BOXES
by Jack Speer
So you need to know right from the beginning that I’m not supposed to be writing this. What I mean is that I shouldn’t be able to do it. Nobody is watching me or actively preventing me. Not at the moment, anyway. That sounds a little strange I admit, but sometimes when I’m alone there are gaps in time that allow me a small amount of control over myself. When that happens I try to boot up the computer and write my thoughts. You really need to know. You might want it to happen to you. Most of what follows is true. The mechanical parts aren’t, of course, but the rest is really really true or my name isn’t…my name isn’t…what the hell is my name? I used to know what my name was. Oh, fuck.
Please understand that it’s really difficult for me to walk over to the computer and sit down and type. There’s a resistance that’s hard to fight. It’s there all the time. I haven’t been able to freely control what I do since the boxes were delivered even if I try real hard.
It’s getting harder to type now. I mean right now. I tried yesterday, but it wouldn’t let me at all. Today is better, but I feel myself slipping away already—losing control. I’m getting ahead of myself with the story. I should start over and try to tell you what happened first. Not today. No time. I’m losing it. Can only do
Two weeks. It’s been two weeks since the last writing. I don’t know what the date is, so I track things by weekends because that’s when I’m used most often. The day after the first entry I tried to… dammit I’m losing it again. Fuck this shi
It was only one week this time. I was cut short and it sucks. Sorry about that. This has got to be started while I have free time. I’ll fill you in on the details later, maybe. I need time.
Lycra was my thing. I loved wiggling into tights, leotards, superhero costumes and anything that was tight and stretchy. It felt great and was always a turn-on. When I attended a comic convention several years ago I joined a small group that liked to act out our fantasies in costume. We had great times and things were going really well for me until the accident.
I got hit by a bus. It was one of those stupid things that shouldn’t have happened but it did. Winter in New York can be invigorating. You don’t have to shovel snow because the city does it for you. Blizzards and power outages are someone else’s problem. For some reason I always found it more invigorating to slip into tights in the winter. It was a good excuse to wear a unitard under my work clothes and I usually did. Anyway I was running to catch a bus and slipped on a patch of ice. I slid under its wheels and that was the end of a lot of things for me. My legs should have been crushed to powder, but because of a buildup of ice and snow on the street and the fact that I slid into a good sized pothole gave me a little extra margin. The bus rolled over me pretty quickly and my legs were only broken in six places.
Insurance and litigation paid for my recovery but, oh shit…I’m losing it agai
Fucking computer takes forever to boot up. I lose a lot of time when I could be typ
I keep bouncing in and out of control. It’s been three weeks. The boys use me a lot and have been coming even during week days and nights. It’s
Not much time. I have to hurry today. I was writing about the accident.
I used to be really ripped. My workout schedule used to be six days a week and no lie about that. Between my diet and my exercise I was built like a Greek statue. When I wore my costumes I looked like everyone’s favorite superhero. After the accident I swelled up like a Thanksgiving Day balloon at the Macy’s parade. My popularity went south and so did I.
It took me a year to learn to walk again and another two years before I could totter down the street with a walker. You know the kind the old people use? I even had the ugly tennis balls on the bottom supports. Before I knew it I was thirty-three years old and sixty pounds overweight. Friendless, I left New York City and moved to St. Petersburg Florida so I could be at home with all the other invalids. My life was over except that I was still breathing.
It’s easier this time. I know when to stop. I can shut down normally. Later.
One of the men who came to me yesterday was Randy. I knew him in the old life back when I was younger and stronger and prettier. We met at the YMCA where he played Ping Pong every Saturday night for a couple hours. Where was that? Charleston I think. That was before I moved to New York. I lost track of him when I went into my accident funk and moved to Florida. Randy, sweet Randy, was here yesterday.
I wanted to talk to him, but I wasn’t myself. Couldn’t do anything on my own except…damn I can’t it doing m
When the first box came my life changed. I’d ordered what I thought was a new pair of tights from a New York dancewear shop. That was my life in those days, all alone and masturbating in my tights. The paper inside the box said it wasn’t lycra and it wasn’t rubber. It explained that what I was about to experience was a new high tech nanite fiber that would completely change the market. The item came free of charge and all that was required of me was an impartial review of my experience with it. The return address was an organization called Service Group 16 except that when I tried to Google it or contact them again they’d just vanished into thin air. Weird. The thing was clearly experimental and when I opened the shoe-box sized package and ripped open the foil envelope that contained it, I found what looked like a giant white condom.
