The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

He pushed harder on the gas, and the ‘Vette flew down the street, fenceposts blurring past.

“Slow the fuck down!” squawked Caryn, slapping him on his arm. Her voice was almost lost in the roar of the wind whipping past the convertible.

“Hey! Don’t mess with the driver.” He grinned, giving the wheel a little shake. The car rocked back and forth, the tires squealing.

“You crazy fuuuuuuck!” Caryn wailed, clutching at the armrest. “Let me out! You’re gonna kill us both!”

“Will you settle down? I’m not gonna wreck a car this nice.” He’d managed to keep his GPA above a 3.0, and his Mom had nagged his stepdad into giving him a Corvette as a graduation gift. He knew as well as Mom did that Papa Brad couldn’t afford it; hell, for his own part he’d have been satisfied with a Mustang, or a Camaro, even an SUV. But his real dad was giving him money for college, and she had a bug in her ass about that. No way was Brad getting off cheap on anything; not if he wanted any fucking peace, anyhow.

He jumped on the brakes, and the Stingray slewed to a stop. “There it is, almost missed it.” On a post by an intricately-patterned brickwork driveway leading under a dark cavern of trees stood a large, neatly lettered sign reading ‘Go Vikings!—State Champions—PARTY!—Winners only!’ He backed up and turned into the drive. He expected to see cars parked, or a house, but the driveway seemed to wind on and on under the massive oak trees. Beyond the rows of oaks on either side, a dense forest stood. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought they’d been driving for more than a mile, without any sign of a house. The forest ended abruptly, and between the boles of the rows of oaks lining the drive, he could see rolling fields of flowers and grass stretching into the distance. About a mile off to the left, a wide, flat river wound silver across the landscape.

“Are you sure this is the right place?”

“The damn sign was there, like the directions said.” Pushing on the accelerator again, the car leapt forward. “Guy must live in a fuckin’ castle!” The ‘Vette shot over a small rise, the tires whining on the bricks. “This driveway must have cost a goddam fortune.” They raced past tree after towering tree. There was a long curve ahead, and he slowed the car as they drove into it.

The guy did live in a fuckin’ castle.

A real castle, huge blocks of grey stone, turrets, battlements, towers, a moat, a fucking drawbridge, the works. His foot came off the gas pedal, and the car slowed as the walls loomed up. A castle, he thought. Who would build a castle out here in Buttfuck, USA?

“Oooh!” Caryn sighed. “It looks just like a fairy-tale!”

“Yeah, and there’s a real fairy and everything,” he sneered. “I should have figured that little faggot creep would live someplace like this.” Actually, he hadn’t imagined anything like this. He’d figured Gary had a suburban home, like most of his classmates. He remembered hearing that the guy’s family had money, his dad was a chemist or some other wimpy Brainiac type, but he hadn’t paid much attention. Who cared, anyway? Creepy little homo. Couldn’t scrape enough muscles together to get on the team. Money couldn’t buy that for him. Took the job of the water boy, and actually seemed happy doing it, enjoyed cleaning up after the team and being pushed around by the bigger guys. That made it even more irritating; took all the fun out of beating somebody up if they got off on it! What was the guy doing going to a jerkwater public school, anyhow? Looked like his parents could afford to buy him the damn Board of Education, and a school district to go with it.

In his astonishment, he had let the car slow to a crawl, and they rumbled across the bridge and into a cobblestoned courtyard. There was an empty parking space in front of the door, with a sign reading “Go Vikings!—RESERVED—State Champion Quarterback—ONLY!—All others will be towed’. The space was festooned with crepe streamers in the school colors, and as he pulled in, two huge gouts of gold confetti shot up from behind the sign and fluttered down into the convertible. Caryn gave a little squeal, and put her arm across his shoulders. She tried to kiss him, but he pulled himself up by the windshield, and jumped out of the car without opening the door. He started to walk across to the doorway, shaking the confetti off his jersey. Behind him, Caryn’s voice rose to a shout.

“Nice to see chivalry isn’t dead, you shit.” He heard the car door slam. “Wait up, dammit!” He stopped, turned, and gave a mocking bow from the waist.

“Come on, your fucking majesty, we’re late already,” he said harshly. “Hurry up!” He turned and walked on. She caught up to him as they reached the stone steps leading up to a huge oak door, intricately carved with leaves and birds. Two huge stone gargoyles glared from alcoves on either side of the entry. A rope, braided red and gold, ran up through a hole in the archway. As he pulled it, he heard a faint ringing from the other side of the door.

Caryn pulled him close to her as they waited at the door. “Norris told Beth what you guys are planning to do here,” she hissed in his ear. “Well, DON’T! You could get in real trouble! I want to have fun today, and...”

“Shut up! We’re gonna beat the crap outa little Gary-fairy, and this is the perfect time. His parents aren’t here, and after the coaches leave...” He slammed his fist into his open left palm. He should have known Norris couldn’t keep his mouth shut. The stupid asshole told that loudmouth girl of his about everything. “You just keep quiet and stay out of the way.” Not that he’d mind her getting hit with a chair or something; he might even like to do that himself, accidentally of course; but he’d never hear the end of it.

The door swung open, and he gaped at the blonde who stood there. Maybe he’d been wrong about Gary. If he had girls around who looked like this, he couldn’t be queer. He felt Caryn’s fingernails digging into his forearm warningly, possessively, like claws. Damn, bitch, don’t pull my arm off...he realized the girl at the door had spoken, but he hadn’t heard what she said. She held out an iced mug of beer, and smiled dazzlingly. She looked just like a poster he’d seen at a party once. She was packed into a skimpy, shiny blue bikini and matching stiletto heels, and had a tan that looked like it was airbrushed on. He’d never seen a girl like this, except in centerfolds. Caryn was stepping through the door, and trying to drag him along with her. He stood rooted, his free arm slowly lifting toward the beer the bikini girl was offering. Her teeth parted as he took the mug, and he heard her say,

“Well, don’t just stand there! Gary told me about you, All-Star, but he didn’t say you were this cute!” Her voice suited her, throaty and sensuous. His mouth opened slightly, but he found himself literally tongue-tied, unable to think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound idiotic. She turned and walked inside, and spoke over her shoulder as she moved. Her slim body swayed hypnotically as the three walked across the marble-tiled floor. “I’m Alyssa; Gary wanted me here for the party. Just to be sure the champs had a good time.” She gave a knowing little giggle. He could feel the icy mug’s moisture in his palm as he brought the beer up and took a swig. It was smoother than any brew he’d ever had, and involuntarily he found himself hammering almost half the mug at a gulp. It was dark amber, and richer than anything he’d ever had before. Guess the cooler of Heinies in his trunk could wait until Gary’s brew gave out. There wasn’t supposed to be beer, there wasn’t supposed to be any alcohol at all; Coach had made a big stink about that. There’d been a wrecked Dodge sitting in front of the school all through May with a big sign behind it, ‘DON’T DRINK AND DRIVE! Alcohol KILLS!’ Well, it was a castle, maybe they’d locked Coach in a dungeon somewhere; maybe Gary’s folks even had a torture chamber. He smiled evilly to himself at the thought.

