I’m definitely feeling subby today, and need to give up some control…

Help a boy out? Make me look even more like a freak?

❤️ = 5 push-ups

💬 = 10 push-ups

250 🔁 = I get rid of my eyelashes until Labor Day

From Tie to Hi Vis

Simon was growing increasingly disillusioned with his career. Now approaching thirty, he found himself still stuck in an administrative role, far from where he had imagined he’d be by this point. He should have been a manager by now, or at the very least a senior administrator. He knew, deep down, that he only had himself to blame. He could have worked harder, studied more, pushed further. But he had drifted into financial administration almost by accident, it was never his passion, but it seemed to pay well enough and to have possibilities to go up the career ladder. Clearly that didn’t happen.

As a teenager, Simon had dreamed of working in a high paying office job. It wasn’t the work itself that appealed to him so much as what it represented. He wanted out of the quiet, middle-class world he’d grown up in - a world of modest ambition and routine. He had always admired successful professionals: people with high salaries, sharp suits, company cars, and lives that looked polished from the outside. His own parents, in contrast, seemed to embody the very mediocrity he hoped to escape. Content with their low-paying, dead-end jobs, never striving for more. For a time, Simon had even resented them for it. He was sure he could do better. He would do better.

But there was another reason behind his ambition - one more personal, more emotional. Simon had always been a quiet kid. Gay, weak, vulnerable. Easy to pick on. His school years were marked by bullying, mostly at the hands of stereotypical chavs who were loud, aggressive, and headed straight into the trades. Back then, anything that reminded him of them - manual labour, apprenticeships, tracksuits - felt like the enemy.

To Simon, the office wasn’t just a career path. It was a form of escape. A way to separate himself from the people who made his life miserable. A symbol that he was different. That he was better. That he was going somewhere.

Lately, though, Simon had been going through what felt like an early midlife crisis. He understood that the choices he made at the time were based on who he was then - his values, his fears, his hopes. But ten years is a long time, and everything can change. His work had left him emotionally and mentally drained. Endless hours in the office had led nowhere. The dream of a better life now felt just as distant as it had a decade ago. Somewhere along the way, he had become the very thing he once swore he’d avoid. He had fallen into the same quiet, stagnant life his parents had lived, and he hated it.

More and more often, he found himself lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, questioning every decision he had ever made. What had it all been for? Why had he followed this path so blindly? Then, one night, a thought crept in… unexpected, unsettling, but impossible to ignore:

What if I’d gone to trade school after graduating? Would my life really have been worse? Or... would I actually be happier?

It was a thought that would have seemed absurd to his younger self. But now, it made a strange sort of sense. Since that night, something had shifted in him. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. He actually regretted not going into physical work. It was weird, but he wanted it now. The idea of using his body, learning a skill, being part of something tangible felt appealing in a way it never had before. It would give his work a kind of meaning. He longed for a second chance. A clean break. A different kind of life. But reality made the idea hard to swallow. He was nearly thirty. Too old, probably, to start again from scratch. The thought of becoming an apprentice at his age felt unrealistic. Employers would see him as a burden. Too old, too expensive, and not worth the investment. And even if someone did take him on, how would he survive on an apprentice’s wage? He had rent to pay, bills, responsibilities. Still, the thought wouldn’t leave him. It gnawed at the edges of his daily routine.

Simon tried to carry on as usual. He even took the first steps toward professional development, reaching out to corporate training bodies and exploring qualifications that might help him advance in his current role. But no matter how sensible that path seemed on paper, he couldn’t shake the growing thoughts in his mind. Day by day, his imagination drifted to something entirely different. He kept thinking about what it might be like to work with his hands, to be something like an electrician. It didn’t seem too dirty, and it was still a trade - one that offered variety, independence, and the chance to work with other lads instead of spreadsheets and policy documents. And the more he thought about it, the more it genuinely appealed to him.

On his morning commute, Simon found himself watching the trade vans that passed him by - plumbers, carpenters, builders, plasterers. He’d catch a glimpse of the guys behind the wheel, high-vis shirts and cargo trousers, laughing with their mates or focused on the road. He'd start imagining their day. Driving to a job site, working with tools, problem-solving in the real world. Something about it just sounded right.

And with this shift in mindset came a shift in something else, too. His type. Simon used to be attracted to the polished, professional men he once aspired to become - suits, neat haircuts, confidence in a corporate setting. But those glossy, high-powered images had started to lose their appeal. Now, he found himself drawn to a very different sort of guy the kind he would have once looked down on. Workies. Chavs. The kind of lads who wore trackies, smoked outside, and talked loud with their mates in the pub after a long day on-site. There was something magnetic about them now.

Simon’s curiosity turned to obsession. He started searching the internet for ways to change careers. Most of what he found felt vague or impractical. Just generic advice, unrealistic timelines, or courses that required a full-time commitment he couldn’t afford. Still, he kept digging. Soon, he was scrolling through adult learning programs late into the night, trying to find a course that would allow him to transition without destroying his finances. But everything seemed out of reach. He couldn’t afford to leave his job, not even temporarily, and the idea of going back to square one at his age still felt like a fantasy. But despite all that, he kept going. Something inside him had changed, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, he knew the life he was living wasn’t the one he wanted anymore.

One evening, as Simon scrolled absentmindedly through Google on his phone, something caught his eye. A college offering long-distance learning in trades. His heart skipped a beat. He tapped the link and was taken to a page outlining the benefits of the course. It almost seemed too good to be true. The program wasn’t cheap, but it offered flexibility: all the materials for the theory component would be sent to him to study at home, with payments spread out in manageable instalments. Even better, the practical side of the course required just a few week-long visits to the college’s campus throughout the year. Just enough time to get hands-on experience and sit for exams. He could easily take time off from work here and there, using holiday days and fabricating a simple excuse to explain the absences to his family. And at the end of it all? A real City & Guilds qualification. It wouldn’t make him a fully qualified tradesman overnight, of course, but it would give him a solid foundation. With that, he might actually stand a chance of getting taken on somewhere. Maybe even avoid any mayor pay cuts. It would still be hard work, but it was a start.

Simon stared at the screen for a long time, thumb hovering over the order button. Clicking to purchase the textbooks and pay the first instalment turned out to be one of the hardest things he’d ever done. It felt... absurd. Like he was about to embark on some strange double life, one he couldn’t share with anyone… not yet. He imagined himself sneaking around like a teenager keeping secrets from their parents, and the thought gave him a rush of nervous energy.

A few days later, the course materials were delivered. By sheer luck, his parents were out when the package arrived. He had come home for lunch and spotted the box sitting neatly on the front step. Quickly, he grabbed it and slipped inside, darting up to his room. Once the door was shut, he tore open the packaging, inspecting each item like it was forbidden treasure. Textbooks, guides, tools for practice. He carefully stashed everything in a drawer, heart still racing.

The rest of the day dragged by painfully slowly. Simon couldn’t concentrate at work. His mind kept drifting back to the drawer under his bed. When he finally got home, he locked his bedroom door, retrieved the materials, and laid them out on his bed. It felt... naughty. Like he was doing something he shouldn’t be doing. The guilt wasn’t logical, but it was there alongside the thrill. If anyone caught him, he imagined being scolded like a schoolboy. But beneath the nerves, there was something else: excitement. For the first time in years, Simon had something that felt like a purpose.

Over the next few weeks, Simon developed a new routine. Each evening, he came home, had a quick dinner, and dove straight into his textbooks. He soon was hooked. Hours would pass without him realising. He’d look up from a diagram or practice quiz and be shocked to find it was nearly midnight. Sleep would have to wait. And it all was starting to make sense. Slowly but surely, Simon found himself understanding the material. The confidence this gave him was something he hadn’t felt in years. It was a kind of excitement that went beyond just learning. It felt like he was building something real. The change in life he wanted so desperately was actually beginning to take shape.

Before he knew it, the date of his first practical session had arrived. His parents were both at work, which gave him the perfect opportunity to pack in peace and make his way out without questions. He loaded his bag into the car and set off toward the campus, a strange mixture of nerves and anticipation swirling in his stomach. The drive wasn’t long. As planned, everyone back home believed he was simply going away for a short break. No one suspected a thing.

When Simon arrived at the accommodation, he paused outside for a moment before grabbing his things and heading in. He wasn’t sure what to expect. The other trainees were already milling around, chatting, laughing, dragging their stuff into the shared space. Simon was relived when he noticed the range of ages. He had already imagined himself standing out awkwardly among a crowd of 18-year-old apprentices sent by their employers to tick off training requirements. But instead, the group was far more mixed. The majority were younger guys, of course, but there were also men in their 30s, 40s, even 50s. Most of them already worked in the trades and were simply here to pick up official qualifications to match their years of hands-on experience. It surprised him and reassured him. Most importantly Simon didn’t feel like a misfit. He was one of many. A late starter, sure but not the only one. And as he unpacked his bag and got settled in, he realised something else: He was proud of himself, because, for once, he’d done something real.

All of Simon’s housemates introduced themselves that first evening. At the beginning, he was nervous, because these were exactly the kind of chavvy lads who used to pick on him in school. The sort who never gave someone like him a second thought unless it was to make fun of him. But to his surprise, they were all friendly. Welcoming, even. They of course weren’t the kind of people Simon usually spent time with, but they seemed genuinely understanding of his decision to change direction. A few had gone through similar transitions themselves or knew others who had. They didn’t judge. At first, Simon found himself sticking to the older guys. They felt safer, more like him somehow. But as the evening went on, he ended up talking with some of the younger lads too. And the whole time he was quite aroused, because they all were totally his type. Chavvy. Laid-back. Care-free. They had a kind of effortless confidence that made Simon both slightly envious and deeply attracted. Plus, they looked like the proper lads he had come to like.

The next morning, everyone was up early and moving about the house. A few of them drove to the college campus together, offering Simon a lift, which he gratefully accepted. They were all dressed casually - hoodies, joggers, old work boots. Simon went for a hoodie and jeans, trying to blend in without overthinking it. Once they arrived, the tutors handed out high-vis waistcoats that everyone had to wear while on campus. Simon slipped his on, feeling just a little awkward at first, but also weirdly excited. It was a far cry from his usual business-casual style. But something about it felt... right. And he realised something else: he’d never felt this buzz during any training he'd done at his old job. Not even close. This was different.

They didn’t spend too long in the classroom before being led to the practical bays - individual workstations where they'd do hands-on training under the watchful eyes of the tutors. Each student had their own space, and Simon’s was already stocked with basic tools and equipment.

But in his head, there was one nagging problem: what story was he going to tell when he got back home? He needed a believable excuse for disappearing for a week something that wouldn’t raise suspicions with family or friends.

That evening, after a long first day of learning the group returned to their shared house. Simon headed into the kitchen and started making a round of teas for everyone. He was humming to himself, lost in thought, when John - one of the older lads - walked in.

“Already starting to look the part, eh lad?” John said with a grin.

Simon looked down and blinked. He was still wearing his high-vis waistcoat.

“Oh shit,” he laughed. “Didn’t even realise… I forgot to take it off.”

John chuckled. “Well, you might as well sleep in it at this rate. It suits you.”

Simon laughed and shook his head. “Guess I’ll just take it back with me tomorrow.”

The rest of the week flew by. Simon surprised even himself. He aced both his practical and theoretical assessments, earning solid praise from the tutors. By the end of it he felt capable. He and the lads had grown quite close in the brief time they’d spent together. So, when it was finally time to part ways for now, the goodbyes were warm and genuine. Some exchanged numbers.