There were no instructions in the box other than the letter of introduction. All it said was that I’d be contacted after I put it on. How would they—whoever they were—know that? Some joke, I thought.
Lycra has a special kind of aroma when its’ new. I love the smell of the material. It means happy times and fun stuff to wear. Condoms have a kind of smell too, but the big one I was holding in my hand had a different kind of odor. It was a little like lycra and sweat and alcohol and something else that just went straight to my head. I became immediately drunk with anticipation of something foreign and alien. The scent of the thing literally drew me into it. I got a little dizzy and couldn’t wait to try it on. It was like some sort of Lycra rubber Zombie drug except that I was hooked before the first hit.
I peeled off my clothing and stuck one of my feet into it. It sank into the thing in slow motion and came out the other side looking completely different. I flopped down on the floor and stuck my other foot inside. My left foot came out looking different too. Both feet looked familiar, but were coated in some sort of stretchy pearlescent stuff that made my feet look like plastic dolls feet. When I wiggled them I could feel the stuff stretching against my skin. It felt really good, like two or three layers of lycra tights. Know what I mean?
As I pulled the big condom up to my knees, the legs that came out the other side were different. I could feel them just fine and I could move them as easily as normal, but they were different. When I gained weight my calves had become fat, but the legs that were coated in the pearly white stuff were slim muscular and youthful. I stood up and pulled the condom up to my waist and in the process got the greatest rush of my life.
It was as though the stuff suddenly assumed a life of its own. It started to move by itself and it started to dress itself onto me. The two parts that covered my legs came together at the crotch and began sucking me in. It was more like falling into a pair of tights rather than pulling them on.
My thighs had been quite beefy going in, but when they came out covered in white they were all lean and very shapely. They looked better than they had when I was killing myself in the gym. The condom thing unrolled itself upward along my body. I stood there helpless and not a little aghast at what was happening to me. It engulfed my junk and as it did so I felt every square inch of me being stroked and petted and sucked. I lost control of my legs and my will power at the same time. I gave into it and let it have me.
The urge to thrust and cum overcame me as I saw a stiff white shaft fully two inches longer than my own penis form out of the creeping white mass that was covering my crotch. Testicles were there too, but larger and fuller in size and power than the ones that had passed into the great condom. The right one was fully developed and completely normal, while my own right testicle had been crushed in the accident. I couldn’t help myself. The urge was too great to resist. The power of it was too delicious and too restraining all at the same time. I wanted to thrust and ejaculate with everything I had, but it wouldn’t let me. I wanted to, God knows I did, but I couldn’t. It held me on the very edge of wetness and wouldn’t let me go. It was tension and pleasure and torture all at the same time.
The mass continued to unroll upwards along my belly until something like empty gloves appeared dangling out underneath it. I had to put my hands in there. I had to do it.
It was like having ten cocks, all of them being stroked and fondled at the same time. If it was possible to swoon and faint from the pleasure of it all, I might have. My legs were still holding me up. I remember wondering where the strength to stand came from because all of my own seemed to have leaked away. I didn’t know it at the time, but my legs were already lost to it. They weren’t mine any more. One of the last sights I had of my old body was watching that fat blob of a belly disappear into the unrolling white substance as it curled its way up to my chest.
I looked down and saw an ugly fat slob melt into the slow moving white rubbery stuff. Below it the sculpted six pack of a well-endowed young male was revealed. Above it the flabby out of shape body of a thirty-seven year old cripple was literally melting into the advancing white mass. The stuff unrolled upward engulfing my arms and crossing over my chest and shoulders. It closed on my neck and I could feel my whole body stand at attention like a new-born rubber doll. I couldn’t move any part of it on my own.