Alyssa gave a little coo, watching him swig down the brew. “Guess you’ll need a refill soon; the bar’s out by the pool.” Alyssa gave another of those unbelievable smiles, running a finger down the center of his chest, picking off a stray bit of gold confetti. Caryn’s grip on his arm was so tight it was starting to cut off his circulation. “Why don’t you go on out? Everybody’s waiting for you so they can really get the party started.” Her eyes moved off him as she spoke to Caryn. “I’ll show you where you can change your things.” To his amazement, Caryn was silent; one of the things he’d liked about her was that she was never at a loss for something to say, especially if it could cut someone else down. It had been kind of cute until just lately, when she’d started doing it to him. Guess she knew when she was outclassed, though. Caryn finally released his arm, and the two girls moved toward a staircase. He heard Alyssa as they went off. “I hope you don’t mind what I said at the door; you’re so lucky, he really is cute!” Alyssa threw him a smile over her shoulder as the girls mounted the stairs. Caryn was glaring at him. He raised the mug toward her in a sarcastic toast; she stuck out her tongue, scowling. He looked down at his forearm; Caryn’s nails had broken the skin in two places. Red crescents of blood oozed out. He grinned as he thought, are you having fun yet today, ya bitch? He pressed the cold mug against the marks and flexed his hand, making the muscle bulge. He knew he’d have some fun, if he got that Alyssa alone for a while. Bet she’d be a wild ride. He turned toward the archway that led into a huge living room. It was bigger than the school gym, and the ceiling was almost as high. At one end, above a carved marble fireplace that was the size of a garage, he thought he saw a basketball hoop hung; but it was a stuffed moose head staring glassily at him. There were stuffed bears and other beasts standing in alcoves along the wall, too, and there were antlers and shields, crossed swords and battleaxes hung as decorations; real Middle Ages bullshit. The wall to the right had leaded windows across its expanse, and over the top of a low hedge that lined the outdoor side of the wall, he could see the backs of several heads.

“Brent! Glad you could make it.” Turning, he saw Gary coming through a French door at the other end of the room, with a pitcher of beer in his hand. Through the open door he heard a brief snatch of song, some pussy easy listening pop shit, Belinda Carlisle or somebody. But he didn’t hear any party noises, no talking, or water splashing, or anything but the stereo. He couldn’t believe the guys hadn’t thrown the stereo in the pool instead of listening to that wimp-ass crap. Hiding a scowl behind his beer mug, he chugged down the rest. At least that gave him a second or two to put on a poker face, pretend he was glad to be there. He felt the buzz of the alcohol start to kick in; maybe he shouldn’t have downed it like that. Fuck it. He could always puke in Gary’s pool. Or maybe on one of those expensive-looking couches. “C’mon, Mister ‘State Champ Quarterback’,everybody’s outside, waiting for you.”

“Yeah, sorry we’re late, Caryn wasn’t ready.” Caryn had been ready, but he’d been late getting to her house because he’d stopped at the hardware store for some spray paint. This is gonna be great. We’re gonna paint your ass black and blue, and hang you out the tower window, you little pussy. Thinking about what he’d planned, he found he was able to shoot Gary a smile.

“That’s okay. You can relax now. You don’t have to move a muscle.” His eyes locked on Gary’s, and Brent found he couldn’t look away. Something odd about the eyes, the intense way he was looking at him, the strange way he was smiling. No. It wasn’t just Gary, there was something weirder going on. The smile on his own face was frozen there, and his arms and legs felt heavy, tingling. He couldn’t have got that buzzed off of one beer. Gary stopped in front of him, just a little too close. Brent tried to take a step away, take back his personal space, but found he couldn’t. He stood transfixed, holding the beer mug upright in front of his stomach. He couldn’t stop staring at Gary’s eyes, couldn’t stop grinning. “You finished your beer. Good. But I think a fellow as big as you might need another.” Gary filled the mug from the pitcher. “This is a little stronger, too. Drink up now.” Gary pushed with his index finger on the bottom of the mug, and Brent’s arm went upward like a spring. The mug was at his lips, and he felt the icy drink course down his throat. The brew had a definite aftertaste, like medicine. Gary took the empty mug, and Brent’s arm stayed up, fingers still slightly curled around the nonexistent mug handle, looking almost as if he were saluting. “Good. Great. Now let’s get you into your swimsuit.” Gary reached up and pushed on Brent’s chin, and Brent felt his teeth click together as his jaw shut. Gary took Brent’s upraised arm at the wrist and pulled gently. “This way, please.” The arm stretched out straight, and Brent began to shuffle forward. He found he was unable to resist, unable to do anything at all. It was as if he’d forgotten how to use his own muscles. He willed his legs to stop, but they continued to shamble forward. Maybe if he could look down at them he could get some control. But he couldn’t even force his eyes to move. His cheek muscles were starting to ache from the rictus of the grin, but he couldn’t even loosen his expression.

There was an archway ahead, and Gary was leading him through it and into another large room, still holding lightly onto his wrist, and carrying the mug and pitcher in the other hand. “Okay, stop here. Relax.” Brent halted, his left leg slightly behind his right. He felt his face muscles slacken to a blank, dull stare. Gary moved Brent’s arm upward until it was pointed straight forward, shoulder high. Then he moved Brent’s other arm upward into the same position. “Ooh, big guy, who gave you those?” Gary brushed his fingers lightly over the nail-marks that Caryn had left, then to Brent’s disgust pressed his lips lightly against the gouges. “I can guess. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of that in a minute.” Gary set the mug and pitcher on a small table, and turned back to Brent, who still stood, arms stiffly upraised, staring straight ahead. “First, off with the jersey.” Gary took the shirt by both sides of the collar, and Brent felt the fabric sliding upward across his back and over his head, bunching slightly across his chest as Gary pulled it off. “Oh, and now I’ve messed up your hair! I know how much you like your hair just so, I’ve watched you enough in front of the mirror in the locker room,” Gary smiled as he stepped in between Brent’s upraised arms. Brent made a desperate effort to move, move, MOVE, to swing a fist, or run, anything! How could his body be so easily manipulated by this little pansy, and yet be unable to make even the slightest movement by his own will? If he could bring his arms together and smash Gary’s head between them...he saw his forearm gave a tiny twitch. Come, on, come on! No. He stood immobile, arms outstretched, as Gary brushed his hands through Brent’s short sandy hair, smoothing it back down. “There. Perfect.” Gary’s hands ran lightly downward over Brent’s chest, then slowly moved across his well-defined abdominals. One hand pulled the elastic of his shorts, stretching them away from his stomach. Brent could feel the fury and embarrassment rising in him. He felt his cheeks burning. No! NO! Get away from me, you fucking cocksucker faggot!

