Bailey Sims was drop-dead gorgeous. He was tall, muscular, confidant, and charming. He had a youthful face, golden brown hair, and dancing eyes. He was the kind of guy that could make any young woman-or man-fall in love with him simply by walking into the room.

Unfortunately, Bailey Sims was also a complete asshole.

Bailey was attending college at a rather beautiful, historic university. The buildings, the grounds, even the hallways were simply beautiful. At the moment, Leonard Brandon was having trouble appreciating the beauty of those ivory halls, as Bailey Sims was shoving his face into them.

"Tryin' ta make me look stupid, smartass?"

"Not...much of a...challenge", grunted Leonard, as Bailey twisted his arms behind his back. Leonard was a typical science geek. He wasn't really that bad looking, except when he had the misfortune to stand beside someone who looked like Bailey Sims. Leonard had dark hair, a slightly oblong face, and a slim, somewhat gangly build. His college career was being paid for by more than one scholarship he had earned through his feats of scientific genius. That sounds cliche`, but for all intents and purposes, that was the case. Again, unfortunately for Leonard, his genius did very little to help him when a muscular demigod a head taller than him was forcing his face into a wall.

"Goddman brain trust!", Bailey snarled. Then, with the ease one might display when shaking out a beach towel, Bailey flipped Leonard around and bashed his shoulders against the wall. "You just had to go running off at the mouth and make me look clueless in there, didn't you, shithead?"

"A-all I did was answer the professor's question!", Leonard protested. "It's what we're in school for!"

"He asked me first, but you had to jump right in and answer it for me. Then, you had to go on and elaborate. 'Lookit me, lookit me, I'm smart and the big jock guy is a dumbass!' You little fuck--"

"You're out of your mind, I wasn't trying to make you look--"

Bailey grabbed Leonard by the shirt collar and yanked him close to his face. "Oh, so now I'm crazy AND stupid, huh?" Bailey lifted Leonard off his feet by several inches and planted him once again against the wall. "You just watch yourself when you're around me, you got that?" All Leonard could do was nod vigorously. He felt as though his heart was lodged in his throat.

Bailey let Leonard slide back down the wall to his feet and lightly slapped the side of his face. "Good boy." The large young man turned and walked away from the small science major, easily stepping around the large column which had concealed their confrontation. Leonard watched him as he was joined by three other well-built students, who greeted him with smiles and slaps on the back. Leonard straightened out his shirtfront, his hands trembling. He had so been looking forward to college. To get away from the small-minded musclejocks back home, to pursue his advanced scientific pursuits. But this whole exchange with the popular Mr. Sims; it was all so...so high school.

Leonard gathered his books and backpack from where they had fallen on the floor when he was assaulted. If this was a one-time transgression by a creep with a brain the size of a chick-pea, Leonard was willing to shrug it off. But if this were to become a regular event? Leonard started back to the off-campus, ground floor apartment he had rented with some of his scholarship funds and was using as a personal lab. Leonard decided he had a new subject to study in addition to his already considerable classload. And the subject was Bailey Sims.

For the better part of the next term, Leonard kept a careful watch over Bailey Sims. He usually traveled around with at least three of his buddies, or as Leonard recorded in his notes, with his "pack". Typical of most bullies, Bailey would stick to harassing those who were smaller than he was, and would rarely stray from bullying more than one kid at a time, unless his pack was with him. Leonard also took note that Bailey had a few "favorite" victims, whom he would even go out of his way to humiliate.

Bailey was engaged in one such pursuit when Leonard came across him one morning between classes. Bailey had cornered two freshmen. Small and slender, the two boys were apparently the best of friends, as one was never seen without the other. Bailey and his pack had decided the two were gay lovers, and as such needed to be kept in their place--that being a place of fear and humiliation.

Bailey had the two boys backed into a wall behind the quad, with three of his pack hovering just over his shoulders. Bailey flashed a malevolent grin, as he stared the two horrified boys down. "You little fags just don't get it, do you? We don't like your kind walking all over campus, showing off your faggotty love for each other."

One of the boys tried to deny the accusation. "D-dude, we're not gay! W-we grew up together, man! We're just buds, like you and you're--"

Bailey slapped a powerful hand over the boy's mouth to silence him, smacking his head against the wall in the process. He let out a muffled cry beneath Bailey's grip. "Mff!"

His friend reached instinctively to free his friend. "Phil!", then to Bailey, "Man, let him go!"

Bailey held up an admonishing finger to the boy's friend and fired a threatening glance his way, which was sufficient to silence him. The friend took a step back, young Phil's frightened eyes looking at him with a silent plea not to try anything brave.

"Now", said Bailey with a voice of authority. "As far as I can see, you two little faggots are just that--faggots. You go walking all around campus together, you're in the same classes, it's pretty damn fuckin' obvious you're just a couple'a homo lovers. But you see, you INSULT intelligent people like me and my buds by thinking we won't notice." Behind him, Bailey's pack murmured agreement.

The friend whispered back, "Man, what do you want from us, anyway?"

"What do I want? I want a confession. All you gotta do is admit you're a couple'a fags, boys. It'll be a cleansing exercise, I'm sure. Just tell us fine upstanding people what pervert you really are."

"But we're not!"

Bailey's hand clenched young Phil's face. "MMHFF!" Phil moaned beneath the pressure squeezing his jaw, his hand clutching Bailey's wrists in a pathetic attempt to pry the powerful student off of him.

"Phil! God, don't!"

"Just say it, gayboy."

"But we're not, I swear to God--!!" Bailey applied crushing force to his victim's face, and he began to slide down the wall, his legs failing him under the rush of pain. His moans had receded to pitiful sobs beneath Bailey's grip, and he flashed a look to his best friend that conveyed one certain message: "Surrender."

The boy, eager to do anything to free his friend, complied. "Okay, I admit it, we're fags! Now let him go!"

"So, you're like, cocksucking lovers, then?", Bailey asked, not releasing Phil.

"I just said--"

"Repeat it, fag. What I just said." His grip tightened under the squirming freshman. The pack began to giggle at the spectacle.

"We're cocksucking lovers! Now let him go! Please!"

"You're bend-over buddies?" Bailey raised his eyebrows, indicating he required his words be repeated.

The boy knew he was at Bailey's command now, and replied as ordered. "We're bend-over buddies."

"Sorry? Didn't quite catch that." His grip tightened. Phil writhed on the ground, fingers clawing ineffectually at Bailey's hand.

"We're bend-over buddies!!", the boy shouted. The pack was chortling with delight like hyenas.

Bailey locked eyes with the frightened boy. "You are no-good, worthless fudge-packin' homos who should behave like lowly slaves before your betters--like us." His gaze went hard, and he shook poor Phil slightly to encourage the boy's response.

The boy was crying, but did his best to shout back his recitation between sobs. "W-we're no-good, worthless f-f-fudge-packing homos who sh-should behave like lowly slaves before our betters--people like you!"

Bailey stood up straighter, looking at the boy with moderate approval. "Very good, faggot. Doesn't it feel better to have that off your chest?" The weeping boy remained silent, looking at his friend. "Doesn't it?!"

"YES!!"

"Yes...what?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good boy", Bailey said, releasing Phil, who gasped for breath, his hands cradling his aching face. Red marks left by Bailey's grasping hand were indented on the boy's cheeks.

His friend turned to tend to him, "Phil? God, you okay? Phil?"

Bailey leaned forward, his hands upon his knees, and surveyed the scene. "Now, then. We," and he nodded toward his pack, "are seriously inconvenienced by seeing you two little self-admitted fags around campus. So we've mapped out a special plan for the two of you, which routes you through secluded paths and long walks on the outskirts of the college so we don't need to see your homosexual faces again. Rick here will lay it all out for you."

The boy who had been forced to recite Baileys filth sneered at him, his face stained with tears. "We're gonna report you, dammit! You're gonna get expelled so damn fast--!"

"Yeah, yeah", Bailey said dismissively. "But all those mean ol' school board members and chancellors won't be of much help to you when me and my boys show up at your dorm room at 3am to kick the asses of two faggotty narcs."

The boy paused for a moment, then, "You don't know where we--!"

"Room 311. Dana Hall." The boy's eyes grew wide at hearing the identification of his dorm room. He would have to abide by the dictates of this psychotic, it would seem, to preserve his well-being and that of his best friend.

"Is it possible to be a bigger asshole than you are, Sims?"

Bailey and his pack whirled around to see Leonard standing nearby. "You little fucker. I thought I already told you to stay away from me--"

Leonard ignored him. "You're so concerned about the infection of this campus with rampant homosexuality, and yet it's you who always travels everywhere with your burly entourage. Any reason you prefer to surround yourself with obedient, musclebound men?"

"I will kick your sorry little pencil-necked ass." Bailey's voice came in a low, measured tone through clenched teeth. But as he approached Leonard, the meek boy seemed anything but as he stood defiantly, unmoving.

"Oh! I almost walked right into you. Forgive me, there's usually no one around here."

Everyone present turned to see a tubby, balding professor standing there. His arms were loaded down with books and folders. He looked at the clustered students through his wire-rimmed spectacles, never realizing he was looking at a scene of attackers and victims.

"Professor McCauley", Leonard said. "I thought I would catch you here. I figured you had to come this way to get to class from your office." Then, turning to look at the pack, he added, "This secluded little path, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday."

The two freshmen boys needed no further opportunity, and fled the scene with all speed. The cluster of bullies began to step slowly back.

"Why, yes, that's right, Leonard. How very observant of you. What can I do for you and your friends, here?"

"Well, it's mostly for me, really.", Leonard corrected amicably. "About your lecture on Helmholt's Theory of Thermodynamics. I had a hypothesis I wanted to share--oh, here, let me help you with those." Leonard took some of his professor's burden and the two proceeded to the lecture hall together.

Bailey fumed with rage at having his moment disrupted. One of the pack approached Bailey. "Um, the two little fags bolted. You want us to go after 'em?"

Bailey made no indication he'd heard the pack member. He was busy boring holes in Leonard's back with his eyes. "Next time I see that bastard, he dies."

Over the next several weeks, Leonard took great pains to make sure that he was not seen by Bailey Sims. Conversely, Leonard saw everything that Bailey did. His behavior with the two defenseless freshmen was par for his course. Like any predator, he liked to prey upon the weak and frightened. Like the smaller and more nefarious predators, he preferred to hunt with his pack. Leonard never learned the other pack members' names--not that it mattered, as they were virtually indistinguishable from one another in behavior and dress.

Leonard observed something interesting about Bailey when he was around his pack. Bailey had no trouble putting his arm around his buddies' shoulders or playfully grabbing them in a headlock. On occasion, he'd meet the gaze of one of his pals and linger there for a minute, saying nothing. Perhaps he was just listening to his buddy rambling. But Leonard felt it could be something else. Especially due to the way Bailey angrily slapped away any hands that dared to make physical contact with him, even by accident, when the boys were out in public. Despite his open aggression, Bailey felt an affection for his pack he was unwilling--or unable--to express in mixed company.

Something else soon became apparent to Leonard. A new pattern. At regular intervals, Bailey and his boys appeared wearing identical clothing. The quartet was dressed in tans and olive drabs; military attire. Bailey led the group in a commando sweater and camo pants. The foursome clomped through the halls in army boots, clearing a path wherever they went, looking more like a strike force than a cluster of classmates. Bailey wore decorative dogtags proudly around his neck. The engravings on his tags reading "STRAIGHT AND NARROW" and "REAL MEN ONLY".

That night, there was a gay bashing outside the Dimensions gay night club. Not surprisingly, all of Bailey's pack could provide alibis for each other.

The following weekend, it was the same thing. The boys appeared at school in military attire, that night there was a gay bashing. But there was never any proof of who did it, or evidence left behind. The attacks were fast, sudden, and brutal. The victims were all hospitalized, but no fatalities. Yet.

Every Monday found the pack exchanging high-fives and gruffly shouted "Yeah!"s as they marched in their civvies down the corridors. Anyone wondering what inspired their celebratory behavior was met with icy stares and a "What're YOU looking at, faggot?"

Leonard decided it was time to put a stop to this. It was no longer simply a matter of personal revenge. It was a question of safeguarding the community. Leonard wasn't gay, but he certainly had nothing against those who were. Taking down the pack leader would in all likelihood dissolve the pack. And to do so, Leonard decided he was not going to hurt Bailey. He was going to help him.

That Friday there was a party. It didn't matter who was throwing it or who was invited. It was college. When the doors were opened, people crowded in. Bailey and his cronies marched in to some fanfare, mostly from the ladies. The smaller kids cringed and moved to the far corners of the room. The pack was dressed in their trademark military gear, giving the impression that the party was to be only the beginning of their evening's festivities.

Leonard entered behind them, unnoticed, staying close to the wall and blending into the background. Growing up as a genius science geek had taught him nothing if not the art of invisibility. He watched Bailey carefully, waiting.

The pack huddled around Bailey, taking their lead from him. "And that time by the quad, man, with the two freshmen fags? It was too fucking cool, man", one of the boys jeered.

"Yeah, how'd you know to tell 'em they were from Dana Hall, dude? Their expressions were priceless!"

