From: connersmith@hotmail.com
Subject: New Story: "Conner's Story" (M/M) (MC)
Date: Fri, 04 Dec 1998 02:57:01 GMT

Hey all...

This is my first attempt at a story of this type.  (Yeah, haven't you heard it
all before?)  I would really love some feedback on it.  You can mail me at
<connersmith@hotmail.com>.

Hope you enjoy it!

**************************************************************************

Conner Smith should have been dead.  Or would have liked to have been.

Not that he was exactly alive in the traditional sense of the word.  Sound
of body, yes.  Sounder than he'd ever been or imagined himself ever being.
Sound of mind?  If you called being a disembodied phantom locked inside a
dark, lonely corner of your own mind sound, then yes, you could call him
sound of mind.

He might as well have been dead, though, for all the living he'd done in the
last six months.  Ever since one unlucky Friday night...

                *                   *                   *

The club was busy tonight and there had been a line-up to get in.  All the
cute gay boys wanted to party at Boyz this evening, it seemed.  Conner could
still see them, lined up like sheep, through the open door.  Most of them
were walking clothing manufacturer advertisements: Tommy, DKNY, CK, and
other brand names warred for supremacy.  Each head was adorned with the
latest salon products keeping the latest fashionable haircut immaculately in
place.  Rigidly in place, like so much of the gay community was kept in
place by the latest trends in clothing, hair style, activities, and
politically correct causes.

Conner sighed as he turned away from the door, pushing past the packed crowd
to get nearer the dance floor.  He diligently withstood numerous sensory
assaults, including the flashing lights, choking cigarette smoke, deafening
techno music, and the occasional grope from some of the more lecherous club
patrons.

*I'm only here to dance,* thought the 24-year-old as he wondered, for the
millionth time, why he was never groped by someone he _wanted_ to be groped
by.  Like, for instance, the vision of beauty directly to his left who he
was only noticing now as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting standard, it
seemed, in every gay club.

The blonde who had caught Conner's eye turned towards him slightly and he
felt his insides clench in that familiar, love-hate feeling, the one that
lusted and despaired at the same time.  Blonde boy was stunning: perfect
hair, cut in the undercut Conner couldn't get enough of; perfect skin;
perfect, yet simple, clothing, consisting of slightly baggy blue jeans and a
tight white top; and perfect, from the look of the shirt clinging to his
torso and the bulge of his arms, body.

*I bet he even has a decent-sized dick,* thought Conner disgustedly as he
made sure to avert his gaze and follow the cardinal rule of never staring
long enough to give anyone the idea he was interested in them.  *Probably
seven inches, big enough not to have any hang-ups about it but not big
enough to scare anyone away.*  Not that Conner could see anyone kicking the
blonde out of their bed.  No, the likely effect was probably more along the
lines of widened eyes and a dreamy, "Take me.  Now.  I'm yours."

Tearing himself away from his fantasy, Conner continued to move towards the
dance floor.  *There are only three reasons to come to a place like Boyz,*
he considered as he waved to an acquaintance on the other side of the club,
*One: to drink.  Two: for sex.  Three: to dance.  And I am most definitely
here for reason number three.*

He passed one of the mirrored posts in the club and decided that, despite
lacking perfect hair, skin, and body, the faded blue shirt he liked so much
was doing its job.  The vertically ribbed garment was just tight enough to
make his unimpressive chest look slightly impressive.  The beige jeans went
well with it, as usual.  *Who would have ever thought I would have good
taste in clothes?  If only people from high school could see me now!  And I
don't care what anyone says: these jeans are _not_ too tight.*

It was Conner's recurrent dilemma: he was stuck between two extremes.
Although he had good taste in clothes, he didn't like to follow trends.  The
minute he had become used to wearing tight and revealing clothing, he had
gone out and bought some, only to be informed that--usually in the most
bitchy manner possible--some capricious fashion deity had declared baggy
clothing was "in."  Even though he knew he shouldn't be ashamed of his body,
he was, and then was doubly ashamed of his original self-consciousness.
Even though he valued intelligence, he had, since grade school, been
attracted to jocks who displayed only rudimentary mental skills--  *Stop
stop STOP IT!* he "yelled" at himself.  *No psychoanalysing tonight.  You're
just here to dance and have a good time.*

As he silently chided himself, he knew he was lying.  Not that he hadn't
been to Boyz or any other club with the sole intention of dancing the night
away before.  And it wasn't that he had to drink to have a good time, like
so many guys at the bar.  It was the plain and simple fact, as his reaction
to the blonde had highlighted, that it had been over two months since he'd
broken up with his ex and he hadn't been intimate with anyone since, unless
you counted his mattress and his hands.  Hadn't held anyone.  Hadn't kissed
anyone.  Hadn't felt their hands on him, touching him, moving up and down
his body, swaying against them on the dance floor, up and down. . . down. .
. down. . . .