“Trunks? That’s your swimsuit? What, no Speedo? C’mon, big guy, you’ve got the perfect body for it!” Brent felt his shorts slide down his leaden legs, followed by his swim trunks. Christ, the fucking fruit was looking right at his pecker! Maybe he could swing his leg up, knee the fucking cocksucker in the face as he stooped down...he tried to concentrate, to gather all his rage and resentment and force that hate into his muscles; he felt his thigh twitch slightly. Gary moved upward into his field of vision again. He peered into Brent’s reddening face, took Brent’s arms and pushed them downward, then bent the right arm upward at the elbow. Taking the mug from the table, he curled Brent’s fingers around the handle, and taking the pitcher, filled the glass again. “I think you might just need to have one more. Come on, it’s a party!” Gary pushed on the bottom of the mug again, and again Brent’s arm bobbed upward, bringing the mug to his mouth. I’m not, I’m NOT going to...his mouth opened, the liquid emptied into him. Gary lowered Brent’s upraised arm and took the mug again. “Great! That ought to hold you for quite a while.” Gary moved off to one side of the room, out of Brent’s field of vision. When he returned, he had a skimpy black Speedo in his hand. He knelt and put a hand on Brent’s right ankle. “Lift your right foot,” he ordered. Brent wobbled slightly as his weight shifted onto his left foot. “Okay, put down this foot and raise the other. Great! Put your foot down again.” Brent felt the smooth nylon slither up his thighs, as Gary again came upward into view. He walked slowly around Brent, surveying his still form. “Oh, yeah, just beautiful,” he murmured, returning again to Brent’s front and sliding his hands upward again to Brent’s shoulders. “Now I want you to close your eyes.” Brent’s eyelids drooped shut. “I want you to visualize your perfect self. Sure, you look great, but what would you like to look like? I want you to become that perfect self that you’ve always wanted to be.” His voice was peculiar, commanding, inexorable. Brent’s fury and abhorrence were melting, his own thoughts becoming hazy, his will disintegrating. What would you like...your perfect self...you’ve always wanted...

Brent had always seen what his perfect self looked like. He had held it in his mind for as long as he could remember, tried for years to get there, and had done a pretty good job, but he’d never felt really satisfied. The image of his perfect self formed in his mind, became clearer, then more clear than he had ever seen it before. Bigger, better, more massive and developed...the figure in his mind drew closer; he could see the broad chest, the bulging arms, the smooth, well-defined musculature. The heaped, corded shoulder muscles sloped down into a perfect v-shaped torso. He felt a sudden rush, his whole body tingling. There was a feathery-soft brushing on his chest, stomach, arms, on his legs, like walking through cobwebs. Blood pounded in his temples, ran through him like hot fire. Something was scratching his upper lip, like a swarm of mosquitoes all biting him there. The seams of the Speedo seemed to press into his skin, tighten onto him. He heard Gary draw a sharp breath. “WOW! Ask a narcissist what he wants to look like...Brent, open your eyes!” Brent wondered hazily what a narcissist was. His eyelids raised, but for a moment he couldn’t seem to focus. There was something different about how he could see; as if his forehead were lower, his cheekbones higher. It was like looking out through a mask, through someone else’s face. And it seemed as if he were taller, too. Gary looked closely into Brent’s eyes and smiled. “Blue. How did you know I wanted blue?” He curled a hand around the back of Brent’s head, moving it down and forward. He pressed his lips lightly against Brent’s slightly open mouth, then he sucked Brent’s lower lip into his own mouth, pulling gently on the lip as he kneaded it with his lips. He drew away, and pushed on Brent’s chin. Brent’s mouth closed, and his head moved back upward until he was again staring straight ahead. Gary pushed lightly on Brent’s left shoulder, pulling on his right. “Now, about face!” Brent pivoted. “Let’s go party!”

Brent and Gary walked across to the glass door. Through it, he could see the blue sparkle of the swimming pool, could see small groups of his teammates standing about, or stretched out on lounge chairs. Some held mugs, and a few stood alone. Across a huge expanse of lawn, a tall grey stone wall rose up. Gary swung the door open, and they both stepped out into the courtyard. Brent’s legs swung machinelike, left, right, as he plodded forward. Another pop song was playing, the Pet Shop Boys singing about going west. Gary picked up a remote and pointed it at the stereo. The music stopped. Brent could hear the lapping of the water in the swimming pool, the rustle of the leaves as the breeze drifted through the trees. A bird was chirping nearby.

And Brent saw just what kind of party Gary was having.

All his teammates were drugged the same way he was, standing or sitting, immobile and staring blankly at nothing. Just at the corner of his sight, a group of them, shirtless, were playing football on the lawn, posed in midstride like a still photograph. Further off, two more were halted in a game of Frisbee; one was balanced on one leg, ready to throw, while the other’s arms were upraised, as if to catch. A few were still in jerseys, but most had been stripped down to tight swimsuits. Gary caught up to Brent, put a hand on his chest. “Stop here. We can get around to the others in a minute. Here, you’ll need to protect those baby blues.” At a one nearby table, five men were sitting, motionless and glassy-eyed. They were holding cards up as if playing a game. Another table had several more, frozenly standing or sitting, watching what looked like a picture of a game of quarter bounce. One man had his arm half raised, holding a coin between two fingers, staring intently at the glass in the center of the table. Maybe that’s what he’s gonna do, Brent thought wildly...put us all on display like those stuffed animals. His mind made a sudden picture of his teammates all standing in alcoves, naked, posed in various ferocious attitudes. From the table, Gary picked up a pair of sunglasses and some tanning oil. He slid the glasses onto Brent’s face, then poured some of the oil into his hand. He began rubbing the oil on Brent, starting with his shoulders, working across his back. Brent was staring across the pool toward several men reclining in lounge chairs. He thought he recognized Kyle and Grant, but he wasn’t sure. They were different somehow. Bigger than he remembered, maybe, he couldn’t really tell from here. He tried to focus on some of the guys nearer to him, but his eyes still refused to work at his will. Gary was rubbing oil down his arms, and onto his chest. Brent again had the impression of being inside a different body; he was intimately aware of the contours of his own physique, but now Gary seemed to be smoothing oil on a larger frame than his own. But he could feel the long, sensitive fingers working the oil into his skin.

“I think that’ll do. Don’t want you getting a sunburn, now.” He rubbed the last bit of oil from his hands onto Brent’s cheeks, nose, chin, forehead. Again, the sensation of wearing a mask. Brent breathed in the scent of coconut. “Okay, great! Let’s go give out some congratulations, shall we?”