"Saw it on their books when I decked 'em in the hall the week before", Bailey commented blithely. "Frickin' frosh, they label everything."

One of the pack took on a sinister look, and said in a lower voice, "So, we still on for tonight? A little visit to a certain fruit & nut stand?"

Bailey was scanning the room for either younger students to harass or girls to pursue. He didn't look back at the pack member who'd spoken. "Why else do you think we're dressed for it, Einstein?", was all he said. This brought jeers and shoves down on the speaker by the other two. Bailey silenced them by holding up his hand. "Wait, wait. Look. Target acquired. Two o'clock." The boys all looked to where Bailey had indicated and saw a couple beautiful young girls off by themselves, giggling."

"Bet I can have her in bed within the next half-hour.", Bailey said.

One of the pack moved close to ask, "The blond or the redhead?"

Another one slapped him. "The redhead, dumbass, she's hotter. Duh!" The boy looked embarrassed that it had to be pointed out to him.

Bailey leaned over to the pack record-keeper. "How far ahead will this put me? When I nail her?"

"Well, if you nail her--", he started.

"When.", Bailey corrected.

The boy went on, "--it'd put you two up on a couple of us, like three or four up another one we don't need to name." He looked at one of the pack, who squirmed at the implication of his lack of sexual prowess.

"Then watch the master at work, boys", Bailey, said and began to make his way across the crowded room. One of the pack grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Wait! What about--you know, the big "bash" later tonight? This gonna be a quickie with her, or--"

Bailey knew the sexual encounter would amount to nothing, and he'd just as soon get in and get out if only to be done with it. But since selecting a short time frame could serve to indicate a lack of virility on his part, Bailey said, "There's always tomorrow night, fellas. The weekend has two days. Reschedule it for Saturday. Later." He moved away before they could protest.

Within minutes, Bailey had the young girl enthralled by his charm, so much so that she was providing the direction to her dorm room nearby. With a smarmy grin, Bailey steered her away from her companion, who looked a bit crestfallen for not having been the one chosen by the handsome lad in the military garb.

"Ow! What the fuck?!" Bailey slapped his hand over the seat of his pants, having felt something sharp prick him there. He turned to see Leonard standing there, a small metal tray of hors d'oeuvres in his hands, hovering near Bailey's behind. Bailey smacked the tray out of Leonard's hands, sending meats and cheeses into the air and onto the floor. "Watch where the hell you're going, ya ugly fuck!"

"Hey, sorry", Leonard said, backing away.

"I ought'a kick your sorry ass right now--" But the redheaded girl still clung to Bailey's arm and tugged him away, her head jerking toward the door in invitation. Bailey fired a final deadly stare at Leonard, pointing a threatening finger. "Next time, asshole."

As Bailey left with his latest conquest, Leonard slipped the hypodermic needle he'd concealed beneath the serving tray back into his pocket. He knew without a doubt there would never be a next time. Ever again.

Bailey focused on the pattern of the wallpaper, and tried to see how much detail he could make out in the dim light. It was the only thing handy to direct his attention away from the endless prattling of the girl beneath him. She was professing her love, her devotion, and who knows what else she had to give to Bailey--none of which was of the slightest interest to him. She kept saying his name over and over as she clung to him like an unwanted film, pawing his arms as if she were afraid to let him go.

Bailey couldn't even remember her name. That is, if she had even told it to him. He thought maybe she had. Amber. Andrea. Something that started with an "A". Bailey just kept thrusting, anxious to be done with the pointless endeavor. He held her close, so as not to let her see his bored expression. He occasionally murmured flattering nicknames to hide the fact her name had not yet come to him. She had already served her purpose, and all this was simply performance. That, and a quick chance to get off. She was the hottest girl where he was that night, his friends saw her leave with him. That was that. He was now up on his boys by--what was it, now? Seven conquests? Eight? Whatever. One of the boys was keeping score, no doubt. He'd confirm it in the morning, yelling the correct number as he gave Bay a congratulatory high-five.

Now it was just a matter of pumping the girl until she fell asleep, and then slipping out before she woke up. Bailey wondered briefly if sex had become as meaningless for his competing pals, then decided that, like the girl's name, it really didn't matter in the end. As long as someone kept score and he always came out on top.

Before long, whatshername, conquest #7 (8?) for the month was sound asleep, a rather stupid look of bliss on her face. Bailey took some small pleasure in knowing it was his virility that had put her in that state. He actually put his hands behind his head and smiled to himself as a form of private congratulations. Ah, Bailey Sims, you Casanova, you'd done it again. He couldn't quite understand it, but despite the total lack of meaning the encounter had for him, Bailey felt absolutely fantastic.

Then, Bailey froze. Lying there in the girl's bed, hands behind his head, his entire body froze, as if it were no longer his to control. That's because it wasn't.

Bailey felt a tiny buzzing sensation at the base of his skull, and a sharp electric charge flush through his entire system in an instant. His smile was gone, and all he could do in protest was make the tiniest grunting noise. "Uh!"

Bailey sat up, not intending to do so. He slowly slipped out from under the covers and proceeded to gather up his clothes and quietly put them on. He had no intention of leaving this soon, but here he was, doing it. Bailey felt as though he were a prisoner of his own body, watching helplessly from within as it went through motions and actions against his will.

"What the hell am I doing?", Bailey asked himself, inside his head. "Whoa, stop it! Wait up!" His body was moving at full autopilot now, dressed and departing, Bailey's body carried him quickly and decisively across the room, out the door (closing it gently behind him), down the hallway and out into the street.

Bailey walked at a brisk pace into the dark night, his stride strong, his expression firm. Anyone who may have seen him would doubtlessly think this was a determined man on his way to keep an important appointment. However, no one did see him. And Bailey knew neither where he was going nor how important the appointment that awaited him was.

But after more than an hour's walk, he would.

Bailey stood tall in the doorway of Leonard's cluttered lab and surveyed the room. His stance was that of a soldier, having arrived at a predetermined rendezvous point, who was now awaiting further orders. Leonard stood hunched over a microscope across the room, unresponsive to Bailey's arrival. He had heard the other man's purposeful footsteps, but did not turn around to meet his gaze for several minutes. Bailey stood in the doorway, fuming, not saying a word.

Finally, Leonard slowly turned around and looked at Bailey, standing tall and at the ready. But ready for what exactly, he had no idea. Leonard just stared at him for a moment, his face an expressionless mask. Bailey blurted out, "What the hell am I doing here?" He was relived to find his voice still worked.

Leonard smiled. "You don't know? You're the one who came here. I don't believe I called you or anything." Leonard began puttering around with some of his lab equipment on the black countertop.

"Listen, asshole", Bailey spat out, "I don't know what's going on here, but you damn well better spill it now before I-"

"Be quiet", Leonard said in a calm voice.

And Bailey was silent. Just like that. Bailey's eyes widened as he realized that he had stopped talking and his mouth had clamped shut tight at the skinny little faggot's command. His pulse quickened a beat. Leonard nodded with approval. Then, jerking his head toward a nearby stool, he said, "Take a seat." Bailey strode purposefully over to the stool and sat down. His face was registering signs of building panic. He sat straight, shoulders back, arms relaxed, in a posture that indicated all the confidence that he was not feeling. Leonard raised one eyebrow and crossed his arms, s aying, "Guess you'd like to know what's going on now, wouldn't you, Sims?"

Bailey gingerly tried to separate his lips and was relieved to find that he could. Leonard gestured loosely with his hand, indicating that Bailey could speak. "Wh-what have you done to me?", the young man asked in a voice he hoped sounded commanding, despite the tremble.

"How do you feel?", asked Leonard, looking at Bailey as if he were something unearthed on a scientific expedition.

"I can't move", came the response.

"That wasn't my question, Bailey. You mustn't be rude and disregard a direct question like that." Leonard's voice was flat and emotionless, betraying none of the elation he was feeling at Bailey's helplessness.

"Uh...", Bailey muttered. He had no idea what to do next. So Leonard told him.

"Apologize", he commanded.

"I'm sorry-"

Leonard cut him off. "With respect", he growled. Leonard's face was like stone.

"I'm very sorry for being so rude, sir", Bailey said with feeling. No sooner had the words left his mouth than his expression twisted as if he'd bit into an orange peel. He couldn't believe he had actually addressed the little pansy that way. It disgusted him. But he couldn't help it. He had to do as he had been ordered. But why?

"Apology accepted, Bailey. Now, tell me how you feel."

"I said, I can't mov-", Bailey began, then caught the stern look in Leonard' s eyes. Bailey paused, truly considering the question. Well, how did he feel? "I feel perfectly normal", he decided. "I mean, I don't feel sick or woozy, but it's like I can't move my body, nothing works on its own. But when you talk-"

"Yes, Leonard, you have to respond", Leonard confirmed. "And how did you feel when you woke up a while ago?"

Bailey paused. Besides feeling as if his body were not his to control, how had he felt? "Good. Really good. Great, in fact. Like I could take on the world. My body all filled with energy and rarin' to go."

"Very good, Bailey", Leonard said, as if speaking to a small child. "Does your body still feel that way now?"

Bailey's eyes glanced down at his still form and a dim light came on behind them. ".Now that you mention, it yeah. Yeah, I still feel really good. S-so why--?"

"Can't you move?", Leonard finished his sentence. "That's quite the quandary, isn't it, Bailey? Why don't you try to move? There's really nothing wrong with your magnificent body. Go ahead. Try to stand up. All on your own."

Bailey sat there like a statue. He didn't look like he was trying to do anything. He sat perfectly still. No tension in his muscles. No strain on his face. No sweat, no grunts of exertion. He just sat there, unmoving as if he wasn't even interested in standing up. He did wonder what the hell a "quandary" was, but decided not to ask.

"Having trouble, are we?", Leonard taunted.

"What the fuck is this?", Bailey gasped. "What did you do to me, you miser- " Bailey froze as Leonard shot him a penetrating stare. Bailey felt his blood run cold and blurted out quickly, "I'm very sorry for my rudeness, sir, but could you please tell me what's going on please, sir?" He grimaced at the words upon speaking them, but bit his lip to prevent any further outbursts while waiting for a response.

Leonard grinned at Bailey's request. It was wonderful to see how quickly the boy could take to his training. Must be all that time spent on the ball field taking orders from a coach that primed him for this. "Stand up", Leonard said.

Bailey was on his feet in an instant. He stood at attention, arms limp at his sides, head held high and shoulders back. His eyes flashed with terror and his legs felt weak, even though they held him up like steel girders. Leonard walked slowly around him as Bailey's eyes focused straight ahead at nothing. He could not meet his master's gaze since he had not been told he could.

"Do you know what nanotechnology is, Bailey?", Leonard asked as if inquiring about the weather.

"Um, sure", Bailey said, uneasily.

Leonard fixed him with a cold stare and said, "Bailey Sims, whenever you speak to me, you are compelled to tell the truth. If you even attempt to lie to me, you will collapse to your knees and find yourself gripped with a fit of uncontrollable sobbing at the guilt of having attempted to deceive me. Do you understand?" Leonard spoke the last three words very slowly and very clearly. Bailey certainly understood.

Bailey whispered back, "Yes sir, I do understand, sir."

Leonard continued his stroll around the statuesque athlete. "Now then. Do you know what nanotechnology is, Bailey?"

Bailey answered quickly and firmly, "No, I don't."

Leonard added, "Bailey, from now on whenever you are asked about something of which you are ignorant, you will reply 'I don't know because I am a stupid, clueless bigot without a brain.' Repeat."

Bailey stated with conviction, "I don't know because I am a stupid, clueless bigot without a brain." His face remained blank, but inside he felt like crying.

Leonard smiled. "That's going to go over well with your professors in class." Bailey's face remained blank, but his eyes seemed to cloud over with the anticipation of speaking those words in public. He had newfound motivation to do his homework. Leonard continued, "Nanotechnology involves the design and application of microscopic machines released into the human body for medical purposes, Bailey."

Bailey's eyes followed Leonard as he paced the room, becoming more fearful as he listened to the confusing explanation. Were there microscopic machines inside his body? How did they get there? And more importantly, what would they do to him if they were in there?

"The nanotech is small enough that it can be injected into the bloodstream through a hypodermic needle in a solution of salt water. Have anything prick your bottom at a recent party, by any chance, Bailey?"

Bailey's eyes widened and he could feel his breath become shallow. He still didn't quite understand, but he knew it was bad. Something had been put into his body. A machine.

"Despite the miniscule size of the machines, Bailey, they can have an enormously pronounced affect on the entire neurological system. It's been debated whether nanotech can be employed to reverse blood disorders, correct vision impairments, stem the growth of cancers, anything." Leonard stopped in front of his petrified thrall and looked directly into his eyes. "So if, let's say, I were to design a tiny computer chip capable of tapping into your nervous system to manipulate motor functions and emotional responses." he let his voice trail off and walked away from Bailey Sims. Bailey could feel his heart pounding in his chest and wanted to run away, screaming, begging anyone for help. But he remained where he stood, tall and attentive, looking like he was ready and willing to receive orders, horrified that he soon would.

Bailey mustered as much courage as he could and spoke. "Wh-what do you want? What are you going to do to me?"

