The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Walking Sideways

Chapter 2

Consciousness returned slowly, as the room lit up from the morning. I couldn’t bring myself to wake fully up yet—I didn’t really want to remember the events of the previous day—so I allowed myself to drift in and out of sleep for a while. The windows were open and a breeze played along my body familiarly. Had I opened the windows? Had I opened the windows? I couldn’t trust anything anymore. My mind was playing with my body without me being around, and absolutely nothing made sense any more.

I had sucked a cock.

The events of the previous day came back unbidden eventually, after I couldn’t bring myself to sleep any longer. I wasn’t gay, and yet last night I had been on my knees, sucking on my driver’s cock. I had called him, and I had no memory of doing so. I had beckoned him into my shower and at some point had sunk to my knees to give head, and I had no memory of the events. It didn’t make sense. None of it made any sense. I couldn’t explain how I had gotten into the shower with Wayne, and I couldn’t explain my rock-hard, leaking cock after I’d come back to my senses and felt violated. I couldn’t make out what was me and what wasn’t.

Whatever was wrong with me, I couldn’t just lay in bed and obsess about it, but I couldn’t do much else for three days, either. And even after a trip to Seattle to have my brain examined, it would still be days for the results to get in. I’d have to make arrangements to stay in Seattle while the lab results came in, and I didn’t know anyone there so I’d have to get a hotel. But given my current condition, how could I be sure that I would stay in the hotel room and not be found walking the streets of the city, bare-assed naked...or worse?

All the plans of the previous day for the week ahead were shot. I couldn’t paint the exterior, and I couldn’t do much indoors either than unpack, and that just did not appeal. I’d have to navigate the stairs—I couldn’t just stay in my room. If I could get down the stairs without blacking out, then I could get to the kitchen. So I guess I had step one for the day ready: Coffee.

I pulled myself up off the bed and straightened up the comforter mechanically, then walked into the bathroom and got the dirty sweats and briefs from the previous day and carried them to the washer down the hall. After I’d started the load, I leaned against the washer, naked, for a moment and held my head in my hands. I felt around a bit for any bumps that might have grown after the visit to the clinic the day before when Dr. Hollinger had looked for any bumps, and I still didn’t find any. There wasn’t an external, obvious reason for what was going on.

Recalling that I’d wound up downtown in nothing but boxer briefs the day before, I decided to overcompensate a bit and get fully dressed today. At least if I got caught somewhere I had no memory of arriving at, I’d be clothed. I selected a button-down shirt, some slacks, and a nearly frumpy set of white Haines briefs and headed for the bathroom to get ready for the day. I may not see anyone today, but I’d be ready for it if I did.

The bathroom was small for a master bathroom, because the vanity and walk-in closet were beside it and it only needed to hold the sink, the toilet, and the shower stall. A skylight in the ceiling prevented me from having to turn on any lights—gotta love the energy-conscious Northwest, even in old homes—and the window over the toilet was wide open, allowing the breeze into the bathroom as well. I leaned over the sink and turned on the water, letting it get warm while I brushed my teeth.

After the water was warm, I turned it to cold for a moment, rinsed my mouth out, and then set it back to hot and started to examine myself in the mirror for my shave. With my black hair, I almost always had a five-o’clock-shadow, and with the panic of the night before, I was well on the way to stubble by now. I had classic Greek features—high, straight and long nose, full pink lips, and a prominent chin. Dimples framed my mouth that girls usually loved when I smiled. I had had a string of aunts as a kid pinching those cheeks and remarking on what a handsome man I would be. It annoyed me at the time, but I had to admit, I was grateful for the dimples now.

As I ran the razor over my jaw and paid close attention—I didn’t want to suddenly come out of another black-out with blood running everywhere—I made sure I was smooth before I rinsed off. With the stubble off, my high cheekbones showed well. I stared into my eyes and could see the worry there. I hoped it wasn’t a permanent condition. My eyebrows swept back from my dark brown eyes, framing them well. I could see why Wayne wanted me, I supposed. Why I’d offered myself to him though, I still couldn’t make out.

I was naturally fairly hairy, at least under the arms and on my chest. I was most proud of my pectorals, as they formed two distinct half-globes on my chest, with the nipples pointing downwards and permanently erect. My collarbone showed fairly prominently—more than I would like, actually—but I had good trapezius muscles and it made a nice diamond shape around my upper body, though not as amazing as Wayne’s had been. My abdomen had the hints of a six-pack, but I’d never paid as much attention to it when training, so most of my definition was from my thinness, and the hair on my chest hid it in part anyway. My waist tapered sharply to my genitals, which always looked great when I wore low-rise jeans.

I teased my hair up a bit, spreading some mousse into them so I could get the medium-length black hair into some semblance of order. My ears poked out at a larger angle than I’d like from it, but I’d never been called Dumbo. Overall, I was pretty pleased with my look, but standing in the bathroom admiring myself wouldn’t keep the tone for long.

