The Morning After – Owen Part 4

More memories, his mind was trying to catch up and fill in the spaces. How he’d felt that crushing loneliness. How he’d called the escort service, and he’d told them what he’d wanted. Someone…someone young. Someone with daddy issues. Someone with a big thick cock. “Y-Yes…” He stepped closer, knees weak and when the young man pushed him down, he fell, grinding his face into the crotch of his gym shorts, smelling him, wanting to taste him. He started licking the man’s abs–they were hard–too hard, with none of the give of flesh, but he didn’t care–he wasn’t alone…right?

“Is that what you want, Owen? A parade of muscular young men? All of them hung low, happy to fuck you?”

The young man pushed his shorts down. He wasn’t wearing underwear. Own sucked on his semi-hard cock, his hands exploring his body.

“We can do that, for you. Why don’t we call out and order a few escorts, eh? Then we could have a few more people to play with. What do you think? It’s so boring being all alone.”

Alone. He hated being alone. He wanted to taste this cock forever…and yet…and yet…this was wrong. This couldn’t be happening. He didn’t want this to be happening. This isn’t what he wanted, he didn’t want this! His body was still sucking, however. He could feel his ass aching for cock. But this wasn’t real. This wasn’t real, and with his hand, he mustered as much force as he could, pulled his hand back in a fist, and slammed it against the young man’s body.

There was the sound of something shattering, and his hands felt something strange. He looked up, and the young man’s body had a crack running through it from the top of his head down his face and neck, to the side of his torso–and the body fell back to the floor, where it shattered. The rest of the body followed, the cock breaking off in his mouth. Terrified, he spit it out, feeling the glass cut his lip. On the ground, the pieces had broken into bits smaller than dust, and aside from a faint glimmer, it was like they’d never existed at all.

“Not what you wanted after all? You’re a fun one, Owen–yes, we’re going to be having all sorts of fun together, I think.”

He whirled around, but the reflection had disappeared from the hallway. Heart pounding, he crawled back to the bathroom doorway, and saw that the mirror inside had a hairline crack running from the top to one side in a path just like the one he’d made in the young man. On the other side, undisturbed by the crack, was his reflection, though not where it should have been, given where he was. It was smiling shards gleaming, and he slammed the door shut, heaving for breath.

He was still fat. He was still fat and old. He got up, and discovered that the room wasn’t at all like he’d left it the day before. The floor was littered with a few suits, all of them too large for his usual body. The bed was trashed like he’d been sleeping there the night before, and not out…wherever he’d been. He had to get out of here. He had to get away. He ran for the door, but the handle wouldn’t turn–he was trapped.

What could he do?

He was alone.

He didn’t want to be alone anymore.

He looked around his room again, and all he could really feel was despair. He turned on the TV–it was another movie on HBO that he’d seen hundreds of times, in rooms like this one, all over the country, and yet that didn’t change the fact that he was alone. Alone and horny. Really horny. He reached under his gut to toy with his small cock, his other hand moving to his nipple without really thinking about it. He could order a porno, but those always just depressed him after he came. He kept idly stroking himself, staring at the TV because there was nothing else to bother looking at, and in the screen, in the reflection off the glass, overlaying the movie, he could see the room, and in particular, his eyes were drawn to the phone on the table by the bed.

He could…call someone.

He could call someone to come over, and then he wouldn’t be alone anymore. Like…like an escort. A young man who could…could come over, and he could–

He licked the blood from his lip. His hand was reaching out for the receiver, the other hand still wrapped around his hard cock. It was taking all of his energy to just stop himself from dialing a number in his mind, a number he knew, even though he didn’t know how he could know it, a number which he could call, and someone would come and play with him, and they’d have so much fun…

He picked up the phone, and he was getting ready to dial. Hesitating. He needed help. He needed to call…someone else. Someone who could help him. But who? His mind was blank. Who even remembered phone numbers anymore? They were all in his phone, in his pants on the floor, which might as well have been miles away. All of the numbers aside from one. One number, he’d known for years, a number he’d called in college so many times, he could remember it now, even though he hadn’t called it very often lately. He forced his hand to hit those instead, and he waited, praying he’d pick up.

