his old identity were falling away, unshackling him from the past.

Falling away.

Collapsing.

Fading.

Until.

Until.

Until. Yes.

Yes, he was free now, he realized, feeling a sense of…what? Relief?

Sure. He didn’t feel so bad about who he was now. Wasn’t worried so much about not being the big guy. But there was something else, too. It was new, whatever it was. Was this… power?

Power?

Him?

Little Mikey, the office fag? The gay stripper? Chris and Dave’s freaky little twink houseboy? He was too young, too naïve and helpless. He needed big studs like Dave and Chris to look out for him.

He wasn’t powerful.

Or was he?

Wait.

Maybe he was?

Maybe he was powerful now. Just in a different way. Maybe his power was his freedom. He sat up in bed a little straighter, pushing his shoulders back.

Yes.

He was free to be who he really was. He didn’t have to pretend.

The last gears clicked into place as he stared at his big, razor-smooth sac and heavy balls rolling around in Chris’s hands.

Yeah, he thought. So what if I have a tiny dick? What would I do with a big dick anyway?

Big dicks were for big studs, and Mikey was no stud. He was just a little, twink bottom boi.

But he still needed a swingin’ pair of bull balls.

Yup, he definitely needed a swinging pair for Dave and Chris to hold onto while they rode him. In his heightened state of freedom and arousal, he knew that he was made to be ridden. Made to be fucked. That’s why Dave and Chris had brought him in as their houseboy, and helped to make him who he was. That’s why they set him up with that Brazilian doctor and ‘loaned’ him the money to pay for all those procedures. Yes, Dave and Chris were there to help him realize his true potential. They would take care of him and encourage him and support him. They were there for him. They were the best. And if he had to clean their house, and do their laundry, and suck their cocks and be their fuck toy? So what? He fucking loved them. Both of them.

He smiled up at Chris. Dave reached down and tussled his hair.

“That’s our cute little bottom boi!” Dave said fondly. “Now let’s take him for a test drive!”

Carefully and gently, Chris guided him onto his hands and knees. Mike was so proud when he felt his huge balls flop down and slap against his outspread thighs. Was it his imagination or did they just brush against the blankets? His little cock plumped up at the thought.

He heard a rude squelching noise and looked over to see Chris squeezing a glob of lube onto his hand. He rubbed his hands together, warming it up, before he slathered it around Mike’s eager hole. Mike shivered in expectation, feeling his butthole clench. He was going to get fucked! He couldn’t believe he hadn’t done this sooner.

Watching Chris, Mike saw that his body was just as impressive as Dave’s. But where Dave was hairy and corded with muscle, Chris was silky smooth, lithe, and lean. He had very impressive arms and shoulders, though. His skin was naturally darker than Dave’s and Mike flushed when he saw that Chris had distinct tan lines; he’d clearly been lying out in the sun wearing just a skimpy Speedo.

Mike felt himself quail when his gaze landed on Chris’s swollen member. Shit! He thought. How will that thing ever fit inside me! Chris’s cock might not be that long compared to Dave’s but it made up for it in girth. His smooth, shaved pubes only served to accent the fatness of the dripping tool between his legs. He winked at Mike and smiled encouragingly as he slipped on an (extra-large) condom and slicked up his dick with lube.

“Hey, eyes up front!” Dave commanded, startling him. Dave reached down to turn Mike’s head toward him.

He gulped when he saw Dave’s giant member bobbing in front of his face.

“Ready to have both your face and your ass fucked, boi?”

Mike swallowed, feeling his arms begin to tremble. It wasn’t fear that made him tremble, he realized slowly; it was expectation.

Yes.

He was ready.

He was ready to be fucked. Ready to be filled from both ends.

There was a pause and then he braced himself, feeling Chris grab his ball sac in one hand and his shoulder in the other. Dave exhaled loudly as he thrust his cock into Mike’s open mouth while Chris’s red hot cock pushed its way into his open hole. Mike’s mind exploded with ecstasy and he knew that he was losing the last vestiges of his old life. That whatever had happened to him, he was embracing a whole new reality. He was embracing his future as a slutty, little bottom boi. A fuck toy. A cock slut…

Afterward, the three of them lay back against the pillows on the bed in a pleasant post coital haze. The room smelled like sweat and shit and spunk. A sticky pile of condoms seeped spent come onto the hardwood floors beside the bed. Mike nestled between the two big studs who had just fucked him to within an inch of his life. His hole was thrashed raw from taking those two huge cocks. Over and over and over. He sighed, savoring the afterglow. Dave and Chris each had an arm slung protectively around him.

He felt safe and loved. Protected. Kept.

Mike heard his phone buzz on the dresser just then. He thought about checking the message, but he was too tired. To comfortable and relaxed. Too happy. He’d read it later…

The next morning when he picked it up, he smiled as he read the comment.

>>REKT<<

Epilogue

Life was pretty good for Mikey Curtis. He had his job as the coffee boy at Bennett Insurance, and every weekend he performed at the gay strip club down the street. He had two hot studs who looked after him, protected him from people who might tease him for being such a little freak. To top it off, they let him have his own room with all of his stuff in their condo. And all he had to do in exchange was keep house for them, and let them fuck him silly every night.

He surveyed his reflection in the mirror with satisfaction. Dave had recently loaned him the money to get another procedure done, and now he had the biggest, most succulent blowjob lips imaginable. His clients at the club paid him very handsomely for a few minutes in the backroom after his shift on stage. He winked at himself and pulled the baseball cap down a little. He was devilishly cute, he had to admit.

Walking out of the bathroom, he nodded at Mr. Bennett as he strode proudly down to Dave and Chris’s office.

“Mikey,” Mr. Bennett said, giving him a fond wink as Mike sauntered past; Mike was one of Mr. Bennett’s favorite employees. At least, it seemed like Mikey was always running around on some personal errand or another for Mr. Bennett. Mikey didn’t mind.

Dave and Chris looked up at him from their desks and smiled when he entered. “You guys want any coffee?”

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite office fag,” Dave called out. “Never mind the coffee, dude. Just get over here and give me some sugar.”

Mike dutifully shut the door behind him, smirking. He walked over and sat down on Dave’s lap, and then bent down and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Dave nibbled playfully on Mikey’s ear

“No, you don’t, Hunt!” Chris challenged, standing up from his desk. “He’s mine!”

“Well, bitch, then let’s wrestle for him.”

Mikey leaned back and folded his arms as he watched Dave get up from his desk, throwing his tie behind his back. Chris growled in the back of his throat and the two studs rounded on each other. Mikey smiled with satisfaction, and rubbed his hard little cock through his tight pants. He liked his new life, even if at times it still felt strange to him. Wrong. Like maybe he should be a big, straight stud.

That’s a laugh, he thought. That’s about as far from reality as it could be! I mean, wasn’t he like the biggest cock slut in the world? It sure as hell felt that way.

But still, sometimes as he pushed his coffee cart around the office, or worked the pole down at the club, or sucked off his clients in the backroom, or got fucked within an inch of his life every night by the two hot-as-fuck studs playfully grappling in front of him now… Somehow it all felt so strange sometimes. Not that he would have changed anything in a million years.

So, yeah. Life was strange. Full of surprises. But that’s a good thing, right?