*Okay, maybe these jeans *are* a little tight,* thought Conner with
annoyance as he shifted uncomfortably, hoping no one had noticed the raging
hard-on he'd just given himself with his vague but sensual fantasy about the
blonde with the perfect everything.  Despite his hang-ups, Conner was a very
sexual guy and a low libido had never been a problem of his.  He was upset
he hadn't noticed the throbbing of the music recede as his heart had started
pounding in time to a deeper and more powerful throbbing.  If anything, he
should have at least noticed how the smoke in the club had stopped bothering
him.

*I can't wait until they outlaw it in 2000.*  Latching onto this safe and
consuming thought, he turned his attention back to his surroundings,
studiously avoiding glancing in the direction he had last seen the blonde.
As he started the requisite contortions necessary to join a friend he
spotted across the dance floor, he tried to ignore the voice at the back of
his mind telling him how badly he wanted to get laid.

                *                   *                   *

*Voice at the back of my mind!  Ha!  No one would ever have gotten me to
believe that one day all I'd be was a voice at the back of my mind.*

Conner felt his head tilt down and was momentarily startled when he felt
hands on his chest.  His hands.  After six months, it was still
disconcerting to have his body move without him wanting it to.  He'd always
thought it would be erotic not to be in control of his own actions,
liberating or freeing somehow, but the truth was it was terrifying.  It was
worse than claustrophobia, worse than solitary confinement in a tiny cell,
because at least in those situations you were still _in_ your body, still
got to choose from a limited number of choices.  Whether it came to moving
or breathing or batting an eye, Conner was helpless to do anything.  The
only thing he could liken it to was paraplegia but at least then you could
shift your eyes.  Or say something.  Anything.

It was probably a good thing he hadn't had the use of his voice when he'd
realised what had happened to him.  He could still hear his initial screams
echoing through the prison his mind had become that Friday night, getting
louder and louder without him being able to make a sound, as he began to
realise the horror of what had happened to him.

Conner tried to forget the terror of the first few days of his imprisonment
and instead turned his attention to what his evil twin was doing with his
body.  It would have been funny in circumstances less dark.  Evil twin.
Conner didn't know what else to call the knot of lust and obedience that was
all that was in the driver's seat when it came to his body.  On his first
being evicted, the evil twin had been like an unpleasant version of Conner
himself, nasty where Conner was witty, shallow where Conner had been deep.
In essence, a twisted yet pale reflection of who Conner really was.  His
friends hadn't noticed at first; the evil twin's master had had his devoted
slave carry through with Conner's usual routine, with only a few minor
adjustments.

Conner was reminded of the most evident change in routine as he felt his
hands slide down his chest and around his waist to his butt.  Along with not
feeling like his body because he wasn't _in_ it, Conner's body didn't even
feel like it was _his_ because of the changes.

He could still hear one of the very first commands he'd been given.  "You
will work out two hours a day, five days a week.  Monday/Wednesday/Friday
you'll do your upper body.  Tuesday/Thursday you'll do your legs.  Every rep
you do will make you hornier for me."  That had been it: six months later,
Conner was physically perfect.  He weighed forty pounds more than when he'd
started and he didn't have an ounce of fat on him.  He wasn't just defined--
he was _chiselled_.  His body was better than he'd ever imagined in his
wildest fantasies; the only problem was that he was living in something more
awful than his worst nightmare.

His evil twin loved feeling himself.  Conner had been sexual; the twin was a
rutting animal.  Conner had jacked off maybe once a day; the evil twin would
crank it at least five times in that span.  That didn't include the time it
spent servicing the master.  And his friends.  And whoever the master wanted
it to please.