Someone answered on the fourth ring.

“Hello?”

“Billy! Fuck man, you have to help me, this is all fucked.”

The Morning After – Owen Part 2

As he walked across town, he felt increasingly silly, and before too long, he would have returned to the car if the walk back hadn’t become longer than the distance to the hotel. Luckily Owen had stayed in good shape since college–unlike any number of other reunion attendees, including some of his close friends. Still, if there was one thing to know about Owen, it was that appearance was more important to him than substance. He’d made his living off his looks–he’d learned at a young age that if you were cute enough, and confident enough, then you could get anywhere, and he’d spent the last few years proving it, rising high in the PR department of a major technology firm. Better than Billy, who was stuck working for his father at the family business back home–no room to grow there, but he’d always been too much of a coward to go out on his own. It was hard to believe they’d been friends this long–even before college. Still, they’d grown further apart now than ever before, and both Carl and Tim were largely after thoughts. It was enough for him to know that he looked better than them, even if they might be a bit more successful. A few times he thought about checking his reflection in a window along the street, but always decided against it. Dream or not, that episode earlier had freaked the shit out of him. He did love mirrors too much to stay away for long, but he could primp once he’d gotten back and had a proper shower.

The reunion attendees were staying at a hotel a few blocks away from campus, the Nettywood Suites. It was a small but decent independently owned hotel. His room was on the first floor–he’d bought one entire room for himself, because he hated sharing space with other people. He let himself in, planning on taking a shower, having a nap, and then reporting the car stolen with the rental company, before going and joining the reunion festivities. He stripped out of the clothes he’d worn for the pub crawl and then went in the bathroom, but before he started the water in the shower, he stopped in front of the mirror to preen, without much thought, and stared at the reflection in shock.

That wasn’t him.

That couldn’t be him.

And yet, the reflection was in the same position as he was, about two feet from the counter, staring straight at him. The man was older, probably about ten or fifteen years older than Owen was, with a short beard covering his round face, and extending quite a ways down his neck. It looked unkempt, but helped hide the double chin underneath the flabby face, in the same way that it helped his jowls look like cheeks. The nose was too broad, the mouth small and thin lipped, the ears too big and sticking out too far, the eyes close together like marbles on the wide head. His hair was either too long or too short. He was balding, but the hair had been brushed over into a combover that only emphasized his hair loss. It was silver at the temples, and salt and pepper throughout. The reflection was smiling, and the teeth…the teeth were like shards of glass, and unable to help himself, Owen discovered he was smiling with him.

“Much better,” the reflection said. Owen felt his mouth form the words, though no sound came out. “Much, much bigger, much more fun to be had here, I think, don’t you, Owen?”

He saw the reflection’s hands run down the older man’s body, starting at his chest before descending down over his massive gut, grabbing hold of the flab and giving it a shake. Unable to break his eyes away, Owen could only feel his stomach twist as his hands did the same, running over soft, hairy moobs, then meeting the gut, soft. He grabbed hold and it shook. It shook like it was real. The man in the mirror was one of the hairiest men Owen had ever seen, a thick coating all over his gut, thickest in the center, so thick he could just barely make out pale skin beneath, running up onto his shoulders and (he assumed) all over his back as well. He had to be close to 400 pounds, and judging from where his perspective, he had to be quite a bit shorter than Owen’s previous six foot one.

“Yes, so much fun, I think,” the reflection continued, “What do you think? It feels good, doesn’t it? Feeling your fat jiggle like that? Watching your fat body shake in the mirror? Let’s see if you like it or not…eh?”