Several new things happened at the same time. While the stuff was oozing itself up the trunk of my body and engulfing my hands and arms it was also creeping into my ass. It was slow at first, but steadily worked its way inside. When it began I could feel it massaging itself across the cheeks of my ass. It felt really good, but when it finally surged inside, the sensation caused me to open my mouth and gasp for air. At the same time, it had been working its way up my throat over my chin and across my lips. When I opened my mouth to gasp, it forced itself into my mouth across my tongue and down my throat. It was like swallowing a huge plastic hose. The stuff went into my nose and I panicked when it became hard to breathe. My gag reflex kicked in as it leaked down inside my throat and I remember losing my vision as it closed over my head and into my eyes. I couldn’t breathe and everything went black.
I’ve done a lot of writing today. I wonder why I was allowed to do that. Nobody is here and nobody is visiting today that I know about. Everything is very peaceful and quiet and I’m glad I wrote this down. I’m feeling very good and very tired too. I hope somebody reads this someday. Suddenly I’m so tired I can’t keep going. I’ve got to shut down and try later. Bye for now.
I have a minute. Just a minute. I looked over all the stuff I wrote the other day and can’t believe it happened to me. It did, though. You’ve got to belie
Can’t keep doing this. So tired I can’t keep fighting the urge to stop. Somebody coming, can’t do any mor
Randy was here yesterday. It was so good to be with him. I just wish I could have said something, but the suit wouldn’t let me tell him how much I lov
Randy was here again. The suit fights me when I try to say something, but if I cooperate and do more to make him feel good maybe, just maybe I can get a word out to s
I’m back in New York again. Did I write that part? Don’t remember and don’t have time to go over what I wrote before. I think I wrote about getting into the suit, but it was the suit that really got into me wasn’t it? If I hadn’t put the thing on I m
It stops me sometimes and makes me write other times even when nobody is around. I don’t know why it does that. I know it’s the suit doing that, but how can
Maybe I should stop writing about what the suit is doing and tell what happened when the second box arrived. Yes, it’s making me feel good now. This is a good idea, yes it is.
I woke up standing in front of a full-length mirror fully enveloped in the suit or whatever-it-was. The reflection that peered back at me was one of a ripped well-hung fifteen-year old boy who was naked as a museum statue. He was albino white with piercing blue eyes and entirely hairless except for a head full of blonde curls. The fat crippled slob that had been me was gone. What I saw was a physically perfect youth. I got an instant boner from staring at myself in the mirror. The kid was perfect and I fell in love with him—with my own reflection—with me. Right there and right then I didn’t care what had happened to me. God, I was gorgeous! Was it the suit or me in the suit? It didn’t really matter anymore. What did matter was that I wasn’t my own man any more. I belonged to the suit, but who did the suit belong to?
My cell phone rang. I ran out to the other room and foraged through the pile of clothing I’d tossed onto the floor. I hadn’t been able to run for years. It was great. None of that baggy clothing would ever fit me again, thank God. I picked up the phone and accepted the call. I remember hearing a strange buzzing noise that went through my head like a nail. It made me feel dizzy and really tired. Everything went gray and fuzzy around the edges. I dropped the phone and just stood there without moving or thinking. It might have been five minutes or it might have been five hours. I just stood there with a blank mind staring at the wall.
A ringing doorbell brought me to my senses and I moved across the room to answer it. I was stark naked, but that didn’t matter to me at all. I opened the door and two men came inside pushing a large wooden box on a dolly. One of them looked at me, smiled and said, “hey sweet thing, time to go for a ride.”
The other man wore a ring of glowing red metal that mesmerized me as though it had a direct internet connection to my brain. The first time I saw it I knew it owned me. I could feel it working its way into my mind and I loved the sensation. I gave myself to it willingly and it took me.
The ring turned me on. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. It was beautiful. I started breathing heavily and I felt a swelling between my legs. The ring filled my mind forcing me to stand as still as a statue. It was my first experience under its control and all I wanted was to be told to do something. I was hungry and thirsty to do something, but I didn’t know what I should do. I was so eager. I wanted to do something. Nothing mattered except the ring and I waited for it to speak to me, to tell me to do something. I wanted to do something. I had to. I was so hot that pre-cum started dripping out of my penis. I wanted to do something so bad. I wanted to do something. I can’t tell you how bad I wanted to do something. It was heavy bad.
The men moved the box to the center of the room and sat it down on the floor. The thing had hinges on one side and the man who had spoken to me worked at it until it swung open like a door. Inside was a small padded seat with straps and buckles attached to the inside walls of the box. Both men stood to one side as the man with the red ring told me to go inside and sit down.
