Date: Sat, 28 Aug 2004 05:49:35 -0700 (PDT) From: Alistair Bentley Subject: Headshop; Chapter 3: Lost Weekend Story: Headshop Chapter 3: Lost Weekend By Xformguy When I came to, I was on the sticky, dirty floor of the cubicle. I was bent over where I had fallen, legs underneath me at a fucked up angle. My entire body hurt, like every muscle had been strained at one time. I groaned and tried to unfold myself with limited success. My arms ached as I propped myself up and my abs hurt like a motherfuck when I sat up. The room spun. My perception was still foggy and clouded and it took me a minute to get oriented. I spat out a huge wad of something foul in my mouth and really wanted something to drink. I looked around at the dark cubicle, the thumping dance music still being pumped into the room, and wondered how long I'd been out. The hole in the wall was empty and dark and just seeing it made me roll my eyes at myself. The memory of what I had done stung my brain. I'd let another guy blow me. I stuck my cock through a wall and let another guy blow me. A guy I didn't know and had never even seen. This was way beyond casual sex and something that I'd never done before. I was straight. I had a girlfriend. What the fuck was this?? I'd let a STRANGER put his finger up my ass!! I rubbed my face with my hands and found something crusted there. I wiped it off vigorously, smelling my own sweat, my own sex. I looked down at my cock, barely visible in the dark light and found it thankfully quiet. The orgasm I'd had -- the orgasm that had blasted through me uncontrollably and so powerfully I could barely remember it -- had worn it out. Thank god! I was so fucking tired of being hard. I reached down and tentatively touched myself, fingers probing by cock and balls. Everything seemed intact. I peeled back my foreskin and touched the head, finding crusted pre-cum underneath. I needed a fucking shower. I rolled over and got to my knees. On the little wooden bench was my jeans, neatly folded, my jacket, and my jockstrap. The remnants of my shirt were torn up on the floor. The little wood box was sitting on my jock pouch, taunting me. Just looking at it sent a ripple through my chemistry. I was still high, but on the tail end of it, starting to drift down slowly. I thought about toking up. I thought about letting my horniness resurface. It was still there on the edge of my perception, it just wasn't very insistent. There was a photograph on my jock pouch too. I picked it up and looked at it. It was my face, passed out, mouth open, eye shut, with a huge wad of cum laying across my forehead and over my face. On the back of it was a note, "Fuck your bitch; eat her cunt; Saturday, you're mine. -- `Sarge.'" Facing new heights of mortification, I crumpled up the photograph in my fist and decided that No, I would not get high again. I knew enough to recognize this as a digital picture printed from a photo station. I bet the proprietor guy had a photo printer under his fucking counter. This meant that this picture was still around. Shit. It was probably on the internet by now. I got dressed, aching as I moved, propping myself on the wall to keep my swimming head from toppling me over. I put on the jock, my jeans and my jacket. I pocketed the crumpled photograph and the box of joints. Out in the dark hallway with the numbered booths, there was a long, powerful groan from one of them, something deep mournful, animal almost. I looked down it but saw no signs of which one it might be. Shit! What was this place?? Right now, I didn't care; I was out of here. I left, passing only the bouncer. Up above, the place was teeming with customers, and here I was passing through them, a cum-stained shirtless fag. God! I was more mortified than before, but headed out to my car as fast as possible. My head was still dislodged from my body, still floating a bit to the left and right as I walked. It took a lot of concentration to drive, but I got home. I shed clothing as I moved to the bathroom and head straight for the shower. I turned it on as hot as possible and scoured myself from head to toe. I stayed in the water stream for a long time, just letting the shame pour out of me. The water really eased my muscles, which were smarting with every single move I made. All I had wanted was a fucking bit of relaxation. And now? Was I a fag? Had I always been one?? I was never the most macho guy, never the most masculine in the world, but this? Letting guys blow me? Letting myself get penetrated?? And the sexual fantasies that were still hovering around my attention? All the pecs, biceps, nipples and cocks?? I tried to concentrate on my lady, her tits and pussy, but my mind kept going back to the cock that was penetrating her, to the hard muscled back that was over her, to the ass that was pumping into her. I felt the head of my cock touch the porcelain tile of the shower and I moved my hips so that it could get erect. I trapped my soapy cock against wall with my body and humped a few times. The combination of the water against my body, the heat, and my still being high was starting to turn my crank again and shit, I had had enough. Luckily, something intervened. I got a wicked stomach cramp, so bad I got out of the shower soaking wet and hit the toilet. I let loose the biggest, most intense shit I've ever blasted. I was doubled over. My head literally went white for a second. I flushed it all immediately, but the cramps kept coming. I sat on the toilet for a good long while, expelling. Talk about a buzzkill. After that, I was shivering from the air-conditioner against my wet skin. I hopped back in the shower and soaped up again completely. Concerned, I washed my ass and carefully probed. I wondered if that fucker had done something to my asshole, but I couldn't find any evidence of it. My pucker wasn't even sore, really. This time, as I soaped, I let my palms roam over the planes of my body, searching for problems or changes. Things were happening to me, physical obvious changes, and I wondered if anything new had happened. My cock was a little thicker and my nuts felt a little bigger, but not by much on either count. The biggest thing I noticed were all the