Leonard spun on his heel to face him. "You mean you don't know, Bailey? You can't guess at my wonderful plans for you? Do you know what it is I want, Bailey?" Leonard stressed the word "know", anxious to hear Bailey's response, which was not long in coming.

"I don't know because I am a stupid, clueless bigot without a brain." The answer came with conviction, almost pride. Bailey's face crumpled, and standing there at attention, he began to cry.

"No!", Leonard intoned. "Not yet, that comes later. You will stop crying immediately, Bailey Sims. All sorrow will leave you and you will await my instructions at full attention. Now."

In a flash, Bailey's sobs ceased. He stood back at attention with clear eyes and eager face. He was overwhelmed by the ease with which Leonard had not only stopped his tears, but had eradicated all feelings of sadness withi n him. All he felt now was anticipation. Dear God, he was actually waiting with genuine anticipation for what was coming next. Because he had been told to. The notion that not only his body's actions, but even his emotional states were at another's beck and call was starting to sink in.

Leonard's voice became soft. "You're mine to control now, Bailey. And you' re going to learn to like it. C'mon, and give me a big smile."

Bailey's face lit up in that beautiful broad smile that melted the heart of many female conquests. He looked for all the world as if he were truly happy. Inside, he was silently screaming for release. Leonard moved close to the handsome young man and with his thumb, brushed away a lingering tear from Bailey's cheek. "Bailey, I want you to know how futile it is to attempt resisting your chip. Oh, and you can test it simply by trying to stop smiling, by the way." Bailey said nothing, but he had been trying to stop smiling ever since his lips parted and he showed his teeth. It was no use.

"I'm going to make you love, laugh, and cry, Bailey", Leonard announced casually. "What do you say to that, my boy?" Bailey remained a silent grinning statue, and Leonard waved one hand, saying, "You can stop smiling long enough to talk."

Bailey's eyes burned with vengeful fire. "You may be able to control my movements, asshole, but I promise you, you can't make me love anybody I don' t want to. That's just the way it is."

"My, my, my, my", Leonard muttered languidly. "Is that right? Bailey, you mean I have no hold on your heart at all? Just your body?"

"That's right, man."

Leonard spoke in a hard, clear voice. "Bailey, you love me. With all your heart. You feel the emotions flood your mind and body. You adore me as you 've never adored anyone before, man or woman. Feel it."

Bailey gasped. What the hell had he been thinking? He truly loved Leonard, he always had. God, just look at him. That head of unruly black curls, those horn-rimmed glasses. Even the cliched white lab coat on him looked so manly, so heroic. Anything he was doing to control Bailey must have been for his own good. It just had to be. There was something about all this that Bailey just didn't understand yet, that's all. Leonard was so much smarter than he was. He was helping him. Helping him to be a better person. Oh, God, it was like a dream come true. That this gorgeous, magnificent genius had taken complete control of him. He would never make another mistake the rest of his life, with Leonard at the controls of his existence. He need never fear a stray thought that could enter his mind and push away for even a second his focus on this paragon of virtue.

Leonard moved right up to Bailey's face. The two were practically nose to nose. Oh, was he going to kiss him? Oh, yes, let it be so. Let this wondrous and beautiful man deign to press his lips against-

"Bailey, return your emotions to what they were", stated Leonard flatly.

Bailey gasped a second time, far deeper than the first. An icy grip of panic clutched his chest. For a moment, he had honestly, completely loved Leonard. Not just acted it out. He felt it. And it felt truer than any infatuation he had ever felt for any girl. And it was all false.

"The heart is part of the body", said Leonard. "And we've already established that I control your body."

"Oh, please. Please don't do this. I don't know what it was that I did, I mean, I do know, but you've made your point. I don't deserve this, no one does. You gotta just listen to me, man. I've had enough, I swear to God. I'll be good. I'll leave you alone. I'll do anything."

Leonard's brow furrowed. "Yes, you will."

He took a step back, and observed aloud to no one in particular, "You'll do anything I want even if I return fundamental control of your body to you. At ease, Bailey." Bailey found he could move. His stiff posture relaxed and he was able to hold his hands in front of him, flex his fingers. Leonard had made a serious mistake. With Bailey's strength and speed, he could take down the geek queer, beat him senseless before he could utter another word, and figure out some way out of this mess. Find another fag science major to get the chip out. Bailey's leg muscles tensed to pounce. He wasn't even paying any attention to what Leonard was rambling on about.

"It's terribly funny that after all the time and effort you've put into conditioning and training your body you can't even control it now without my say-so. It's so funny." Bailey lunged at him. "Laugh, Bailey."

Bailey stumbled in mid-stride, suddenly laughing convulsively. He tried to reach for Leonard with grasping fingers despite the tremendous laughter that surged out of him. "Boy, it is just a laugh-riot, isn't it, Bailey?", Leonard taunted. "Laugh harder than you ever have before." Bailey was soon gripping his sides as he laughed harder and harder. He couldn't stop. It was too much. He had never laughed so hard, so fully. Bailey fell down onto the floor and flopped onto his back, gasping for breath, finding only more peals of laughter.

"N-no, no-" he wheezed between guffaws. "S-s-s-stop it-I give-" Bailey tried to sit up and fell back again, his laughter increasing with each moment.

Leonard looked down upon his victim and said chidingly, "If you're not careful, you'll wind up peeing your pants if you keep that up, Bailey, my boy." Bailey laughed harder, unable to do much beyond surrender to the vicious convulsions that held him down.

"K-k-killll yuuuu-" Bailey gasped out, laughing more and more, flopping around on the floor like a rag doll.

"In fact", Leonard continued, ignoring him, "do so. Wet yourself, Bailey. Stop laughing and empty your entire bladder right now."

Bailey stopped laughing as if someone had flicked a switch. Which, in essence, someone had. Bailey's head snapped up and looked to see a large wet spot growing across the front of his pants, spreading rapidly and soaking his pantlegs and puddling on the floor around his waist. He tried desperately to stop, but the stream just kept coming. Within seconds, Bailey's entire lower half was drenched in his own urine.

Bailey started to scramble to his feet, his shoes slipping on the slick floor, the palms of his hands now wet with his own piss. Bailey looked down at himself, furious and horrified at what he'd just done. "You fucking bastard!", he hissed.

"Bailey, you're embarrassed", Leonard observed.

"You're goddamn right I'm-"

"You're so embarrassed, you're downright mortified. You've humiliated yourself and are so saddened you have to cry. Cry like a baby, Bailey. Cry your heart out and feel how truly worthless you are."

Bailey began to bawl. He couldn't help it. Oh, good God, he had wet himself. Right here, right in front of this damned faggot. Bailey knew it meant that he was worthless, he was nothing. He fell to his knees in his own piss and his body heaved with racking sobs. He was nothing, an embarrassment. God, what the hell was the matter with him? He was so pathetic, so worthless. Tears streamed down his cheeks as freely as the urine had flowed down his legs mere moments ago.

Leonard leaned over the weeping boy. "You see the predicament you're in now, Bailey? How would you like to believe that you're a dog? I could have you down on all fours barking in no time, and you could spend the rest of your sorry existence in a nice, comfy sanatorium." Bailey's sobs increased. No, not that. Please, no. He didn't want to be a dog. "Or how would you like to piss yourself in public every time you're out with a beautiful woman, Bailey? How long would it take for word of that to spread throughout your clubbing circles?" Bailey wailed with fear and remorse. He thudded his head slowly against the floor, mindless of the acrid stench of urine in his nostrils. "Or perhaps, Bailey.", Leonard paused for dramatic effect, leaving only the painful sobs to fill the air.

"Perhaps, you'd like to be gay? How would you like it if I made you gay, Bailey? Hmm?"

Bailey lifted his head and wailed in agony. "NNNnnnnnnoooooo!! Puh-puh-PLEEEEasse! I've had enough! Don't do this to me! Why are you doing this to me?? PLEASE!!" Bailey knelt there on the urine-soaked floor with his head thrown back, crying his eyes out. He had been completely humiliated and broken. But he had not been changed. Despite all Bailey's fear at being powerless, Leonard knew that deep inside, Bailey was still the same hateful homophobe. Changing that would take some work.

Leonard reached out and touched one finger to Bailey's forehead. "Poor boy. Sleep."

Bailey collapsed hard against the floor, fast asleep before he hit the tiles. He lay there, stinking, exhausted, helpless. Leonard looked curiously at Bailey's prostrate form. "Time for a test drive", he said.

"Wake up, Bailey."

Bailey woke up naked in a chair like those in a Dentist's examining room. He was not secured down in any way, but his body was paralyzed, nonetheless. He felt very good, despite his frozen limbs. His eyes darted about the room but saw nothing other than a counter to his left and a pull-down movie screen on the wall in front of him.

Bailey tried to hide his fear with bravado, sneering "What are you gonna do now, give me a teeth cleaning?" He immediately regretted saying it, imagining what pain a man with access to his nerves could cause Bailey's teeth.

Leonard didn't rise to Bailey's remark, instead busying himself with an elaborate slide projector setup and a VCR. "This will be a simple test of reaction/response to visual stimuli. Just to make sure the chip is keeping your natural responses constant."

"If you want my natural responses, what do we need the chip for?", Bailey challenged.

Leonard smiled. "That is assuming that your current responses are natural. Now, please direct your eyes to the screen." Bailey had no choice, and focused his eyes dutifully upon the screen. Before him appeared the projected image of a stunning female bathing beauty, wearing the barest minimum in swimwear. Bailey just stared.

"What the hell is this supposed to do?", he asked, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Keep looking", Leonard encouraged, flashing the next image. A swimwear model stood beneath a cascading waterfall, he hair soaked, her flawless skin glistening. Bailey thought, "So what? Is this supposed to be hurting me? Fat chance."

A handful or similar images were flashed before Bailey's eyes. One strikingly beautiful woman after another. Bailey gave no response. Until about the tenth photo. He realized he truly was having no response, no reaction. Despite his fears at being in this surreal situation, he should be getting at least a little rise out of these pictures. But these sumptuous girls did absolutely nothing for him.

"Wait a minute...", Bailey said, the light dawning.

"There's more", Leonard said, advancing to the next slide. This girl was a centerfold. Naked, alluring, her shapely form draped over satin sheets, her bedroom eyes seductive and inviting. Bailey grimaced by reflex. It felt as if he were being propositioned by a linebacker, or his cousin in the army. It was just...wrong.

Half a dozen more glorious women flashed before him, each lingering upon the screen a bit longer than her predecessor. Arching backs, licking lips, fingers tracing their bodies in indication perhaps of where they wished a man might go. Bailey felt a wave of revulsion at each image. It was so exploitative, so disgusting, so, so...female.

Another woman appeared, and on a scale of 1 to 10, she was an 11. Thick waves of blonde hair spilled over her shoulders as she lay back, legs spread to the camera--

"Stop it! Turn it off!!", Bailey cried, squinting his eyes against the slideshow. His stomach churned as he imagined the horror of actually being forced again to look upon those...female parts. God, what was going on here? How had the idea of intimacy with, or more accurately, exploitation of, women become so abhorrent to him?

Leonard stood before Bailey. "You can open your eyes now, Bailey. I shut it off. Not quite so appealing now, are they?"

"It-it was like I was being flashed by--I dunno, by someone on the wrestling team or something! Being attracted to that, it's just not right!" Then, Bailey realized what he'd said, and looked more bewildered by his own words than by his unexpected reaction to the slides.

Leonard stepped to the side of the screen, extending a pointer he'd taken from his pocket. "Time to move on to the next portion of our test", he said. "Eyes front, Bailey. Brace yourself."

What appeared on the screen was not what Bailey expected. He was bracing himself for images of hate crimes, of gay bashings, or some other liberal propaganda designed to intimidate him. But what he saw was simply the color pink. It was soft, soothing, and instantly calming. If this was supposed to cause him greater discomfort, then his tormentor had seriously miscalculated. Even the triangular shape of the soft color, with its point directed downward, was somehow relaxing to Bailey. As if he were somehow...connected to it. Bailey took a deep breath, feeling more relaxed. Had he seen this shape, this color, somewhere before?

"What do you think of this image, Bailey?"

Bailey smirked. "Actually, I kinda like it. I think it looks great, really. Whattaya think of that?"

"I think that's very good, Bailey. And this one?"

Before Bailey could question why Leonard would show him something comforting, the next symbol appeared. A purple handprint. Like the pink triangle, this too seemed somehow soothing and meaningful. As if it had some connection to Bailey on a deeper level of which he was unaware.

"I-I like that one, too--", Bailey said, feeling uncertain all of a sudden.

"Fine. And this?"

A six-colored rainbow flag. Bailey instantly felt great peace just looking at the image. "Ohh, yeaahhh..." It was several seconds before it even registered what the image meant. "W-wait a minute, isn't that a gay thing--?"

"And now this.", Leonard announced.

Dual arrow-ring male insignias appeared on the screen. Even in his befuddled state, Bailey knew what this meant. Two men as one. Homosexual lovers. Bailey felt horrified as a feeling of serenity washed over him at the site of the intertwined rings.

"You seem to be responding to the image therapy much better now, Bailey", Leonard said smugly. "Let's recheck your arousal response, shall we?"