Conner shuddered at the memory of some of the indignities he'd been put
through.  The twin did whatever it was told, with a pleasure that was nearly
entirely sexual.  It had no shame, no conscience.  And it would cum at the
thought of sex with any guy.  Conner wondered if he'd ever be able to deal
with the memory of spreading his legs for whichever guy wanted a piece of
him, with eagerly getting down on his knees and begging man after man to let
him suck their cocks.  Old, young, fat, skinny, clean, dirty... the worst
part was remembering how desperately he'd wanted each one, how hungry he'd
been for their cum, how he'd wanted to lick their cracks clean...

*Stop!  It wasn't me!  It was it it was it it was it!*  Conner felt the
familiar panic rising, all the more terrible for not having any outlet.
Suddenly he was distracted as the twin turned towards the door of the
apartment it stood in.  Concentrating furiously on this welcome turn of
events, Conner finally pulled the sound of a key in the door lock from out
of his hazy memory.  If he didn't concentrate, it was all too easy to
completely lose track of not only time but sensory input that wasn't
entirely his own anymore.  Just like the first night. . .

                *                   *                   *

Having chatted with his friend and gone to the bar for water, Conner stood
leaning against one of the waist-high tables in Boyz, drinking the water and
waiting for a good song to inspire him to get himself on the dance floor.
The blonde was nowhere to be seen, which from Conner's "I have no self-
esteem" perspective was all for the better.

Finally he heard the familiar strains of one of the less bad songs they were
playing currently at the clubs.  *Why do they have to play all this techno
crap?  What's wrong with EuroDance?*  The thought passed bitterly through
Conner's mind; techno had always seemed repetitive and. . . unhappy was the
only word he could come up with.  There was no joy in it.

He lowered his glass, now only containing ice cubes, placed it on the table
along with the collection of empty beer bottles and half-full ashtrays, and
attempted to beat the rush of people on to the dance floor.  *It figures,*
he moaned inwardly, *the only good song and I'm not going to have any room
to dance.*

Soon, however, he was losing himself in the music, keeping his eyes shut
most of the time as he often did when trying to shut out the world.  The
bass pounded through him and he spun to the rhythm, entering his favourite
mindset, the one where he didn't care what anyone thought he looked like
because he was enjoying himself.  The out-of-place sensation of someone
grabbing his arm woke him from his reverie.

"Wha...?"  *Oh shit.  Oh shit oh shit oh shit.  It's _him_.*

The gorgeous blonde god from earlier that evening was hanging firmly onto
Conner's arm.  Conner felt the usual "cute boy is touching me" panic begin
to rise and desperately tried to figure out what he could have done to
attract the attention of the beauty in front of him.  Had he hit him while
dancing?

As suddenly as the panic had begun, however, Conner felt himself relaxing.
If he hadn't been drowning in the deep blue eyes of the blonde, who was
still holding his arm, he might have been amazed.  As it was, he felt
himself smile laconically and heard himself say, "What can I do for you?"
As he got the words out, the music died down; the song had reached an
interlude.

"Want to dance?"  The blonde's voice was like music and it melted over
Conner.  His whole body relaxed and he nodded his head.

The music started up again and Conner felt it pour through him like a
torrent.  The blonde was dancing like it was as natural to him as breathing
but surprisingly Conner didn't feel self-conscious.  He let the music take
him over and surrendered himself to the rhythm.

The next thing he knew, the lights were going up, the music had ended, and
he was pressed up against his dancing partner, breathing heavily, and
feeling giddy at the thrills that passed through him whenever the hard body
pressing against his moved even slightly.  After what seemed forever, the
blonde pulled away slowly.  Conner nearly cried out.  *Don't go!*

Fixing him with those deep, dark eyes, the blonde's voice played over
Conner's ear again.

"Come home with me."

Conner's heart skipped a beat.  His whole body started flushing and somehow
the giddiness returned, stronger than ever.  "I. . .  I don't even know your
name. . ."

"Does it matter?"

And strangely, Conner, who despite numerous sexual encounters had never gone
home with a stranger, found that he didn't care in the slightest.

**************************************************************************

The door to the same apartment the blonde had taken Conner back to that
fateful night was opening now, and there was the blonde.  James.  Conner
knew his name now.  How could he not, after half a year of tending to his
every whim?  He could still hear himself--*the twin,* he corrected himself
angrily--begging: "Please fuck me, James.  Please.  I'm yours.  I'll do
whatever you want."