Back home, Simon slipped back into his old life with practiced ease. He got the awkward bit over with quickly - spinning a half-believable story about where he’d been - and then got stuck straight into the next theory module.

But something had shifted. Unbeknownst to Simon, his quiet wish for a second chance - a new start in life - had been heard. And it had been granted. The changes won’t be noticeable at first. But with every module completed Simon will begin to physically regress. Slowly, subtly, he will return to the age he’d been when he first stepped into the world of work. But this time, he will walk the path he should have taken from the start. He will only notice what happened to him when his old life was finally replaced by a new one. But that’s what he had wished for, right?

Simon breezed through the second module with the same determination he'd brought to the first. Each evening, he locked himself away in his room, shutting out the world to focus completely on his studies. He was focused… obsessed, even. There was something deeply satisfying about the work, like each chapter and practice test was a step closer to becoming the man he was meant to be. It was around this time that the first real changes began to take place. At first, they were subtle - so gradual that Simon didn’t even register them. He was too preoccupied with his dream, too focused on building his new life to notice the small shifts. His skin looked clearer, his eyes a little brighter. He just appeared... fresher. Younger, maybe.

And then there was the shopping trip. He’d been walking through town one weekend, killing time, when he wandered into JD Sports without really thinking. That in itself was odd. Simon was never one for impulsive buys, but before he knew it, he’d picked out some new Nike trackies. It felt natural. Right, even. He didn’t question it. The joggers felt good when he tried them on at home - comfortable, but more than that. They suited him in a way his old clothes never quite had. He didn’t overthink it, but part of him smiled at his reflection a little longer than usual.

Soon, it was time for the next practical session. Simon returned to the same house he’d stayed in before, though this time he was bunking with a new group of students. Since the course allowed learners to move at their own pace, the faces rotated depending on who was ready for which stage. A few of the guys from last time were either well ahead or still catching up. But Simon felt different now. More confident. There was no nervous fumbling or second-guessing this time. He unpacked quickly, made small talk easily, and even offered tips to some of the others. A few of them assumed he was already working in the trade and while Simon politely corrected them, he couldn't help but feel a thrill every time someone made the mistake.

During lunch one day, he sat alone in the canteen, flipping through one of the college magazines left on the table. His well-used hi-vis – he had picked out the basked when entering his course - hung loosely over his Nike hoodie. For the first time in years, Simon felt totally at peace. He looked the part. He felt the part. And deep down, something told him he was becoming the part. The thought of eventually handing in his notice still terrified him. It felt like a leap off a cliff. But for the first time, Simon wasn’t running from something. And despite what anyone else might say or think... he knew this was right.

Simon’s most recent visit to the college campus had gone a long way toward cementing his transformation. Just like last time, he threw himself straight back into the books the moment he got home. Night after night, he studied hard, and with each passing evening, his appearance continued to shift - so gradually, so imperceptibly, that even Simon didn’t quite register what was happening. He was juggling two lives now after all. It wasn’t exactly surprising that his body might be showing signs of change. He noticed what looked like grey hairs popping up here and there, scattered across his head. At first, he chalked it up to stress, but strangely, they didn’t look dull or tired… they were lighter. Almost golden. By the third week into the penultimate module of his Level 2 qualification, Simon realized his hair wasn’t greying. It was going blonde. It threw him, but not as much as it should have. He couldn’t explain it, and no one else seemed to notice or care. The few times he’d brought it up in passing, people brushed it off like it was nothing.  Simon, focused more than ever after his last trip to campus, didn’t dwell on it too long. There was no time to get distracted. Whatever was happening, it could wait, his new life was finally within reach.

Soon enough, it was time for his next practical block. Another week away, another new batch of students staying at the training house. By now, Simon felt comfortable, confident, and quietly proud of how far he’d come. The physical changes were still creeping in. His face was subtly reshaping - his jaw just a touch more defined, his cheeks a little smoother. His posture had changed too. He carried himself differently now, more relaxed, less hunched from years behind a desk. But it was all happening so slowly, the transformation still disguised in plain sight.

One evening after class, Simon sat outside the house, a cigarette resting between his fingers - a habit he’d picked up casually during his last trip, now something of a ritual. The evening air was cool against his skin, the grey Nike sweatshirt and joggers he wore feeling like second nature. His hi-vis waistcoat, scuffed and slightly faded from use, hung open around him as he leaned back in the chair, legs stretched out in front of him. He still looked like Simon, at least in part. But he was starting to look like someone else, too. Someone younger. Someone who might’ve taken a different path if only he’d had the nerve all those years ago.

Back at campus, the week unfolded just like the others. Simon threw himself into the work with relentless focus, and it showed. The tutors praised his progress, impressed by both his grasp of theory and how naturally he handled the tools in the workshop. But Simon barely heard the compliments anymore. He wasn’t chasing validation. This wasn’t about impressing anyone else. This was about becoming someone better.

As he worked through the final part of his Level 2 qualification, something else began to shift this time, faster and with more permanence. The transformation that had been creeping in under the radar had begun to accelerate. Because he saw himself every day, Simon didn’t notice the full extent of the changes. And everyone else, oddly enough, continued to overlook them completely, as if their minds simply refused to register what was happening. The longer he stayed on the course, the more it felt like the world around him was bending to let the new version of him come through without interruption.

By the time he returned to college to complete the final stage of his Level 2 course, Simon or Si, as he had casually started introducing himself, no longer bore any resemblance to the man who had first clicked on that college’s website. His skin was clearer and younger. His hair was fully blonde now, cut into a chavvy fade. His frame was leaner, fitter. His jawline was sharper, his face smoother almost like he’d never known the stress of ten years behind a desk. His voice, too, had taken on a more relaxed, confident tone. And the clothes had changed too. After getting back home the last time he had decided to just go for it and change his style entirely. He had bought a nice collection of trackies, trainers and generally chavvy gear. It suited him.

Needless to say, Si aced his final practical without breaking a sweat. That evening, back at the house, he slipped out the back door for a celebratory smoke. He lit up, leaning back with a grin, exhaling slowly as the sun dipped low over the rooftops. Technically, he was ready now. He had everything he needed to start working in the trade. He could begin his Level 3 qualification now.

Back home, Si wasted no time. As always, he dove straight his Level 3 theory. This qualification was structured a bit differently. He needed to complete all the theory work up front before attending the practical component, which meant three consecutive weeks at the college campus. Fortunately, the timing worked in his favour. It was nearing the end of the year, so he only had to wait a few months before his annual leave reset and he could book the time off. His workplace wasn’t exactly thrilled about him taking that much holiday in one go. Three weeks raised eyebrows, and the questions came quickly. But Si had thought ahead. He spun them a story about a “big holiday” he had coming up. Something he’d been planning for a while. It was enough to smooth things over, for now. Still, as he walked away from that conversation, a part of him couldn’t help but wonder: What the hell am I going to say when I come back? But that was a problem for later.

Winter settled in, and with it came a new wave of determination. Si threw himself into the theory harder than ever. Every night, he’d lock himself away in his room. And as he kept pushing himself further down this new path, something deeper within him continued to shift. His transformation - both physical and mental - was no longer subtle. By the time spring rolled around and he was ready to begin the final, practical leg of his course, Si was almost unrecognisable. The traces of the man who once worked in financial admin had all but vanished. And to everyone around him, there was no question. The lads he was studying alongside didn’t ask questions or treat him any differently. As far as they were concerned, he was just another lad studying to move on in the trade.

As usual his time on campus flew by. There were tricky moments - parts of the work that tested him more than he expected - but in the end, he passed. The tutor signed off on his final assessments, shook his hand, and just like that, it was done. But instead of the relief he expected, something strange happened. A weird feeling washed through him. It was sudden and unexplained, like something deep inside of him had been lost. He stood there for a moment, still in his hi-vis trying to place the feeling.

Somehow his mind seemed to be... shifting. He was 30. He knew he was 30. But now every instinct in him screamed 21. It wasn’t just a thought. It was truth. Si tried to resist it, to remind himself of how old he was, but it didn’t matter. No matter how much he told himself I’m 30, it felt like a lie. Somewhere deep inside, the truth had been overwritten. He was 21. Si pushed the thought aside. There were still a few loose ends to tie up before he officially left college. The strangeness could wait.

At this college, they liked to mark the end of the course with a small presentation. Nothing too flashy, just a moment to recognise everyone’s hard work. One by one, the tutors called each successful student to the front of the classroom to accept their certificate and have their photo taken.

When Si’s name was called, he stood up and made his way to the front, trying to act casual, though he felt a bit awkward under everyone’s gaze. He had actually finished the course. His journey that started as a secret late-night search online had brought him all the way here. The tutor shook his hand firmly and grinned. “Well done, lad! Don’t usually see a young nipper like you so interested and driven.” Si froze for a moment. Young nipper? The words rang in his ears, scratching at the part of his mind that still clung to logic. No way. I’m not 21. I’m thirty. But as much as he wanted to argue, the tutor’s words dug into the root of his growing doubt. Everyone else clearly saw him as just another young tradesman finishing up his training, not someone who’d once been stuck in an office, disillusioned and lost.

The ceremony wrapped up with polite applause and back-pats. Si made his way toward the main entrance, certificate in hand, his head spinning. Maybe he was being silly. Maybe this was all in his head… just stress, or sleep deprivation. He needed to get out of here, get some air, clear his thoughts. He got back to his accommodation and walked straight up to his room. On instinct, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror that was hung opposite of the door. And stopped dead in his tracks.

The face looking back wasn’t just younger… it wasn’t his. Not in the way he remembered it, anyway. His skin was smooth, fresh, untouched by time. He looked like someone in his early twenties. Like a completely different person. And then he noticed the way his style had actually changed for the first time. He was wearing grey trackies, a black puffer jacket and a fake Gucci cap one of the other lads had lent him.

He stared for a long second, heart pounding. This isn’t just in my head. This is real. And with that realisation, the fog that had been clouding his awareness began to lift. All the subtle changes, the shifting attraction to workie lads, the new clothes, the cigarettes, the way people looked at him and barely batted an eye suddenly made sense. The transformation hadn’t just been physical. It had slowly reshaped everything about him, until even he couldn’t tell where the old Simon ended and the new Si began. But now... it was too late to stop.

Si had one final night before the drive home. He changed in a different outfit and went back downstairs. A few of the lads had taken a trip to the shop and come back with crates of cheap beer to celebrate everyone finishing their course. The mood was upbeat, filled with banter and laughter, but Si sat on the sofa, lost in his own head. He stared into space, half-listening to the chatter around him, a beer can hanging loosely in his hand.

Everything was starting to feel… surreal. He had changed… more than he could even explain. And what made it even weirder was that no one else seemed to notice. Not one of the lads had made a comment.

Si glanced around the room. The lads must’ve picked up on something, though. Maybe it was the blank stare, or the fact that he hadn’t joined in on the jokes like he usually did the past few weeks. One of the younger lads, Liam, nudged him with an elbow and handed him another beer.

“Oi, where’s that gobby little livewire we been dealin’ wiv for the past three weeks, eh? Man’s gone all silent on us now, what’s that about?”

The others laughed and chimed in, not mean-spirited, just teasing. But Si couldn’t help but notice how weird it was to hear them describe him like that… gobby, extroverted. Just months ago he was the quiet one, keeping his head down in a cubicle. Now he was being called out for not being loud enough.