Leonard moved away from the screen, stepping behind Bailey to ensure that nothing blocked his view or distracted him from the latest image projected there. With a soft click, the screen was filled with the image of a handsome shirtless young man of about 19 or 20. His arms and pecs were sleek and muscular, his abs like an iron washboard. His brown hair fell over his forehead in loose wild curls, his dreamy, languid eyes shone out with both intelligence and longing. The only clothing he wore was an extremely tight pair of lycra running shorts, which left very little to the imagination and showed quite clearly that the lad was rather well endowed.

Bailey felt a stirring down below. The young man was so attractive, so handsome, so--so hot. Bailey inhaled sharply. This wasn't happening...

"And this one?", Leonard announced.

The next photo appeared. A blond-haired boy in floral jams on a surf-battered shore, his hair filled with sunlight, his tanned shoulders sprinkled with ocean spray.

Bailey's stirrings were now impossible to deny, he felt himself getting hard. God, this one was...so cute. So, damn, fucking cute.

"And again?" Leonard kept the images coming, not giving Bailey a chance to really adjust to any one of them.

Now it was a redheaded barefoot farmboy. He sat in a hayloft, freckled face alive with the most genuine, innocent smile. His baggy, well-worn overalls dangled down below his six-pack abs, the straps twisting past his legs to drag through the hay. It was clear, from the way the side buttons were undone, that the boy wore nothing underneath. He need only stand up to let the faded denim workwear fall to his ankles, revealing himself in all his glory.

Bailey began to sweat. What was he doing? What was happening to him? Why was he now at full erection over this--this kid? This adorable, 20-year-old, muscular farmhand with those firm biceps, those smooth, smooth pecs. God, he was so charming, so sweet-looking, so...God in heaven, he couldn't help himself, couldn't chase the thought away...so fuckable.

Bailey's erection reached into the air, the head bobbing slightly, dripping precum in anticipation of the next picture.

"What's--what's happening to me?", Bailey begged.

"You're looking at the next image", Leonard said clinically.

A football player. Dressed only in pads, his strong hand wrapped around his massive cock, his face bearing a sly grin, framed by an unruly mass of sweat-drenched raven hair.

"Oh, God! Stop it!!", Bailey cried. "I'm not a goddamn fag! I'm NOT!" Despite his protests, his back began to buck slightly, his penis eager to eject its load.

It took a few more images for that. A wiry, cute Hispanic navy recruit clad in only a white sailor's hat and his dogtags. A blond swimmer, his hair slicked back, rising naked from a dazzling azure swimming pool, the light from the water reflected on his fair skin. A sleek, brunette gardener taking a drink from a hose, his muscled form speckled here and there with bits of dirt and blades of grass, wearing nothing but his knee-high green rubber wellies. The gallery went on, each model more attractive, each pose more enticing.

A marine lathering up in a shower. A surfer luxuriating on a rocky breakwater. A British university student sitting atop a broken brick wall, clad only in leather jacket, his spiky hair alive with orange highlights. An angelic gymnast leaning against the doorway to his gym, his tight singlet unable to contain his manhood.

Bailey tried in vain to thrash himself free. "NOOO! Stop it, please! I can't take this! They're--they're too-too--"

A rookie fireman. Just in his hat and boots, fire hose slung over one shoulder. A smooth-faced construction worker, wearing hardhat and tool belt only.

"They're so--SO--CUTE!! Oh, Christ, they're so goddamned cute! I WANT them!!" And that was all Bailey could take. He fired. His penis erupted with a geyser of semen, his balls were on fire and his hips pumped as he sprayed a virtual deluge of jism into the air to cascade down and spatter upon his skin. Surge upon surge burst forth from his member, his mind burning with the images of the extraordinarily beautiful young men. Bailey's orgasm was enhanced by an undeniable feeling that for the first time in his life, he was experiencing a true sensual rush, motivated by feelings more genuine than anything he had ever experienced either from thinking of, or even being with, a girl. His intoxicating thrusts and spurts lasted for nearly two minutes. It was far and away the longest orgasm Bailey had ever experienced. Thus far.

Bailey gasped with elation, having shot his load all over himself. Part of him was shuddering at the thought of what had inspired his orgasm, but a stronger part was alive with the joy that still rippled throughout his body. He noticed a gentle scraping against the skin of his abs.

Bailey looked down to see Leonard scooping the semen from Bailey's abs and chest with a plastic measuring cup.

"Wh-what are you doing?", Bailey asked, his eyes widening.

"Moving on to the next stage, Bailey", Leonard said matter-of-factly, using a small rubber spatula to make sure he'd scooped every last drop of cum into the cup. "Just loving what men look like isn't quite enough for someone like you. For someone newly gay." Leonard set down the spatula and approached Bailey, holding up the semen-filled cup as if he were about to make a toast.

Bailey knew what was coming, and began to shake his head back and forth. "No, no. No, please, you can't."

"Oh, you're quite right", Leonard said. "I can't. But you can. Open up, Bailey."

Bailey's head stopped shaking and his jaw snapped open wide. His eyes silently pleaded for this not to happen, but it was already too late. "Drink it all down", Leonard ordered, pouring the contents of the cup into Bailey's mouth. "Swallow it all, Bailey. Relish it."

Leonard allowed the cum to run into Bailey's mouth with agonizing slowness. He let the oozing jism roll over Bailey's tongue and slide down his throat. Bailey couldn't help himself. He swallowed it all, gulping at first by mere reflex, then greedily. The taste was warm, salty, and bitter. But it was like nothing he had ever tasted before, in that it was indescribably delicious. As his own cum entered his gullet and was consumed by him, Bailey was overcome by alien thoughts. "Oh, my God, this tastes great. I've never drank anything as good as this. It's--it's incredible. It's perfect! Like this is what I'd always been meant to drink, what I was born to drink. And if my own tastes this good, what does other guys' sperm taste like??"

Leonard stepped back after Bailey had licked the cup clean, and watched his reprogrammed subject lick his lips. Bailey took a deep breath, then paused, as if his senses were registering what he had just done. His eyes filled with fear and his lower lip trembled. He had just swallowed a load of cum. And he had enjoyed it.

"Well, Bailey? How'd you like it?"

Bailey was fighting to keep back the tears. "I-I-I--" He clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth against the words.

"Speak, Bailey. Truth only."

"I liked it!", Bailey gasped out. "Oh God, I really liked it! I loved it! I loved drinking cum!" He sobbed, choking back a desperate wail. "I--I want more! What the hell have you done to me??"

"Started you down the road to self-improvement, Bailey", Leonard said flatly. "Eyes on the screen, now."

Obediently, Bailey locked his eyes back on the screen as Leonard started the video images again. Photo after photo of hung young men and beautiful boys flashed before him. All smooth bodies, tanned skin, wide eyes, athletic physiques, suggestive poses. Bailey grew hard instantly, his body alive with a yearning sensation to have any one of these boys, or to be had by them. The images kept coming, one after the other, surfers, weightlifters, gymnasts, wrestlers, swimmers, all so young, all with lithe bodies and fresh faces, bright smiles and dancing eyes. Bailey's body, though still paralyzed beyond his own capacity to move it, trembled with desire for these magnificent male specimens. Bailey's mouth moved spasmodically, but no sound came out of it.

The images changed. No longer showing handsome young men one at a time, they were now presented as couples. Bailey's eyes grew wider--if that were possible--and his heart skipped a beat as he realized what was coming. Unclothed, breathtaking boys flashed on the screen, embracing, kissing, stroking each other affectionately. Couple after couple displayed their affection in the most demonstrative ways; in bed, on couches and sofas, in swimming pools, on the grass. Bailey tried to swallow but found he could not. His mind was racing, and part of him was silently screaming somewhere inside his head, "Yes! This is what true affection is. This is true love! It's genuine, it's real! Don't you see?? This is what you've been missing! What you've been suppressing!! This is what you've always needed!"

Bailey tried to scream his denial, instead only croaking out the tiniest protest. "...no..."

The images came faster and faster, the bombardment seemed never ending, but the speed never increased past the point of perception. Every photo was still registering clearly in Bailey's eyes and held in his mind. Young men sucked each other's cocks, fucked feverishly, their faces masks of delicious torment. Tongues licked and probed everywhere on a partner's body, mouths accepted throbbing members eagerly, smooth virgin asses were plowed by anxious and penetrating dicks. Bailey felt a yearning such as he never had before. He was so aroused, he needed to experience all this so badly. This was who he was, who he was meant to be. Surely any previous attraction he had to women was nothing but some case of genetic confusion.

The images sped up to the point of becoming erotic blurs, all pounding into Bailey's mind, causing his erection to spring up painfully, larger, harder. His eyes wide, his mouth hanging open, Bailey's mind could no longer handle the fierce bombardment that told him relentlessly who he now truly was, who he would be forced to become. Bailey felt that he had been a naked prisoner upon that doctor's chair for hours, perhaps days.

In truth, it took less than twenty minutes before the smooth, muscular homophobic womanizer that had been Bailey Sims passed out. His head bobbed forward, a stream of drool dangling from his lower lip. Unconscious and unaware, Bailey's penis poured out streams of semen, his dreams awhirl with visions of gorgeous young men accepting him into their strong arms. His new life had begun.

Bailey jolted awake in his own bed, in his own room. He was gasping for breath, eyes darting about to take in his surroundings and confirm that he was indeed where he should be. What had just happened? The last he remembered, he was in the lab of that little fruit science geek, Leonard. He was there against his will, due to a chip that had been implanted in his body. Leonard was doing...terrible things to him. he was going to make Bailey into a--

Bailey whipped away his covers and sheets with one sweep of his powerful arm. He had to ascertain immediately that he was in bed alone. He was. Bailey let out a huge sigh of relief. He hadn't been forced to be with anyone he normally wouldn't, he... He hadn't been made to...do anything. Bailey massaged his eyes with his fingertips, wondering if what he had experienced the night before had even been real. Had it been?

Bailey looked at his knees and could see the slight redness still present on the skin from where he had slammed into the concrete floor of the lab to grovel before Leonard. No, it had happened. He could feel that it had. But, what else had happened? Was there more that he couldn't remember? That he was being forced not to remember? He had been naked, in an examination chair, forced to undergo--what was it now? He remembered the slides, the suggestions. He remembered his responses with frightening clarity.

But there was a gap. What had happened from that time to this? Bailey looked down at his naked body and wondered if he'd been made to walk home this way. He always slept in the nude, so his present state of undress offered no clues, really. Gingerly, Bailey got out of bed. he walked slowly across his room, testing the waters, so to speak, to see if his movements were in any way hindered. They weren't. He circled the room, stretched, scratched. He was okay. He was able to do as he liked again.

Relieved, Bailey dropped to the floor and did his customary 200 morning pushups. As he raised and lowered his tense body, he dwelled on Leonard's threats. "There was probably nothing to them", he thought. "Yeah, most likely the whole chip thing was a one-shot deal and Leonard shot his wad having his fun last night. Probably used up the whole thing's memory or something like that." Around his 100th pushup, Bailey ht upon another notion. "Or", he decided, "the damn thing's still inside, ready to do its master's dirty work, only he's too chicken to go through with it." Bailey paused in mid-pump to weigh the idea. "Yeah, definitely", he convinced himself. "The faggot got too scared to finish what he started. Probably because he knew that when it was all over I'd kick his ass. Chickenshit bastard." Bailey's final 100 pushups were done at a very lively pace.

Refreshed in body and spirit, Bailey hopped lithely to his feet and strode manfully over to his closet. He wanted to wear something that would help scrape away the vulnerability he felt last night. His camo pants, he thought. And the army boots and olive drab commando sweater. Just what he needed. Bailey pulled open the closet door and found...nothing. At least none of his clothes, anyway.

His closet had been stripped bare. All that was there was one outfit on a lone hanger. It was something Bailey would not be caught dead wearing in a million years.

Bailey dashed to his bureau and rifled the drawers, only to find them all empty as well. "Oh shit", Bailey muttered. Slowly, and with no small amount of fear, Bailey walked back over to the closet. He reached inside and above to pull down the string of the overhead bulb. With a tug, the closet interior lit up and he took in what was waiting for him there.

On the hanger was a sleeveless muscle shirt. It was black, with a large horizontal white stripe running across the chest and around the back. Upon that stripe was a six-colored gay pride flag. Below the shirt was a pair of what would be very tight-fitting running shorts. Lycra. Pink. On the floor of the closet directly beneath the shirt and shorts was a pair of running shoes. Purple with pink soles, stripes, and accents.

"Oh my fucking God", Bailey mumbled. There was no way in hell Bailey would ever put this shit on. He grabbed the hanger and tossed it across the room in defiance. The moment the hanger left his hand, he felt a tingle run up the length of his arm, from the fingertips to the shoulder, and then back again.