One hand drifted lower, under the gut, digging beneath, finding the short cock there amidst the mass of fat, gunt, and hair. It was hard, but a weak kind of hard. Flimsy, and yet pleasure shot through him all the same.

“Goodness, someone does like what they see, don’t they?”

His other hand had moved up and was tweaking a nipple. His fingers, unable to grip his shaft, instead ran their way over and around the head of his cock, feeling it turn slick with precum. He was breathing hard, beneath all this fat, and yet it felt good, it felt really good.

“You like looking at yourself don’t you? I know this isn’t the first time you’ve jacked off while looking at yourself in the mirror, Owen.”

“Fuck…” Owen said, the first word he’d been able to manage. It was true–he considered it something between a vice and a bad habit…but he did like jacking off in front of the mirror. But he hadn’t looked like this…had he? Hadn’t he looked different? Younger? Thinner? The exact appearance was fading before he could grab hold of it, but his hand never stopped working his stubby cock, his eyes never drifted from his bouncing gut, his free hand kept running its way through his hairy chest and belly…and he realized his reflection was no longer copying him. Or was it that he’d been copying his reflection?

“You like how you look, don’t you?”

““Fuck…yeah. Such a fat, hairy daddy bear…” his voice was strange to his ears. Deeper and older, but also attractive in its own way. Part of him still knew he should stop. That something was wrong, that he’d been changed. But looking at himself there, how could…how could he not want to jack off? He just looked so…damn sexy.

The Morning After – Owen Part 1

Can’t stop looking, can you?

He couldn’t, he couldn’t stop, but what was he looking at? Where was he? He could see the room, but it was like he was just gone, gone from the reflection entirely.

I’ll keep it safe, don’t worry. Still, we can’t have you reflecting nothing, right?

There was something there now, something black and dark in the mirror, and it was smiling at him, it was smiling wide, and every tooth was a shard, and every shard had his face, and every face was screaming, and–

Owen flung himself back with a scream, and he looked around in a panic. He was in a car, in the driver’s seat. What had he just dreamed? He took a moment to try and calm himself down, to keep his breathing even. He was in his rental car, and his rental car was parked on some quiet side street, where he’d left it when they’d all started their pub crawl from the night before. He could remember the start of it, but…but then it all just faded away after the first few bars. He hadn’t gotten that drunk, had he? Sure, he couldn’t quite handle his liquor like when he’d been in college, but still, he hadn’t blacked out like this…ever. He sat up, and saw the clock read a little after nine in the morning. Had he just been sleeping here that long? Everyone else was probably back on campus for more reunion festivities, but the last thing he wanted to do right now was rub shoulders with a bunch of old classmates, most of whom he couldn’t stand anyway. Besides, he ached, and had a terrible headache. He might as well head to the hotel, get changed, have a shower and then maybe join up with the reunion in the afternoon. He should probably find Billy, Tim or Carl too, and see what exactly happened last night.

He sat up, found the keys in his pocket, and then noticed something–the rearview mirror was missing. It looked like it had been ripped off entirely. He looked around for it, and as he did, he noticed that the side view mirrors were also broken out entirely. “Fuck,” he said. How much was that going to cost? At least he had insurance on the rental car, hopefully it covered vandalism. Still, seeing those empty holes where the mirrors had been…he shivered, and remembered his dream again, and he realized something. If it had been vandalism…then why was the rearview mirror missing?

He looked around. All the doors were closed, and even locked. Had he left the car unlocked last night? Then why had they just destroyed the mirrors?

“Look at me.”

He froze. Had he just heard that? It sounded muffled, from behind him in the backseat. He whirled around, half expecting to find some stranger in the backseat, watching him, but the seat was empty. His heart was pounding again. That voice sounded so familiar, but whose voice was it?

“Look at me.”

He hadn’t imagined it. There was someone in the car with him, talking to him. He scrambled for the door handle and got out of the car, backing away into the street.

“Look at me, you fucker!”