At last! At last! I had something to do! The ring told me what to do! I sprang forward as though I was a little kid grasping for candy. The ring had filled my mind and body and I obeyed instantly—joyfully. It was everything to me, all I ever wanted. It was a command and I was so happy. My every wish and desire was to enter the box and sit on the little seat. It was the thing I wanted to do most in my life. It was great! I made myself comfortable and took a deep breath as one of the men began to fasten the straps across my body. I was happy, so happy.
One heavy padded strap was cinched across my waist at the pelvis and the other under my armpits across my chest. Taken together their effect was to fasten me to the back wall of the box. A smaller elastic strap was stretched across my forehead and held my head immobile in a foam cradle. I couldn’t move it if I tried. The process of being strapped into the box felt wonderful. The ring flashed red and I smiled with arousal. It was so much fun!
My box was actually a wooden shipping container marked on the outside as Fragile Artistic Sculpture—this end up. It was just tall enough to accommodate me in a sitting position and just wide enough for my arms to be fastened to its side walls. One strap attached each arm at the elbow and another at the wrist. The man with the red ring stood outside with a video camera as his friend tied me in.
The ring man spoke happy words and the ring glowed deep red. I looked into it and was a happy camper. I had no idea what they were doing to me or why, but I liked it. They were my friends. The ring told me so.
The leg straps pinned my legs and feet against the side walls—one just below each knee and one around each ankle. The ring told me I’d been attached to the box nice and tight so that I wouldn’t be damaged in transit. I was going on a little trip inside my box. It made me so happy to be trussed up like that I laughed with glee. I couldn’t move.
The man who had fastened me into the crate stepped back and held the door as though he were about to close me in. The man with the ring whispered one more command. He told me I was very tired and that I would sleep for a long time. He told me that I would not awaken again until the ring called me. Then he let me cum.
I spewed and sprayed and tried to thrust against the binding at my waist. I couldn’t move of course, but it felt so good to try. Exhausted happy and fuzzy with a warm after-glow I watched a dark shadow slowly descend across my field of vision. The shutters of my eyes closed and darkness took me.
I’m supposed to stop now for a while. Can’t continu
They made a video of what happened that day and showed it to me after I arrived in New York. Well it wasn’t actually the city, it was just upstate about—I can’t. must go now I ca
It’s been a whole month this time. I didn’t think I’d be allowed to tell more of the story, but here goes. Where was I before? Oh yes, they shot a video.
The video started with a shot of my backside as I walked across the room and entered the shipping crate. I had a blank expression on my face and a stupid grin. Did I look like that all the time? Oh yes, I had a raging hard-on too. That was kind of hard to miss.
I watched on TV as the video showed a man fastening straps across my waist and chest. The fact that my nude body was being prepared for shipment like a piece of furniture was a bit surreal. My arms and legs were attached to the walls and I watched as I ejaculated.
My head had been fastened to the back wall of the crate. As a consequence, the only change in my appearance was the closing of my eyes. Nothing else seemed to be any different. My body didn’t move at all.
The man with the ring told his partner that I was out and began helping with final packaging. He put the ring in an envelope and taped it to the floor under my little seat. They stretched a sheet of heavy plastic over the opening and my sleeping body became an indistinct shadow inside the box. When all the plastic was taped on, the hinged door was closed and secured with several screws. A shipping label had already been placed on the crate and the last chapter of my life in Florida ended with a gentle hand truck ride to a waiting delivery van. It was hard to believe that a live person was inside that thing.
Somebody was waiting for the box in New York because the next video segment showed the crate being wheeled up a driveway into a house. A man signed for it and the delivery truck lumbered away down the street. The picture flopped unsteadily back and forth as the man fastened the camera onto a tripod.
When the picture steadied itself it revealed the man working on the door screws. They were unfastened and the panel was swung open. The heavy plastic was torn off in a moment and the man stood back to appreciate what he saw inside—me.