As if and invisible cable had snared Bailey's arm, he was yanked violently back toward the closet, where his hand grasped the closet door and flung it fully open. On the interior of the closet door hung a marker board and Sharpie pen. Bailey snatched up the pen and began to write furiously. He had no idea what he was doing, so he craned his neck a bit to see what he was writing, as his arm and hand seemed to have a mind of their own. Bailey's eyes grew wide as he read his own handwriting:

BAILEY, I SUGGEST YOU PUT ON THE CLOTHES I'VE PREPARED FOR YOU. IT'S NOT LIKE YOU HAVE A CHOICE. THIS PROGRAM WAS BACKUP IN CASE YOU TRIED TO RESIST DRESSING APPROPRIATELY FOR THE FIRST DAY OF YOUR NEW LIFE.

Bailey stopped writing and he stared at the board for a moment. His arm was frozen at his side. In fact, he realized that his entire body had been frozen, his eyes staring straight ahead. He was being given a moment to read and absorb the message. Then, his free hand ("free" being a relative term) grabbed the small eraser that was velcroed to the side of the marker board and wiped away the message. Then his other hand began to write once more.

YOU WILL DRESS AS I PERMIT YOU TO DRESS. DON THE ATTIRE YOU'VE BEEN PROVIDED, THEN ENJOY A NICE, LEISURELY MORNING JOG. PREFERABLY BY ALL YOUR FAVOTIRE HAUNTS. YOUR FRIENDS NEED TO SEE YOU. AND GIRLS, ESPECIALLY.

Bailey fought the movements of his hand with all his might, but only served to clench his teeth and furrow his brow. He whispered impotently, "...no..." His hand wiped the board clean and wrote again.

YOU ARE NO LONGER IN CONTROL, BAILEY. ACCEPT IT. ANSWER THE FOLLOWING QUESTION ALOUD, TRUTHFULLY. WHAT IS THE MAJOR EXPORT OF MALAYSIA?

Without hesitation, the words came from Bailey's mouth with conviction. "I don't know because I am a stupid, clueless bigot without a brain." Bailey's face crumpled as his hand wiped the message away and he could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. God, no, this wasn't happening to him...

YOU HAVE ONE LAST CHANCE TO HELP YOURSELF, BAILEY. AFTER YOU ARE COMPELLED TO PUT ON YOUR CLOTHES, YOU HAVE THE CHOICE OF SAYING ALOUD BEFORE YOU LEAVE FOR YOUR JOG, "I MUST OBEY MY MASTER. THIS IS FOR MY OWN GOOD."

Another wipe of the eraser. Then his pen hand began again:

IF YOU SAY IT OF YOUR OWN FREE WILL, YOU WILL BE REWARDED. IF NOT, YOUR REPROGRAMMING WILL TAKE CONSIDERABLY LONGER. THE CHOICE IS YOURS.

Bailey stood frozen before the marker board again, this time after replacing the pen in its holder. He expected to mechanically erase this final message, but instead, he took one step away from the board, keeping his eyes upon. It was clearly supposed to sink in. It didn't. "No fucking way I'll ever say that in this lifetime", Bailey sneered.

In a flash, he was across the room, retrieving his discarded running gear. He marched over to his full-length mirror and was forced to watch himself put them on. After he was dressed in the outlandish costume (he thought), he stood tall with his hands on his hips, his face split with a beautiful broad smile. Buried beneath his false smile he burned with indignation. If it was the last thing he ever did, he would get even with this queer scientist bastard.

Bailey began running in place and trotted over to the door. He stayed there, running in place for a few moments, not making any move to exit. His head suddenly jerked around to look again at the marker board on the closet door. It served as reminder that he was now supposed to speak his new mantra. Bailey's eyes burned with fury and he was resolute in his decision to be his own man in at least this. He would not speak the words. He would not humiliate himself that way. Maybe this kid thought Bailey was his puppet now. Let him think it. But before Bailey would go jogging out all over the city in this asinine getup, he'd grab hold of the door jam and take a good chunk of wood with him before he'd let go.

Despite his resolve, Bailey jogged blithely out the door, down the stairs, and out into the street, keeping a brisk pace, but still slow enough that all passersby could get a good look at him.

Bailey spent most of the day running, or trotting, more accurately. It was Saturday, so there was no pressing need to be anywhere. As a result, Leonard took great pleasure in seeing to it that Bailey ran everywhere he felt he should be. Bailey made his wag across campus, jogging merrily along (or at least appearing to be merry, as inside he was seething), past as many people as he could find. Those who knew Bailey remarked on his new running gear, to which he replied with a bright smile, "It's my new look to go with my new attitude!"

For someone in Bailey's physical condition, the light jog was no effort. Emotionally, however, he was being exhausted. He felt himself being guided to the Ionia Street Pub, a favorite hangout of the pack. Bailey jogged to the sidewalk cafe area where he and the pack usually met. He gulped hard when he saw his buddies waiting around, apparently for him.

"There you are, man! We've been waiting here for like--", and they suddenly saw Bailey's attired. "What in the hell are you wearing, dude?"

"You like it, fellas?", Bailey asked, grinning. "It's like I've finally found my look. It's the new me. Can't believe I ever wore anything else!" Bailey kept trotting up and down, jogging in place. Inside, Bailey was trying desperately to fight what he saying, though you'd never know it to look at him. He kept thinking that if he could just get some sign to the pack, fill them in on what was happening to him, give them some hint--they could gang up on the little queer Leonard and force him to undo what he'd done. But his thoughts were overridden by a sudden realization of how cute the boys of the pack were...

"Uhh...Bay, dude, you look like a big fag."

Bailey's face suddenly turned harsh. "So what if I do? Maybe that's what I am, you ever think about that? Maybe I've always been so hostile about homos because I was afraid to admit I was one!" Bailey's stomach started doing a roll-over act. He wasn't saying this. He couldn't be saying this.

All of the pack were on their feet, mouths hanging open in shock, unable to process what they were seeing, what they were hearing. "B-but you can't be queer, man! What about tonight? Our plans--"

Still jogging place, Bailey spoke loudly, "The gay bashing is off for tonight, boys! You're gonna lay off that shit, ya got me?"

The pack cringed as other guests of the pub all turned and stared. "Bay, keep it down, man! Somebody's gonna call the cops or sumthin'--!"

"Listen, I don't have time to hang with you guys anymore. Later." And Bailey trotted off on his way, shiny pink lycra catching the light as he moved. The pack stood there, bewildered and shattered at the sight of their precious leader behaving like a big gayboy. One at a time, the pack broke up, wandering in different directions, muttering things about needing to go, about forgotten appointments suddenly remembered.

Outside the girl's dorms, the redheaded girl with the name that began with an "A" sat on the steps with her blond friend, gushing about her life-altering experience with Bailey the night before. "Oh. My. God. It was like, the most amazing thing I have ever experienced. He was incredible. So sure of himself, so in control. He was like...like a stevedore during sex!"

"What's a stevedore?", the blond.

"I don't know, I heard it on TV once. But it's supposed to be good, and he was like that, I know it! He was gone when I got up, like he'd been called off to perform some mysterious duty, or like he had been some divine dream--"

"Or he had been an uncouth cad."

The girls looked up to see who had spoken, and there stood Bailey in all his rainbow-flagged, pink lycraed glory. "Hello, ladies.", Bailey said gallantly. Then, turning to the redhead, he said, "I just had to come by and see you."

She was on her feet in an instant. "Yes? D-did you want to get together again? Maybe tonight?"

"No, I'm afraid not. You see, the reason I wasn't there when you woke up this morning is that I don't really care about you."

The girl's face fell and he friend's mouth dropped open. Bailey saw their dismay and spoke quickly. "Oh, it's not you. It's nothing to do with you. It's me. You see, I was being a cruel, unfeeling bastard and was just using you last night to impress my friends. You deserve someone so much better than me."

"Why--why are you saying this??"

"Because it's true. Look, Angie--"

"April."

"April. I knew it started with an "A". See? That's further proof that I'm an insensitive creep. I didn't even bother to learn your name. I only chose you because you were the most beautiful, sweetest-looking girl in the whole room last night." And Bailey glanced over at the girlfriend. "Except for maybe one other." The blond smiled a bit, looking away. Then, Bailey returned his focus to April. "It all came to me while we made love last night. You deserve someone so much better than me. Someone who loves you for who you are, not just someone who wants a conquest for what you look like. You deserve a real man."

"Bailey, what are you saying--?"

Bailey stepped back and spun around slowly. "Look at me, April. I realized last night that I not only don't deserve someone as wonderful as you, but I was never meant to be with women to begin with. I was meant to be with boys. This is who I am now. Who I was always meant to be."

April just sort of stared, not knowing how to process this. She wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer. "Bailey? Did you know you're wearing pink tights?"

"Yeah, I know. Listen," and he gently placed his hands on her shoulders, "a couple of my friends may be by later. They're good guys. You'd like 'em. Please take the time to get to know them, and promise me you won't judge them solely on their looks. I mean, I look pretty good and look how I turned out."

April wasn't sure what all this meant, so she just said, "Um--okay..."

"Gotta run." And Bailey kissed her softly on the forehead. "Be happy, April. I hope you find a boy who's worthy of you." And Bailey trotted off, a smile on his face.

After a moment's silence, April turned back to her girlfriend. "Okay. So, now that I think about it, he wasn't all that great in bed."

Bailey jogged on, waving happily to gawking passersby and smiling amiably at those who would laugh and point. In his mind, he kept repeating a mantra. "I am in control of my body. I am taking back control of my body. I am making my legs stop running. I am directing myself back to my apartment. I am taking back control of my body." When twenty minutes of nonstop mantra-ing provided no results, Bailey switched to, "I will at least stop smiling and waving. I will force myself to stop smiling and waving." Nothing. "Okay, just to stop smiling, then." More nothing. "Dammitt!!"

Bailey found himself jogging toward Dana Hall, where the two freshmen, Phil and Phil's friend (he never did get his name) were kicking around a hacky sack on the lawn. Bailey hailed them as he approached. "Hey, guys!"

The boys stopped in mid-kick, their eyes wide like the proverbial deer in the headlights. "Oh, shit! Run, man!"

"No, no, wait!", Bailey cried. And he put on a burst of speed to overcome the boys easily. Bailey always knew he was fast, but he had no recollection of ever moving so quickly. Bailey put his arms around the two boys, saying, "Easy fellas, easy. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to apologize."

The freshmen boys squirmed under Bailey's arms. "Sure you are! What do you want?!"

"Why can't you leave us alone?", Phil begged.

"Guys, guys, I swear to you I am not going to hurt you. Do you see any of my other friends around?" The boys stopped squirming a bit as they realized Bailey was speaking the truth. At the very worst, the others could be hiding nearby waiting for the chance to ambush, but they weren't immediately on hand. "I just want to talk to you, that's all. If I let you go, will you promise not run away long enough for me to have my say?"

The boys looked at each other, and nodded slowly. "Okay", Bailey said. "I'm lifting up my arms now--" Bailey released his hold on the boys and they slipped quickly from his grasp and started backing away at a brisk pace.

"Guys, I'm really sorry for the way that I've--" Bailey saw that the boys just kept backing up faster and faster, preparing to break into a full sprint to freedom. Bailey rolled his eyes and said, "Oh, fer Christ's sakes. Guys, lookit." And right here Bailey fell to his knees, and placed his hands behind his back. The two boys didn't know what to make of it, and stopped backing up. "I'll stay like this until I'm done talking if it'll make you feel safer. Just please, guys, let me talk."

The boys stared. Then, Phil said, "You got five minutes."

"I only need one", Bailey assured him. "Guys, I have been a complete shit to you. No one--and I mean no one--deserves to be treated the way I've treated you. It was cruel, heartless, and inexcusable. And I am not kidding when I say I am very, very sorry and that I beg your forgiveness."

The boys looked at each other, waiting for the punchline.

"Look in my eyes", Bailey encouraged them. "I'm not joking. This isn't a trick." The boys relaxed a little. He certainly seemed sincere, and they didn't think he was a good enough actor to fake that.

"Look, Phil---and, um--what's your name, man?"

"Ryan."

"Ryan. I know for a fact you guys aren't gay. The attacks on you were all made out of sexual insecurity and immature fear on my part. You're not gay, but--" and Bailey paused. "I'm gonna stand up, now, guys. Stay calm." The boys took a step back and tensed themselves to run. Bailey stood up, revealing his outfit. "You're not gay--but I am." The boys looked like they were about to fill their pants, if they hadn't already.

Bailey strode over to the shocked boys and gently placed his arms around them, like a friend. "I was so frightened of who I was, I took it out on anyone smaller than me in order to shift attention from myself. I see that now. And while I can see that both of you are pretty cute guys--"

Phil tried to jerk away. "Eeeehh!!"

"--I can see that you aren't that way." Bailey pulled Phil and Ryan close and whispered, "Listen. There are a couple of cute girls on the steps outside their dorm right now." And Bailey pointed in the direction of the girls' dorm. "I just dumped one of the girls when I came out to her. I don't know how she 's taking it, but I bet she and her friend could use the sympathetic ears of two bright guys like you. And maybe more. Promise me you'll go see her and her friend. Would you?"

Phil and Ryan's heads bobbed like car window toys.

"Okay, that's great. I appreciate it, fellas. And I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me." As Bailey let them go, he gave them a tender pat on the back. "God bless, guys." And he trotted off to continue his preprogrammed journey.