Gary took Brent by the arm. “See, I told you those ugly marks would go away.” He moved Brent’s arm outward and upward, and Brent could see that the nail marks were gone. But the arm looked different, too. The skin was smooth and hairless, and the forearm was bigger, too. And the upper arm muscles looked like they were twice their size, too, though he couldn’t focus properly on them. And at the bottom of his view, were those his pecs? All his muscles seemed to be bigger! Gary smiled. “Come on.” Still holding his arm, Gary led Brent across to where another group stood. They looked like Linc, Russ, and Emmet, but Russ had always been kind of thin and pale, Linc had bad skin, acne or rosacea or something, and Emmet had always been kind of doughy and dumpy; but now all three looked like bodybuilders. Linc’s skin was clear, and he had a tan so dark that he looked like a Cherokee; Emmet had a washboard better than Brent’s own, and Russ was huge! Brent could see Russ’ hair moving slightly, as if the slight breeze were ruffling it. But it wasn’t a breeze; Russ’ hair, usually straight and oily-looking, was twisting, turning, curling as if alive. The strands were coiling into ringlets...Gary’s voice cut into Brent’s thoughts.

“Don’t they look great? This is what happens when I use the formula full strength. I was putting just a little bit into the team’s water during the season, just enough to give you all an edge.” Gary’s voice took on a harder timbre as he again tilted Brent’s head downward until they were face to face and continued. “Yes, I knew what you guys thought of me. The little faggot water boy. Gary the fairy. But you won this season because of me, and now I’m going to have my reward. And believe me, this won’t be the kind of party YOU guys wanted to give me, either. I know all about what you wanted to do.” He shook his head slowly, sadly. “Beating me up and wrecking my house really wouldn’t accomplish anything. I would have to press charges, and you’d probably lose that big athletic scholarship.” He took Brent gently by the neck and bent him forward at the waist. Brent stared downward at the ground. His arms stayed level with his torso, the hands sticking out past his backside, palms up. He dimly felt the slippery fabric of the Speedo slide down his buttocks, across his thighs, and saw at the edge of his vision as it hung limply at his knees. His legs had swelled to twice their size; he could see the huge quadriceps, the bulging calves. And his legs were hairless now, too. He’d always wanted that, had even shaved himself in his sophomore year when he went out for the swim team; there’d been a shaving party, and it was kind of fun, until he’d noticed he was getting turned on by Jerome lathering up his back. He’d managed to control himself, but left the party as soon as he could. He hadn’t gone to any more of those parties, let his body hair grow back in; his chest hair had been particularly painful, with a lot of the hairs growing in under the skin in red welts. And he’d quit the swim team at the end of the season, unable even to look Jerome in the face or be near him.

“Okay, squad! Everybody over here for a huddle...” Brent could hear chairs slide back, and the flap of bare feet walking across the concrete, shuffling through the grass. He saw Gary’s hand come into view. He felt Gary’s other hand on the back of his neck; his head was lifted at the chin so that he was looking outward. Gary leaned close to Brent’s ear and whispered, “Now open wide.” Brent’s jaw dropped open. He could see Gary piloting one of the guys toward him, leading him with a hand at the small of his back. It was Norris. Like all the others, Norris was bigger and better looking than Brent had ever seen him. Norris had always been pushing himself hard to get into the kind of shape that came more easily to Brent, but now he had surpassed him. And then some. Gary brought Norris to a stop in front of Brent’s upturned face. Brent saw Gary’s arm slide downward, and Norris’ trunks slide downward too. His cock swung, freed. Gary whispered in Norris’ ear, and Brent watched as the pecker dangling in his face began to engorge with blood. From the tiny corner of his brain where some of his own will still held out, Brent made another effort to move, to stand up, just to close his mouth, all to no effect. This must be some kind of nightmare, he wasn’t really here at all. He was home in bed, and all he had to do was wake up. Wake UP! WAKE UP! Norris’ cock bumped against Brent’s upper lip, against his nose. Gary piloted the swelling member into Brent’s mouth, then leaned down to whisper again into his ear.

“Don’t worry, han’som. You won’t remember a thing. In fact, we’re going to be best friends after all this. Didn’t anybody tell you? I got an academic scholarship at the same college you’re going to! We’re going to be roommates. Now you’re going to be a good team player, and help your fellow members. Play ball!” Brent felt his throat relax, felt the hot hardon slide back and forth across his tongue. Dimly, he was aware that Gary was leading another player around behind. He felt a weight lean against his ass, and another dick starting to grow larger in between his cheeks. A pair of hands spread his cheeks apart, and the rod plunged in. The hands slid upward, kneading his back muscles rhythmically. Gary’s voice, irresistible, spoke again. “Van Doer, crouch down here and give your quarterback some support.” And Brent felt his own body betray him, as lips encircled his cock, and it began to enlarge. Norris came into Brent’s mouth, and came again; Brent swallowed. Norris exploded again, and this time a circlet of white bubbled out around Brent’s lips. Gary was back at Norris’ side.

“One down, twenty-five to go!” Gary put a hand on Norris’ abdomen and backed him away from Brent. His pecker, still stiff, pulled away with a soft pop. Brent felt his own semen gush once, twice, again, again, and again, as ecstasy flooded through him. And Gary was leading another man up to Brent’s open mouth. It was Tyrell, one of the three black guys on the team. Tyrell was a linebacker, and Brent always had given him a hard time about being overweight; he’d started calling him Lardass, and to Ty’s annoyance the nickname had stuck. Now Tyrell’s dark body was slabbed with muscle on sharply-defined muscle. The roll of fat around Tyrell’s midsection was gone, and Brent could see the cuts on Tyrell’s abs, like the heights and valleys of a mountain range seen from above. All his fat seemed to have been turned into muscle. Brent could see Tyrell’s legs move closer, closer, a pair of tree trunks, the huge muscles standing out in clear definition. He saw Gary’s arm slide down Tyrell’s back, and Tyrell’s swimsuit going downward with the same motion. Tyrell filled Brent’s entire view. Gary leaned down to Brent’s ear again.

“You’ll need to open your mouth a little wider this time,” he murmured. Brent felt his jaw distend. Gary was right. Tyrell’s meat had begun to stiffen up, swelling as big around as a beer bottle, and Gary again helped to steer it into Brent’s mouth. As he felt his jaw forced even wider open, the cock buried in Brent’s ass let go. It spat, again, then gave a series of staccato bursts like Morse code. He heard Gary’s voice, “Great job, Emmet. You’ve done the team proud. Reward yourself with another beer, big guy, then come on back over here. I’ve got a special job for the rearguards.” He felt Emmet’s manhood slide out, its mushroom head sticking slightly, then pulling free. Almost instantly, another one replaced it, sliding smoothly in. The lips around Brent’s own cock were gone, and he heard Gary congratulate Van Doer for his team spirit. Tyrell was slowly sliding his back and forth in Brent’s mouth, and Brent could feel the head throbbing. He thought it must be halfway down to his stomach, but there didn’t seem to be any gag reflex working, and Brent seemed still able to breathe easily. Brent felt Tyrell’s load shoot out, a warm stream that seemed to go on and on. And the pecker behind went at the same time, five long bursts that Brent felt ooze out and drool onto his legs. Some of Tyrell’s load blew out through Brent’s nose, and splattered against the dark skin of Tyrell’s leg. It ran slowly down the cut of the quadriceps to his knee. Gary’s hand again came into Brent’s view, moving slowly across Tyrell’s seamed stomach muscles.