It was shouting. But where in the hell was it coming from? He waited for something to happen, but nothing did. He crept closer to the car again, and this time looked in the backseat again, this time through the window. The only thing he could see out of place, was the rearview mirror on the floor, mirror side down.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. He opened the back door of the car, reached down for the mirror. He grabbed it by the back and picked it up, turning it over so the mirror faced him. He held it up, and he could see himself, and then without him moving the mirror, his reflection shifted showing his mouth, a mouth like the one from his dream, a black hole filled with jagged teeth, “That’s better,” it said, “and then moved its eyes back into frame, “Now I can see you properly.”

He wanted to scream. He wanted to smash the mirror to the ground, but he was frozen in place.

The face disappeared, and there were hands now at the frame, clutching at the frame, reaching out from inside the glass, and he felt them run over his hand where he was holding the mirror. “Hmmph, too small, much too small. This is no good at all, I can’t get out here.” His frozen body returned to his control, and he dropped the mirror back onto the car seat, slammed the door, and backed away. He could hear it laughing muffled against the floor of the car, and Owen turned and sprinted off down the street as fast as he could, the sound chasing him until he turned a corner, panting and exhausted.

What the fuck was that? He had no idea what he’d just seen. It couldn’t have been real, could it? He peeked back around the corner, to the car with the busted mirrors, the driver door still wide open. They’d driven over here to begin with so they could end up back by the hotel after the crawl and avoid driving–it would take him close to an hour to walk back to the hotel on his own. Still, he wasn’t going anywhere near that car again, not if he could help it. He had his phone, wallet and keys at least, so there wasn’t anything to go back for. As far as he was concerned, he’d just call the police and report the car stolen–let the rental company deal with it–he just wanted to get back to the hotel and go to sleep, and hope all of this was just some strange hallucination.

The Morning After – Billy Part 3

“What the fuck is wrong with you today, man? Get a god damn move on.”

He tried to push it from his mind, and he climbed up into the truck, but for the rest of the shift, he stayed silent. Derek gave up after a few minutes, and resigned himself to a day of silence, wondering what in the world had gotten into Billy all of a sudden. Billy found himself checking his reflection in the side mirrors of the truck. Whenever he focused on it, he could recognize himself, but when he caught it at a glimpse, he’d whirl over like he’d just seen a stranger. Still, the more he worked with Derek, the more he got his hands dirty, he started to feel like the dream was fading somewhat, though the most unnerving fact–that he still didn’t have much memory of what was going on–remained constant. At nine, they parked the truck for a bit and went to a little cafe for coffee and a bite to eat. Derek ordered for them both, and came over to the table with a heavily sugared red eye for Billy, along with four pastries, and looking at it, he suddenly had a deja vu. He’d done this before, hadn’t he? Not this, exactly, but he’d eaten here before, lots to times, with Derek on their route…right?

“Alright, now what the hell’s the matter with you man? Ever since you blanked out earlier, you’ve been like a god damn stone.”

“Yeah…I don’t…I’m sorry, maybe I just had too much to drink last night.”

“Man, you have too much to drink every night. You were passed out drunk on the couch like usual.”

Billy looked at him. Had he been? He didn’t remember, but how would Derek even know that, anyway?”

“I’m just…a little out of sorts is all.”

He looked down, and saw that without realizing it, he’d already eaten one of the pastries Derek had bought for him, and had started on a second. He’d been talking with his mouthful the entire time. Either unwilling or unable to stop, he kept going, the two of them making small talk, though it was a bit difficult for Billy, because most of the time he had no idea what Derek was talking about. They got up from the table, and Billy adjusted his coveralls to better fit around his small paunch, and followed Derek back to the truck. “Look bro, I know you better than anyone. I can tell something’s up. What aren’t you telling me?”

Billy was quiet for a moment, and then tried to put the words together. What was wrong, even? Everything? Nothing? “Do you…look, maybe I should ask you…did we have sex in…in an alley, earlier today?”