Ryan stood there, mouth-breathing. He stared at the departing former bully until he was a speck on the horizon (or actually, until he had rounded a distant corner at the edge of the campus. Then Ryan said, "Phil, what the fuck was that? Phil?" But Ryan would have to wait for an answer to his question. His friend Phil had fainted.

After what seemed an eternity, Bailey returned home. He was utterly exhausted. He had put himself through many more physically draining exercises before, but nothing to match the emotional turmoil of today. Undoing past wrongs, disbanding the pack, winking at cute boys, being generally, if disgustingly, cheerful to everyone. And all the while fighting from inside to stop it, to no avail.

When Bailey staggered inside his room, he could feel his own bodily control returning, though a small buzz at the base of his skull was still present. He had control of himself again, but only temporarily. Bailey collapsed face-down on the bed. "Okay, you fucker", he said aloud. "You win. I get it. You put something in my body and can control me with it, and I can't fight it. You're all superior and shit. So, fine then. I give. "Uncle". Whatever. Now turn the goddamn thing off. I got the point."

Bailey rolled over onto his back. Leonard had indeed proven his point, Bailey had been humiliated. What more could he want? Now it was just a question of damage control. He had to regroup the pack, of course. Come up with some explanation for his behavior. Had he lost a bet, perhaps? That might work. The redhead was sufficiently brain dead that few would believe what she said. No real trouble there. As for the freshman boys, Phil and whatshisname, they needed a royal ass-kicking as soon as humanly possible, that was for sur--

Bailey sat bolt upright, disrupting his train of thought. He then walked across the room and retrieved the pen from the marker board. He watched in silence as a new "conversation" began.

THIS IS FAR FROM OVER, BAILEY. DON'T MAKE ANY BIG PLANS JUST YET. THIS IS ONLY THE BEGINNING.

"What the hell?", Bailey wondered aloud. "What more could he possibly do to me?"

TO MAKE THINGS EASIER, ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS SAY THE WORDS, BAILEY. THIS IS FOR YOUR OWN GOOD. JUST SAY IT.

"In hell!", Bailey spat defiantly.

VERY WELL, MY HOMOPHOBIC PUPPET. YOUR CALL.

Bailey spent the rest of the afternoon carefully pinning up posters around his room, decorating the walls with images of Justin Timberlake and N'sync, the Brewer Twins, Will Estes, and Antonio Sabato, Jr. He was forced to smile the entire time.

In the days that followed, Bailey found himself wearing all manner of clothes that made him cringe. The pink running gear was a recurring favorite. He was made to run at least three times a week in order to be seen by as many people as possible. He also wore baby blue shorts and a purple tanktop when running or simply when "out and about". Bailey's wardrobe now consisted of so many bright and garish colors it could make the average circus clown appear conservative. Brilliant blues, purples, yellows, neon greens, and a great deal of pink. Everything he wore seemed to have some amount of pink. Every day Bailey went to his closet, dreading what he would find there, convinced it couldn't be worse than the day before--and every day he was wrong. Leonard had timed Bailey's schedule perfectly so that he could slip in and deposit the latest ensemble while Bailey was out "on assignment" via the chip.

Today was workout day at the gym. In fact, nearly every day was workout day at the gym now. Leonard had increased Bailey's exercise routine from three to five days a week. He was in his new standard gym gear, a short-sleeved canary yellow singlet with neon pink lightning bolts running down the sides. It worked well with his electric blue wrestling shoes with the bright yellow soles.

Bailey always found himself at the gym during peak hours, always in whatever room was experiencing the most traffic. Bailey was compelled to work out nearest the cutest guys, and always offered to help spot them. He couldn't fight the programmed attraction he felt to all the hunky young men, and his singlet was of no help hiding his arousal.

Bailey found himself in the free weight room, scanning the room for attractive boys, and found one such specimen at the bench press. He was about 19, with classicly handsome features and the build of a linebacker. He was struggling a bit with the barbell which was loaded with an impressive amount of weight.

"Hey, lemme help you with that", Bailey said. His hands braced the barbell so that the struggling lifter could return it to its rest.

"Whoa! Thanks, man. I've been increasing the amount of weight I use, and I guess I overdid--" The young man stopped short as he caught sight of who had helped him, this clownish muscle lad with the obvious erection. The weightlifter, who had been laying on his back on the bench, slid away quickly, springing to his feet. He stepped slowly away from the bench, away from Bailey. "Um, man, if you want to take the bench press, it's all yours. I'm good."

"No, it's cool", Bailey said. "You can keep lifting if you want. I'd be happy to spot you." And Bailey looked the young man up and down. "Real happy. Whatever your regimen is, it's working." And he flashed a bright smile. "You look hot, dude."

The young man just kept backing away, his eyes wide. When he bumped into the butterfly machine while backing up, he spun on his heel and trotted out of the weight room. Bailey felt smaller than an amoeba. What had he just done to that poor kid? What had he done to himself? Bailey looked around and saw that all the eyes in the immediate area were upon him. Some men had stopped in mid-curl with weights still in hand. Others working with weight machines paused halfway through presses and lifts to stare at the bright yellow gay guy who had just made a pass at a frightened young kid.

Bailey shuffled out of the room, feeling humiliated, and tried to keep his mouth shut long enough to get clear. It didn't work. Halfway across the floor, he stopped and turned to the men glaring at him. He shrugged slightly and said in way of defense, "Well can you blame me? He was cute."

It was like that every time Bailey went to the gym. And he kept going. One day on the treadmills, his former trainer walked by and Bailey tried to deliver a courteous hello, but it came out, "Keith! Those are some really nice-looking red shorts ya got there, man. Mm-mmm!" Keith shot him a look that would stop a train and hurried on his way. Bailey's broad smile did a fine job of camouflaging the fact that inside, he was dying of shame.

It wasn't long before Bailey could clear any room in the gym simply by entering it. He had become a pariah, and even the gay members at the gym resented Bailey for being so flamboyant and overbearing. Each day, he would leave the gym alone, still dressed in his bright yellow workout gear, and was usually avoided by everyone. Except for one time.

"Bailey!"

Bailey looked up to see who was hailing him as he departed the gym. It was the pack. Bailey's stomach muscles clenched when he saw them, horrified of what he might be forced to say. He picked up his pace, pretending he didn't hear anything.

The pack just stepped up their own pace, jogging over to their former leader. "Dude! Bay! Hey man, don't blow us off!"

Bailey knew he couldn't avoid his pack forever. He was just hoping to delay it a bit longer. "Hey. Whattaya want?"

"Bailey, we want to know what's up with you lately, man."

"What do you mean?"

"What do we mean?? Jesus, man! Look at yourself!" And he indicated Bailey's flamboyant choice of gymwear. "You've been acting pretty odd lately, Bay. Me and the guys, we're just worried, is all. Is there...anything you want to tell us?"

Bailey shifted his feet uncomfortably and slung his gym bag over his shoulder to depart. "I can't talk about it, guys. Sorry."

But his former friends weren't buying that. A hand was placed on Bailey's chest, holding him back. "Whoa, whoa, not so fast, man! Seriously, is this some kind of pledge thing, dude? Are you going through a frat initiation and you aren't allowed to talk about it until you're in?" The friend looked around quickly, then leaned in conspiratorially, "C'mon, man. You can tell us. We won't let anyone know you spilled the beans. It's a frat thing, isn't it?"

Bailey couldn't believe his good luck. Here his boys had provided him with the perfect cover. He could say it was all an act, a hazing. Something manlier guys do to show their strength and guts, not a sign of weakness. It was a male bonding thing, is all. Bonding through the time-honored method of ritual humiliation. Bailey opened his mouth to 'fess up that it was an elaborate, extended hazing (hell, he might even get his boys to go along with him as an act of solidarity). But the words that came out were far from what he wanted.

"It's nothing like that, guys. Look, I've just been going through a lot of changes, lately. I've had some moments of--of self-discovery." And Bailey's hand rested gently upon his friend's shoulder as he looked into his eyes with what appeared to be sincerity. "I've been kinda confused, and I'm finally beginning to find out who I really am." Bailey's hand began to brush lightly against his friend's cheek. "Just be happy for me, okay?"

The friend slapped Bailey's hand away. "What the fuck is wrong with you, man?!"

Another pack member tapped the friend on the shoulder. "I know what the Baileymeister needs to perk himself up and get him back to normal. Check it out." He thumbed toward two boys walking up the street toward the nearby campus. It was the freshmen buddies, Phil and his ubiquitous friend. The pack member smiled, and Bailey's pal grinned back maliciously.

The pal playfully slapped Bailey's shoulder. "Now THAT, my man, is what you need. A good old-fashioned faggot ass-kickin--"

Bailey's hand darted out like a viper and clutched the former friend's throat. "Don't.", Bailey commanded, his voice hard as iron.

"Bailey, what the fuck??", a pack member said.

Bailey had always been the strongest of the group by far, and he proved it by lifting his old friend off his feet by several inches. "If any of you ever--EVER--harass those two kids again, or anyone like them, I swear to God I will kick the living shit out of every one of you. Are we clear?"

The friend wriggled under Bailey's grasp, feet kicking slightly, spitting out incoherent sounds and gasping for air.

"Are we CLEAR?!"

"...wheer...kuh-kleeerr..." the friend wheezed.

The other shouted back, "We get it, Bailey! Now drop him, Jesus!"

Bailey let go and watched as his one-time bashing companion fell to the ground like a rag doll. The other pack members hurried to gather him up. Bailey fixed them with a threatening glare. "You stay away from my two boys over there, and everyone else while you're at it. They're off-limits. You got me?" Bailey wanted to shout, to scream, to plead that this was not him talking. These were not his words, they were not his actions. But of course he didn't. He couldn't.

The pack moved away from Bailey cautiously, but quickly. "Fuck you, man! Fuck you! You can go to hell for all we care, faggot queer-lover! Goin' gay on us! Just--just fuck you!" What the boys lacked in eloquence they made up for in emphasis. Bailey saw that there was no way that any of his old friends would do anything to help him now.

He knew without a doubt that he was on his own.

That evening Bailey stood before the closet, dreading what he'd find there. He was actually steeling himself to say aloud that he had to obey his master and it was for his own good. He didn't give a shit at this point whether or not that constituted surrender, he just wanted to get this over with. The incident outside the gym had been the last straw. He would do whatever was necessary not to endure another like it.

"Okay, here goes", he said and opened the closet door. He got as far as, "I must ob--" before it turned into "What the fuck is THAT?!"

Bailey's hands switched to autopilot and he pulled out the garment and held it before him. It looked a lot like fishing gear, except that it had a full top and sleeves, like a sweatshirt. And it was made entirely of rubber. Good God, was it ever made of rubber. A whole lot of rubber. Inside and out.

Bailey unzipped the suit from behind and began to step into it. "Can't believe I'm doing this..." he thought. As he pulled up the lower portion of the suit and the cool, new rubber brushed against his legs and rear, he got an erection. "Oh, Christ, not this. Don't make me hot for S&M gear, for the love of God."

After slipping easily into the sleeves, Bailey reached deftly behind himself and zipped up. He started to move toward the mirror to assess the damages, but his hand took up the marker and jotted down a quick note.

IT'S A WADERSUIT, BY THE WAY. GO HAVE A LOOK AT YOURSELF.

"That's what I was trying to do, ya little prick", Bailey muttered. Bailey stood before the mirror and his jaw dropped. He was clad in a one-piece rubber wadersuit that flattered his physique very nicely. The suit was a highly, highly polished black that seemed to shine even in the soft light of his room. Emblazoned boldly across his chest was a large rubber pink triangle, which matched the stripes running down his arms and legs, around his sleeve cuffs, and edging the soles of his boots.

"Oh, Jesus Christ, no", Bailey whispered. "This is the limit. He can't do this to me."

Bailey's shocked resistance amounted to nothing as he stepped easily over to the marker board, wiped away the last message and then wrote another.

YOU EVER BEEN TO A RUBBER BAR, BAILEY?

Bailey stood there, staring at the words in disbelief, shaking his head in shock. "Can't do this, can't do this..."

As Bailey mumbled his ineffectual protest, he was barely aware of his other hand reaching into the closet to retrieve another item that he hadn't even noticed was there. It was a man-sized rubber dog collar, with a metal pink triangle where the tag would be. Bailey held it up to behold the engraving in bold black letters, which could be clearly seen from a distance, reading "BOTTOM".

Bailey reached around his neck to fasten the collar firmly in place with preprogrammed expert hands. Bailey was aghast at what he was doing, where he was being made to go, what he might possibly have to do there. "No, no, no, not this, anything but this, I swear I can't take this, you don't understand..." He heard the collar's latch click with alarming finality, and Bailey swallowed hard.

As his arm casually closed the closet, Bailey began to shout, to plead, "Leonard! I must obey my master in all things! This is for my own good! It is! I see that now! Please! It's for my own good!!"

Bailey strode proudly out the door in his rubber suit, his cries dying in his throat, his tears held in check, his face forced into a smile that would appear to anyone to be perfectly natural and genuine. A spring in his step, the newly-made rubberboy trotted to the bus stop for his long ride across town.

Back in his lab, Leonard followed a readout at his console, the one chronicling Bailey's progress. He grinned. "Yes, it is for your own good, Bailey. So glad you're beginning to see that."

