Date: Sat, 18 Sep 2004 14:39:43 -0700 (PDT)
From: Alistair Bentley <xformguy@yahoo.com>
Subject: Headshop; Chapter 8: Scent of a Man

Story: Headshop

Chapter 8: Scent of a Man

I woke up the next morning on the couch, still wrapped in a blanket.
Emotionally, I still felt like shit and worse still, I was beginning to
finally come down from the "concentrated dose" I'd had yesterday afternoon.
I toked up immediately, I could NOT handle how I felt right now without
being blitzed. This made me ungodly horny however, and I jacked off for a
while fruitlessly producing pre-cum; I realized that I probably could only
cum if I was fucking someone's ass. That only brought be back to what I'd
done to pizza-boy.

After about an hour of jacking, I gave up and moved to the window.
Pizza-boy's car was gone, so I assumed he'd made it home. I sat down at my
computer and checked my email. There were jpgs of my splayed out naked and
wasted in the back of my car from yesterday's debacle. There was a movie
clip also of me tied to the post, being jacked by Sarge. At the bottom of
the email was a url, a username and a password. I followed the link and
entered the information when a pop-up window opened. I was brought to a
subscription site, "Headshop.Com," with galleries of my exploits there.
There were other galleries of other men, but I couldn't look at them right
now. I just shut down the browser and went to shower.

I couldn't be more mortified. This only mixed with my shame from the night
before and the tremendous loss of the relationship with my "lady," which
was six wasted years, dropping me squarely into a state of depression. I
stripped my bed and started doing laundry when I realized that Nick was on
the floor where I'd thrown my clothes from the night before, still deflated
(my mind could barely comprehend that), and still rolled up into a tube.

I got him off the floor and laid him out on the bed, unrolling him
gingerly. The material he was made form was not rubber, but felt like his
skin, warm and smooth. There was just no actual substance to him; he was
hollow. His face still was his face, his lips curved into an "O" like he
had been caught giving head. All the details of his body, like his eyes,
his body hair, his fingernails, had all become like printed art on the
surface of his skin. I got to his hips and his flattened cock and flatten
balls unrolled too. It looked like he still had an erection, but it was
simply deflated.

In his navel was a rubber post and stopper, just like you'd find on any
blow-up pool toy. It was obviously open right now, since he was deflated. I
put my mouth on hit and started to blow him up. Realizing this would take a
while, I went to my utility room and dug into my camping gear. I had a
small air-blowing device that was battery operated and used to blow up air
mattresses. I plugged it in and stuck the tip into Nick's post, blowing him
up with hot hair.

It was very weird, seeing his body fill out with the air. I wondered if
what Sarge said was right . . . was he alive and aware? What did it feel
like to be flat and hollow? To be rolled up into a wad? Those sensations
must be freaky. How did getting blown up feel?

When Nick was fully inflated, I quickly moved the blower out of his post
and sealed it with the stopper. As soon as the stopper was in place, Nick
changed. His features all returned to normal human and he sat up gasping of
air with a wild look in his eyes. His cock indeed had an erection and,
before he could even touch it, he shot his load, heaving and shooting and
freaking out all at the same time.

Then, hHe curled up into a ball. "OHGODOHGOD!" he yelled, rocking back and
forth, "I'm a fucking THING . . . a THING . . . OHGOD!"

What could I say? He was absolutely right. They'd turned him into a
object. I thought about how he had spent the last 24 hours, unable to move
or speak, flattened, rolled into a wad, and I knew it must've driven him
crazy with frustration. From the cum he'd shot, he must've been ultra-horny
too. At least I had been able to jack off to relieve some stress. I
wondered . . . how would it feel to be this horny and be unable to touch
yourself?

In the end, he stopped screaming, but just kept rocking back and forth. I
wondered if he'd actually snapped. I got up, stood in front of him and
called his name. He didn't listen, didn't appear to notice me. As callous
as it was, I was getting annoyed.

"Dude!" I slapped him across the face and this broke him out of his
reverie, "Stop it! Adapt. They got us both, okay? Keep it together."

"Fuck OFF!" he yelled, "They didn't turn you into an OBJECT!"

"Didn't they?" I asked him. I posed for him, popping all my muscles out,
"I'm a freaking muscle stud. This is not who I am."

He shot me a angry look and stood up to face me. I was not about four
inches taller than him, but that didn't stop his manic expression. "You can
still MOVE on your own! I'm an OBJECT!!"

"Dude," I said more gently, "you're moving.  You're alive. Just keep the
stopper in place."