“I think I would remember that,” Derek said with a laugh, “Is that your problem? You’re fuckin’ horny? Bro, you know we can take care of that back in the cab.” Derek came closer to him, pushing Billy up against the side of the truck. “You know big bro is always ready for his little bro, any time.”

Billy’s gut was pushing into Derek’s, not uncomfortably, but rather, like it was something he’d never felt before. In his dream, he’d been in decent shape–certainly not peak condition, but now, he could tell he was fatter. Then again, hadn’t he always been fat? “I-I mean…” fuck he was hard again. Derek leaned in before he could say anything else and started kissing him, and Billy was more than happy to return the affection.

“I think we can spare an extra few minutes for lunch, don’t you? I bet you want some dessert, right?”

Billy licked his lips, and got down on his knees. He realized, suddenly, that he’d done this before. Derek unzipped his coveralls and let his cock out of his briefs. He’d done this before, in the alley, he had, he knew he had, and he wanted it, he wanted to taste it again. He took the cock in his mouth, and he realized something else–he’d done this lots of times. He sucked his brother off all the time, right? He knew just where to nibble, just how hard to suck. Derek reached around and grabbed his hair, just like he had in the alley, just like he always did, and started shoving his cock down his throat. He’d gagged before (or had he not gagged in ages?) and just let his brother fuck him rough.

“Fat…Fat fuckin’ pig. Fuck,” Derek groaned, “Fuckin’ eat it!”

The cock in Billy’s mouth exploded, and he swallowed it all down, before hefting himself back up with a hand from his brother.

“Thanks bro, I’ve been horny all morning.”

“Even after our fuck earlier?”

Derek just looked at him, “What fuck earlier?”

“When…when you fucked me in the alley.”

“We never fucked in an alley today.”

Billy was certain he remembered Derek fucking him, but from the look in his brother’s eyes, he knew he wouldn’t believe him. He just shrugged and climbed back up into the cab.

The Morning After – Billy Part 2

What was he doing?

He was on his knees in the alley. Derek had his coveralls zipped down, revealing a grungy wifebeater and a pair of briefs no cleaner than the coveralls they both were wearing. Didn’t get to the laundromat very often, he’d said–it looked more like he just didn’t care about wearing clean clothes at all. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties–about the same age as Billy. There was a thick bush of hair poking out from the hole in the briefs with his cock, and he could see a thick matt of hair sticking out at the top of his chest too. Hiss head and face were shaved, but both had a few weeks, or maybe even just days, of stubble on them. His eyes were still looking at nothing in particular.

“Suck…it,” he said. Billy inched forward on his knees, took the cock in his mouth, and did as he was told. Derek stood there passively for a moment, before saying, “Not enough…fuck…” wrapped both hands around the back of Billy’s head and started thrusting deep down his throat.

Billy wrapped his hands around the Derek’s ass clutching him by the cheeks, hanging on and trying to breathe. Derek had him by the hair, and pulled him in deep, working his cock as far down as it would go. He couldn’t breathe, he was starting to gag, but he didn’t seem to care.

“Fuck…fuck yeah, man, fuck…”

He let Billy pull away, feeling him choke around his cock. It was by no means that big, but it was salty with sweat, with a grimy foreskin peeling away from the head, and Billy had never sucked a cock before. At least, he couldn’t remember ever sucking a cock before. Why was he doing this? Why couldn’t he stop? He looked up, Derek still had that strange, vacant look in his eyes. He wasn’t looking down at Billy, in fact, it seemed like he wasn’t looking anywhere at all. Did he even know what he was doing?

He started thrusting again, and Billy allowed him to fuck his face, trying to snag a breath here and there when he could. He’d been going for a few minutes now, and from the way he was huffing, it sounded like he was getting close, until suddenly, he stopped, and Billy pulled away, coughing. “No good…no–you’re a bad cocksucker.”

Billy coughed a moment more. He wanted to run, but he couldn’t move from where he was on his knees.