Bailey was disgusted with himself.

He was at Club Gummi, a rubber fetish bar. Bailey was gyrating on the dance floor with someone maybe two or three years younger than he was, working up a terrible sweat inside his wadersuit, and fighting to remind himself that the aching erection he had was the work of the chip and not the handsome young man dancing so close to him.

The young dancer had black hair, with the top and bangs dyed red-orange. He wore a skintight rubber bodysuit and rubber cycle jacket. Around his neck was a thin but formidable chain that ended in a small padlock worn like a pendant. He was young and inexperienced, but was looking to make use of Bailey to remedy the latter, as well as take a few notches out of the former.

There were rooms in the back of the club for rent by the hour. The young dancer had paid for two hours. Bailey stood with him in the sparsely furnished room (read: it had a bed and a table) waiting for what would come next. The music from the club came muffled through the heavy door, reduced to a steady pulse of dull thuds. Bailey towered over the boy by several inches, but knew his chip would keep him docile enough that he may as well have been three feet tall. Bay had been trying to make himself run for the door and race out of the club, but his feet refused to move, his mouth wouldn't release the cry for help he wanted to scream.

The young man approached Bailey with a cocky sass in his walk, looking him over as one would an elegantly prepared meal, wondering where to start first. "So, you got a name, buddy?"

Bailey started to answer, when the young man placed a silencing finger upon his lips. "Wait." He slid his finger down Bailey's lips, over his chin, and fingered the pink triangular tag dangling from Bailey's rubber dog collar. "Bottom", the boy read. "That's right. I saw it when we were out on the floor. I like that. How about I call you that?"

Bailey looked at the boy with far more yearning than he should have and said with a voice that begged for approval, "My name is Bottom, sir."

The boy put his arms around Bailey's shoulders, laughing lightly. "God, you really are a total bottom, aren't you--Bottom?" The boy pressed his palm tight against Bailey's throbbing member, pressing the rubber wadersuit tight to his crotch.

"Yes, sir." Bailey's heart was racing. What was going to be done to him? What was he going to do?

The rubberboy led him to the bed. "C'mere." The boy jumped onto the bed, making the cheap springs squeak upon impact. The boy tossed his jacket on the floor and curled his index finger inward to invite Bailey to join him, in what he thought was an enticing way, making the Bailey's stomach churn. On his face, Bailey's mouth formed a grin against his will.

Bailey gently mounted the bed on all fours, feeling the overwhelming compulsion to submit to his temporary master's every command. Bailey was silently praying for some miracle that would release him, but knowing it was not coming, switched to prayers for strength to make it through his ordeal. The boy flipped over onto his stomach and said over his shoulder, "Unzip me."

Bailey looked at the seat of the rubber bodysuit the boy was wearing and saw a zipper that began at the center of his lower back and curved around his butt, between his legs, and up past his crotch. Slowly, Bailey unzipped the boy, exposing his ass and allowing his cock and balls to hang free. Bay was going to keep going, when the boy grabbed his wrist, stopping him. "Whoa, whoa. That's good." The boy then settled himself on his knees and elbows, baring his ass to Bailey. "Go to it.", he commanded.

Bailey was confused. "You-you want me to fuck you?"

The boy turned halfway around with a look of disgust on his face. "Bottom?! Hello, do you think I'd ask you to take Top, boy? I need a good rimming, Bottom. Go on, clean me out."

Bailey had no idea what he was talking about. "Sir? I--" And without warning, Bailey's tongue shout out of his mouth and his body lurched forward, his arms gripping first the bed, then the boy's legs to maintain his balance. Whatever rimming was, the chip knew what to do, even if he didn't.

Bailey's eyes bulged and his heart pounded as he moved in on the boy's rectum. His mind raced. "Oh, please dear God in heaven, this is not happening to me, do not let this happen to me..." And with the chip fully overriding Bailey's body, he set to work.

Bailey probed and traced his tongue in areas he had never dreamed of, even in his worst nightmares. He licked the young man's behind, the outside of his hole, and then inside, so slowly, tenderly, and thoroughly. Bailey had never been so attentive to anything in his life, than as he took his time and tended to the young man in the rubber suit. The young man moaned and inhaled sharply, muttering words of pleasure and approval. Before long, Bailey's face was pressed flush against the young man's rear, his tongue forcing its way inward as far as he could make it go. Once inside, he licked and swiped for as long as he could, until his mouth grew sore.

Finally, the young man began to pull forward, away from Bailey, and Bay let his head drop, relieved that the ordeal was over, and shaking with fear as the sensation of pleasure crept over his body. His dick became hard and he felt an inward arousal over what he had done, just as his mind reeled in disgust and rebellion.

The young man flopped over onto his back and looked at Bailey, who panted slightly, exhausted, as he remained on all fours on the bed. "That was excellent, Bottom."

"Th-thank-you, sir. S-so glad to have pleased you." Bailey couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. He felt totally submissive to this young man, even though he knew that if he had wanted to, he could snap him in two like a popsicle stick.

"Time for your reward, Bottom", the young man said, drawing Bailey up to his knees. The young man reached behind and under Bailey's collar and found his wadersuit's zipper. He then slowly unzipped the wadersuit, pulling down the rubber top, drawing Bailey's arms out of the sleeves. The young man hopped off the bed and got behind Bailey, pushing him forward on all fours again. Bailey complied as his wadersuit was pulled down further, past his pelvic area to bunch up around his knees.

Bailey had a feeling what was coming next, but prayed was wrong. "S-sir? Wh-what are we going to do--?"

"I'll worry about the doing, Bottom", the boy said back, feeling superior to the muscular lad beneath him. "You just hold that pose and live up to your name." Bailey felt his bare ass being lubed by young hands and it was all he could do to withhold the tears. His mind was screaming to take control of his limbs and knock the young gay onto the floor and race to freedom. The silent pulsing of the chip spoke louder. Instead of fleeing, Bailey got an erection.

Bailey felt the boy enter him from behind, his virgin ass ached with pain, but he relaxed his muscles when ordered and accepted the boy deeply inside him. "You have got the most beautiful body, Bottom, and the most snug little ass, you know that? Damn, you are hot."

Bailey hung his head in utter humiliation, as the boy began to thrust. "Th-thank-you, sir. Th-thank-you for h-h-helping me be a true bottom." Bailey prayed again, this time that the boy would be done with him quickly. His prayer went unanswered. The boy fucked Bailey hard and deep for the remaining hour and a half of the two hours he'd reserved the room.

As the young man pulled his jacket back on, all smiles, Bailey silently rezipped his wadersuit, wishing it could zip over the top of his head and swallow him. "You were maybe the best I've ever had, Bottom.", the young man said. Bailey whispered a word of thanks. Bailey then stood by the head of the bed, staring at the floor, waiting for the boy to depart so he could do the same. The boy opened the door, letting the pounding music of the club pour into the room. He began to step back out into the din, when he spun on his heel to face Bailey.

"Hey. You wanna come back to my place?"

Bailey's stomach did a flip-flop, and he felt a wave of nausea churn upward into his throat, which he barely kept down with a hard swallow. Please, please, Bailey thought, if there's a God in heaven, the chip will have run the course of it program for tonight and I can go home, I can be done with this, I can be free--if only for a handful of hours. Just let me be done for the night.

Bailey looked up, a smile on his face. "Sure."

Bailey lay naked on his own bed in his apartment. It was well after 3am before his "date" from the club had fallen asleep and Bailey's chip had allowed him to leave. Bailey burned with useless indignation. Hot tears stung his eyes and streamed down the sides of his face to soak into his pillow. What had he become? What was he doing? The fact that he had no choice, that he was a preprogrammed plaything for a twisted, vindictive gay scientist made no difference. Bailey had worn those...those clothes, had done those terrible things. Was he a fag now? Was he some kind of pervert? Had some small part of him, some tiny, miniscule part of him that was not controlled by the chip...enjoyed what he had done? What he had been made to do?

Bailey sobbed audibly, then choked back the sound, swallowing hard. He turned his head to the side, feeling the tear-moistened pillow against his cheek. He saw the wadersuit (HIS wadersuit) where he'd thrown it in a heap in the corner. He knew he should put it back in the closet, as he was supposed to. Neatness counts, Leonard had said. Bailey decided he wanted to put it away, if only to get it out of his sight.

Bailey picked up the rubber bundle and walked to the closet, where he found a note taped to the door in his own handwriting. He plucked it from the door and read:

YOU'VE BEEN A VERY GOOD BOY, BAILEY. BECAUSE YOU WERE MAN ENOUGH TO ADMIT THAT THIS WAS FOR YOUR OWN GOOD TONIGHT, YOU HAVE EARNED A REWARD. WHEN YOU GO OUT FOR NEXT EVENING'S ASSIGNMENT, YOU WILL BE ALLOWED TO DECIDE WHAT YOU WILL WEAR. CONGRATULATIONS, BAILEY.

Bailey couldn't believe it. His heart soared and to his surprise, he actually felt a swelling of gratitude toward Leonard. With a broad smile and bright eyes, Bailey flung open the closet door to return the wadersuit to its hanger--never dreaming that the next day's selection already awaited him there.

There, filling the entire closet, was a vast array of rubber gear. Bodysuits, hazmat gear, different wadersuits, rubber jeans, tees, jackets, knee boots, hip waders, collars and masks. Bailey heard the dull "shlump" as the wadersuit he'd held fell to the floor from his limp fingers.

Bailey staggered back from the closet, shaking his head, his mouth noiselessly forming one word over and over. "...no...no...no...no..." Bailey's eye caught the marker board on the interior of the closet door. He stared at the message there with dread.

GO AHEAD. PICK ONE.

Bailey fell to his knees, crying loudly. He bawled, pushing the palms of his hands into his eyes in a meager effort to stop the tears. "Please, no more.", he gasped in between racking sobs. Bailey clutched the sides of his head, trying to slow the shake of hopeless denial of what was happening to him. "No, I can't, I can't keep doing this, I can't live like this", he whimpered. "Please, you gotta believe me, if I could take it all back, I would. I'm so sorry, I'm sorry for everything you think I did wrong, just tell me, I'll find a way to fix it, to make it right...just please, no more of this...no more..."

Bailey opened his eyes and looked down. He had fallen to his knees on top of the dropped wadersuit. The mere contact of his bare skin against the pile of rumpled rubber had given him an erection. Bailey threw his head back and wailed in anguish.

Back in his lab, Leonard monitored Bailey's situation. He was making fine progress. And soon he'd realize what he had done wrong, not just what he felt Leonard "thought" he did. "Soon", mused Leonard, taking a sip of his coffee. "Very soon indeed."

Bailey returned to the rubber club the following night. He was picked up by a brown-haired man in his mid-thirties wearing a rubber vest and jeans. The brown-haired man was attracted by Bailey's skintight rubber bodysuit, his black hip boots with the yellow toecaps and trim, and the yellow hazmat jacket with its black collar and cuffs. (Bailey had truly surrendered the previous night as he knelt before the closet--and as a result had chosen what he felt was one of the most humiliating ensembles offered there.)

For the better part of three hours, Bailey was fucked hard and deep, as he burned with rage and humiliation, all the while begging for more.

"Bay, what the hell is up your ass?"

Bailey was startled back to reality by the strident voice. "Huh?" He looked to see his friend Joe, his face practically nose to nose with him. Joe had never been one of the pack, but had been a friend to Bailey, even after the chip.

"Bay, I've been calling you for like five minutes, man. You were just standing here, zoning." In fact, Bailey had been lost in thought contemplating his situation. He even had begun to wonder if the chip would allow him to commit suicide, which now seemed his only option of escape with any dignity. Joe went on, "I know you've been going through a lot of...changes, lately", and he nodded to Bailey's clothing (a tight pink tee with two intertwined male insignia arrow-rings over the breast and some very snug baby blue lycra running shorts). "But you can't just snub the few friends you got who are still talking to you."

Bailey sighed. "You're right, man. Sorry. Just--thinking, I guess."

"You're not on anything, are you?" Joe looked genuinely concerned.

"No. Christ, no. That'd be all I need right now. As if I didn't have enough troubles." Bailey noticed that two other buddies of Joe's stood nearby. "What's going on?"

"It's another thrill-packed Squeal episode", Joe said, jerking his head back toward one of the guys, who looked pretty worried. Neal Squelchner was the official group mascot, kind of the tolerated tagalong who hoped to be considered cool by association. Very eager to please, but not the sharpest knife in the drawer. The guys called him "Squeal".

Bailey rolled his eyes. "What'd he do now?"

"Science lab mishap. Jabbed himself with something. One of the experiment needles."

Bailey raised his eyebrows. "Jesus. What was in it?"

Neal rushed forward. "We don't know! I-I-I forgot I'd set the needles so close to the lab table, and when I set the burner too high, the flame just scared me, I backed into them. It was an accident! Could have happened to anybody!"

"Nobody sane", remarked the other friend.

Bailey put a hand on Neal's shoulder. "Just take it easy, Squeal. What was in it? What was in the needle?"

"That's just it! I don't know!!"