“Easy there, now. Don’t want to wear out our star player this early in the game. Why not join Norris on the bench, Ty?” Gary was guiding Tyrell over to where Norris was standing, his penis still swollen and red. Gary stopped Tyrell just in front of Norris, then guided Norris’ hardon in between the smooth dark glutes. Taking Norris’ unresisting arms, he tucked them under Tyrell’s huge biceps, putting Norris’ hands on the black man’s pectorals. Norris stared unseeing at Tyrell’s huge shoulders. Gary walked back to Brent, who stood stolidly, semen dripping from his chin. “Let’s keep them coming, big guy. You’ve missed out on a lot of practice, and we’ll have to catch you up.” Gary led another heavily-muscled man into view. It was Linc, even darker and bigger than a few minutes ago. His skin’s reddish cast had darkened even more, and it shone as if Linc were made of burnished copper. The cutoffs he had been wearing were now split all the way up the sides, and as he stepped closer, the rest of the seams gave way, and the denim dropped to the ground. Underneath, Linc was in a jockstrap, and Brent watched as Gary’s ivory-white hands slid the strap down across Linc’s quads. His pecker shot out, already rock-hard. Gary’s smiling face peered at Brent from in between Linc’s knees.

“I think Linc’s secretly been wanting this for a while, bud.” Linc didn’t seem to need any help finding Brent’s open mouth; his rod went right in, as if magnetically attracted. “I want you to really give him a hundred and ten percent, okay? He’s been doing so much for you all season.” Brent couldn’t seem to focus on his own thoughts anymore. A hundred and ten percent. He had to be a good team player. The guys were counting on him. A hundred and ten percent...team player...he’s done so much. He saw the muscles of Linc’s abdomen rippling as Linc moved automatically back and forth, back and forth, sliding his long, slender member in and almost completely out of Brent’s mouth. For the team. For his buddies. He’d do anything for these guys, they had done so much for him. He gulped eagerly on what Linc shot into his throat, worked his tongue back and forth, milking more out. He was losing track of what was going on behind him. How many of his teammates had been backing him? He couldn’t remember, and as he himself ejaculated again, he realized that there was yet another hot mouth pulling hungrily on his own cock. He felt emotion welling up inside him. They were doing this for him; all of the guys were giving everything they had, too! He felt tears start to course down his face. He really couldn’t do any less for them than they were doing for him...a hundred and ten percent. A hundred and ten...he wouldn’t, couldn’t let them down.

Gary’s hand reached in again, and Brent saw that the body the hand was against wasn’t Linc’s. Even Linc wasn’t this dark, not this inky black. He realized he’d lost track of everything, swept on a tide of pleasure that made his whole body throb ecstatically. He had never felt anything so wonderful, so unbelievably marvelous. He hoped he hadn’t let Linc down, hadn’t let any of them down. He saw Gary’s hand gently push, felt the hot hard member in his mouth pull free. As the man lurched backward, Brent saw that it was Jeral, the team’s kicker. He’d always been a slight, effeminate-looking guy, that the other black guys had called Michael Jackson, knowing how much it pissed him off. Now Jeral looked almost like a comic-book superhero, or a pro wrestler. His onyx skin gleamed. As Gary led Jeral away, Brent could see that now there was a longer chain of men standing rigidly, at least eight, all sandwiched one behind another, all with arms wrapped around the man in front of them, cocks shoved into their asses. Gary added Jeral to the line, then stepped back over to Brent. Picking up a large towel from a chair, he gently wiped Brent’s face, closing his wide-gaping mouth, cleaning off the dribbling semen. He moved behind Brent, and Brent felt the cock behind him give a long blast, then pull free. He felt Gary’s gentle hand wiping his glutes with the soft towel, and felt another rush of strong feeling. He’d been so cruel to Gary. Gary really liked him, and Brent had responded by pushing him around and badmouthing him. Gary was so gentle, so kind, a real team player. A hundred and ten percent, that’s what he always gave; Brent was going to make it up to Gary. He felt the fabric of the Speedo slither up his legs again, cover his semirigid cock. Gary stood before him again. He reached his soft hand down to Brent’s chin, and pushed lightly. Brent swung to a standing position.

“End of the second quarter, buddy. Let’s get some refreshments and look at the half-time show.” Gary took Brent by the arm again, and led him past the line of his teammates, all rooted stiffly, arms locked around one another. Brent saw that Tyrell, the first in line, still had a stiff, bulging erection. It pointed upward at an almost perfect forty-five degree angle; fluid was oozing from the swollen head, running in a stream down his cock, dripping off his scrotum. Maybe, thought Brent, maybe Gary would let him help Tyrell again. He felt bad that all the other guys had a buddy to lean on, but Tyrell didn’t. He’d been so inconsiderate to Tyrell, and Ty had done such a great job on the field all season. He had to make it up to him somehow.

Gary stopped Brent at the bar, and produced a frosted mug from below the counter. Setting the mug under a tap, he poured out another brew. He set it on the counter. “Go ahead, take the mug.” Brent’s hand moved automatically to the glass, his fingers curling around the handle. “Now drink it down; plenty more where that came from. You got here so late, you’re way behind the other guys.” The mug floated upward, the liquid poured down. Again the slight chemical aftertaste. “Put the mug down now.” The glass clinked slightly as it touched the counter. And Brent saw, for the first time, his own image as he brought the mug down, reflected in the glass door behind the bar. That couldn’t be him; the face was like his, but fuller, handsomer; the chin had a dimpled cleft now, and the nose was smaller and longer. It was like looking in a funhouse mirror. He had a mustache! He’d tried to grow one, he’d always thought they were sexy, but he’d only been able to get a thin, uneven brush of hair that Shelley, his girl at the time, had said made him look like a fag. Now there it was, full and dark and even, unbelievably appealing. And the body was the one he’d always wanted but never managed to work up to. But it must be him; one of the reflection’s hands held the mug, just as he did, wore the same sunglasses, had the same smooth, short sandy hair. He could see the reflection inhale as he did, watched as the chest expanded. His pectorals had always been the muscles least responsive to his efforts. He’d done pushups, bench presses, every exercise to get them bigger, even tried steroids for a while, but nothing had seemed to help; the steroids had just made him mean and jumpy, and he’d started to get hair in places he didn’t want it, so he’d stopped using them. He’d thought that he’d never have the size or shape to his chest that he really wanted. Now, his muscles stood out, large and cleanly defined; not grotesquely huge, but proportionate, and everything he could ever have imagined. It was the physique he’d always dreamed about. He didn’t look like a boy trying to be a man; he was a man. His skin had never gotten tanned right, either; he’d even tried a tanning salon, but the results were uneven. And he burned like a lobster if he tried to spend time in the sun. Now, he saw the glossy, tawny brown skin he had always envied on other guys, stretching smooth across the brawny musculature. He saw Gary in the glass, moving to stand next to him at the bar. Gary had given him this. All the years he’d worked so hard, all the disappointment, and in a few minutes, without any effort at all, Gary had made him what he’d always wanted to be. He thought of the painful hours he’d spent in smelly, sweaty gyms, straining and pushing himself. He felt tears welling up, spilling onto his cheeks and running downward. The image in the glass was crying, too.