What seemed a very long time ago, that kind of sexual encounter had been one
of Conner's favourite fantasies.  Now that it had been his reality for so
long, the thrill was definitely gone.

The thrill might have been long gone for Conner but for the twin, the thrill
was never-ending.  It practically bounded up to James like a puppy,
quivering with the need to service its master.  As was typical, the gorgeous
blonde fixed his eyes on his slave and said, in that same bewitching voice
Conner remembered from the club, "I need some attention."

Conner would have gagged at the excitement the twin felt, the honour, at
being allowed to suck the master's cock.  It felt none of the gagging
sensation Conner suffered as it eagerly pulled off James' pants, then his
briefs--sliding them down James' powerful legs--and hungrily stuffed its
master's entire eight-and-a-half hard, thick inches down its throat.  After
six months, Conner could deep-throat like a porn star.  He had had more
practice than most porn stars.

"Oh... yeah!"  James' face was screwed up in ecstasy, which Conner was able
to note because the twin would occasionally look up to make sure it was
being a good boy and pleasing its master.  As the twin's ministrations grew
faster and faster, James' was reduced to moaning and the occasional grunt.
Finally, five minutes of frenetic activity later, his entire body began
bucking.

"Uh!  Uh!  Oh yes yes YESSSSSSS!"

Conner felt James' enormous creamy load slide down his throat as the twin
sucked at James' rod furiously.  The twin was writhing in ecstasy, although
it wouldn't come no matter how excited it got.  Not until James said it
could.

Conner mentally held his breath, that being the only way he could.  James'
panting finally died down and no longer thundered in his ears.  A dreamy,
laconic look came over James' face and Conner's pulse would have quickened.
James looked down at Conner.

"You definitely give the best head of all my boys, Conner.  Yes indeed. . .
you're the hottest little cocksucker I've ever had the pleasure to enslave.
Right now, though, I think we have to put some of your other excellently
honed talents to work.  I have a hole that needs plugging and you are _just_
the boy for the job."

	Conner struggled to concentrate over the twin's burst of throbbing
passion.  It started sweating, twitching, and Conner amazingly felt his dick
get harder than it had been.  It was painful but the twin loved it.  Conner
was excited enough himself as it was without having to fight through the
twin's artificial feelings.

*This has to be it. . . this is my best chance. . . maybe my last chance.*
In recent weeks, he'd noticed his thoughts getting more and more cloudy.
Concentrating had become increasingly difficult.  Worst of all, the twin's
heightened emotions had begun to spill over into the corner of his mind that
was still wholly his.  He knew it was only a matter of time before there was
no Conner left, only the perpetually horny twin.

As he felt himself being led to the apartment's dining room table, he
quickly ran over everything he'd been able to piece together about his long
possession.  He'd never more than half-believed in telepathy--that is, never
more than half-believed until his first night with James.

                *                   *                   *

Conner stumbled into the dark apartment, more concerned with the feel of the
blonde's hands down his pants than with a graceful entrance.  He slid his
own hands up the now-untucked shirt that had previously clung to the
blonde's beautiful torso and sure enough, the stud reaching into his pants
to squeeze his butt was built.  Very built.  Conner, who normally would have
been intimidated to be making out with someone with such an awesome body, at
this point just found it more exciting.  He couldn't think enough to be
intimidated, which was fine by him.

"Oh yeah. . . you're a frisky one. . . yeah. . . what I think you need is to
get fucked.  Up the ass.  Hard."  On "hard," the blonde shoved one of his
fingers so far up Conner's ass that he hit his prostate, which nearly made
Conner pass out in rapture.  He decided then and there that he would do
anything to have the blonde's dick reaming his ass.

As if in answer to his prayers, the blonde pushed Conner away, roughly,
which Conner decided he liked, and headed into what Conner supposed was the
dining room.  Conner followed, quick at his heels.  The blonde stood, facing
away from him, and dropped his pants.  Conner felt short of  breath as his
eyes feasted on the blonde's perfect ass.  When he turned around, Conner
felt faint.

*Oh shit. . . oh shit yes. . . oh yes yes yes!*  The blonde was better
endowed than Conner had previously predicted.  Conner couldn't take his eyes
off the monstrous, eight-and-a-half inch hard-on the blonde sported.  He
watched, mesmerised, as his fantasy began stroking the shaft slowly.  Up and
down. . . up and down. . .