He gave a half-smile, took the beer, and nodded. “Just tired, mate. It’s been a mad few weeks.”

Alfie raised his can in a cheers and moved on to a story about nearly electrocuting himself on-site. Si took a sip of the cold beer, letting it settle on his tongue. As the beers kept flowing, the tension in his chest eased a little. The lads kept him talking, laughing, even dragging him into a game of cards. For a while, he managed to lose himself in the moment.

The next morning, Si woke up hangover-free, something he hadn’t experienced in years, not since he was around 21! He was in a somber mood as he packed his case and got ready to leave. He said goodbye to all the lads, chucked his case in the boot of his car, and started the journey home. The whole way back, he was running scenarios through his head about how he was going to explain this to his family and friends… or would they, like his college mates, simply not see anything wrong?

He was in such turmoil by the time he pulled onto the drive. He got out, took his case from the boot, locked the car, and walked up to the front door. He paused, took a deep breath, and walked in to face the music. Si could hear his parents in the kitchen, chatting. Hearing the door, they both got up and came into the hallway to greet him.

“Si! So how did it go? Did you pass?”

He stared blankly back at them, a look of confusion on his face. How did they know? He hadn’t told them! And why did they call him Si? They always used his full name. He slowly answered with a rising inflection, “Yeeees…?”

His parents lit up with joy. “Yes! Well done, Si! We’re so proud of you! It was about time you got your ass in gear and did something with your life! We thought after the last few years since you left school just dossing around, you’d never end up doing anything!”

Si was totally confused. As far as his parents were concerned, he’d never had an office job, or even worked at all! That’s why they had forked out for the course in the first place! He’d been given the free pass he wanted because now no one had any expectations based on what he’d done before. He played along in front of his parents, but he couldn’t wait to get up to his room and have some time to himself to process everything.

Si unlocked his phone and started going through it. Opening Instagram, he saw that all the photos from the last few years were gone. Work parties, people he’d met through his job, all gone! The photos that remained were all of the new him, dressed in sportswear, trying to act like a “G.” Next, he checked his contacts. Again, everyone he’d met since leaving school and working in the office had vanished. He’d never worked before - let alone in an office - but he still remembered it all so clearly. At least now, he didn’t have to go through the stress of handing in his notice or explaining why he wanted to leave.

After a few days passed - enough time to settle into this new reality - and thanks to his parents constantly pestering him, he started calling around looking for jobs. He managed to get an interview with a small business run by a guy who’d gone out on his own and grown successful enough to take on a few lads. Now, he was looking for an apprentice. Si was exactly what he was looking for! He got the job and was finally about to start doing what he’d gone through all of this for. For the first year, or until they were confident in his work, he’d go out with one of the other guys and be supervised. It was something he kept completely to himself, as he thought others might mock him for it, but deep down, he felt proud. Wearing his work gear felt like it was meant to be.

Si was the only one who remembered his real past. It served as a reminder of the wish he never even knew he had: to have a second chance at life. And he knew he’d made the right choice. There was no going back now anyway. He was an apprentice, and he couldn’t wait to get his own van and start going to jobs on his own. He worked with his hands, and unless he was doing overtime, when the workday was done, it was done. No more staying up late just to keep his head above water, like back in the office job. He was a proper chavvy, working-class tradie now. Someone he would have looked down upon when he was younger, but now he wouldn’t want to change a thing. This is who he would be for the rest of his life.

______________________________________________________________

This story is based on one originally posted by @scallylad89 on Tumblr. Sadly, his account has since been deleted. His stories were what got me into chavs, and they’ll always hold a special place in my heart. I’ve updated and expanded on the original a little. I felt this story deserved to live on.

cycling gear

The early morning sunlight streamed through Mike’s window, casting warm golden hues across his bedroom. He stood in front of the mirror, examining his reflection as he pulled on his new cycling jersey. The tight, silky fabric clung to his athletic frame like a second skin, every line and curve of his body accentuated. He adjusted the fit, smoothing it over his chest and down to his hips, his hands moving with meticulous care.

The jersey was new—carbon black with white stripes accents that streaked along the sides, giving it a sleek, aerodynamic look. Mike had always loved the feel of high-performance cycling gear; it made him feel alive, like he was part of the road itself. Today, however, the familiar sensation was different. There was a warmth in the way the fabric hugged him, a faint tingling that started at his chest and radiated outward. He chalked it up to excitement.

Carlos sat on the edge of Mike’s bed, his own gear already on—deep blue with silver streaks that matched his sharp, focused demeanor. He had been quiet as Mike dressed, his gaze steady and unwavering. Carlos had always been like that: confident, self-assured, with an intensity that drew people in. They’d met a few weeks ago during a long ride through the hills, bonding over their shared love of cycling and the thrill of the open road. Since then, their weekend rides had become a ritual, and they often spent hours pushing each other to their limits.

"You almost ready?" Carlos asked, his voice low and steady. There was something in his tone—something calm yet electric—that made Mike pause.

"Almost," Mike replied, his voice slightly breathless as he zipped up the jersey. The tingling sensation surged, spreading across his chest and down his arms, like an invisible current tracing his veins. His mind went blank as he ran a hand across his chest instinctively, feeling the firmness of his muscles beneath the taut fabric. The motion sent another rush through him, his fingers trembling slightly as they lingered.

“Mike? You okay?” Carlos’s voice was steady, but there was a glint of something in his eyes—concern, curiosity, or something else entirely.

“Yeah, I- I'm.... fine,” Mike muttered. He ran a hand across his chest, the fabric of the jersey cool beneath his fingertips. But the sensation was electric, sending a shiver down his spine.

Carlos stepped closer, his brow furrowing. “You sure? You look… different today.”

Mike glanced at him, his mouth dry. He tried to speak, but his thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. His hand drifted over his chest again, almost of its own accord, tracing the contours of his pecs. The tingling was overwhelming now, spreading through his body, clouding his mind.

“Mike,” Carlos said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. His touch was firm, grounding. “Doesn’t it feel good? To give in?”

Mike’s head tilted, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused. He wanted to respond, to ask what Carlos meant, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, a soft sigh escaped him, and he felt his body relax, leaning slightly into Carlos’s touch.

Carlos’s hand slid down to Mike’s chest, his fingers brushing over the taut fabric of the jersey. “Good boy,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You look sharp in your gear. I couldn’t resist.”

A flicker of confusion passed through Mike’s mind, but it was quickly drowned out by the wave of warmth and pleasure coursing through him. He felt Carlos’s hand move in slow, deliberate circles, his touch both comforting and electrifying.

For weeks, Carlos had been subtly planting the idea in Mike’s mind, steering their conversations, guiding their interactions. It had started with innocent compliments, the casual touch of a hand on a shoulder or back, and the shared thrill of their rides. Slowly, he’d woven a web of trust and subtle suggestion, waiting for the moment when Mike would be ready to let go.

Mike’s breath hitched as Carlos’s hand pressed gently against his chest. “You’ve worked so hard to get here,” Carlos whispered. “To become the best version of yourself. Don’t fight it. Just… feel.”

The words sank into Mike’s mind like stones in a pond, rippling through the fog of his thoughts. His body responded instinctively, leaning further into Carlos, seeking more of that grounding touch. A soft sound—half moan, half sigh—escaped his lips, and he felt a bead of saliva slip past the corner of his mouth.

Carlos chuckled, his tone warm and indulgent. “That’s it. Just let go. Trust me.”

Mike’s hands hung limply at his sides, his body pliant under Carlos’s guidance. He barely registered the world around him, his focus narrowing to the sensations flooding his senses: the tight embrace of his cycling gear, the warmth of Carlos’s hand, and the soothing rhythm of his voice.

“You’re perfect,” Carlos murmured, his hand moving to cup Mike’s jaw, tilting his head up so their eyes met. “Exactly as you should be.”

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Mike’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath shallow and uneven. And then, as if a switch had been flipped, he felt a surge of clarity—a sense of rightness he couldn’t explain.

Mike stood frozen, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath as Carlos’s hands roamed over his body. The firm press of Carlos’s palm on his chest felt impossibly intense, like a flame stoking embers just beneath his skin. Mike’s head tipped back slightly, his lips parted as the sensation deepened, spreading from his chest to his arms, shoulders, and biceps.

Carlos’s touch was deliberate, lingering as his fingers traced the curves of Mike’s muscles through the taut fabric of his cycling gear. “You’ve been working hard, haven’t you?” Carlos murmured, his voice low and velvety. “All those rides, pushing your limits, building this incredible body. And now, here you are. My perfect cyclist.”

Mike’s mind swirled, his thoughts a jumbled mess as the tingling sensation intensified. He barely registered Carlos’s words, but they sank into him nonetheless, feeding the warmth that radiated through his body.

Carlos’s hands slid back to Mike’s shoulders, squeezing them firmly before moving down to his biceps, caressing the tense muscles as if he owned them. “That’s a good boy, Mike,” Carlos whispered, his tone both soothing and commanding. “Let the tingling spread. Let it take over.”

Mike’s breath hitched as Carlos’s hands moved back to his chest, rubbing slow circles over the fabric of his jersey. The tight gear seemed to amplify every touch, every movement, sending waves of heat coursing through him. His body felt both tense and relaxed, caught in a strange limbo between resistance and surrender.

“Feel your gear,” Carlos coaxed, his lips curving into a knowing smile. “Feel your body. The way it moves, the way it reacts. You can’t fight it, can you? It feels too good.”

Mike’s knees wobbled slightly, and he let out a soft, involuntary moan. Carlos chuckled, his hands moving lower, grazing Mike’s waist before settling firmly on his hips. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against Mike’s ear. “Oh?” Carlos’s voice held a teasing edge. “Someone’s enjoying himself, huh?”

Mike blinked, his eyes heavy-lidded as Carlos stepped back slightly, his gaze dropping to the unmistakable strain in the front of Mike’s tight cycling shorts. The fabric left little to the imagination, and Mike’s arousal was impossible to ignore.

Carlos grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief and satisfaction. “Your gear can’t hide your excitement, Mike. Looks like you’re really feeling it now.”

Mike’s face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and helplessness washing over him. He tried to move, to say something, but his body refused to obey. Carlos reached out, his hand cupping Mike’s face possessively, tilting it upward so their eyes met.

“There’s no need to be shy,” Carlos murmured, his thumb brushing over Mike’s cheek. “This is exactly where you’re meant to be. Exactly who you’re meant to be.”

Mike’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath shallow as Carlos’s words seeped into his mind, soothing and intoxicating. The world around him faded, leaving only the sensation of Carlos’s touch, the warmth of his gaze, and the unrelenting tension in his body.

“Good boy,” Carlos said again, his voice soft but firm. His thumb traced the curve of Mike’s jaw before sliding down to press lightly against his bottom lip. “Just let go. Trust me. Let it all take over.”

Mike’s lips trembled, a small, breathy sound escaping him as he leaned into Carlos’s touch. The tingling warmth inside him swelled, washing away the last traces of resistance. His body felt alive, every nerve humming with sensation as Carlos continued to caress him, guiding him deeper into the moment.

Carlos’s smile widened, his satisfaction evident as he stroked Mike’s cheek, his hand lingering possessively. “That’s it, Mike,” he whispered. “You’re perfect. My perfect boy.”