His hands immediately shot to his navel. The post was still there as was
the stopper. He probed around it with his fingers, careful not to dislodge
anything. He was trying to pull out the entire post, but it was becoming
clear that it didn't come out. It was totally attached to his flesh.

"ohmygodohmygod," he chanted, "I can still be deflated, right? How am I
supposed to live my life with thing inside me??"

I sat heavily on the edge of the bed and so did he. I put my arm around him
in an attempt to be reassuring. "I don't know." I meant this response for
both us. "Just be careful who you fuck," I said, "It might be contagious."

"Contagious?!?" he started.

"A guy I fucked last night changed," I said.

"Into what?"

"Well, a smaller, more muscular version of himself," I said, "I think."

"Oh," Nick said sarcastically, "That must really suck for him."

There was silence. I didn't want to deal with his sarcasm and frankly, this
entire conversation was wearing me out completely. I knew he was having
issues and I could sympathize. I'm sure if I'd been turned into a object
like him, I'd be having the same problems. But I, my buzz was starting to
get killed and my emotional depression resurfaced. He was my best friend,
and he was in trouble, but frankly, we both were. I glanced over at him and
he seemed ashen and jittery. I remembered that he hadn't had any of my
pre-cum in like two days or something and maybe he was starting to hit
withdrawal. The thought of him sucking me off surfaced and my cock
responded. I was afraid, though, that Nick my change too.

"Sarge told me Melanie did this to us," I told Nick, "Do you know if that's
true?"

Nick flushed and lay back on the bed. I just looked at his feet, afraid to
meet his eyes. "She said you sucked in bed and wanted a muscle stud," Nick
said quietly, "She tricked me with the weed, then it was too late."

I absorbed this information slowly and quietly. My anger simmered into a
level I had never know before, something dark and quiet rather than hot an
explosive. I had the urge to get back at Melanie, give her a taste of this
medicine, too, but I didn't know how. I thought of the proprietor and the
Headshop and I thought about maybe buying something there for Melanie.

My brain was flying from the joint I'd toked earlier. I lay back on the bed
next to Nick and we just lay there for a few minutes, letting the emotion
defuse. At one point, needing some kind of physical comfort, I rolled over
next to him and pulled his body to me. He was so much shorter than me now
. . . a good five inches or more, and so warm and smooth. It naturally got
me rock hard and drooling, but nowadays, just about anything did.

"What's that smell?" Nick asked.

"What smell?" I asked back.

Nick rolled over to face me, side-by-side and sniffed me. He smelled my
neck and followed his nose to my armpit, raising it up. He inhaled deeply
and his face went slack with pleasure and lust.

"Dude . . . you smell . . ." he said.

I sniffed my own armpit and smelled nothing unusual. "I just showered," I
said.

He buried his head aggressively into my pit and kept sniffing. "God," he
breathed, "It's making me horny." He followed his nose over to my other pit
and did the same thing. I just let him. I was horny, high, and stupid, I
was fine with a little body worship. Nick followed his nose all the way
down my torso, around my cock and jammed his nose under my nuts, inhaling
deeply. He starting humping the mattress and angling his mouth to my
cock. Oh yeah, having my best friend nuzzle my nads, his hands roaming over
my thighs, his breath coming out in gasps, and feeling his body between my
legs, sandwiched there? Yeah, I was horny.

Nick was getting off on suck the space behind my nuts. He was working it
with a frenzy and my brain was processing these sensations heavily. No one
had ever touched me there like this. Sure I'd washed it in the shower and
I'd had my nuts licked once or twice, but never like this. I was squirming
a bit and let out a deep sigh that made my massive chest and abs ripple. I
put my hands behind my head, exposing my deep, hairy pits, while Nick to
hold of my huge nuts and moved them out of the way. Whatever was making him
horny, I didn't care, because I was getting into his tongue.

Then, he slipped deeper. It was feeling to damn good that I spread my legs
a little, placing one sole on the side of his torso and raising my other
leg to rest on his shoulder and back. I angled my hips out, giving him
better access. He dug deeper, one hand pulling on my loose nut sack,
pushing the testicles to the bottom and holding them there. I groaned as he
did that . . . it felt so fucking good. He fingers started going deeper
into my crack and when it touched my asshole, something in me snapped.

I jerked up and in a harsh voice, I yelled at him. "Get your finger off
that, faggot!" I said, "That's for Sarge!"

I don't know where that came from. I just looked at him blankly after
that. It had been a reflex or something. He didn't even stop, he just back
off from my pucker and went to deep throating my nuts. I squirmed some
more, backing off myself from the thought of what had prompted that
response and what had just happened. All thought of it was obliterated as
soon as Nick's tongue started working its way up my cock shaft, causing me
to spout pre-cum like a mini-orgasm. Nick lapped it up and deeply sighed,
closing his eyes and taking in the narcotic.