“Hand…and knees. Gonna fuck your hole instead.”

He couldn’t be serious. Billy tried to form the words to say no–instead his body shrugged off the coveralls, dropped them around his knees, and lowered himself further. Derek walked around behind him, got down, and without bothering to lube his hole, started pushing his cock inside. Billy groaned and shouted in pain; could nobody hear him? He looked towards the street in both directions, but there was no one to be seen. In fact, aside from the two of them, it seemed like the whole world was simply empty. Empty like…like he was. A moment in time, ripped free from everything surrounding it. No one else. No people. No animals. He imagined, that if he could break away and walk, he would find the shell of a city, everything staged for a play happening some other day, perhaps. A shell like him. No history except for what one could imagine, no place in it aside from what other people might allow for him, no one. No one.

Derek fucked him rhythmically. His ass had loosened somewhat. It still hurt, but he could bear it would yelling. Why didn’t he just cum? What was taking him so damn long?

“Talk…talk to…me. Talk dirty…” Derek grunted.

“Fuck me, of fuck yeah,” Billy said, “You dirty, ugly son of a bitch, fill me up with that nasty cum. Fill me up like an ugly whore. Fill me up, show me you’re a real man!”

He was going faster, getting closer.

“Yeah, that’s it. You like it dirty. You like smelling the trash around you, you like fucking like trash in an alley, fuckin’ turns you on, doesn’t it?”

“F-Fuck…”

“You’re gonna fuckin’ cum in me. You’re gonna seed my hole with as much filthy cum as you can pump into me, aren’t you?”

“F-uck…”

“Aren’t you? Come on man, fuckin’ give it to me!”

“Gonna…fuckin’…”

He felt it. It was hot, almost burning inside him. No. No, it was burning in him. It was like he was on fire, like something inside him was waking up and grinding back to life, like he was back, like he was alive–

“Hey. Hey!” Fingers snapped in his face. “You in there Billy?”

He shook his head. What…what had just happened to him?

“Come on man, let’s get a move on. We’re behind schedule,” Derek said, “Help me with these dumpsters.”

“S-Sorry,” he said. He looked around, and saw Derek getting the truck ready to lift the dumpsters in the alley…the alley he could have sworn he’d woken up naked in this morning. Or…or had that been a dream? What had he just seen?

“Come on, quit spacing out, we have a job to do, remember?”

Billy shook his head, and helped out. Somehow, he knew what he was doing, his hands moving to the right places before his mind knew why they were moving there. Nothing felt quite right, though. They got the dumpsters emptied, and they climbed back in the truck, Billy heading around to the passenger seat, but before he climbed in, he looked down at himself. He had on the coveralls he remembered Derek giving him, but now, instead of his co-worker’s name on the tag, it said Billy. He was wearing more than just the coveralls too–he had on a pair of heavy duty work boots and thick socks. He could feel a wifebeater under his coveralls, along with a pair of briefs. The image of Derek standing in front of him stood out to him then, and he felt his cock start hardening in his coveralls.

The Morning After – Billy Part 1

Always trying to fit into daddy’s shoes, daddy’s clothes, daddy’s life. Who even are you, Billy?

Billy tried to push himself awake from the dream, but it pushed back. Who was that, in the dark? Who was talking to him?

Who are you?

“I don’t know.”

Who do you want to be?

“I don’t know!”

He sat up suddenly, gasping for air. His head ached like he was in the middle of the worst hangover of his life. He sat up on the asphalt–the really god-damn cold asphalt. Where was he even? He looked around–it seemed like an alley somewhere downtown. He was hidden from view in sidewalk between two dumpsters…and he was naked. Completely naked. He looked around for clothing, and clothing, but there was nothing to be found around him; he peeked out around the dumpsters, but the alley was similarly devoid of anything that might be his. He stood up, being careful where he put his bare feet, and looked around. There was an unmarked door behind him–had he come out of there? He knocked, and then pounded, and when no one answered, he was almost thankful. What would they do, if they found some random guy in the back alley, naked, pounding on their door, asking for his clothes back? They’d call the police for sure. What in the hell was he going to do anyway? He couldn’t exactly just stay here all day–he was bound to be discovered at some point. But if he left, then what? He’d get arrested for sure. He was stuck.