"You want this, don't you?  Want it in you, up your ass?"  The blonde smiled
knowingly at Conner's obvious desire.  Conner's only reply was to drop his
pants as fast as he could.

The blonde's smile widened.  "Come here," he beckoned to Conner, who did as
he was told.

The blonde pulled him up to the edge of the table.  "How do you want it?
How bad do you want it?"  Conner felt himself swirling in his desire, unable
to answer, once again drowning in the blonde's eyes.

The blonde grinned at him hungrily, bent forward, and started licking
Conner's lips.  At the touch of his tongue, Conner opened his mouth and let
the blonde's tongue have its way with his.  He felt himself press against
that firm, hard body.

"You want it from behind?  Like an animal?"

At the word "animal," Conner lost it.  He grunted, spun around to face the
table, and reached behind him.  Taking hold of the blonde's huge cock in
both hands, he shoved himself onto it.  Before he knew it, his own hard dick
was pressed against the table he was bent over and the blonde was thrusting
into him wildly.  With every thrust, Conner felt ecstasy flood through him.
He spared a brief thought to wonder how he had managed to keep himself from
coming when suddenly he heard the blonde's words as if they were ringing in
his mind.

*You're mine, Conner.  You're just another of my slaves, another toy. . .
you like that, don't you?  You want that.*

Conner could barely make out his own reply.  "Yes. . . uhn. . . yes oh yes.
. . please make me yours!"  There seemed to be white noise growing in his
ears.  The ringing was so loud.

*You want to obey me, don't you?  You want to do anything I say, anything I
tell you?*

"Yes," he panted.  "Yes oh fuck yes oh please oh yes please please. . . ."

*Yes what?  Yes what, Conner?  Say it!  Say it for me!  Show me you're mine.
. .*

The white noise was deafening now.  Conner's whole body was tingling, and
twitching, and he though he heard himself say:

*Yes master!  Yes master!  I'm yours!*  The white noise crescendoed and
suddenly he felt himself come like he'd never come before.  He felt his jizz
spurt all over the table, felt himself so light-headed he began blacking
out, felt a throbbing through his entire body. . . and then everything went
dark.

                *                   *                   *

When he had woken up, he hadn't been in control of his body.  At all.  After
the initial terror, James had issued him a few commands and suddenly Conner
had found himself the sexual object of any number of James' friends and
acquaintances.  He'd watched in despair as the twin had alienated all his
friends, one by one.  He'd sat through hours at the gym while someone else--
something else--sculpted his body just the way he'd always imagined it
being, how he'd always wanted it to be.  That had been the worse, though,
because Conner knew that the perfect physique he now inhabited had had
nothing to do with him.  He hadn't earned it, he hadn't worked towards it,
and he couldn't enjoy it.

He was at that same table again, the dining room table from the first night
with James.  This time, though, James was against it, facing him.  He always
said how much he enjoyed fucking face-to-face so he could see Conner's
adoration and ecstasy.  Unsurprisingly, he was already hard again.  The twin
had become progressively more a reflection of James' personality and less of
Conner's as the months had worn on.

*This is it, then,* thought Conner as he felt himself enter eagerly into
James' tight fuckhole.  He didn't have any idea how to do what he wanted to
do, or even if it were possible, but he wasn't going to give up on himself.
He didn't know how it normally worked with guys James enslaved but he had
come to believe that the fact he still existed at all, even as a ghostly
"echo" in the back of his former mind, was not how things usually worked.
It probably explained why he had become James' favourite: Conner had
remained much more lively than the other zombies James had created.  That
much he knew for sure; James had puzzled about it out loud often enough.

The twin's panting was growing more laboured, which Conner knew was his cue.
The familiar buzzing in his mind had begun again, like the first time James
had fucked him, and every time since.  It was getting louder.  Conner didn't
know the specifics but he'd come to the conclusion that James cemented his
hold over his slaves at the moment of orgasm, after bringing them to such a
point of sexual excitement that their mental barriers were all down.  As
soon as he'd realised this, he had made sure to be as "absent" as possible
when servicing James himself, for fear that James would somehow sense he was
still "inside" himself.

As the twin gazed deeply into James' eyes, Conner seized his chance.
Starting as a small bubble, he imagined himself getting larger and larger
within his own mind.  He felt constrained, the same constraints that had
been with him since day one of this unendurable torture.  They were tight
around him and didn't seem likely to budge.