I was heading toward the crest again. Nick, who'd been a straight boy just
as I had, must've gotten some serious cock-sucker lessons somewhere, or
maybe they just encoded it into his new body, but he moved to deep
throating me, moving his head in circles around my cock head, swatting my
cock playfully, all kinds of moves that drove me expertly to the brink. No
orgasm would come from this, however, and I felt the familiar frustration
building up. I knew I could fuck him, but I also knew that, if I did, he
could change more.

The guilt memories of pizza-boy flared up large in my addled mind. I lay
there, arms behind my head, no longer enjoying the blowjob. I remembered
how changed I was, how changed Nick was, how wrong it had all happened. I
remembered my "lady's" betrayal and Sarge's humiliation, all of it. It came
in a single streaming emotion that made be desolate, guilty, and, in the
end, angry.

I pushed Nick the fuck off of me before I lost control completely, using my
legs and knees to push him to the side. This set off his own frustration,
because I knew he couldn't shoot unless I shot inside him. A perfect little
trap for both of us. I got out of bed and put some clothes on. I wasn't
just leaving the room, I was leaving the apartment. If I stayed, I'd fuck
him. The images were already flashing in my head. The sense memories of
fucking pizza-boy were already being overlain atop Nick's body, and I was
already needing to be inside his ass.

So, I ducked out. Maybe it was rude, I dunno' but I didn't care either. I
just left Nick in my bedroom, naked and horny. Hell, at least he was
inflated. I got in my car and drove around, not sure where I was heading. I
ended up at work, which was weird since it was a Sunday. I knew the
corporate gym was open on Sundays, so I opted for that. Maybe I could work
out my frustrations a bit.

I went in and all I had for work-out clothes were the one's I'd used
Friday. I had forgotten to switch them out. I didn't care; I threw on these
sweaty clothes anyhow and started running on the treadmill. It didn't take
long to work up a sweat and thank god I could run like this, because it was
really helping my brain settle itself out. Even as high as I was still - -
and as horny - - I found a measure of peace in the rote physical activity.

And, I noticed Code-Monkey, walking through the nearly empty gym, eyeing
me. It was Sunday. Most people were as FAR away from work as ultimately
possible. Only two other die-hard lifters were here, pumping iron with the
free weights in the back. I was on the treadmills, jogging at full speed,
dripping sweat. And there was the twink, geeky boy I'd named
Code-Monkey. He came in and cruised me. He had that "I'll look at you
through the corner of my eye so I can appear to NOT look at you" thing
going on as he passed me in his shorts, t-shirt, and sneakers. He got on a
treadmill in the row behind me, a little off to my left, and started
walking.

We did this little dance for a while, almost a full hour while I was
jogging full blast and he was walking. I got bored and my cock - - finally
- - had gone down to an acceptable level. It had finally accepted it wasn't
getting off in Nick's ass . . . at least not today. So it softened in my
jock, into a semi-chubbed mound of sensitive flesh, nestled against my huge
low-hangers. My cup was full, soaked with sweat and pre-cum.

The exertion felt better than good. I had just added a another wave of
mind-altering chemicals into my brain and enjoyed the endorphin rush as it
mixed with the green. I hit the machines, not wanting to bother with the
muscle heads in the corner doing free weights, and started working down my
body. Shoulders, arms, lats - - my lats were fucking huge. As I looked at
myself in the mirror, noting how the edges of my new tattoo spread were
peeking out of my t-shirt and how my nipple rings were totally obvious, I
caught Code-Monkey on the far side of the room, now also on the machines
working out, but mostly staring at me. He was following my routines.

I was flattered. I was interested. And I was pissed off that he was making
my cock jump again. His body wasn't athletic. In fact, he looked a lot like
I used to look. But he wasn't ugly and he had an innocence about him, a
shyness. He clearly desired me. Memories of myself at that age, at that
stage in my development, flitted past me, but they seem so long ago. Like
another era. Like another person even. I remembered flirting with women who
were clearly out of my league, with their lithe, lean smoothness. I
remembered that bit of hope in your gut, in your cock even, that told you
it was "possible," and so you tried. This no doubt was Code-Monkey's
equivalent.

I flexed in the mirror, showing off my biceps. I saw Code-Monkey's mouth
part in the mirror. Maybe he was just breathing hard because of the machine
he was on. I continued my work out and he continued to follow me. When I
got down to my glutes, I thought he his head was gonna burst open from the
way he was staring at me.