“Ohh, Brent! Come on, big guy!” Gary’s hand slid over Brent’s shoulders to the nape of his neck, and he pulled Brent’s face down to his. With his other hand, he wiped at the drops coursing down his face. Then Gary kissed him delicately on the mouth. Brent felt as if he had never really been kissed before, never would be kissed again in quite the same way. Cerainly no girls had ever been like this; he could feel the honest emotion in Gary as his lips again pressed, caressed his own. Nobody had ever cared about him the way he knew Gary did. Gary understood him, knew him, loved him. He couldn’t ever let Gary down.

“That’s better,” smiled Gary. “Now, no more tears. You’re my big guy, and I’ll see to it that you’re always happy.” He slid his hand from Brent’s neck down along the roundness of his arm, caressing the bicep, the forearm, the fingers. “Come on, the whole squad’s putting on a half-time show just for you.” He took Brent’s hand and led him over to the line of men. “Now, these guys had all the fun on the front lines; come and see what the guys behind the scenes worked up to!” He led Brent around a high hedge into a small garden. There, a half-dozen naked men stood stiffly upright, their bodies at rigid attention. Their heads were bent backward, faces pointing skyward. And balanced there, also rigid as stone, another half-dozen beefy men were perched, their erect cocks plunged into the standing men’s open mouths. All the men’s muscles stood out sharply defined, and they stood so that the balanced men were head-to-foot in a hexagonal group.

“A salute to Stonehenge; isn’t that something? But let’s see what else they can do. Okay, reverse play, guys.” The six standing men reached upward in unison, and grasped the balanced men by the outside of their thighs. The balanced men remained stiff as boards, as the standing men dropped to one knee, then set their partner’s feet onto the ground. They rocked slightly back and forth, but remained upright and at attention. The other men now stood, facing their partners, and again came to attention. All stood still for a moment, then the tableau was repeated in reverse, as the previously balanced men dropped to one knee, and picked up their former column-men in the same way they themselves had been balanced. All the men returned to sculpture-like paralysis.

“Something, huh? Almost as good as the Flying Wallendas. Okay, guys, that’s good for now. I want you all to get in formation for the half-time show now.” The men set their partners down again, then they lined up and marched in step around the hedge. Gary led Brent after them.

As they rounded the hedge, Brent saw that some of his teammates had formed themselves into a kind of human throne. Two were kneeling on the grass, dog-style, heads tucked downward, forming the seat; two more knelt nearby, each with an arm upraised, making the arms; and two more knelt behind these four, to create a back. The men kneeling to form the back had their cocks firmly planted in the butts of the ones forming the seat. The ones forming the arms were reaching beneath the ‘seat’ with their free hand and stroking the peckers of those men. Two small, whitish pools of ejaculate were forming on the ground. Gary led Brent to the group, and sat down on the backs of the two men.

“Great. Okay, let’s see the all-stars!” Out through an archway in the wall behind them, a line of huge men marched. All were dressed in football gear; as Brent watched, they formed into lines on the turf in front of him. For a moment, Brent thought they must be some professional team; no high-schoolers could get to be this size. In unison, all the men removed their helmets, and Brent saw that while he could recognize some of the men, there were some there that he hadn’t seen before. He saw the coaches; they made up most of the first line. Gary had worked his alchemy with them, too. The head coach had been a balding, older man with a pot belly and a basset-hound face, with skin like leather; now, he sported a dark crew cut and looked twenty or thirty years younger. The other coaches had been similarly ‘perfected’, still recognizeable as their former selves, but more handsome. One by one, they took off their jerseys. Brent had expected them to be wearing shoulder pads; they weren’t. What had looked like padding under the shirts was solid muscle. These men were bigger than anyone Brent had ever seen, bigger than he had ever thought anyone could be. There was nothing soft or flabby here, just muscle on tightly drawn muscle. Their bodies shone in the sunlight, perfect smooth skin tanned deep bronze. The next line stepped forward in between the shirtless men; they, too, stripped down in the same way. They looked familiar, but he couldn’t place them for a moment...one of them looked like Norris, except this guy was blond, and Norris had brown hair; and Brent knew that Norris was standing in the chain on the other side of the lawn. The answer came suddenly, surprisingly into his mind. It was Norris’ sister, Kelli. But this was a guy...no way could any girl get that kind of mass. The other faces in the line began to distinguish themselves; these were all girls, or had been once; the faces were wider, rawboned and angular, but still discernible. Brent recognized Beth, Norris’ girlfriend; saw Shelley, his junior-year steady. This was seriously kinky; Brent felt his crotch stirring. Gary seemed to guess what Brent was thinking.

“What do you think of that? I told them to visualize what they most wanted to look like, and that’s what happened. They’ve even got penises that actually work! It worked the other way, too, though, and now the team has some really stunning ladies in the roster. Remember Alyssa, at the front door? She used to be Jerome.” Brent wondered which other guys had traded sides. He couldn’t imagine any of his teammates wanting to be women, but then he’d never imagined that Linc was hot for him, either. Or that any of the girls that he knew wanted to be guys. The next row of helmeted men stepped forward, standing in front of the row of shirtless athletes.

“Here’s another group of changelings that surprised me, although I suppose I should have expected it. Guess lots of people want to be famous.” As Gary spoke, the line removed their headgear. Brent instantly recognized most of this line up; they were unmistakeable. He’d seen these faces on movie screens, on TV, on the Topps football trading cards he’d bought as a kid. But again, he knew these weren’t really those stars; these were his classmates, who like him had been given this mysterious gift by Gary. The group pulled off their jerseys; as with the rest of the squad, all these men had well-defined, beautifully muscled bodies. Another rank of men stepped up beside them, and Brent expected that these would be more well-known faces. He felt his cock slide up over the top of his swimsuit and point up and outward as they reached up and pulled off their helmets, and he heard Gary gasp with delight and clap his hands.

