Date: Tue, 21 Jun 2005 02:50:48 -0700 (PDT) From: Alistair Bentley Subject: Headshop: Hound Chapter 3 Headshop: Hound Chapter 3: Scent By Xformguy Hunger snapped me out of my funk. I'm not sure how long I was hiding under my comforter on the top bunk, but when my stomach started cramping with hunger, I said "fuck it" and got out of bed. A quick look at my dick showed it to be flaccid and about as long as it used to be when it was hard. It hung down over my nuts and flopped a little when I walked. I reached down the pulled back the foreskin that had magically grown in, revealing my newly streamlined glans and let it go, feeling the weird sensation of my cock slowly retracting back into the folds of soft, warm skin. My cock had changed shape. It had grown bigger. I stopped dwelling on it lest my freak out return. I headed to the showers and entering the room was like walking into a chemical soup of scents. Whatever was happening to me was making me much more sensitive to smells, because I had NEVER experienced anything like this before. Walking through the room was like walking through curtains of smell, as if the atmosphere were layered and there were currents and flows of scent that I breached just by moving. I stopped to take a piss, and was treated to about a dozen distinct smells of piss emanating from the urinals and the stalls, mixed with the scents of shit and the private scents of the bodies of the guys who were pissing and shitting. I was most freaked out by the fact that these smells weren't gross to me, they were just - - interesting. My brain was cataloging them again, labeling them, putting faces to smells as I got close enough to identify the source. It was like before, where I could detect all these subtle differences in each smell. When I hauled out my cock, pulled back the skin, and pissed, I got a good blast of my own, distinct urine's scent and I appreciated the echo of "safe" it brought to my head. The showers were the same, only suffused with the smell of bodies. I could picked out the smells of the flesh of the guys there, from the subtle differences in their skin, hair, armpits, crotches, feet and the heavy-handed, artificial mask of the soap and shampoo that tried to cover it all up. I knew some of these guys and again, my head labeled scent to face. I was actually disappointed to cover my own scent up the way I did with the soap, but I knew that I couldn't walk around smelling of my own cum. I ended up getting a little overwhelmed by the scents and it started to affect me. The "something" in my head started to move around again and I started to chub up. I was starving and I didn't want to wait, so I hurried my shower, headed back to my room, got dressed, and headed to the student union. The atmosphere outside was like an ocean of scents all layered on one another. I kept getting washed over by them as I walked. Mostly it was foul and chemical - - the exhaust from cars or smoke or something I couldn't identify - - but I got whiffs of people who carried their personal scents around them like a cloud. When I got to the union, the clouds all merged together into a massive, confusing, mixture that I couldn't really discern. Just as well really, I was already over trying to identify all the scents; they were buzzing around in my head and distracting the shit out of me. I think it's pretty natural for most guys to want a bigger dick. I think we're programmed form an early age to think that when it comes to any part of our body, that bigger, thicker, and longer is better. No one ever tells you to trouble with having a huge cock. I used to have a normal sized cock, maybe 6-inches or so when it was hard. When it was soft, it obediently retreated to about half-that size and was management in my shorts. This new cock I had was long and thick, even when it was soft. It lay in my pants like dead weight and flopped around as I walked. I could feel it slowly migrating from one side to the other based on my gait and it was driving me crazy the way the shaft was bouncing softly against my thigh. I tried as casually as possible to shift it around, to guide it back to one side and to arrange it in my boxers in a way that kept it in place, but then it was like I was trying to play with myself in public, so there was only so much of that I could do. I was going to start wearing briefs just to keep it in one place and I hated wearing briefs. But, my loose-fitting boxers and sagging camo shorts just wasn't cutting it. I wondered how guys managed this, but no one I knew had a cock my size and I certainly couldn't ask them if I did. Jockstrap maybe? Just the thought of that brought up a visual of the muscle-guy's jock and the weight, deformed cock he had thrust underneath the stall. I stopped suddenly at the mailboxes at the student union, my head swimming a little. It hadn't exactly been deformed. It had been huge, two-toned with thick, dark skin at the base and bright, slimy pink at the head. It had had a glans that was so streamlined it almost disappeared into the shaft and it had had a thick bulge in the shaft. My cock was looking like the muscle-guy's cock! It was so obvious that I felt like an idiot for not realizing. I just stood there, adsorbing this fact. He had blown me. He had bit me. I was becoming like him. Simple logic - - which was a euphemism of horrendous proportions; the only way these events could be considered "logical" was in the plot of a horror movie. A jogger walked into the union, obviously from running, as his face was flushed and his skin slick with sweat. He was wearing those flimsy, onion skin shorts that was basically like wearing a single layer of