I got off the machine and headed for the locker room. I was done. My body
was tired, my cock was quiet, and my head was swimming from the endorphins
and the weed. I was having trouble thinking again, but I was okay with
floating for a while. I got to my locker and stripped down, once again
noting how easy it was for me to be naked in this public place. The locker
room was empty, however, so I guess it didn't much matter. I strode over to
the towels, grabbed one, and hit the shower.

The water was great. I turned it up as hot as possible, letting it scour
over me. The heat penetrated my muscles and it felt great. I soaped myself
up, my hands moving over the hard, hairy curves of my body. There had been
no changes from the does of the weed I took this morning, at least none I
could discern. I wondered? Was I done changing? Or maybe this new smell
Nick had grooved on was the latest. Looking down myself, it seemed such a
difference from the geek I had been, almost to the point of
disorientation. I had live through these changes, but in the last two
weeks, I had become a completely different person. My face was the only
thing recognizable.

I touched my nipple rings and played with them. I didn't like how they
looked on me . . . or any piercing for that matter . . . but fuck, playing
with them sure felt good. The post in my tongue clacked around my teeth and
I wondered why the fuck Sarge wanted that in me. My cock wasn't really any
bigger. It was still the same 6 inches or so, but it might've gotten a
little thicker. Just thinking about that made the foreskin peel back from
the glans just a bit as it chubbed up. My nuts. Wow . . . those had gotten
huge, so much that they hung down below my cock. I could wrap my entire
palm around the sack and still have my actual nuts hang out the
bottom. That felt weird. I'd never experienced that before.

Playing with my nuts in the shower, well, that started to spark off my cock
again. Whatever I had become, it was filled with stamina and sexual
desire. My entire life had become about getting off. I leaned against the
tiles, the smoothness of them, the hot water, my own hands and body, all
combining. I WAS a different person.

Not long ago, I had been like the Code-Monkey, a geek more concerned with
analytical code, programming procedure, following the rules. Now I was
someone different. My brain was changing. The mind it housed was begin drug
along with it into this new state. My "lady" had betrayed me. Ruined that
old life to the point I wasn't even sure I could live in it again. When I
thought about the programming I had done, it was a great, blank haze, a
jumble of syntax and subroutines, and classes, all mixing together without
logic or form. I knew it once had logic and that I had created it, but even
remembering it was unfathomable. I had gotten stupider. I feared that.

I had sulked in the shower long enough and turned off the hot water. I
dried myself off, wrapping the towel around my waist. I headed out of the
shower area and, turning the corner, I saw Code-Monkey at my locker. He was
standing there, shoes off, shirt off, holding my jock cup up to his nose,
inhaling deeply. If he could have crawled into it, it would have.

Something in my head clicked again. I wasn't angry, exactly, but I was
feeling aggressive and dominant suddenly, as if a wave of testosterone had
been released. I checked the other side of the lockers, nobody was there.

I charged Code-Monkey and yelled "Faggot! What are you doing!" He jumped
and backed into the wall of lockers, shocked, scared. I came up to him and
invaded his personal space, filling it with my body. He looked
terrified. "What the fuck are you doing with my jock?" I demanded.

He held it up and looked at it sheepishly, afraid. I could see through his
eyes that he was working out some kind of excuse, some kind of explanation,
but what would it be? I was laughing inside and my head was soaring with
erotic pleasure.

He held it up and I plucked it out of his hand. I held it to his face. I
could see his nostrils flaring. I pushed my face into his - - not smelling
this pheromone - - and said, "You like sniffing the jocks of real men,
faggot?"

"I . . . I . . like yours," he said. He was immediately shamed of saying
it. His face reddened and he looked down. I held up the cup to his face
again and shoved it over his mouth and nose, shoving his head back into the
lockers. He breathed in the scent and I could feel his body react to it. I
had him.

I pulled back from him taking the jock cup with me and propped my foot on
one of the benches. I knew this pretty much exposed my hanging nuts to him;
it was calculated. I pointed at my bare foot and said, "Lick it."

"W-what," he said, "No." His attempt to have balls was cute.

"Okay then," I said, "I'll find out your name. I'll find out your
supervisor. Maybe that person would like to know you're down here sniffing
the jockstraps of your coworkers in the corporate gym." He looked
stricken. I was laughing inside, but kept my expression angry.

He considered it. I kept my foot on the bench. He slowly kneeled down and
put his mouth on the top of my foot. He started to lick it gingerly, but,
as he continued, he started to get into it more fully. Maybe my feet were
emitting pheromones, too. Who knows.