Carlos’s fingers trailed along Mike’s jawline, tracing the soft curve of his lips with an intimacy that made Mike shudder. His touch was slow, deliberate, lingering just enough to send a fresh wave of tingling heat coursing through Mike’s body. Carlos’s thumb brushed over Mike’s bottom lip, pressing lightly, as if testing his resolve.

“You feel that?” Carlos whispered, his voice low and commanding. “That pull? That need? Be a good boy, Mike. Submit fully. Let it all go.”

Mike’s breath hitched, his lips parting slightly under Carlos’s thumb. He wanted to resist, to pull away, but his body betrayed him, leaning into Carlos’s touch instead. The faint stubble on Mike’s chin scraped lightly against Carlos’s fingertips as they traveled upward, tracing the line of his cheekbone, brushing over his temple with an almost reverent touch.

“Good boy,” Carlos murmured, his dark eyes locked on Mike’s. His tone was soothing yet possessive, drawing Mike deeper into the warm haze clouding his mind.

Mike felt Carlos’s hand drift downward, his palm flat against his chest, pressing firmly over his pounding heart before sliding lower. The tight fabric of Mike’s cycling jersey did little to hide the contours of his body, and Carlos’s hand moved with purpose, tracing the defined lines of his torso, his hips, and the growing tension in his shorts.

Carlos’s lips curled into a knowing smirk as his fingers brushed against the palpable outline of Mike’s cock. “Oh, Mike,” he said softly, almost teasingly. “You’re holding back, aren’t you? Don’t fight it. Let it out—all of it. Give it to me.”

Mike’s knees threatened to buckle as Carlos’s touch became firmer, his hand pressing against the strained fabric. The warmth inside Mike swelled, threatening to consume him entirely. His mind was a blur, unable to form coherent thoughts as Carlos’s words sank deep into his subconscious, coaxing him to surrender.

“Feel it, Mike,” Carlos urged, his hand moving with slow, deliberate pressure. “Feel the tension, the heat. Let it take over. Let me guide you.”

Mike’s breath came in shallow gasps, his body trembling as Carlos’s grip tightened, grounding him in the overwhelming sensation. He let out a soft, broken moan, his head tipping back as the last vestiges of his resistance crumbled.

“That’s it,” Carlos said, his voice filled with satisfaction. His hand lingered, commanding and unyielding, as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against Mike’s ear.

Carlos’s voice dripped with satisfaction as his fingers trailed teasingly along the curve of Mike’s jaw, his dark eyes glinting with possessive intent. “You know, Mikey,” Carlos began, his tone low and almost purring, “I knew I wanted you the moment I saw you in that pretty gear. The way it clung to you, showing off everything. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

Mike shivered, his breath hitching as Carlos leaned in closer, his lips brushing against his ear. “And you’re so easy to control, aren’t you?” Carlos continued, his hand wandering back to Mike’s chest, pressing against the tight fabric. “Making this gear your trigger? That was genius. Every time you pull it on, you’ll feel it—the warmth, the sensation, the need. You’ll crave this, just like you’re craving it now.”

A soft, involuntary moan escaped Mike’s lips as Carlos’s hand slid downward, his fingers grazing the unmistakable strain in Mike’s shorts. The tight fabric did nothing to hide his cock, and Carlos’s touch was unrelenting, coaxing another breathy sound from Mike.

“You don’t have to hold back, Mikey,” Carlos murmured, his voice velvet smooth. He cupped the bulge firmly, his hand applying just enough pressure to make Mike’s knees wobble. “Let it all out. Don’t be shy.”

Mike’s head tipped back, his eyes fluttering shut as Carlos’s words wrapped around him like a spell. His body betrayed him completely, leaning into the touch, chasing the heat and the pleasure that came with it.

Carlos smirked, his hand moving with calculated precision, stroking the sensitive bulge as Mike let out another helpless moan. “Good boy,” Carlos whispered, his voice laced with satisfaction. “You’re exactly where I want you. Completely under my control. And it feels so good, doesn’t it?”

Mike could only nod weakly, his mind a haze of sensation and submission. His body trembled, utterly at Carlos’s mercy, and as the tingling warmth spread through him once more, he knew there was no going back.

Mike’s world narrowed to the feel of Carlos’s touch, the sound of his voice, and the unbearable tension building inside him. With a final, shaky exhale, he surrendered completely, letting the wave of warmth and pleasure crash over him.

Carlos’s hand moved with firm purpose, his touch both commanding and deliberate as Mike’s body trembled under him. The tension in the air was thick, the heat radiating from Mike’s body palpable. Carlos leaned closer, his breath warm against Mike’s ear as his fingers pressed into the fabric, now damp with the unmistakable evidence of Mike’s pre-cum.

“Can you feel it, Mikey?” Carlos murmured, his voice a low, sultry whisper. “The wetness? I can. Oh, I do. You’ve been holding back so much, haven’t you?”

Mike’s breath hitched, a soft whimper escaping his lips as Carlos’s words sank into him. His body was taut, trembling on the edge of release, and the relentless heat spreading through him made it impossible to think, to resist.

Carlos’s smirk widened as he stroked the damp fabric, his hand coaxing more soft sounds from Mike. “Let it out now,” Carlos commanded, his tone both soothing and firm. “Don’t fight it, Mikey. Stain your pretty gear. Show me how good it feels to let go.”

Mike let out a broken moan, his head tipping back as the last threads of his composure unraveled. His body arched slightly, pressing into Carlos’s hand as the overwhelming warmth and pressure finally spilled over.

Carlos’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he felt the fabric grow wetter beneath his touch, the proof of Mike’s surrender clear. “Good boy,” he murmured, his voice soft but possessive. “You’ve done so well for me. That’s it—let go. Give it all to me.”

Mike sagged against Carlos, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the tension drained from his body, leaving only the hazy, blissful aftermath. Carlos’s hands remained steady, grounding him as he murmured soft praises, stroking his cheek with a gentle possessiveness.

Carlos’s hand lingered, pressing and stroking over the damp fabric with deliberate care. His touch was firm yet unhurried, a steady rhythm designed to keep Mike caught in the haze of sensation. Each stroke sent fresh shivers through Mike’s body, the wetness against the tight cycling gear amplifying the intensity of every movement.

“Good boy,” Carlos murmured, his voice low and velvety. “Such a good boy. You’ve done exactly what I wanted. Do you feel it now? How much better the gear feels like this?”

Mike let out a soft, breathless whimper, his body trembling under Carlos’s touch. The tight, wet fabric clung to him, every sensation heightened as the tingling warmth continued to spread through him. He managed a shaky nod, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out.

Carlos chuckled softly, his hand never stopping. “Oh, come on, Mikey. You can do better than that,” he coaxed, his tone teasing but laced with command. “Tell me. Tell me all about it. How does it feel now? How does it feel to give in completely?”

Mike’s head tipped forward slightly, his breath coming in shallow gasps. “It… it feels…” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. He struggled to form words, his mind still clouded with the overwhelming sensations.

“Go on,” Carlos urged, his hand pressing firmly over the wet bulge, sending another shiver through Mike. “Tell me. I want to hear it from you.”

“It feels… so good,” Mike finally managed, his voice breaking as another soft moan escaped him. “The gear… it feels better now. Tighter… warmer…” He trailed off, his cheeks flushing as he realized what he was saying.

Carlos’s grin widened, his satisfaction clear. “That’s my good boy,” he said softly, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles over the wet fabric. “You’re right—it does feel better, doesn’t it? The warmth, the wetness, the way it clings to you. You can’t get enough of it now, can you?”

Mike shook his head weakly, his body sagging slightly as Carlos continued to stroke him, coaxing out every last bit of his surrender.

“That’s it,” Carlos murmured, his tone soothing and possessive. “Let yourself feel it all. Don’t hold back. You’re mine now, Mikey. And I’m so proud of you.”

Carlos’s grip on Mike was firm yet guiding as he reached down, taking Mike’s trembling hand in his own and pressing it firmly against the wet, sticky fabric of his bulge. Mike gasped softly at the contact, his eyes widening slightly as Carlos moved his hand over the wetness, making him feel every inch of himself.

“This is all you,” Carlos murmured, his voice smooth and commanding. “Feel it, Mikey. The sticky fabric clinging to you. You did this, and it’s perfect.”

Mike’s breath quickened, his hand hesitating for a moment before Carlos’s firm guidance encouraged him to press harder, to explore. His fingers trembled as he traced the contours beneath the gear, the sensations overwhelming.

Carlos leaned in, his lips brushing against Mike’s ear as he whispered, “And the smell? Can you sense it, Mikey? That intoxicating, heady scent of you, of everything you’ve let out. Good. So good.”

Mike let out a shaky moan, his face flushing deeper as Carlos’s other hand slid up to his chest. He stroked Mike’s pecs through the tight, damp jersey, his fingers tracing slow circles over the fabric. “You’re beautiful like this,” Carlos said softly, his hand drifting upward to cup Mike’s flushed face. He caressed him gently, his thumb brushing over Mike’s reddened cheek. “Your face says it all, Mikey. You love this. You need this.”

Mike’s head tipped forward slightly, leaning into Carlos’s touch as his fingers twitched against the wetness. The tingling warmth still coursed through him, making every touch feel electric.

Carlos smiled, his hand guiding Mike’s again, encouraging him to stroke himself through the gear. “Go ahead, Mikey,” he urged, his voice a mix of command and encouragement. “Stroke yourself. Feel it all. Tell me how it feels.”

Mike’s lips parted, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he obeyed, his hand moving tentatively at first before growing bolder. His fingers pressed and traced, each movement sending a fresh wave of sensation through him.

“It feels… so good,” Mike whispered, his voice trembling with vulnerability and pleasure. “The fabric… it’s so tight, so sticky… it feels… incredible.”

Carlos chuckled softly, his hand moving back to Mike’s chest, stroking and kneading the firm muscles beneath the damp jersey. “That’s my good boy,” he murmured, his tone laced with satisfaction. “Keep going. Let yourself feel everything. Don’t hold back.”

Mike’s moans grew louder, his body responding helplessly to the overwhelming sensations. Carlos’s words and touch grounded him, keeping him in the moment as he surrendered completely, lost in the haze of pleasure and submission.

Carlos’s hand moved swiftly to Mike’s chin, tilting his head upward so their eyes met. The grip was firm but not rough, a silent assertion of control. Mike’s breath hitched, his body frozen under Carlos’s intense gaze.

“Ah, ah,” Carlos chided, his voice low and teasing. “You’re not allowed to cum unless I say so, Mikey. You’re mine to control, and we both know you like it that way.”

Mike whimpered softly, his lips trembling as Carlos’s thumb brushed over his bottom lip. His hand stilled against the wetness of his gear, his body caught in a limbo of need and obedience.

Carlos’s lips curled into a sly smile as he released Mike’s chin, his hand trailing down to pat his cheek lightly. “That’s a good boy,” he murmured. “We’ve got plans, don’t we? We want to go on our ride, show you off in that perfect gear. Let the world see how good you look. How irresistible you are.”

Mike swallowed hard, his mind hazy but his body still tingling with anticipation. He nodded faintly, his eyes wide and glassy as he hung onto Carlos’s every word.

“But we can’t forget the most important thing,” Carlos continued, his tone shifting to one of playful practicality. He stepped back slightly, picking up Mike’s helmet from a nearby surface. “Safety first, Mikey. Always safety first.”