“Did you ever see the like? Even better than when they put their helmets on! They just seem to keep improving over time.” Brent didn’t recognize these faces at all; he knew he had never seen anyone so unbelievably perfect. He would have remembered men this handsome. They, as the others had, stripped out of their shirts, and stood stone-still alongside the others. Gary stood, and turning, spoke to the men forming the seat he had been using.

“Okay, guys, why don’t you clean up, get yourselves a drink, and get over to the rest of the team. We’ve still got the second half to go, and we’ll need a hundred and ten from all of you.” Brent saw the group of kneeling men disengage themselves from one another, and march off toward the bar. Gary took his hand and led him across the lawn to the rows of inert figures. They began walking down the front row, like generals inspecting their troops, or like patrons at an art gallery admiring statuary. The ranks of men stood staring solidly ahead. Brent could see, as they moved along the line, that the final, handsomest group of men were even more stunning close up. He longed to touch them, to have them touch him, prove to himself that they were real, that such superb beings actually existed. Alongside these, the third group of men, the famous faces that Brent knew, were also slightly altered from their familiar lines, strangely perfected into idealized images of those well-known celebrities. And Brent was sure that none of those famed men had ever had bodies like these, even when in their prime. They rounded the end of the first row, and started up the second. Here were the men/girls; they made very handsome males now, he thought what a football team they would make. Here, too, were the trainers; Gary stopped before the head coach, bringing Brent face-to-face with the man. Brent had seen a picture of him, taken years ago when Coach was a running back in college. Even in his prime, the man hadn’t been this good-looking, this robust. Gary ran his hand down the arm of the inert manager.

“Well, Coach. Here’s your star quarterback, the one who brought us the State Championship. He gave a hundred and ten, just like you always told him to; I think you owe him.” He raised his voice slightly. “I think all you coaches owe him. Come on over here, and thank him for a winning season.” Brent heard footsteps in the grass, saw movement in the corners of his eyes. Coach dropped to his knees and took Brent’s erect penis into his mouth. As he did so, Brent felt many hands touching him, caressing him. He felt the now-familiar sensation of a pecker working its way gently between his buttocks, as hands strayed everywhere on his body, down his legs, across his back. He felt a rush that swept him up and up, higher, until his whole being tingled as if charged with electricity. There were bodies rubbing against him, hands moving, stroking him; it was indescribable. His mind spun, giddy with gratification...and he came, again and again, almost blacking out with erotic joy. He lost track of everything, saturated in arousal, in sheer ecstasy that went on and on. He felt hands lifting him, carrying him, massaging and caressing him, supporting him; he felt himself climaxing convulsively. He was floating down through a warm paradise of delight; his last conscious thought drifted in...have I died?

He heard Gary’s voice, inexorable. His eyes opened. He looked upward, at a cloudless blue sky. He was seated in a hot tub, warm liquid surging and frothing over his body. He felt beads of sweat covering his face, coalescing, running down and dripping into the bubbling water. He’d been asleep; he’d been having some crazy dream about...Gary. About the team, and a weird party. He couldn’t focus on it, it was slipping away, washing out into the roiling water around him. Where was he? He tried to move his head; felt a small hand slither across the damp hair at the back of his head, lift it forward, his gaze wheeling dizzily, coming to rest on...Gary, kneeling in front of him, foam lapping at his chest. He was looking intently into his face, anxiety giving way to honest relief.

“Thank goodness! I thought I’d pushed you too hard...how do you feel?”

To his own surprise, he felt his mouth move, heard a voice familiar but different resonating through his throat. “What...what...”

“Easy, easy now. Have some of this.” He had a mug in his free hand; tenderly, he put it to Brent’s mouth, still cradling his head. The cool drink flowed in, refreshing and invigorating. He felt the beer soaking into his mustache, drops spilling from the sides of his mouth and running down to his chin. He drained the mug, took in a deep breath. And the memory of the ecstasy returned in a flood.

“I never felt anything like that before! God! Oh, Christ!” He felt his erection spring upward from between his legs again, popping over the top of his swimsuit. “Please. PLEASE!” He choked, anguished. “More!” He couldn’t get any more words out; he was crying incoherently. Gary stood over him, took Brent’s head in his arms. Held against Gary’s body, he sobbed, his wide shoulders shaking. Gary stroked a hand through his hair, soothingly, quietly as Brent wept. He spoke softly, crooning.

“Shhhh...shhhh, it’s okay, come on now. You’re my big guy, I told you. No more tears. Shhhh. Now, stop this, I’ll let you back in the game if you feel up to it. If you’re sure.” He cupped Brent’s chin in his hand, brought the handsome face upward. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! YES! Please put me in again! I can do this! I owe it to the team. They’re all counting on me. They need me! Please? Please!” He felt panic rising as he spoke. He’d been weak, he’d let the team down. He’d let them down, just when they needed him. They couldn’t finish the game without him...they just couldn’t! Pleadingly, he looked up at Gary.

“Okay, you’re back in the game. They’d never win without you. Stand up and climb out of here.”

“Thanks. Thank you! You won’t regret it, I’m going to make you proud.” Brent stood, waded across to the side, swung a leg over the side of the tub. “You’ll see. A hundred and ten percent!” He could feel his cock straining, twitching eagerly. He had another chance, this time they’d go all the way!