When he looked up, he was greeted with my erection, tenting out my towel. I
moved by foot and he stood up. I pressed myself into him, pushing my full
body against his torso and I kissed him. I invaded his mouth with my tongue
and he was nearly apoplectic with pleasure. I put one hand down his shorts
and grasped his hard cock. He groaned.

Using his cock has a handle, I pulled him down the locker room and back to
showers. This was the only place we could have privacy. I pulled him into a
shower stall and ripped his short off of him. He bent down to start blowing
me and started pulling his socks off too. When his lips touched my cock, I
knew he'd get addicted to my pre-cum and I didn't want that. I pulled him
up by his shoulders and turned him around. All the horniness I had been
putting off resurfaces instantly. I needed to fuck him.

And I did. I bent him over, used my feet to spread his, and angled my cock
into his pucker. I covered his mouth with my hand, stifling his screams and
pulled his head backward as I trust inside him. I put my hardness inside
him, pushing insides, feeling them grip the base of my shaft. He tried to
pull away, but I was far stronger than him and pulled him onto my body. In
the end, I won. I popped into him and he was impaled on me.

I started fucking him, grooving on the feel of it, on the lust that was
evaporating off his body like steam. I reached over and turned the water
on, to preserve the illusion in case others were here, and to add some
sensation onto him. My body and my mind disconnected. I was fucking him for
all I was worth and he was bucking back onto me, groaning and squealing in
pleasure, while my mind soared over the frustration and the anger and the
loss I felt for my old life. I had become a sexual machine and here I was,
fucking and fucking and fucking. I knew there would be a consequence;
Code-Monkey would change. I didn't care. I had changed. Life was
change. Why shouldn't he be affected. He had begged for it.

I gave it to him. I shot my load inside of him with a force that felt like
I was snapping my back and ripping muscles. I felt like I was crushing him
beneath me as I pounded him into the wall. I was unloading into him; I lost
count of the individual spurts at about 20. It was flowing out of his ass
and down his legs. Thank god we were in the shower.

In the afterglow, I pulled out of him and angled the shower head to my
cock, rinsing off the residue. I angled it at his butt and did the
same. Code-Monkey was still panting against the shower tiles. I backed off
and went for some towels, dripping water. I pulled a couple back and, when
I went back to the shower stall, it had started.

Code-Monkey was on the floor, convulsing, his back and flexing and
un-flexing, bending him in half over and over. Dark hair was beginning to
sprout across his back, legs, and arms, and, just like pizza-boy, he was
shrinking. I was expecting him to turn into a hairless, short, jock boy
like pizza-boy had, but no . . . something worse was happening.

He kept shrinking. As he did, the hair on his body multiplied like ants
crawling out of his skin. His face changed too, his skull getting smaller,
leaving more room for his face. His eyes got huge and his teeth
pointed. His hand stretched out, leaving his fingers a little shorter and
more clumsy. The same happened to his feet, they stretched and widened. A
tail sprouted out of his ass. He kept shrinking until he was less than
three feet tall. His voice, his calling out, turned into screeching and
howling. OHGOD! When he hit about two feet tall and his form started to
solidify, I realized what he was becoming . . . a monkey . . . a small
black-haired, wild eyed monkey.

By the time the transformation was finished, there were other guys in the
locker room, having heard the commotion from outside. I was standing there,
naked, with a towel hanging in front of my cock. We were all looking at
this confused monkey on the floor of the shower.

"How'd that get in here?" someone asked.

"Y'got me man," I lied, "I was just showering."

The other guys raced around to catch Code-Monkey as he started freaking out
completely, running and jumping all over the place. I hastily dried off,
got dressed, and got out of there. In my car, I hung my head against the
steering wheel, feeling the anger, frustration, and guilt again. I needed a
cure, but couldn't afford it. Failing that, I had a strong desire to punish
Sarge, knowing that was unlikely - - he had been one step ahead of me the
whole time - - and . . .someone else.

Going with my anger, I put my car in gear headed out to the Headshop. The
proprietor. He sold this shit. I could buy it and get some measure of
revenge for me, Nick, pizza-boy, and now Code-Monkey. I knew it was wrong,
but I was over the edge here. I'd just fucked a boy into a non-human state
. . . HE WAS AN ANIMAL!! My brain screamed at this knowledge and I just
shoved it aside. I could not freak out now. I could not.

And so I drove back to that place where all this had started. Going to the
source. Finding an answer . . . any answer, no matter how right or wrong or
good or bad. I just needed some closure.