He leaned in, placing the helmet gently on Mike’s head and adjusting the straps with practiced care. The intimate, deliberate motions grounded Mike, pulling him slightly out of the haze. Carlos patted his cheek again, his grin widening as he stepped back to admire his work.

“There we go,” Carlos said, satisfaction dripping from his voice. “Now you’re ready. But remember, Mikey—no cumming until I say so. Let that tension build. Let it drive you. You’ll thank me later.”

Mike nodded again, his body taut with both anticipation and obedience as Carlos’s words settled over him like a warm blanket. The promise of the ride ahead and the electric tension in his body left him trembling, completely under Carlos’s control.

Carlos let out a low chuckle, his hand still resting lightly on Mike’s cheek as he took in the dazed, almost dreamy expression on his face. Mike’s wide, unfocused eyes and slightly parted lips gave him the look of someone completely lost in a world of sensation and command.

Carlos’s gaze followed Mike’s as it drifted downward, taking in his own body as though he were seeing it for the very first time. The way the cycling gear clung to him, damp and snug, seemed to mesmerize him, and Carlos smirked at the sight.

“There you are,” Carlos murmured softly, smoothing his hands over Mike’s chest and down along his sides. He tugged slightly at the fabric, straightening it with deliberate care. Each touch sent a fresh shiver through Mike, who stood still, pliant under Carlos’s hands. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect. My good boy.”

Satisfied, Carlos stepped back slightly, his gaze drifting toward the window. The sun was bright and inviting, casting a golden glow over the landscape outside. Carlos’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully for a moment before a grin spread across his face.

“Oh, we could use something extra, couldn’t we?” Carlos mused, turning back to Mike with a glint of mischief in his eyes. He reached for a sleek pair of cycling glasses resting on a nearby counter, holding them up for Mike to see. “What do you think, Mikey? Don’t you think these would complete the look? Make you even more irresistible?”

Mike blinked slowly, his eyes flickering to the glasses in Carlos’s hand. His lips moved as though he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

Carlos leaned in closer, slipping the glasses gently over Mike’s ears and positioning them carefully on his face. “There we go,” he murmured, adjusting them until they sat just right. “Perfect fit. Now, put them on properly, Mikey. Show me how good you look.”

Mike’s trembling hands rose obediently, pressing the glasses firmly into place. The tinted lenses added an edge to his appearance, making him look sharp and focused even in his dazed state.

Carlos stepped back, his grin widening as he admired the sight before him. “There it is,” he said softly, almost to himself. “Now you’re ready. The world won’t know what hit it when it sees you like this.”

He placed a firm hand on Mike’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze before guiding him toward the door. “Come on, Mikey. Let’s take you out for a spin. The road’s waiting, and so am I.”

Exact Change

This story was written under the command of, under the influence of, and for the entertainment of, hungkinkbot. As such, the story is really his. It wrote it as his instrument.

Its reward is the opportunity of serving him by writing this and receiving his guidance. 

Part One

It was almost time for the shop to close. Leo hadn’t wanted to stay late, and customers had been sparse, so he had been able to filter in, over the course of the last hour, his end-of-shift work. At the top of the hour all he would have to do is count out his till, take the money to the back, and lock up.

Which suited him. Working until midnight was an unholy pain as it was, without making it worse by having to stay late.

Standing behind the register, shifting his weight from foot to foot, Leo felt eyes suddenly on him. He jumped. Then he saw, and jumped again, worse in fact.

It was a man, six feet tall, slender but with broad shoulders. He wore a striped Fred Perry with the laurel insignia on the pocket and the trademark stripes at the collar and sleeves, tucked into nondescript slacks behind a neat, but plain, belt.

But the man’s head was black rubber. His face and head was a hood, the only skin visible behind the thin ovals of the eyes and the hole that pressed the lips together and out. Leo looked: the man’s arms were black rubber as well, right down to the black shining fingers handling his shopping basket.

Leo had no idea what to say. “You are still open, aren’t you?” the black shape offered, breaking an awkward silence.

“Oh yeah, I am, I’m sorry.” Leo blushed, and started taking the groceries out of the basket and scanning them. He guessed in this neighborhood, he should have long since come to expect this sort of thing.

“So, do you live in the area?” Leo asked, trying to make conversation. Immediately he regretted it. It sounded like he was trying to pick this guy up, which he wasn’t.

He was almost thankful when the black rubber figure obliviously ignored what he said, attentively eying the total on the cash register.

“I mean,” Leo rushed to save himself, “I haven’t seen you in here before.”

Then he realized he could be mistaken. “Of course, I could have, you know. Just you could have been without the, you know—”

Leo was starting to blush. He could feel himself getting flustered. He was almost thankful when the taciturn black figure finally said something.

“It has always worn this.”

Then Leo realized this made no sense. Obviously, this dude was not born in a latex pervert suit. Finally, as he scanned the last item and rung up the total, the obvious response popped into his head. “How long has that been?”

“Seventy-two days.”

“Okay,” he nodded. He was curious to see what kind of card the guy would pay with, and probably would have found reading the name on it irresistible, but instead the curious figure produced cash from his wallet.

Leo made change. “Well like I said, I just haven’t seen you in here before.”

“It has been in service here three days. You asked if it lived here. That is inapplicable.” The consequences to that statement made Leo’s head swim.

“Oh,” Leo said, dully. “Well, welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thank you. Your courtesy is noted. It will return regularly.” And with that, pocketing the change and taking the bagged groceries, the man in black latex left, the bell on the door ringing behind him as he walked out.

“Fuck!” Leo howled, relieved that awkwardness was done.

Part Two

“Oh, it’s you again.” The man was standing there, tight black rubber wrapping his head, hands hidden behind rubber gloves, but apart from that, wearing jeans, button-up shirt, and sport coat.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Buying the premade protein shakes again? I think with this, you’ll have bought us out for the time being. I’ll order more for next time, but the next shipment probably won’t be on the shelf until Monday.”

“It will check other stores nearby, then.”

As he was scanning the items, Leo felt sad. Sure, this guy was a freak, but he was his freak. Even if he did jump out of his skin a little every time the rubber man came into the store. “Oh, I hope we don’t lose your business.”

Suddenly Leo could tell that behind the featureless black of the hood, he was being studied.

“This is the store closest for it. It will continue to shop here.”

“Oh, okay, good to know.” As awkward as the conversation was, Leo was reassured.

“Would you care to let it know when you get more in?”

“Um sure, just give me your name and number.” Leo screwed his face. The rubber figure had produced a card on his own and was writing on the back a string of numbers.

Then the rubber man slid the card across the counter. Leo chuckled. What else did he expect? “So your name is 1-hyphen-5-forward slash-73-forward slash-116-forward slash-9-hyphen-2?”

“That is the designation system. This is the first city in which the designation system is established. 5 is the subarea of the city. 73 is the street’—sure enough, Leo realized, they were on 73rd street—'116 is the street address, 9 is the apartment number, 2 denotes it as the second unit established at that location.”

“But that’s your address, not your name.”

“It’s the designation system, which functions both to specify the location of units and to distinguish them in a useful way.”

“Oh, okay,” Leo chuckled, laughing off the whole thing. “At least I recognize what you wrote beneath it as a regular phone number. I’m Leo by the way.”

“No,” the rubber-clad man answered. “Within the designation system, you are 1-5/73/142/a-1.” To make it clearer, he gently took the card back, wrote down the designation, and handed it back.

Leo chuckled. “Forgive me if I prefer to still go by Leo. That seems a bit awkward. And I’m not, how did you put it? A unit.”

“1-5/73/142/a-1, you are a drone installed at this location to distribute provisions.” With that, the rubber man was now handing Leo his payment card.

Leo, annoyed, began to think how this was going from kind of amusing to ridiculous very fast. “I work here, I’m not installed”, he muttered to himself, as he ran the card and handed the improbably named 1-5/73/116/9-2 back his card. He couldn’t help but notice the name on the card said Andrew-something.

“It has upset you,” the rubber man answered.

“No, I’m fine, it’s just been a long day,” Leo smiled, remembering himself, as he handed the rubber man his receipt. “I’ll give you a call when we get those protein shakes in.”

“Very good, 1-53/73/142/a-1.” And with that, he was out the door, groceries in hand.

Part Three

Nervous, Leo took a deep breath, dialed the number into the phone, and slapped it to his ear. “Fuck me,” he cursed to himself, unsure how awkward the conversation that came next would be. Then he had to catch himself. Someone had answered.

“Hi, I—uh just wanted to let you know we have your protein shakes in.”

“Is this 1-53/73/142/a-1?” answered the now familiar monotone.”

Leo really, really did not want to get into the whole insanity with the number-names again. “Yes,” he replied matter-of-factly, eager to move past it.

“Good,” came the answer, which Leo suspected was not just about the rubber guy’s satisfaction that he was going to get his protein shakes.

“Per the store’s website, you deliver.”

“Fuck,” Leo could not hide his frustration. He did not want to have to lock up the store to run a delivery, much less go to wherever rubber man lived and deal with whatever oddness would await him there.

Then he realized the perfect excuse. “We do have a minimum order size for deliveries—”

“Yes, it read that on the website. It would like ten boxes of the protein shakes, please.”

Leo wanted to say no, but he didn’t want to be subject to a complaint that he had refused delivery. He needed to keep this job, badly.

Then he realized he had been silent on the line too long. The rubber man’s voice answered: “do you require it’s address again?”

“Um no, I already have it written down. It’s 116 West 73rd, apartment 9.”

“Ring the front buzzer when you arrive, so it can admit you. Thank you. Goodbye.” Unnerved, Leo realized the rubber man’s vocal inflections were only too much like a recorded line. He was also unsettled by the idea that it was just assumed he would make the delivery.

He recalled having been called a unit by the rubber man, an installed drone. That didn’t sit any better with him now than a week ago.

He cringed when he finally heard the ding of the online order came through. Sure enough, it was who, where and what he thought it was, and it requested delivery.

Shrugging, Leo put ten boxes of shakes in two brown paper shopping bags, turned the card on the door to let people know he would be back shortly, and locked up the store. At least it was not far.

Buzzing 9 on the door of the non-descript red brick apartment building, he was admitted and walked up the stairs to the second floor. Leo couldn’t help but admit he would be curious as to what he would find.

Knocking on the door, he was met by the rubber guy, Andrew, 1-53/73-whatever, in his usual hood. It took Leo a moment to realize he was now in all rubber, without the benefit of the concealing street clothes. Full pervert suit. Leo was straining to act normal, when really he wanted to burst into hysterical laughter.

“You can set the protein shakes on the dining room table,” the rubber man instructed, gesturing Leo inside.

To be honest, Leo was a bit apprehensive about going that far into the apartment. But when he took a few steps in, he was pleasantly surprised. Certainly it was spartan, but the clean modern furnishings put him at ease. It didn’t look the part of a serial killer’s lair, that much was obvious.

Putting the groceries down, Leo noticed an odd series of tones and hums, halfway between music and meditational aids.

“What’s that?” Leo held up his finger to denote he was talking about the sounds in the air.

“It assists thinking and relaxation.”

“Oh,” Leo answered.

The rubber man was pouring a cup of coffee from a pot, the black fluid matching his gear perfectly. “It has cash for a tip for you in the other room. Feel free to take some coffee, and have a seat.”

Handing Leo the coffee, he gestured towards a large, soft black leather couch in the living room of the apartment.