“All right, okay, I believe you!” Gary was laughing as he pulled himself over the side of the tub. “Quiet now, now more talk. Focus. There’s a lot ahead of you in the second half, but we haven’t used any of our timeouts yet. And we’re way ahead, so don’t push too hard. Pace yourself.” Still smiling, he took Brent’s arm. “I’m very proud of you, buddy. You’re a real winner.” He was leading Brent down to the playing field; he could see the line of players had grown; all the men from the first half of the game were now ‘on the bench’, and the group stretched in a semicircle, eyes glazed, unmoving except for the slow rise and fall of their huge chests as they breathed. “Looks like we’ve gone through all the first rounders, on to the second string.” Another group of men were on the field, already in formation, and Gary led the way into the group. “Get into position.” Brent dropped into a crouch, one hand on the ground, legs spread, head up. He was looking straight into the face of one of those perfect men from the halftime show, a preternaturally beautiful male with short, blond hair and violet-blue eyes, crouching in exactly the same position opposite him. He gazed at the vision for only a few seconds, then the whole formation went into motion, all except Brent, who remained motionlessly crouched as the men formed into a circle around him. Gary was inside the ring, standing next to him, and Brent felt the soft slither of his swimsuit sliding off his buttocks again, pulling tauter as it reached his wide-spaced knees. Gary walked to the ring of men, pointed at three of them, and then at Brent. The three chosen went in and positioned themselves, the middle one lying prone, placing his head in the sling formed by Brent’s swimsuit, the left one in front, the right behind. Gary watched them move into place, then called, “Hut-hut-hut!” The three men instantly went into play, the man in front putting his cock in Brent’s mouth, the prone man taking Brent’s into his mouth, and the man behind pushing his between Brent’s cheeks. The men moved in unison, rhythmically pushing, and as Brent felt the warm rush of the semen in his throat and back, he came into the mouth of the man beneath him. He felt the man behind him pull out as the one in front of him did, and the third one rose. Gary was pointing at another three, and the process was repeated, the first three men marching off to join the bench. Gary reached down and ran his hand lightly across Brent’s back, and Brent felt a surge of joy at the touch. Gary loved him, was so proud of him; he’d do anything for Gary, protect him, always be there for him. He swallowed as another gout spewed into his mouth, and he felt himself himself orgasm again. Another group, then another; Brent rode along on the pure ecstatic pleasure he felt, outside time, beyond anything but the warm surging in his loins, in his mouth, at his back, the unparalleled bliss of climax that went on and on, rising to peak after peak. His whole body quivered, pulsed with the passion. Then the sensation began to fade, to die away. He was staring, still planted firmly in a crouch, at a massive erection; he knew it, had seen it, wanted it. He heard Gary’s gentle voice nearby. “Okay, Ty. Last play of the game.” An enormous, dark hand wrapped around the huge, swollen cock and put it into Brent’s open mouth. Almost instantly, it began to expel a barrage of fluid that went down Brent’s throat, ran down his chin, coursed onto his chest. Brent felt his own orgasm rise, and he shot streams onto his forearm again and again. He’d never felt this height of pleasure before, and the pulsing of his ejaculation increased until he ached. Dimly he heard Gary again. “That’s game, men. Brent, stand up.” He rose from his crouch, semen still dribbling as his hardon drooped. He felt Gary’s hands toweling him clean,, then sliding the Speedo back up to his hips. He walked into Brent’s view, wiped off his chest, arm, and mouth. “Come with me.” Gary led him back to the tub. “Get in and sit down.” He saw Gary climbing in with him, sitting beside him in the warm, splashing water. “Team, close up ranks.” He watched as the benched men, now in a large circle, shifted. Tyrell slid his hands onto the last man in line’s chest, pushed with his hips and planted his big pecker into the last man’s anus. Satisfaction rippled in him, soothing and calming as the water he relaxed in. Everything was perfect, he had given a hundred and ten percent, led his team to the top. Gary moved into his field of view, sat on Brent’s knees, facing him. Brent saw something golden and shining on the edge of the tub. Gary picked it up, reaching with his other hand for Brent’s hand. Brent felt the cool metal slide onto his finger, and Gary held the hand up for him to see. The championship ring sparkled on his finger; but Brent knew it meant more than that. The championship was only a momentary glory, but Gary placing it on his finger meant more to Brent than life, something permanent, lasting, sacred. Gary put out his hands, took Brent’s head, and leaned in to kiss him. Brent again felt the adoration permeate him as their lips met; Gary, who could have chosen any of those here, who could have chosen anyone in the world, had chosen him. He would give Gary anything, everything, forever, always. Gary’s hands slid across his chest, around his waist, onto the small of his back as the kiss continued. A glowing warmth spread from Gary’s hands and suffused Brent. He thought of the fall, when he and Gary would be together, alone, all the wonderful things he would do for Gary, make him the center of his world, for as long as it was in his power to. Sight, sound, touch seemed to dwindle away, he was floating, drifting, and there was only Gary there with him, Gary to lead him, command him, rule him, love him.

“Brent. Brent. Hey, buddy, you okay?” Brent opened an eye, and the bed he was on seemed to slow its weaving whirl. He opened the other eye, and it stopped spinning, but still seemed to be rocking slightly up and down. He pushed himself up on an elbow, taking in the dim room, the moonlight through the high windows; the movement made him nauseous. “Here, over here, buddy.” Brent saw the mouth of a tall silver canister, and put his head over it. His stomach twisted, and he vomited, then gulped a breath of air. He started to push across his mouth with his hand, but Gary was holding a towel. It was cool and damp, and Brent wiped it across his face, then lay back, pressing the cloth to his forehead. He closed his eyes, but the bed began moving again. “Here, slide your leg over and put your foot on the floor. It helps, I don’t know why, but it does.” Brent dropped his foot over the side of the bed until his sock touched the carpeted floor. The movement of the bed stopped. He looked over to Gary from underneath the towel.

“What happened?” He slid the cool towel against his face again, wiped it against his upper lip to clean his mustache...no, dumbass, he’d cut off the mustache two years ago, remember? Funny, he seemed to remember...he must have been dreaming about, about...no, it was gone.

“Well, it might have had something to do with that case of Heinekins in your trunk, Einstein. Were you trying to get Coach to put you on display inside that wreck out front of the school? I managed to convince him you’re allergic to shellfish, and got you in here before you passed out.” He shook his head slowly. “Did you think you could drink a whole case by yourself?” Brent smiled weakly, then his eyes widened. Gary picked up the can again, opened the lid. Brent waved it away.

“No, no. I’m not gonna puke. Is Caryn still here? She’s gotta be pissed as hell.”

“Norris and Beth took her home; and I called your parents to let them know you’re staying here tonight.” Gary had another towel, and he laid the fresh one where the old cloth had been. “Here, have some water.” Brent heard the tinkling clink of ice cubes, and Gary put a straw to his lips. “Easy, easy, bud.” Brent’s hand slid over Gary’s as he leaned on the bed, holding the glass. “A good night’s sleep, that’s what you need.” Brent’s hand moved up Gary’s arm, around the back of his neck. Brent saw the glint of the championship ring, Gary’s ring, on his finger. He pulled Gary’s face close to his.

“Thanks...I mean...I’m sorry if I wrecked your party, man.” Brent pressed his lips against Gary’s; it seemed to Brent a natural gesture, a show of his love and respect for Gary. He could see the blush on Gary’s cheeks as he put down the water and reached to caress Brent’s cheek and chin with his cool, wet hand.

“Don’t worry about it, buddy. I think I managed to cover everything before anyone figured it out.” They kissed again, then Gary made a face. “Guhh, Barf Breath!” He giggled, and Brent joined in. He shrugged his jersey over his head and let it fall to the floor.

“Have a mint, I think there’s some in my pocket.” He reached down, patted his thighs. “Yeah, in here.” He dug them out, popped one, thumbed another and offered it. “How’s this?” He sat up and took Gary in his arms.

“Better all the time.” Gary’s arms wrapped around Brent’s chest, and they lay down together. “Hey, what do you want to bring with you in the fall for the dorm room? I have some decent speakers, you got a good CD player?” Brent nodded eagerly, leaning in for another kiss, his hands pulling on Gary’s shorts. Brent was feeling much better, now that his love’s warm body was snuggled against his. Caryn was gonna be pissed as hell.