grooves and valleys across my torso. I realized that I had a 6-pack, that the planes of my chest were much more defined, that my hips were ripped. My ass felt different when I flexed it, leaner, more of a bubble butt. My shoulders and arms seemed huge to me. I could see the definition in my legs, my quads popped out readily when I flexed them. My calves too. Shit^ĊI was turning into a fucking stud. Curious, I got out of the shower and dried off. I looked at myself in the mirror. My hair had been straight before but now it was wavy and tousled. My new goatee was still there. But my vision went straight to my left bicep. OHMYGOD! I had a tattoo there. A tribal, spiked pattern that encircled my bicep, maybe two-inches wide. I just looked blankly at it. I touched it. It wasn't rub-on or fake. It was made into my skin. I knew that tattoos took time to heal, so this couldn't be a conventional tattoo; even if "Sarge" had drugged me and tattooed me in the cubicle, this would never have healed. It didn't even hurt. I put my arms out on the counter and just hung my head. This was continuing. A part of me had hoped it was over. I'd had my moments of utter degradation. I'd been blown and raped. But, a part of me knew it wasn't over. My head was starting to throb now. I was coming down even further from the high. I was starting to crash. I was starting to crash into the fact that something pretty huge had happened to my life. I was still in the throws of being controlled by that fucker. He WAS changing me. It seemed impossible and was. But it was happening anyway. I couldn't deny it. I had a FUCKING TATTOO now. How was I going to explain it?? I rose up and felt my back crack. My muscle were still aching. In the medicine cabinet, I took a couple of ibuprofen to ward off the muscle cramps. I flexed my torso and saw my 6-pack pop out. Now, I'm a fucking computer nerd, right, a programmer geek. While I tried to got to the gym regularly just to keep from getting fat, since I'm so sedentary, I stayed relatively trim. But this? Shit. I'd never had muscles like this. Never had any definition at all. I was a pale, pudgy guy before this. Now I'm a freaking stud. I had this huge teats sticking off my huge chest. My hairy torso seemed even hairier than before; my treasure trail had widened with new hair growth, moving down to a trimmed bush at my pubes. My nuts were naked and my cock shaft had no hair on it at all. A light fuzz had sprouted on my glutes. I didn't know how to feel about this. On one hand, it was a complete violation to be changed like this without permission; on the other? Shit! I looked hot. I felt hot. But, it wasn't me. In defiance, I took the clippers and trimmed off my goatee. Then I shaved it clean. When I was done, I looked in the mirror with satisfaction. I would control this, no matter what. My smile faded to total shock as I watched hair sprout on my upper lip and chin. I watched the goatee reassert itself in maybe ten seconds, my skin itching uncontrollably and tingling as it did. I watched my goatee grow back within 10 seconds!! I just stood there and looked at it dumbfounded. I took the clippers and razed them across my chest, cutting a huge swatch out of my chest hair. I stopped and looked in the mirror. Sure enough, the hair grew back before my eyes, filling in the path I had created. Freaked out, I dropped the clippers and left the bathroom. I couldn't process this now. My head felt about two sizes too big as it was. I put on a pair of sweatpants and padded out to the living room. I was fucking hungry. I ordered a couple of large pizzas, then sat on the couch, my feet propped up on the coffee table before me and tried to find some distraction on TV. My cock was still half-horny, semi-erect, and laying against my thigh. Like I said, I was a geek. I tried to find some good sci-fi or fantasy on TV, some action adventure maybe, but my head couldn't attach to them. I was flipping through the ESPN channels and it snagged on some rerun of professional wrestling. I stopped there and watched, at first noting the absurdity of these choreographed fights, but then just letting my mind drift. I started watching their bodies. These huge muscled guys throwing themselves at one another like ancient, primal warriors. God. It was sorta exhilarating. I wondered why the fuck I'd never watched before. My hand cupped by half-hard cock the whole time. The doorbell rang and I slowly got to my feet and answered it. It was the delivery boy, maybe 19 years old, clean-cut, fresh faced, and bright-eyed. God how he irritated me. I got my wallet and fished out the $20s for the pizzas. We exchanged and I set them on the credenza near the door. As I was waiting for him to make change, watching him dig into the pockets of his over-sized, baggy jeans, my eyes went up and down his torso. He filled out the pizza-place shirt fairly well, had nice hands, deft fingers. His mouth was sweet. I wanted my cock in it. Before it could register that I was checking out a GUY, I noticed his eyes. They slid down my torso slowly as he dug in his pocket, calculating the change in his head. They drifted over my abs and belly, down to where my hips met my pubes, sliding down the channel into my sweatpants. He was checking ME out. I don't know what came over me. It might've been the testosterone of the wrestling, it might've been because I was already so emotionally off balance, humiliated and pissed off, but I did something I extremely unlike me. As he looked at my torso, I flexed for him. I wound up my arm and produced my newly tattooed bicep; it bulged like a grapefruit under my skin. I smiled a hard, wicked smile at him and flicked my tongue at the bicep. "You like that pizzaboy?" I said. He just stood there blankly. His lips parted and his eyes went a little wide. He stopped moving for a second, but then got it in gear. He handed me my change, murmuring something, then headed off pretty quickly. He stepped out into the hall of my complex and stood in view of him. Before he rounded the corner, he looked back furtively. I nodded at him with a smirk. Then I went inside, slammed the door, and ate an entire pizza. I was more fucking hungry than I thought.