“Um, sure.” Leo was not the sort to respond with sarcasm to either coffee or a tip, but he badly wanted to inquire how, if he was a drone, he would warrant tipping?

Nonetheless, he walked over to the couch, sat down, sipping the coffee, feeling the dulcet tones and hums of the music sink into him. He felt oddly safe, and warm.

It was weird the guy was taking so long. And if he had called to place the order, why wouldn’t he have had tip money ready? “You know,” Leo called out, “if you want, you can just leave the tip money on your card on the next order. I really do need to be getting back.”

Then Leo looked up at the mounted flatscreen facing the luxurious couch. At first he assumed it was a TV, but now he realized it worked more like some kind of mirror making use of computer imagery, reflecting back the room facing into it.

Chuckling with curiosity, Leo realized there was something odd though about the shape that occupied the space in the room he took up.

He got up, and walked toward the flatscreen to get a better look. The him on the screen was not dressed as he was, but naked, and hairless. “Fucking crazy” he muttered to himself.

Leo stepped closer. The him on the screen had no eyes or ears. And between its legs, no cock.

The coffee cup slipped from Leo’s hand and broke on the hardwood floor. Saying nothing, he ran out, terrified.

Part Four

“Leo, can I speak with you a minute?” Jose was tidying up around the register before he took off for the day, handing the store over to Leo.

“Sure,” Leo chirped, the crack in his voice betraying he knew what this was about, and that talking about it was the last thing he wanted.

“We’ve had three delivery orders come in right before closing in as many nights. They’re left untouched until the next day. Frank who helps out in the mornings has been calling first thing to see if the customer still wants them, but by that point he’s at work.”

Leo couldn’t stop himself from pulling a face at hearing that. Where in God’s name could rubber guy work?

Scowling at Leo’s expression, Jose kept on. “Each of these orders is for like a hundred dollars, and a few nights before you made another hundred dollar delivery to the same address. You understand me, this is a lot of money you not making these deliveries is costing the store. This is break-even money. If you can’t take care of these, we’re going to have to ask you to leave. You understand?”

“It’s just—”

“Yeah, the guy’s weird. You’ve said so already. Even Frank pretty much confirmed your story about him when he talked to him on the phone. But you know what? I don’t care. You’re not some 19-year-old girl I have to worry about sending on deliveries because someone’s going to get frisky with her. You’re a grown man and I expect you to take care of yourself.”

For a moment Leo was genuinely angry. “So it’s like that?”

“Yes, it is. Now are you going to make those deliveries, or am I going to have to go through the resume pile in the back to find someone who will take your shift who will?”

“Okay.”

“Good.” And without Jose gathered his things to head out the back. “You’re just lucky I didn’t want to go to the trouble to train someone new.”

For the most part the rest of the shift was quiet. Leo could admit to himself that as scary as the situation in the rubber man’s apartment had been, he was somehow ambivalent about the prospect of going back.

It was the least surprising thing in the world when the chime let him know, an hour before close, that an online order had come in. Of course it was the same address and apartment as before. And it was more protein shakes. Biting his lip with frustration, Leo wondered how that guy was drinking them all so fast.

By the time Leo got the backs together and was ready to make the run to the rubber guy’s apartment, it was fifteen minutes before close. So he went ahead and did what was necessary so that he wouldn’t have to come back to the store when he was done. And the only cash that would exchange hands there would be his tip, if he in fact stuck around for it.

Reaching the apartment, mashing the buzzer, opening the door, Leo dreaded the embarrassment of talking to that guy again. He just convinced himself he would say whatever he had to, not take a step inside the apartment further than absolutely necessary, and then just go.

Finally, he reached the door, and lightly knocked. As if he hoped no one would come to the door, and he could just leave.

“Hi!” The door swung open, and Leo was met not by the rubber-faced man, but by Pete, the local beat cop. Leo had gotten to know Pete from a few times he had had to call the police on drunks in the store.

“Uh, hello.” Leo was very much uncertain how to proceed. Even more so when he realized Pete was not wearing any clothes, standing at an open door, facing out onto the public hallway of this apartment building, without the first sign of any apprehension.

Pete gestured towards the same dining room table that the rubber man had. “You can just set them down over there.”

Leo would have to broach the obvious as delicately as he could. “So, what are you doing here?” Surely Pete couldn’t actually be the rubber man. He was at least three inches taller, and had a much more full build.

“Oh,” Pete acted surprised by the question. “A few weeks ago some of 1-5/73/116/9-2’s neighbors called the precinct about a man wearing a mask in the building and they were concerned. I came out and talked to it. Since then I stop by occasionally to hang out and unwind.”

From the hallway leading to the bedrooms, out strode the rubber man. “It sees you have met the delivery and provisions drone, 1-53/73/142/a-1.”

Leo took this as his cue. “Well, I have to be going—”

“It owes you an apology. It did not mean to leave the device on that obviously upset you.”

Leo glanced nervously in the screen’s direction. “Yeah, what is that?”

1-5/73/116/9-2 walked into the living room, picked up a remote and clicked it. Leo flinched. But it was just static, albeit static that was slowly starting to resolve itself into shapes.

“It’s a meditation aid,” the rubber man explained. “It is meant to be used in conjunction with the auditory stimulus you are hearing now—”

With that, Leo noticed the same beeps and swells he heard the last time he was in the apartment were wafting through the air now, just so subtle he wasn’t picking them up unless he made an effort to hear them.

“A camera then scans the electronic impulses in your brain to organize the random patterns of pixels on the screen into an image personal to you. The organizing of the image occurs only in the viewer’s cognition.”

He continued. “Three different people can watch the exact same patterns and find entirely different images. Each time, it’s personal to you. I have no way of knowing, for instance, what you saw the other night. Would you like to say what you saw that upset you so much?”

The rubber man left the implication hanging in the air.

Pete interrupted. “I can watch it for hours. So soothing.”

“1-5/58/344/26-1 is a security drone,” the rubber man added, as if that followed naturally from what Pete had said.

“I’m,” Pete sighed, “a little slow catching on with the designations.”

“There is neither slow nor fast,”1-5/73/116/9-2 added. “Your use of the designation system is a measure of your degree of integration. You will become more comfortable with it as you progress.”

“So Leo, are staying? You can undress, take a seat on the couch, make yourself comfortable,” Petey grinned, almost gregarious.

1-5/73/116/9-2 interjected “by now the store should be about ready to close anyway. You might as well.”

Leo gulped hard. So now the game really was obvious. “No, I think I’ll be fine.”

He glanced up and down Pete’s muscular body, still attractive even with the extra ten or so pounds on it. For the first time though, he noticed a somewhat vacant look in Pete’s eye.

“Here is your tip, 1-53/73/142/a-1, for both tonight and the previous night.” Taking the money from the rubber man, Leo looked down at his hand and gulped. It was easily three times what he expected.

“I will place an order tomorrow night, and the night after that. You will always be welcome to stay.”

Part Five

It was four nights later that a hard, driving rain drenched Leo to the skin. He had been careful. Courteous enough there would be no complaints to the store, but not taking so much as an unnecessary step into that apartment, either.

But feeling his wet shoes squeak as he climbed the stairs carrying the order of yet more protein shakes inside a precariously flimsy wet paper bag, he felt something give inside him. Before 1-5/73/116/9-2 opened the door, he knew he would accept whatever hospitality was offered.

So when the rubber man looked Leo up and down, and asked if he could run Leo’s clothes through the dryer, Leo nodded yes before he was finished with the question.

Dutifully, 1-5/73/116/9-2 escorted Leo to the bathroom just off the living room and showed him a pile of towels in the linen closet he could use to dry off and a plastic hamper in which he could put the wet clothes that would go in the dryer.

Leo was drying his hair when he realized he wouldn’t be able to stay in the bathroom the whole hour or so until his clothes were dry. And he did not want to just walk around this apartment completely naked.

Leo was already taking off his t-shirt and slapping it, soaked, into the hamper. “Um, could I have some of your clothes, I mean some of your street clothes to wear, just until my shit is dry? I’m sorry to impose like this.”

“Think nothing of it.” The rubber man disappeared, leaving the bathroom door open.

When he returned Leo’s eyes bulged and a “that’s not what I meant!” was out his lips before he knew what he was saying.

What 1-5/73/116/9-2 held was a one-piece black rubber suit, box-cut trunk legs and sleeveless top, with a zipper that began just above the crotch and went down between the legs, up the ass until terminating at the back of the neck.

“Here you are,” 1-5/73/116/9-2 explained.

“Um,” Leo held it up nervously.

“This is what you are being given,” he replied, as if this was an explanation. And with that, the rubber man shut the bathroom door to let Leo change.

Staring at the thing in his hands, Leo struggled not to hyperventilate. But eventually he realized it would just be for an hour or so, until his clothes dried. Wearing it would obviously gratify this man who was interested in him, and it might even get him a little extra in the way of a tip.

So he finished sliding off his wet clothes, toweled himself off, and pulled on the snug latex outfit. It wasn’t unflattering, Leo thought, noticing how the bulge on his crotch seemed pronounced. He ran his hand up and down his cock beneath the rubber, noticing himself get hard.

He began to realize there might be more of a challenge involved in wearing this around this apartment than he thought.

Exiting the bathroom he handed his clothes to 1-5/73/116/9-2, who sped wordlessly off to the laundry room, without so much as pausing to hear Leo’s sheepish “thanks.”

Tentative, Leo walked back into the living room. There, naked, like he had not left, was Pete. Even in this situation, Pete’s presence was vaguely reassuring.

“Hi Pete. I didn’t see you when you came in.”

“Hello, 1-53/73/142/a-1. Take a seat.” Leo noted a change in his voice.

With nothing else to do, he sat down on the opposite end of the couch from the naked policeman, who was staring, jaw agape, at the screen.

“What do you see?” Leo asked.

“If I had words for it, I wouldn’t need to see it,” answered Pete.

Finally, Leo turned and faced the screen. He saw the same hairless, eyeless, earless thing in the place of him, wearing his skin, that he had before. But this time he wasn’t as scared.

“Let it happen,” he heard Pete say.

When Leo woke up he was in his own bed, light cascading through the windows all around him. He was still wearing the latex suit. Obviously, he had walked home wearing it. He had no memory of it, but that had to have been what had happened. For a moment, Leo was terrified. Then he said to himself, “cool.”

Part Six

It was his day off. For once, Leo had no work, and no plans beyond laundry, the grim necessities of housecleaning, and some daydrinking.

But, feeling the thick black latex pressed tight against his body, he felt that had somehow all changed. He liked the way it stretched across his ass. He had to work to keep himself from running his hands across his body. Then he had to work to keep from doing more than that.

Was this how it happened, whatever it was 1-5/73/116/9-2 wanted so badly for him?

Then, forcing himself out of bed, it—Leo caught himself, he—looked in the laundry hamper. The wet clothes he had exchanged for the rubber half-suit were not there. Nor were they draped on the couch or in the usual places Leo left his clothes on the floor. He had to have left his clothes there, in that apartment.

It, he, put aside for the moment the horror at the thought he had somehow walked home wearing only the rubber. He had to get his clothes. And he had to give this suit back.

Panicked, he went about his morning routine as best he could. Shaved, brushed his teeth, put on some loose street clothes that hid the tight suit well. Finally, almost out the door, he checked his phone.