Bailey looked to Joe with an expression requesting clarity. "Squeal put like a dozen needles on one tray. Along with some from other students' labs. After he poked himself, he panicked and knocked the whole tray over. Could have been anything."

"Not poked!", Squeal insisted. "Injected! I injected myself with something terrible, I just know it! A poison, a toxin, a submolecular foreign object! I felt at least three needles go in! Maybe four!"

Bailey stopped. "A submolecular--what??"

"If it was poison, you'd be dead already, dumbass", the helpful friend interjected.

"A slow-working poison, then!!", Squeal squealed.

"We're taking him to the hospital", Joe said. "Just to get him checked out. Get out of class. Wanna come?"

Bailey could practically feel the light bulb come on over his head. "Yeeeaahhh, I would like to come", he said. "God knows my head's not in the game for class right now." Bailey put his arm around Squeal and led him down the hall. "Don't worry, Squeal. Could happen to anybody. In fact, something not unlike that happened to me only recently."

"Really??", Squeal said, amazed.

"Yeah, he got injected with insta-fag juice", the third friend whispered to Joe. To Joe's credit, he then elbowed the guy in the ribs, hard.

"What say we both get checked out?", Bailey suggested to Squeal, who was ecstatic that someone as cool as Bailey could make an equally stupid mistake and implant something inside his body.

"Whattaya mean there's nothing there?!"

The handsome male nurse exhaled loudly, and prepared to repeat his findings for the third time. "I'm telling you, whatever it was you thought got injected into your body just isn't there. You're fine."

Bailey's frustration was mounting fast. it was bad enough having Squeal do most of the talking in order to get the subject out in the open. But now the chip's safety protocols were going full bore, preventing Bailey from saying what he had to in order to make himself understood.

"There was no trace of foreign substances, no chemicals, no--"

"It's small!", Bailey blurted out. "I mean, really small! Can't see with the naked eye small! It was this smart kid's lab--a really, really smart kid! He makes these teeny, tiny--agh!" His cry was one of frustration rather than pain. Bailey's voice kept disappearing when he needed it most.

"Look, even if you had been injected with something as unlikely as nanotechnology--"

Bailey wanted to shout "Yes! That's IT!!", but his voice was gone. He just nodded vigorously, and gestured that the nurse should go on."

"--even if that were the case, it would have showed up in the tests. You're perfectly alright."

Bailey gritted his teeth, preparing to use charades if he had to, to get his point across. "Lookit--" and Bailey looked at the nurse. Really looked at him. He was gorgeous. Jet black hair, slicked back. Very dark eyes. His skin was a deep color--tan? No, more like olive. Was he part black? Greek? No, he was Indian. No trace of an accent, but he had that swarthy look to him. The tilt of his head, the trace of his jaw. Bailey found himself leaning forward to kiss him.

"Hey, mister--!! What?", the nurse said.

The nurse's outcry snapped Bailey back, and he tried to pretend that he had been leaning forward to read the man's clipboard. Then, "Okay, sorry, I get it. I'm fine. It's just--y'know, I was all worried, and--" Bailey jumped off the examining table and made a dash for the door.

"Look, you can see the test for yourself if you--", the nurse said, offering the clipboard.

"No, I believe you, thanks", Bailey said over his shoulder as he departed speedily. "Sorry!"

Out in the hallway, Bailey bent over against the wall, bracing his hands against his knees. Where had the chip gone? And if it was already out of him, how could it still be controlling him? Was it like some kind of remote control deal, or what?

Bailey stood up, shoulders back against the wall, and let out a deep breath. An orderly of about Bailey's age walked by, pushing a cart filled with various medical paraphernalia. He was well-built, and his short-sleeved scrubs showed off his toned arms. He had a boyish face, with a strong chin and spiked strawberry blond hair.

As soon as Bailey saw him, he said aloud, "Damn, man, you're cute." The second the words came out, Bailey slapped his hand over his mouth, horrified at what he'd just said.

The orderly shot a condemning look at Bailey, saying, "Screw you, queer bait." as he continued on his way.

Bailey was out the door like a shot, leaving Joe and the others behind. He was halfway home before he realized his hand was still clamped over his mouth. Oh yes, the chip was still inside him, regardless what the doctors said.

Back at home, Bailey lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling and realizing at last that he'd reached the end of ideas for removing the cursed chip. He shook his head from side to side in slow denial, muttering curses through clenched teeth. He moved to place his hands behind his head, but as he raised his arms, he saw that he held the pen from the marker board in his right hand. When had he picked that up?

Bailey sat up slightly, supporting himself on his elbows. He looked over and saw that the closet door was open, and a new message had been written on the board. In his own hand, it read:

YOU'LL NEVER FIND THE CHIP. IT MOVES. TOO SMALL TO BE LOCATED, IT TRAVELS INSIDE YOU, LEAVING MICROSCOPIC RELAYS EVERYWHERE TO REINFORCE MY CONTROL. IT'S FOR YOUR OWN GOOD, BAILEY. SAY IT.

Bailey hurled the marker across the room and flopped back down upon the bed. "Yeah, right", he said. "I'm a no-good faggot now, and it's for my own good."

Bailey stood before his mirror, looking at his reflection. He was dressed in a pink mock turtleneck beneath a turquoise V-neck pullover and matching shoes. He wore crisp white slacks. On the left breast of the pullover was 3-inch wide Pride flag with the legend beneath it in canary yellow "Out and proud!"

Bailey hung his head and sighed, all attempts at profanity and thoughts of rebellion gone from him. Why bother? This was his life now.

He looked back up at himself. His mouth moved and his voice said, "Say it, Bailey." He knew that the words were not his own, but that his response would have to be. Bailey mumbled out in a defeated monotone, "I must obey my master, this is for my own good." His voice was that of a child being forced to apologize for his rudeness to an obnoxious relative.

Bailey walked out to his first meeting of the Concerned Gay Students Group. He departed without bothering to close the closet door, upon which hung the marker board with a new message he was made to write before getting dressed.

YOU'VE FACED YOUR GAY FEARS, CLICHES AND STEREOTYPES. NOW YOU GET TO MEET THE "REAL" GAYS OF THE WORLD.

Bailey leaned against the library counter, trying to look casual in his ridiculous outfit. "Um, where's the meeting for Concerned Gay Students being held?", he asked the student assistant.

The bushy-haired boy with the armload of books to be filed stared at Bailey, taking in his wardrobe. The boy fought to stifle a snort of laughter and was only partially successful. "Over there", he said, nodding his head toward a table at the back of the room, beyond a glass partition. "Group meeting area. Remind them to keep the door closed during the meeting." He walked away, shaking his head and grinning.

Bailey stood in the doorway of the meeting room, looking at the circular table of young men and women. Two of the girls held hands on the tabletop, which was scattered with literature on homophobia, self defense courses, and books by various gay authors and speakers. "Concerned Gay Students?", Bailey asked meekly. He was met with icy stares from the women and expressions from the boys that could only be filed under "D" for "duh". Bailey gulped hard and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Despite his silent prayer, the floor did not open up and swallow him.

Bailey took his seat across the table from a cute guy with dirty blond hair. He smiled at Bailey, nodding his head slightly toward him. Bailey returned the smile with some effort. He felt terribly uncomfortable being here. In some ways, worse than when he was at the rubber club.

Bailey took in the other attendees around the table; two girls with excessively permed hair who sat a little close together (probably girlfriends), a gangly guy with a slightly oily complexion, a couple other average-looking gals (they were the ones holding hands), and a girl with a high forehead, thick glasses, and stringy hair, in a hideous brown jacket. She was overloaded with books, pads and clipboards. She was also the only one with an overly dour expression. She clearly meant business.

Bailey had never felt so out of place. At least in his other forced scenarios his special costume had made him fit more into his role. Here, even his snappy attire wasn't helping.

He looked at the dirty blond boy again, and noticed that he was still smiling brightly at Bailey. Bailey saw that the boy was wearing an outfit that was in the running with his own in the garish department. The blond boy also wore a pullover, atop a powder blue crew neck. The pullover was cream-colored, with stripes running around the chest and midsection. Bands of carnation pink and baby blue straddled a wraparound Pride rainbow. Boldfaced letters on his sleeves formed armbands that read "GAYBOY". His pants matched his crew neck. Loafers.

Bailey couldn't get over how out of place the boy--the young man, really--seemed, dressed in so absurd a fashion. He had a face and build that would be perfectly suited to a white wife beater and leather jacket, or a rumpled football jersey and jeans. Bailey found himself smiling slightly in return. It was odd. As if there was some kind of connection between the two he couldn't define--

"If we could get the meeting under way", snarled the girl in the brown jacket. Her eyes were shooting daggers at Bailey and the blond boy. "And let's try to remember why we're here, shall we?"

The blond boy looked over at Bailey, rolled his eyes and made a "well, excuse me" face. The meeting was under way.

The group spoke of everything, from ways to prevent on-campus gay bashing to discrimination to reverse-discrimination. The girl in the brown jacket kept insisting on either a free Psych course for, or required classes in, Sensitivity Training. It was a term that made Bailey's skin crawl, as it had always sounded to him like something you'd undergo at a concentration camp.

"And of course", the brown jacket girl said, "we cannot stress enough the importance of staying safe after hours on campus. This is supposed to be a more enlightened age, but there are people out there who still target gays for attacks. Traveling in pairs or small groups is usually a good deterrent." She yanked her hair back with one finger and hung it over her ear. "And let's not give in to excesses in our appearance, shall we? It not only targets you as gay but aggravates the situation by applying stereotypes to ALL of us." This last remark was aimed pointedly at Bailey and the blond boy. Bailey lowered his eyes and the blond boy squirmed in his seat.

The brown jacket girl stood, gathering he books and belongings without bothering to ask for questions or the input of others. She'd said her piece, and it was clear she felt that meant that nothing else of importance remained to be said. "Next meeting is Thursday at ten. Stay smart and stay safe, for God's sake."

Bailey stood up to go. he had survived his first official student meeting which identified him as gay. Not that his new mode of dress left much to the imagination. Bailey looked at the blond guy, who was getting up as if to approach and introduce himself. His smile seemed genuine enough. But both he and Bailey were stopped by the sound of someone clearing his throat in agitation.

They both looked to see Leonard standing in the doorway, one shoulder against the doorframe. His eyes shot daggers.

Oh God, thought Bailey. What did I do now? I came to the meeting, I sat through it all. Was I supposed to say something? To volunteer for some activity? Before Bailey could approach Leonard, the blond guy held up a hand to Bailey, saying, "'Scuze me a sec." And the blond kid walked over to Leonard. What the hell--?

Looking sheepish, the blond kid stood before Leonard. He seemed to cower, which looked a bit surreal, as the blond guy was at least ahead taller than Leonard. Bailey caught bits and pieces of their exchange as best he could from the far side of the table.

Leonard looked cross. "What did I tell you about where you could and could not go--and when?"

"Look, it's not like I went to a frat party or anything--"

"--this is not part of your program. You know what I could do to you--"

"I'm still with your program, I swear to God! Please, don't do anything--"

"New to the group, then?"

Bailey turned to see he was being addressed by one of the other attendees of the meeting. A small cluster of them stood nearby to welcome him. "Uh, yeah", Bailey fumbled, still distracted by the confrontation of the blond guy by Leonard. "Yeah, I'm pretty much new to everything."

The gangly guy said, "You even really out, then?"

"Not totally, no", Bailey said. "Out a bit to some people, not out nearly as much as some people might like." And he shot a hateful glance at Leonard, who was still chewing out the blond kid.

"Well, don't let anyone force you", one of the girls said. "And don't mind Clarise--the one in charge of the meeting. We're not all like that."

"So...", Bailey began, thrown off by the helpfulness of the group. "What do you guys all do? I mean, apart from the group meetings and Concerned Gay Student stuff. You like, go to any clubs?"

Maybe Bailey expected one of them to reveal a membership in Club Gummi or some other fetish nightspot, but he was not prepared for the actual responses. "I-I don't even know where the clubs are around here", the gangly guy said nervously. The two hand-holding girlfriends added, "We usually just study together. We partner on a lot of papers and things." Another girl said, "Most of us really aren't into any scenes or like that." After an awkward pause, came, "I'm way too busy with the ministry work I do with my church, anyway." This from the gangly guy, who seemed a little embarrassed to admit it.

"You do church work??", Bailey said, incredulous.

The boy looked at him oddly. "Well,...yeah." Then, shuffling his feet, "Do you go to church anywhere?"

"Not in a long time."

The group slowly filed out, offering a few handshakes and pats on the arm to Bailey. As they departed, they passed the blond boy who was still hanging around the doorway. Leonard had stomped off, but the boy was waiting until Leonard was well out of sight before he moved. Bailey felt elated. It seemed obvious to him that he was not alone in his "Chips Ahoy" submission to Leonard. He was amazed he hadn't thought of it before. If Leonard was truly so vindictive, why would he restrict his malevolent tactics to only one person? The way this boy dressed, his eagerness to be nice at the meeting, it was not illogical to conclude that this handsome young blond was also one of Leonard's controlled subjects. Bailey approached him, happy to have found a comrade-in-arms.

"Uh, I'm Bailey."

"Gus." The boy smiled, a bit more forced than before. His exchange with Leona