cellophane; they clung to his lean body, outlining every curve of his ass. He had on a thicker sweat shirt - - it was October - - and his blond hair was slicked against his skull. He came up to where I was leaning and started fiddling with the combination lock to his mailbox that happened to be right next to me. When he stopped moving, the cloud of scent that he carried burst over me. I inhaled it deeply, somehow not put off by the smell of his sweat, his armpits, or the deep musk of his crotch. It was like I had lost the ability to be offended by scent; everything was interesting. The jogger's smells were beyond merely interesting; they were intoxicating. The "something" in my head stirred and I wanted to tackled him and shove my nose into his ass crack to get a better smell of it. I actually stopped leaning and oriented on him with that intention before the rest of my brain could intercede; this "something" was treacherous in its ability to start my body moving without my conscious thought. I ended up just turning toward him and he looked up at me from where he was bending over, wrestling several big envelopes out of the small mail cubby. Our eyes met, mine leering, his suspicious and trying to place my face. He grinned stupidly, even as I felt blood flowing in my crotch. It might've been possible for me to hide an erection in my baggy shorts when it had been only 6-inches long - - which was EXACTLY why I wore them baggy - - but I didn't think that the 12-inch log would be so easily hidden. I instinctually took a deep breath trying to clear my head, but that was the wrong move because it only drew more of the jogger's secret smells into my brain, exciting the "something" even further. I felt my cock plump in earnest, turned on my heel, and raced into the men's room. I was able to hit a stall before my cock started to hurt because of the confinement in my pants. I looked town and saw my camo shorts tenting out. The hose had been shoved down one leg, but it was trying to stand up, taking the shorts with them. I dropped them and my boxers and sat down, letting it free. It continued to get hard and I just wanted it, still disbelieving this thing was mine. It stood up rock hard, was at least two fists long, and even fully erect, the thick foreskin covered the head. It was lunch time and this was a public restroom that was busy. There were no glory holes here, although there were scrawled messages. There was no real hope I was going to get off quietly and not be noticed, so I gripped my hands on my knees and held them there tightly, no matter how much my cock bobbed in front of me. It was the most difficult act of will I'd ever performed. The "something" kept trying to take control of my hand and my cock kept having sensations creep up and down it without being touched. My kegel muscle flexed and flexed, sending my cock throbbing and bobbing. The foreskin retracted on its own - - HOW did that happen?! - - and there was my glans. I took my hand and I thumped it hard, gritting my teeth and the discomfort. I did it again. And again. And finally, my cock started to subside. I sat back on the toilet and sighed, wondering not what was happening to me, but what I could do about it. I thought of the medical angle - - it was biologically not naturally for this to happen to my cock and maybe there was some antibiotic or something that could stop whatever was happening to me - - but how could I explain this to a doctor? How would they every believe me? The last thing I needed was to be put in a psych ward. The smells of the toilet stalls were starting to intrude on my thinking. There was guy at the urinal and I could almost taste his piss as he did his business; it was a like a chemical attack or something, flowing through the openings in the closed stall door. Just as before, I was surprised I wasn't gagging on the scent/taste as it registered in my sinuses; it was "just another smell" in the same way that seeing the color red was "just another color." But, it grounded my attention and at the same time, I started noticing the residue of scents in the stall I was sitting in, hundreds of slightly different "flavors" of piss and shit and sweat and soap and laundry detergent and mouthwash and weed and a host of other things that seemed to rise up from every surface around me. It was like, the more I paid attention to them, the more scents I could distinguish. Whatever was going on with my cock gave it tremendous staying power, so, even after the thumps, it took a few minutes to finally get small enough to easily fit back in my camo shorts. I got up, pulled up, and headed out, following my original impulse: food! The cafeteria at the student union was pretty typical, several main dishes, a bunch of side-dishes, drinks, dessert, bread . . . all of it purchasable with a cash card my parents paid for. I grabbed a tray and got in line. The smells here were intense too, a huge variety, and I could practically taste every entrée in my mouth as I passed by. I hadn't realized the link between smell and taste until today, but as my brain processed the sensations from the cafeteria, I realized it. That also meant I was tasting all those other smells, too, and that was a little unsettling. I pushed that out of my head and concentrated on the food, not wanting to freak out again. I got two helpings of Salisbury steak and a load of mashed potatoes, a giant cup of root beer, and two chocolate pies, then took my tray and tried to find a place to sit. Luckily, I noticed Marty hold up in a corner booth, his plates already empty and him cracking a book with his feet propped up on the opposite side. Marty and I had been friends