In place of all the familiar buttons of the various apps against the phone background there were just two: mandatory and discretionary. Discretionary did not work. Nothing happened when he pressed it. It was like the screen was frozen.

Then he pressed mandatory, and it pulled up a message, without an identifying screenname of any kind: “1-53/73/142/a-1 masturbates.”

“What the fuck,” it, but then he caught himself, he, mewled.

“1-53/73/142/a-1 masturbates” the message repeated.

Leo started jamming numbers with his fingers, angry at being told what to do. Nothing he did would get the phone off the screen. He tried turning it off and on again, but the phone would not even turn off on command.

Again, the message repeated. “1-53/73/142/a-1 masturbates.”

Frustrated and angry, Leo began to think this might actually be the easiest way to unlock the phone. He was mildly horny in the rubber suit, after all. But he feared and detested the idea of just blindly following commands.

It was not going to just do as it was told because it was told—

Then he felt himself getting hard in his rubber suit. He started working the cock beneath the rubber, as his mind began to fixate on following instructions and doing as he was told.

He retreated to his bedroom, flopped down on his bed, and unzipping the suit, fished out his cock. Five minutes later he was laying there, breathing hard, white pools of cum on his shining black belly.

He picked up his phone. He pressed the discretionary button, and this time it brought up all his usual apps. But then a message came through, marked mandatory: “1-53/73/142/a-1 next masturbates in 3 hours 54 minutes.”

When he saw the message, he now felt a pang of compulsion. Like he knew this was something expected and he had to comply. What was happening to it?

Part Seven 

Leo stood at the door. He was dressed for the street, a button-up shirt and loose gym shorts visible, tennis shoes on his feet, but beneath it he felt the tight rubber on his skin driving him crazy. 

He swayed a little as he knocked. To Leo’s surprise the door opened and revealed a guy with long wavy blonde hair he had not seen before. 

“Oh hi. I’m the implementations technician. I guess you can call me the cable guy. I’m guessing you’re 1-53/73/142/a-1?” 

“Um, yes,” it answered, suddenly more certain in its status as it, feeling for the first time that number described it. 

“Come in,” the cable guy beamed. 

Leo stepped in, and the door closed behind him. 

“Have a seat,” he added, and gestured to an open chair at the kitchen table where Leo had been placing the groceries. Stiffly, Leo walked over and sat, placing one hand on each knee in a way that made him feel almost like a mannequin. 

The cable guy followed, and sat down opposite Leo, taking up a tablet. “So, your phone is giving you instructions?” 

“Yes,” Leo said, blankly. “How are you with that?” he asked next. 

“I don’t understand,” came Leo’s answer. 

“Good,” the cable guy smiled and typed some with his thumbs. “Are you complying?” 

“Um,” Leo struggled with something, but he couldn’t quite tell what. “Yeah.” 

“Are you making a choice to comply, or is this just happening?” 

“What?” 

The cable guy chuckled. “Good. Good, good, good. Excellent, actually.” 

“If you say so.” The words just came to Leo’s lips. 

“I do.” The cable guy entered some more information. “Now, check your phone.” This Leo did. The cable guy grinned. “When are you next scheduled to jerk off?”

 “Um, 30—37 minutes.” 

“Wow, so are you going to keep that appointment?” 

“I—I guess.” 

“But what if you’re on the subway? What if you’re working? What if you’re on the street?” 

“I—”Leo’s mind blanked again. He squinted, he shook his head. All this sounded crazy to him. But also he weirdly felt his gorge rise. Something was wrong. What was wrong? 

“So there’s your limit,” the cable guy nodded.   

“Um, I guess,” Leo answered, sheepishly. 

“You’re okay,” the cable guy answered. “This is exactly what I’m here for.” 

He tapped a few keys into his tablet. Leo heard footsteps from the other room. The cable guy looked up at him. “You have interacted with 1-5/58/344/26-1 before, am I right?” 

Leo looked up. It was Pete, standing in front of him, head shaved, wearing a latex sheathe that went from his neck to his toes. “Uh, yes.” The cable guy spoke to Pete. “Designation?” 

 Eyes glassy, voice distant, Pete answered “1-5/58/344/26-1.” 

“Who’s Pete?” the cable guy continued. “Someone I was, when I was someone” 1-5/58/344/26-1 said, matter-of-factly. 

“See how pleasant that is?” the cable guy asked Leo. 

Then he added, “1-5/58/344/26-1, turn your head left.” 

1-5/58/344/26-1 turned its head, revealing what looked to Leo like a hearing aid.

 A small box, fitted to a spiraled wire that led discreetly into the ear. “Presently, 1-53/73/142/a-1, 1-5/58/344/26-1 has been sensorily modified to receive a constant auditory stimulus feed. It’s the same as the auditory stimulus you receive when you are in this apartment. It’s the same as the one you’re listening to right now. What do you think of the audio feed you’re listening to right now?” 

“I can’t hear anything?” 

“Wow, that’s so great,” the cable guy chirped. “Flying colors, all around.” “So what we’re going to do is fit with you a device the same as the one 1-5/58/344/26-1 is wearing. It’s going to enable you to receive proper stimulus and low-specificity instruction whether you’re here in the apartment, or not. Like it does, now. So you’re always going to be connected to us, and to the process. What do you think of that?” 

Suddenly, Leo’s mind swam. “Um, it terrifies me.” 

 “But you’re going to sit there while I install it, right?” 

“Um,” his voice caught in his throat. “Yeah.” 

“That’s great. That’s really great.” The cable guy seemed pleased. “And when I’m done, you will jerk off, how about that?” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay,” the cable guy repeated. “Now, first thing’s first. Designation?” 

“1-53/73/142/a-1,” it heard itself say, suddenly aware of Leo has something other. 

“You are doing so well. Let’s get started.”   

Part Eight 

At the gym, Leo navigated the machines in a fog. Glancing at the mirrored walls, he saw something unfamiliar. It was hairless, with a shaved head and shaved eyebrows. 

Its expression was dull, unfocused, and its mouth hung open. Beneath its flimsy hoody the black latex of the shortsuit was visible, and his thin gym shorts did not extend as far as the black rubber on his thighs. Occasionally he would realize eyes were on him. 

But he did not attach meaning or significance to the fact that they were. Far more important was the cycle of sounds and hums fed into his right ear from a tiny box just behind it, by means of a small coiled cord. 

Occasionally, he would freeze, his eyelids would flutter, and his jaw would move. People would stare more. But it did not matter that they did. It was a near-constant effort now to think of himself as himself, as Leo, not 1-53/73/142/a-1. Something about that effort made him erect. He could feel his cock, bobbing sweatily inside the rubber, pressed against his leg. Maybe he should pay more attention to how noticeable that was in a public place, but he didn’t. 

His phone buzzed, and the buzz echoed in his earpiece in a way that was impossible to ignore. Just the alert came through the piece presently, though. Eventually, the messages that came through now in the form of written texts would be a voice in his head. And the voice would sound just like his own. He had been told this would be helpful. 

He fished out his phone from his pocket, and checked it. The screen told him he was to be at a certain address at nine tonight. Not the apartment where he had been before, but some other place. 

He thought to himself, “don’t I have a shift tonight?” 

Leo didn’t want to get fired. But he, or rather it, had its instructions. That was what mattered.

Part Nine

The part of town where the mandatory instruction had brought Leo was all warehouses, light industry and specialty repair businesses. It had been a long walk from the subway, and Leo had already been tired from the gym. 

He reached the address. It was a lumber store, but by the look of it, it had not been open for business in some while. 

His phone told him “1-53/73/142/a-1 stands by the door. It does not permit anyone entrance or exit.”

Sighing, Leo did as instructed. Which was too bad, as he had to piss. But the phone had not said he could, and that was not in the instructions, so he knew he better not.

He had no idea how long he had been like that. Somehow, it felt like his perception of time had been turned off. 

Inside the lumber store, he heard the slamming of a door, then footsteps running fast toward him. Suddenly the metal front door sprang open, almost hitting him in the face.

Leo was staring straight into the face of a man slightly shorter than him, with curly blonde hair and ice blue eyes. His face was panicked. 

“Fuck!” he screamed, almost in Leo’s face, and started running down the street.

It took Leo a long second to realize this was his assignment. He ran after the guy.

He wanted to say “Excluse me, stop” or something of the like, but somehow no words came to his lips. Words were not used in the instructions to him. He was not to permit an exit. This was definitely an exit. They were not going to talk it out.

“Get the fuck away from me!” The man cried. “I know what you are!”

Almost in passing, Leo thought to himself, good, that makes one of us.

He ran as hard as he could, through mudpuddles that reflected the dim and flickering streetlights. In passing he was glad that the rubber he was wearing would keep him from getting wet.

Finally, the blonde man stumbled badly and sprawled on the ground. Without thinking, Leo jumped on top of him and straddled him. He didn’t even know what to say. He wanted to tell him to stop struggling, but could not even tell for sure if he was supposed to do that. 

All the while, the blonde man screamed “Fuck! Get off me! I won’t do it! I won’t go back in there! You’ll have to fucking kill me. I won’t be made into some thing. Oh, God.”

Leo looked down, and saw the blonde man was wearing a rubber suit, one that covered his whole body, including his fingers and toes. He was, Leo realized, one of them. Whatever, in fact, they were. Whether they, whatever they were, now included him or not.

“Fuck,” he was howling now. “Don’t you get it. They’re going to train you until you’re not even human anymore. Until you don’t even know you can say no. They want me–they want me to be–I can’t even fucking say it!”

Leo’s full attention was being spent trying to keep the man from getting back up. 

“Look, dude, you’re still not fully covered yet, you’re still you, more or less. Let me up. I’ll get that thing out of your ear, we’ll run. We can still do this, alright?”

Leo finally was able to say something. “No.” He didn’t even have to think about it.

“Why? For the love of God, why?” The blonde man was crying now, in ragged sobs.

Leo was frustrated because he had no answer.

He heard footsteps, almost impossibly leisurely compared to the struggling of the man beneath him. Leo looked up. It was the cable guy.

“Very good job, 1-53/73/142/a-1,” the cable guy grinned. “Now this post-human bio-mass has proven itself unviable. If I were to tell you to dispose of him, would you do it?”

Leo struggled. Finally he was able to say, “I would follow instructions.”

“That’s wonderful,” the cable guy said, clapping his hands together, pleased.

Leo paused for a moment, uncertain as to whether this counted as the actual instruction to go ahead.  

“1-5/73/116/9-2, are you satisfied with 1-53/73/142/a-1‘s performance?” the cable guy asked.

Immediately the demeanor of the man beneath him changed. His eyes went glassy and his mouth a bit slack. “Entirely,” the blonde man, who had just been fighting for his life just moments before, gave a neutral smile.

“This was a test?” Leo asked, to no one in particular.

“Yes,” the blonde man answered. 

Leo climbed off of him. The blonde man stood in front of the cable guy, who was already placing a hood over his head and zipping it into place.

“So that was fake?” Leo half-mumbled. “He really wasn’t trying to run?”

“Oh,” the cable guy started chuckling. “That much was real.” It’s just that our  friend 1-5/73/116/9-2 here has a special protocol that allows for a full temporary cessation of his programming, so that the pre-existing human personality, can reassert itself long enough to flee. The realism is very helpful.”

“Oh,” Leo answered, maybe a bit troubled by all this. If he could still be troubled.