Something was a little different about the image, though. I couldn’t quite figure it out until I realized my body wasn’t breathing. The video of me in the box in Florida clearly showed heavy breathing. As I studied the high definition display I could see everything in great detail. I could have counted the lashes on my closed eyes if I’d wanted to. Throughout the entire procedure of removing the plastic and the owner’s souvenir photo shoot of me strapped inside the box I had a lot of time to observe my body in there. It’s true. I wasn’t breathing at all. Why? I don’t know why I di
I’m allowed to type today. It’s a good thing. I haven’t been able to do that for a long time. Many weekends have passed since the last time. The thing is I can’t get the idea of breathing out of my mind. Since then I’ve noticed that I don’t usually do that anymore. Breathing I mean. I do when company comes and sometimes I breath heavily when I’m stimulated, but most of the time I don’t seem to need to do it at all.
I used to breathe before I went into the box in Florida, but I don’t breathe now. What happened in between? Did something change? Did somebody do something to me? Wha
I get cut off when I write something I’m not supposed to write. I think that’s what’s happening. Why can’t I wri
I wrote about breathing. I am happy to write to you about my breathing changes. Once I did and now I don’t. When they put me in the box they must have taken me to a place where they fixed me. It’s not a big deal, really. I can still do what I’m told to do. My body feels wonderful and I look way better than I ever did before. Whatever they did to me made me a better boy. It makes me happy to tell you that. I am a happy better person now. I live to serve.
I don’t eat either, did I tell you that? I used to love to eat. I ate everything all the time and sometimes I wonder if I should do it agai
I need to write about the unpacking video. That’s important for you to know. I am happy to write this to you all the time. It is a good thing—watch.
The man in the video took several snapshots of me while I was still fastened inside the box. He took the ring out of the envelope under my seat, put it on his finger and told me to wake up. Nothing seemed to happen except that my eyes fluttered a little and opened. He asked me if I was awake.
I remember rising out of a deep dark comfortable place and I remember seeing that wonderful ring again. It was good to open my eyes and see the ring. I loved the ring. My penis popped up hard as wood. I wanted to do what it told me to do. I wanted that so much. I was always happy when I was told what to do. I smiled and said yes—I was awake.
Following the printed directions he’d received earlier, the man released my legs and feet first. Each arm and wrist was carefully released and allowed to rest in my lap. He untied my head restraint, but since I was awake my head didn’t flop around. The directions were clear about the sequence of release. He untied the straps around my chest and waist and I just sat there in my little box just as happy and content as when I was told to sit inside.
I remember all of that as clearly as though it just happened. I don’t know why I liked it so much, but after all I was in the suit and the suit was
There’s something about the ring. I think about it when I don’t have anything to do. I dream about it. It’s the first thing I think about when my eyes open and the last thing I think about when my eyes close. The ring is beautiful, more beautiful than anything I know. Sometimes it’s fiery red and sometimes it’s a dull glow. Either way it draws me. I love the ring. It means everything to me. When the ring wants me to do something it’s the most wonderful sensation in the world. I’m glad to do it. I rejoice in doing it. Anything I can do for the ring is a pleasure and a privilege. I need to do what it tells me. It’s great.
There are times when other men wear the ring. When they do they ask me to do things to make them happy. It is fun. It isn’t the men, you know, it’s the ring. When a ring wearer asks me to do something it makes me happy and sometimes turns me on, not that I need it. Sometimes I think I’m always horny. It goes with the territory I guess, with the suit.
I wonder why I’m so attracted to th
I tried to read over what I’ve written here but get stopped. My words at first don’t seem to comprehend how wonderful and perfect my situation is. For example, a man came to visit last night. He was sad and my new owner gave him the ring to wear for a while.
He asked me to sit on his lap. It was a terrific idea and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself. I was nude of course and he liked that too. So did I. He told me so as he began to stroke my legs and arms. I was glad it made him happy. I got an erection and I think that made him even happier because he started breathing fast and heavy too. He started stroking my cock and that felt wonderful. I told him not to stop and then he did something strange. He told me to go to sleep. The ring glowed and I got real tired right away. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. He stroked my cheek and kissed me on the mouth. I tried to kiss him back, but I was too tired. I fell asleep sitting in his lap with my head resting on his shoulder. When I woke up his fluid was in my mouth and he was gone. I felt sad because I wanted to say goodbye. He was a nice man.
There were other nice men. I always greeted them in the nude because that seemed to make them smile right away. Sometimes my master would make me dress up in a special costume for his guests. There were times when I was a superhero like Superboy or Spiderman and there were times when I just wore tights and a leotard.