since freshman year when we'd had a couple of art classes together. We had hit it off because we were both socially isolated and geeky, although Marty had seemed to blossom better and faster than I had. I slid in opposite him and caught the waves of scent from him that were familiar, with which I had never smelled in such depth before. I caught the smell of his feet, which were in sandals on my side of the booth and there was something else I couldn't place. "Hey man," I said a little sullenly. "Dude," he nodded, checking out my tray, "You hungry?" He moved to look me in the face and his brow crinkled a little as he examined it. He was an artist, generally into pen-and-ink sketches, so he was one to notice the details of people. "What happened to you?" I reached up and touched my face with my hands, wondering suddenly if something had changed in it, something I hadn't recognized in my preoccupation with all the smells. "What?" I asked. "Nothing, I guess," Marty said, "You just look a little shaggy." I shrugged at this comment, feeling some whispy beard hair on my cheeks. I was never the hairiest of guys and generally needed to shave only once a week or so. I didn't remember the last time I had, but decided that was all he was talking about. With the food directly in front of me, I had to eat and I dug into the Salisbury steaks with gusto while Marty watched bemused. He kept reading. As I chewed, he went back to reading, but the noises I was making as I downed huge chunks of steak were enough to get his attention again. My attention cycled from the food to his feet, which were propped up next to me. They were long, muscular, and were wafting a scent that was drawing me to them for some reason. I looked down as he flexed them, his toes macking the ball of his foot round and full. I went back to the meat, hoping that would distract me, but the masculine chemistry that was coming off Marty was getting to me. He looked up from the book and seemed to notice my interest and the weird look on my face. "What's wrong with you?" I tried to keep a brave front, but it crumbled. Whatever was happening to me was hard to explain and I needed to talk to someone. With glances back to his feet, I said, "I went to this place last night." "'This place'," he said, dropping his book. "Down near the warehouses," I said, "A cruisy place." He waited patiently. "I . . . got . . . " "You had sex," he finished, "So? I'm always telling you to get laid." "The guy bit me." "Bit you?" "Yeah," I said, "drew blood." "Well, that's unsafe," he said, "You go to the doctor?" While we were talking, I was absently dragging my fingers through the gravy of the Salisbury Steaks and bringing it to my mouth, intent on getting every drop. "I know, I know," I said between finger licks. Marty shook his head disapprovingly, closed his book, and said, "Dude, you're telling me a guy bit you, actually broke the skin, and you didn't go to the doctor?" "Weird shit is happening now," I blurted, "My cock . . . " "Your cock??" Marty asked, "Weird shit is happening to your cock?" "It's bigger." Marty snorted, "Bullshit." My stomach was full from the steaks and my attention could get back to the smells I was inhaling, not the least of which was Marty's feet. My cock started to plump up again down on legs of my camo shorts. I leaned forward over the table and brought one hand down to it, pinching the head a little to try to stave off a tent. "Seriously," I insisted, "You've seen it . . . it's about twice as big now." After we had first met, Marty and I had jacked off together once - - our one and only sexual encounter. I liked him better as my friend than as a sexual partner mainly because he was really straight and had just been experimenting. The memories of his body were vivid though and the crush I had gotten over last year suddenly threatened to reassert itself. I wondered what he smelled like now, and suddenly needed to have my nose close to his body. "Bullshit!" Marty snorted harder. "Yeah," I said resigned, "I know it doesn't make any fucking sense. I'm also grooving on all these smells . . . I can smell fucking everything around me and it's driving me nuts." "Smells?" Marty asked, "Like what?" "Jesus," I breathed, "Everything!" I glanced again at Marty's feet and wanted to take a closer whiff. The "something" in my head was moving again, even as my cock twitched, and it was getting ready to make me crawl under the table after Marty's feet and his crotch. I could just barely smell his crotch through the denim of his jeans. "That's a little vague, Jack," he said. "It's become hypersensitive . . . " I tried to explain, but my voice trailed off as a guy walked by. He was wearing jeans, a dark t-shirt, and sneakers but his smell . . . god, it was about three times stronger than everyone else's. As he walked past, he looked me in the eye and had an expression of questioning on his face. He had a buzz cut and a scrub beard and, I swear to God, he had a log in his pants the same way I had one. I could see it there, outlined, one of his hands trying to hide it. His smell was spicy and sweaty, like he hadn't showered in a couple of days. He passed by quickly, we had eye contact, then he continued out. I was drawn out of my seat by his wake. I murmured something to Marty as my cock dripped out a splurt of precum that slowly crawled down my inner thigh. I heard Marty calling me, but I didn't respond, I couldn't. I was suddenly no longer in the driver seat of my own body. My "something" had woken up and was driving my body like I would drive a car. Part of my just didn't care, but another part was frightened over what it was going to make me do.