It was just a bit past dawn. If he hurried, maybe he could get to somewhere that might have something he could wear. He should at least look around the alley a bit more, in case his stuff was somewhere nearby. What had he been wearing, anyway?

He couldn’t remember.

He couldn’t remember anything about the night before.

No…No, it was worse than that. He couldn’t remember anything about himself, either. Just a name. Billy…no, people just called him Billy, his name was William Jr., named after his father…right? At least, that made sense. But why would he remember that, and nothing else? He couldn’t remember his father either in any real detail. He couldn’t keep thinking about this, he couldn’t. He had to focus on finding something to wear, and then he could worry about…whatever was wrong with him.

He took one last glance down the alley in both directions, and then scampered around, looking in various nook and crannies nearby, but there wasn’t anything at all wearable, whether it was his or not. He was rummaging about when he heard the grumble around the corner, looked up like a rat, and saw the bright headlights of a trash truck bearing down on him.

“Fuck.”

There was nowhere to go, and nowhere to hide. He could see the man in the cab of the truck blinking at him, obviously confused, and Billy blushed red. The truck stopped, the door opened, and the man leaned out the window. “Rough night, eh man?”

What should he say? What should he do? “Y-Yeah, I suppose so.”

It would be so much easier to know if he was lying or not, if he could just remember what he’d been doing in the first place.

The garbage man opened the door and climbed down. “Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time I’ve found someone naked in the alleys around here. Lots of guys get too drunk and their friends abandon them around here as a prank.”

That did make sense…sort of. Assuming he’d been out with friends, of course. “Look…I’m just trying to find my clothes, but I haven’t found anything.”

“No worries man, I can help you look.”

Together, the two of them prowled the alley for about ten minutes, but neither of them found anything. The guy asked him what he’d been wearing the night before, and Billy bluffed. He had no idea what he’d been wearing, so he just said it had been jeans and a t-shirt. It didn’t really matter, because there wasn’t anything in the alley to wear at all.

“Well dang man,” the garbage man said, taking off his hat and scratching his messy, shoulder length hair. “Maybe they’re planning on coming back to find you?”

“I don’t know…maybe…”

“Well, I have something at least, though it’s kind of gross. I always keep an extra set of coveralls with me in the truck, and I just wear whichever one is cleaner. Problem is, I haven’t washed either of ‘em lately, so they’re both pretty nasty. Still, its better than nothing, right?”

Billy looked him up and down. The coveralls the guy had on already looked filthy, with a name tag peeling off that read, “Derek”–he wasn’t sure he wanted to see what the other pair looked like. Still, what choice did he have, really? “I mean, I guess that’ll have to do, right?”

Derek climbed back up into the cab, rummaged around for a moment, and returned with a crumpled ball of fabric, which he shook out into a pair of coveralls. It was a bit of a toss up to say which one was grimier–both were obviously supposed to green, but were more of a mottled brown. This one, had a name tag on it too. “Damn, when’s the last time you washed them?”

He shrugged, “I don’t get to the laundromat often. If you don’t want ‘em, you can be naked for all I care. You’ve already made me late, so do you want them or not? It’s better than being buck naked like you are now, right?”

That was a good point. He took the coveralls from them, tried to ignore how crispy they were in his hand, pulled them on and zipped up, careful of his cock, but as soon as the zipper hit his neck, it was like some strange shock ran through him, and he looked at Derek, who looked at him back. His eyes were vacant, like he wasn’t quite aware of what was going on around him, one hand pawing at his crotch.

“Get…on your knees.”