But I never saw Randy again. I wonder why I coul
One night my left leg stopped working. I don’t know what happened. It just wouldn’t work anymore. My master was very apologetic even though his guest was angry. When he left Master scooped me up in his arms and laid me on a table in the back room. He told me to sleep and I smiled and nodded off. My last thoughts were of the ring and how happy I was when it told me to do something.
I don’t know how long I slept, but when I was asked to wake up there were two men in white lab coats standing next to the table. They ran tests with the ring. Everything was nominal they said—except my leg. I don’t know what that meant—nominal.
One of the men took out a long evil looking black cable from a suitcase he’d brought in. He set the suitcase up on a smaller table next to the one I lay on and plugged it into the power socket in the wall. The man plugged one end of the black cable into the side of the suitcase and then whispered in my ear. He said something about releasing the diagnostic port. I didn’t know what he meant because I’d never heard of that before. Something in my stomach started to hurt and when I looked down at my belly an area around my naval popped open like a little door. I saw things inside me that I don’t understand. There were wires and tubes full of liquid and tiny blinking lights and a big black socket in the middle of all of it. I felt an electric shock when the man plugged the end of the black cable into the socket in my belly.
Strong tingling sensations spread all over my body and they didn’t feel good. Sometimes I wanted to get up and run, but couldn’t. Sometimes I felt like sleeping, and did. One of the men in lab coats said I needed a recharge. I didn’t know what that meant, but he threw a switch in his suitcase and I felt a series of shocks deep inside. It hurt too. I don’t know why they were hurting me.
The cable thing stung with a constant electric shock, but I couldn’t move to stop it or pull it out. Something inside felt warm, though. Something inside me was growing, like the fullness I used to get in my stomach after a meal. I remembered that from long ago. I used to eat. Food I mean. I used to eat food, didn’t I? It’s hard to remember. One of the men in lab coats asked me if I was charging and I spoke a number. I think it was fifty-one percent. I don’t know why I said that or what it meant. He smiled and patted me on my head. Was that a good thing? I hope so.
Sometimes my arms would twitch and sometimes my right leg would twitch. I opened my mouth and spoke technical things I didn’t understand. They forced me an erection. Most of the time one thing or another would cause me to get one. Not that time. A man flipped switches in his suitcase and I just popped out. They forced me an ejaculation too. There wasn’t any stimulation of any kind, not even a nice compliment. Somebody flipped another switch and I pumped fluid like a vending machine spitting coffee. It didn’t even feel good, that was the pity of it all. It just happened. The lab coat men measured the fluid, took some readings from their instruments and then poured a huge container of fluid into my mouth through a hose. I gagged and swallowed nearly two gallons of the stuff. It was strange because I could actually feel the fluid filling spaces in my crotch in and around my balls. Everything worked fine except my left leg, which they proceeded to remove.
The cable attached to my belly was hurting and I told them so. They said nothing was wrong, but it kept hurting. I couldn’t move to stop it. I even wanted to get up and run away, but my body just didn’t work at all any more. I couldn’t see what was happening either, but I heard clicking noises and felt cold liquid seeping down my left leg.
When I heard a loud snap I couldn’t feel my leg any more. Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the men carrying it across the room where it was placed in a metal box. I couldn’t feel my leg and my hip began to throb with a peculiar soreness. When I told them about that my master came over with his ring and made me go to sleep. I sighed deeply, the pain went away and I closed my eyes.
Hours later, or maybe days or maybe weeks I don’t know—I was called to awaken. I never know how much time goes by when they do that. I woke up and everything was the way it was before. My belly hurt even more than it had before and my hip was still sore. I think I cried. Master brought the ring and made the pain stop.
It was dark outside the windows. When the men in lab coats had arrived it was daytime. One of them picked up the box where they’d put my leg and broke a red seal around the edge of it. The box opened and they took my leg out. It looked just as it had before except that I could see a few wires and small hoses sticking out the top of it—where it fits into my hip. A few minutes later there was a loud snap and I suddenly felt my leg again. The men ran their tests and this time everything worked, even my left leg. It was just as if nothing had happened at all.