*No!  I refuse to end up like this.  You _cannot_ do this to me, you
monster!  You can't!*  Conner began feeding all his feelings into his
efforts to break free.  All the disgust at being made into a sexual puppet,
the horror of being completely immobilised, the shame of what the twin had
been made to feel, the hurt of seeing his friends turn away from this
callous, shallow person they didn't know anymore.

*You took away so much from me!* he mentally screamed at his captor,
oblivious to whether he took notice or not.  *You took away everything that
made me who I am, everything but this shred of me which is left, which is
all I've got!  You couldn't take this away from me, you bastard!  You
couldn't then and you won't ever!!  Never, do you hear me?  NEVER AGAIN!  I
have had enough!  You will hear me, monster, you will!  You will hear me,
damn you, you bastard: I WILL BE HEARD!!!*

And for the first time in half a year, someone heard Conner.  James' head
jerked back in shock as the bubble that was all that was left of his captive
expanded outwards through the mind which rightfully belonged to him.  Conner
felt the twin's shell of a personality being washed away as he flooded back
through his own mind. . . and then out of it.

James' pupils, in eyes already wide with shock, widened until his eyes
seemed black.  Through these twin hole, Conner felt himself flow into his
former captor's mind.

*What's happening?*  James' mental voice boomed through his psyche.  *What
_are_ you?*

*What?!  You don't remember me, James?  I'm crushed.  It's Conner, your
once-and-former slaveboy.*

*Conner?!  But I took you months ago. . . you don't exist anymore!*  Conner
could tell James was agog; the mental landscape he found himself in trembled
with uncertainty.  He could feel it.

He was worried, though; he hadn't ever planned to face James on his own
turf--just reclaim his own.  He knew next to nothing about how James did
what he did and he certainly didn't know what to do now that he found
himself in someone else's mind.

As if in answer to his fears, chains seemed to shoot out of the "ground"
and snaked around him, dragging him down.  He fought against them
desperately but he had no idea how to break them, here in this alien place.

*This is amazing. . . you're still you, after all those months?  Oh well, I
guess I'll just get off on taking you again. . .*  James' voice regained
some of his confidence.  Suddenly Conner could "see" himself within the
landscape. . . it was his twin's body, hard, big, built, with dyed blonde
hair, and his dick was starting to lengthen and harden.

As his "body" grew more aroused and he felt himself begin to twitch in
ecstasy, Conner felt his grip on himself loosen, felt the chains bite more
keenly.  *No!* he shouted.  *Not again!  Not this time!*  He pictured
himself as he had been, as he still _was_: not built, not blonde, not
callous or shallow or animalistic.  He took that image, and expanded it,
expanded his sense of himself, and he felt the chain James had placed around
him pass through him.

James' entire mind began panicking; strange multi-coloured lightning began
to stab through Conner's mental self, and each stab hurt.  In response,
Conner did the only thing he could think of: he kept expanding his image.
Faster and faster, more and more, until he stretched across James'
consciousness.  James was begging and pleading like the twin had done now
but Conner didn't hear him: he just kept expanding himself.  When he reached
the limits of James' mind, he said one final thing:

*Never again!*

and made one last effort to expand himself.  There was a terrible screaming-
tearing-ripping sound and he suddenly found himself being flung back into
his own body.  The shock of leaving James' mind threw him across the room
and into the wall.  James' body flopped onto the table, his arms and legs at
odd angles with the rest of him.

As Conner got awkwardly to his feet, he knew James was dead.  He didn't know
how or why and he was sure he would feel guilty about it later but at the
moment, all he could feel was relief.  And then something dawned on him. . .

*Oh my god, I'm me again!  I'm me!  I got up by myself.  I made myself get
up.*  Conner couldn't help himself: he started dancing crazily across the
room, trying to get used to a body that hadn't been his in far too long, a
body that was very different from the last time he'd known it.

He finally collapsed, exhausted, on a sofa, but he couldn't get the
shitfaced grin off his face.  He knew he had a lot of work ahead of him--
*Shit, what am I going to tell the cops?  I fucked a guy to death?*--but for
the moment, he just wanted to enjoy being him.

*One thing's for sure,* he thought to himself, looking down at his now-soft
cock, *I'm not having sex again for a long, long time!*

							THE END