“So,” the cable guy grinned widely. “Let’s get you inside. We need to get you fitted for your new suit, and we need to say goodbye to Leo permanently. What do you think about that?”

He paused for a long moment. “I don’t,” he said, and could say no more.

“Perfect!” the cable guy chirped.

What a great story… It would like to receive a designation and training like this

Me, last week

Me, this week.

Today is 1/9/25.

1 reblog = 1 additional day I keep my eyebrows shaved clean.

Make it trending? #mrcleanoftumblr

Nike 95 and nike dry fit trackie  👅

Nice

Airbnb

The flight had taken less than an hour, but with getting to the airport and all the security bullshit you’d have been quicker taking the train. But the trains were on strike, so here you are waiting at a baggage carousel when you could be chilling in the Airbnb you’ve booked for your week working in the Manchester office.

At least there is some eye candy to check out while you wait for your bag. You spot a cute lad in shiny trackies and a puffa jacket waiting by the carousel. He’s chavvy looking and you chuckle to yourself “bet he goes for rough stuff.” While you're watching him a chavvy looking airport employee walks up to him and they chat for a couple of minutes.

The two lads both look towards you and you look away. You hope they didn’t notice you staring at them? When you look back again the lad in the hi vis has taken a holdall from his mate and is walking away laughing. Okay they probably didn’t notice you staring. Finally the alarm sounds and bags start to drop down the cute onto the carousel.

It seems like all the other bags dropped down the chute ages ago and there is no sign of yours, but finally it comes tumbling down and edges its way along to you. You grab it in a hurry and head to the Metrolink station where you just manage to get on a tram before the doors close.  You are so ready to get to your Airbnb, take a shower and head to the Gay Village for a couple of drinks.

As you sit down you realise the chavvy lad you saw at the airport is sitting 2 seats away. He stares at you with a menacing half smirk. Fuck. He must have noticed you checking out him and his mate in baggage reclaim. You’ve heard of people getting beaten up for this kind of minor slight. Shit he probably has a knife? You can’t wait to get off the tram and into the safety of your Airbnb.

After a very uncomfortable 20 minutes the lad stands to get off the tram midway between the airport and the city centre. You jump slightly as he deliberately shoves into you when he passes your seat on his way to the platform where he is greeted by two of his mates. As the tram pulls away from their stop they turn and look directly at you half smirking, half sneering.

Christ, your heart feels like it’s going to explode out of your chest. Part of you felt terrified by this menacing lad, but part of you also felt turned on by the encounter. He was fit as fuck and, if you’re honest, the smell of Lynx body spray, weed and cigs was a little bit intoxicating. You could definitely have had some fun with him.

After another 15 minutes or so the tram arrives at your stop in the city centre. You pull out your phone and find the Airbnb on in Google Maps. It’s a 2 minute walk and the Gay Village is only 4 minutes away from there so you can look forward to some fun relaxing after work in the evenings while you are up here. You notice another couple of chav lads on the platform. You're seeing them everywhere now!

Finally you arrive at the Airbnb. You key the code into the keypad of the building, take the lift to the 7th floor and let yourself into the apartment. Pretty nice place. Hip modern vibe to it. You throw your holdall onto the bed, kick your shoes off, and strip ready to freshen up in the shower. You notice a little welcome basket in the kitchen. That’s a nice touch. You will check it out when you’re feeling revitalised.

You turn the shower up nice and hot and step in. After nearly a whole day travelling it feels so good as the pulsing water hits your skin. Oh fuck. You realise you left your toiletries bag in your holdall but there is a shower gel bottle in the shower. Lynx Africa. Really not your thing, but it will save you getting out and traipsing water over the floor of the bedroom and rummaging around in your holdall.

You squeeze out some gel and start lathering yourself. Actually this smells pretty good. Is it the same fragrance that you smelt earlier on the tram? Yeah it’s what the chav lad smelt of. Your cock twitches a little as you think about that lad again. Lathering your cock and balls your cock hardens and your face reddens as you think about playing with a bit of rough like him.

Oh man, that shower felt so good. Feeling refreshed, you grab a towelling robe from a hook next to the shower and head back into the bedroom to get some clean clothes on before you head out for a drink and something to eat. You unzip a pocket on your holdall but instead of your regular body spray you pull out a can of .... Lynx Africa. What the fuck? You’ve never bought Lynx Africa in your life.

You hurriedly open the main part of your holdall, but instead of your clothes for the week you find clothes that you don’t recognise. A shiny Nike tracksuit, a North Face t shirt, and an EA7 puffa jacket. Where the hell have you clothes gone? You pull all the clothes out of the holdall, but the only other things in there are CK boxer briefs, white Nike socks, and a pair of sneakers.

How the hell has this happened? Did you pick up the wrong bag at the airport? No, your nametag is still attached to the bag. This is your bag. Where the fuck are YOUR clothes and how the fuck did these clothes get in YOUR bag? You grab your phone to call the airline but it’s out of juice. Where’s the charger? Shit it’s not in your bag either.

Okay calm down. You will just have to wear these clothes while you figure out what has happened and how you’re going to fix it. You put on the boxer briefs. Oh these are a really nice fit. A bit more form fitting that your usual boxers, but you like how they look when you see yourself in the mirror. They certainly show off your bulge nicely.

Once you’ve put on the socks and t shirt you pull on the tracksuit pants. The shiny nylon material does feel nice to touch. You run your hand across it and feel your cock starting to get hard. Wow, you’ve never got turned on by your clothes before, but to be fair you’ve never worn nylon trackies before.

You pick up the top and put it on. In the mirror it’s like a different person looking back at you. You would never have thought this gear would suit you, but now it seems like a really good look. Where are those sneakers? You pull the pair of Nike TN’s out of the holdall. You’ve never worn sneakers like this before. They look pretty new but are they pre worn?

You really don’t want to wear someone else’s shoes. That would just be gross. You hold a sneaker to your nose and take a quick sniff. Oh they are definitely pre worn. Yep that’s gross. But if it’s gross why are you now sitting on the bed sniffing the sneaker and rubbing your crotch through the trackies. Fuck this scent actually smells really good. Like the lad on the tram. Nothing wrong with wearing these.

As you slide your feet into the sneakers you feel a pleasurable warmth permeate your body. You look in the mirror and you see a stranger staring back in awe. Your hairstyle has become shorter and is totally shaved on the sides. You have a cocky expression on your face. You have a massive throbbing bulge in your pants. This is such a fucking turn on.

Suddenly your mobile rings, snapping you out of your trance. Wait, your phone is dead. How can it be ringing? You look around and realise there is a phone in the pocket of the puffa jacket. You pick it up and answer “Um hello? Who is this?”

“Sup bro. Hope ya like yer new look. I’m yer alpha. My name’s Liam. This is yer life now now init. Yer name is Callum now and this is yer phone now. Get yer old phone, take out the SIM and break it yeh? You just left yer old life behind.”

Without thinking you do as you are told, destroying the SIM and stamping on the phone for good measure. “Yeh I done that bro,” you reply, not recognising the strange voice coming out of your mouth. “What next?”

“You see the welcome basket in the kitchen? Yeh? Well in there is a lighter, some smokes, a bag of weed, some papers, a chain and a couple of rings. Get the bling on ya. The smokes and weed you can figure out what to do wiv init. There’s some red bulls in the fridge and a bottle of vodka. See ya in about 30 init. Get a couple of joints lined up bro.” And Liam hangs up.

You put on the chain and rings and look at yourself again in the mirror. How the fuck did you get piercings?. You must have been pierced all along init. Yeah they look sick wiv the other bling init.

You grab the vodka and Red Bull from the fridge and make a drink. Yeh that feels fuckin better init. Where’s them cigs? You pack the cigs and take one out. Lighting it you take a drag and cough wildly. Oh fuck that’s nasty, but you take another drag and then another, each one more enjoyable than the last as you smoke the cigarette and drink your vodka and Red Bull.

Now on to the weed. Even though you’ve never rolled a joint before your fingers seem to know exactly what they are doing and you soon have 3 long joints laying in front of you on the table, when you hear the front door of the apartment open. Looking up you see two lads in ballys in trackies and puffas standing in front of you.

“Sup Callum. I’m Liam init. This is Tyler. You’re looking fuckin’ mint bro. You ready for some fun? He steps forward and starts to grind his trackies against yours, his hands roaming all over your body as you moan in pleasure. You should feel threatened, but you want to submit to your new chav bros.

You smell a sweet aroma and realise that Tyler has lit one of the joints you made. Liam breaks away and lights a second joint. He takes a deep hit and nods for you to take it from him. Half an hour ago you’d never smoked a cigarette before and now you are smoking weed like a fuckin’ boss init. Fuck yeah this shit is good.

Laughing, they take off their ballys and you see that Liam is the lad from the airport and tram, and Tyler is the baggage handler lad. “So you like that then bruv?” laughs Liam. “Let’s do these spliffs, ave a couple of vodka Red Bulls and then head down to The Eagle. It’s Snker tonight. You ain’t gotta be nowhere tomorrow, so you can play out late tonight init.”

As you smoke weed and drink vodka Red Bulls with your new mates, you can’t remember what it was you were supposed to be doing tomorrow. The you remember that the construction job you were working on last week has finished and you have a few days before you start work on a new building site. Fucking sorted!

Transformation pt. 2- The Hair

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I’m a scally fag in my white socks and shiny adidas trackies, ripe for the taking by a dom chav. 😈

Ty 1

Being a chav or scally is like embracing idiocy as a way of life. It’s like admitting, ‘yeah people are gonna think I’m as dumb as a rock and that’s fine’. Accepting that your career will be a varied choice of either cleaning out rubbish or doing simple manual labour as a tradie. That your interests will be small and narrow like your brain.

You may recall a time when such ideas were off-putting or ‘wrong’. Back when you had misguided aspirations to make something of your life. But then you saw how much easier it was to do just the bare minimum in life. Why spend all your free time worrying about ‘the future’ when instead you can loiter about and do fuck all. Coasting by. You saw others do it, doing nothing. Dropping out of higher education to end up as binmen, or working at McDonald’s. They seemed happier, more carefree.

Nothing. You could do nothing too. You wagered that it didn’t take much effort to do nothing. You could give your brain a much needed rest. Of course that’s how it always starts. A ‘rest’, a ‘break’. ‘Just for a little bit’. It’s not long before you catch yourself struggling to find the appropriate words in an interview. The ‘huhs?’ and ‘whats?’. The swears slipping out at inappropriate moments. The unconscious way you start to adjust your cock when out and about. The increasing habit of just shutting off your thoughts when someone talks for more than 30 seconds. Sliding further and further into that idealised image of a chav, a scally. A thick head.

Eventually, someone calls you a moron and it just clicks. A moron. Yeah, that was what you were. What you wanted to be. Something even you could aim for. How did it take you so long to realise? Well, obviously, it was because you were a moron. The thought makes you chuckle dimly. It’s at that point where there’s no going back. Not that you wanted to anyway. You were having so much fun not having to care, about anything. Everything else happens so quickly. Shaving your head, buying a bunch of gear. Picking the football team that would define your personality. Leaving your stressful job and getting your new hi-vis uniform. It was a blur. Soon enough, you find yourself standing outside your new flat in your dirty tracksuit, sipping a lager. You know it’s all over the second someone shouts out ‘mate’ to you in the street and you repeat the word back, slowly.

‘Maaaate’.

It’s then you know. Know, you truly are a complete and utter idiot.