One of the men told my master to let me run free. The ring glowed and I felt as though I could do anything I wanted. I looked down at my belly and watched them remove the cable. The skin closed over the opening all by itself. Feeling as wholesome and healthy as ever I hopped off the table and ran to the bedroom where I knew I’d find a full-length mirror. The naked boy that stood there looked the same as the one I’d seen a hundred times before. I knew I was well again and so happy to be free that I ran back and kissed all the men and rubbed their crotches until they smiled.
After they left the house my master asked how I felt. I told him I felt wonderful and good and new again. I was so glad my leg worked I kissed him on the mouth and gave him a big hug. He told me that they performed a few other adjustments to make me happy. I didn’t know what that meant. He asked me if I knew a boy named Randy and I said I’d never heard of anybody with that name. Was he a new friend? He asked if I remembered anything about a bus accident or Florida and I confessed I didn’t know anything about that either. He asked what I could tell him about breathing or eating and my mind drew a blank. Were those things important? He said they weren’t any more and that I shouldn’t concern myself with those silly things. I smiled. Master was right as always. I did remember the day I stepped into the giant condom. It was the best day of my life. I was better after that, a lot better.
It’s been fun writing to you. I’m supposed to stop now. Bye.
So I want you to know I won’t be writing any more. I feel fine and my systems are nominal. I still don’t know what that means, but its good right? If anything goes wrong you’ll know I have a gentle master and good technicians to fix me again. (Except for that damn black cable inside my belly, I hate that thing.) And I’ve got a beautiful fifteen-year old body that’s been wonderful to live in for the past twenty-five years. I love being me and sometimes other people say they envy me. They also say they wouldn’t have the courage to go through the reengineering as I did. I don’t know what that means, but I always smile as if I did.
One day my master will have a fifteen-year old body too. He told me so the other day. He said he wants to go through the reengineering just like me. I told him I didn’t know what that meant, but I was sure it would be fun. He said he’d seen what it did for me and he wants it for himself. I think he’s sick because he’s very thin and doesn’t have much energy any more. He doesn’t like to play with me as much as he used to do and company doesn’t come to visit any more. A lot of master’s friends have died, but I didn’t know what it means to die. He cried when I asked him about it. Is it fun to die?
He dressed me in regular boy’s clothing and began taking me with him on errands outside. I don’t know why I had to wear boy clothing when everybody says I really look good naked. He let me wear tights for our last trip to the mall. That was so fun.
Master made me wear something underneath called a dance belt, so I put one on. It felt really good, especially the thong part that snugged up through my ass. The dance belt was supposed to hide my penis, but it gave me an erection instead. It really felt good to wear it. You could see my bulge pretty easily. Next I pulled on a pair of black running tights. It was a little like putting on the giant white condom except that I had to do all the work. I dressed my feet in a pair of white ankle socks and a new pair of black skate shoes, the kind with white laces and a white edge all around. Master gave me a short sleeve polo shirt to wear. It had red and black stripes and a white collar and I let it drape over the outside of the waist of my tights. After I was dressed I looked at myself in the mirror, but the ring wouldn’t let me cum. I wanted too, though. I was so fucking cute.
We walked around the mall and when people stared at me I smiled. It was lots of fun. Sometimes another pretty boy would tap me on my ass when we passed each other. Some of them wore tights too, but the ring would make me ignore them. It wouldn’t let me get an erection for them even if I saw they had one for me. I’m a good boy for my master. I always will be. I help him with his medication and I cook his meals and I take care of him. The ring tells me when to do it and I love all of my work. Most nights Master will make me sit on his lap in front of the TV until he falls asleep. I’ll carry him to bed and kiss him good night. Every few weeks we’ll get out the old video of the time I was strapped into the crate. I’ll get hard and Master will jerk me off. I like that.
Master will be going to the factory soon. Some men came the other day to interview him and to make a digital copy of his mental engrams, whatever those are. He said we would be brothers soon. I was happy and we made love that night. I did it free—no ring that time. Will we still live together when master and I are brothers or will he find another home? I am happy about that. The thought gives me a boner. Most thoughts do. It’s a wonderful thing to be me. I don’t want you to worry. I’m happy now. You should be like me. It’s great.
Master left this morning in an ambulance and I can see two men through the front window. They are bringing a large shipping crate up the walk toward the door. I’m getting an erection because I think they’re going to fasten me into a box again. Don’t worry, I’m fin