I ran my hands over my hair one more time to give it a natural look and started to dress. I pulled up the briefs, and then the slacks, and grabbed the shirt to put it on...

And I was standing naked, back in front of the mirror in the bathroom, with a razor in my hand and a long swath of my chest hair in my hand. There hadn’t been a bright light or water to obscure my vision this time. It was simply that one moment I was nearly dressed, and the next I was back in front of the mirror with the pale skin of my chest showing where the razor’s path had walked.

I jumped back from the mirror with a yell. This time I could see just how wide my eyes were—I did not have any warning about this at all. I couldn’t even see my clothes in the bathroom, so I ran into the bedroom. They weren’t on the bed or the floor, either. I jumped into the closet and there they were, neatly on their hangers again. This had no rhyme or reason!

I gritted my teeth. I was damned if I would let my body betray me like this. I reached for the hanger with my slacks on it and...

I was back in front of the mirror, naked still, with another diagonal swath of the razor planting an “X” across my chest, and my hand full of hair again. I admit it, I screamed like a little girl. I didn’t know how to stop this! I shakily put a hand up to my chest and...

Ran it across a completely shaved chest. The razor was sitting on the sink now, and I had no hair on my hands, this time. I couldn’t see any in the sink there, in the split second I took in my panic to look for it. Some part of me wanted to find the hair so I could put it back on me. I liked my chest hair! It was silky smooth and I loved it when my girlfriends ran their hands through it.

Nobody would be running their hands through my chest hair now, though. I was completely smooth. I ran my hands over my chest and couldn’t tell I’d ever had hair there. I was completely smooth all the way down to my pubes. I was so tense, my muscles stood out, this time in stark contrast as there was no hair to obscure them. I looked like I’d lost about 10 years I didn’t want to lose, too, with the starkness of the hairless skin. My body looked young, fresh out of adolescence. I lifted my arms to see if my body had decided to shave my pits too, and it had. I could count my ribs in my side, I noticed distractedly. One, two, three, four, five. Wayne had said I looked like a gymnast, and now I really did. A 20-year-old gymnast, with toned muscles and smooth, hairless skin to show them off. I hadn’t wanted this!

I admit that I pulled up the lid of the toilet seat to see if the hair was there, checked the sink bottom, and checked the shower drain, but it was just disappeared, as if it’d never been there. There wasn’t even a flake of it on the floor. And I was still naked, now more than ever without the hair.

The one thing I didn’t notice at the time, and only recalled later, was that my cock was rock hard and leaking the entire time this was going on.

I was panting by now, hyperventilating, and all I could think of was how I needed to cover up these developments before something else happened to my body. I ran back into the closet and grabbed the hanger with my shirt on it again, and made it back into the restroom before time shifted again and I was staring at a body completely devoid of hair. I still had the hair on my face and head, but my pubes were gone, my balls looked shaved, and I had no hair on my legs. There was no indication in the restroom that I had done any of this, though I had to have, given the razor on the chest earlier. I had a terrible suspicion, so I pulled the mirror down from the wall, spread my legs wide, and bent over to look. Yes, my ass had been shaved, and my asshole winked pinkly at me. I looked like some sort of coiffed porn star, and I had done it to myself without my knowing. Somehow, that made it much, much worse.

Was I being punished for trying to dress? What new desecration would I visit on myself if I tried to get into the slacks? Shaking, I decided to not risk the clothes again and shuffled out of the bathroom. I still felt that the threat was somehow external, and I edged along the wall as if someone would pop out at me at any moment. The angles and edges of the quaint home right now seemed to hide any number of assailants.

I made it down to the kitchen after taking the steps one long wait at a time, feeling the breeze from the open windows at the bottom of the stairs on my newly bare skin even before I could see them. The cheery, relentless, cool sunniness of the day was no relief to me. It felt like its own assault; poltergeists being visited on me like this should be happening with storms and darkness. It had to be possession, right? I had never believed in demons before, but I would never be doing this stuff to myself on my own. It seemed utterly ridiculous in the light of day, though.

I sobbed with relief when I reached the bottom of the stairs without any new horror being inflicted on my body and practically lunged for the kitchen and the phone there. I dialed up Dr. Hollinger’s office, and got voice mail.

“Dr. Hollinger? This is Aaron Singleton, we met yesterday, " I panted into the phone at a register I did not normally reach without a good kick to the groin. “I think things are getting worse. Last night I ... " I did not want him to know that I’d propositioned his cousin. “I had another episode, and while I was getting ready today I had four or five minor ones. I’m really worried, doctor, and wonder if we couldn’t move the appointments up at UWMC up some. " I left my home number and hung up.

I rummaged around the kitchen for some coffee, set it percolating in the automatic machine, and sat down shakily in a chair. The cold wood stuck to my bare, now hairless ass. Everything was unfamiliar without the hair, and I couldn’t stop running my hands over my chest, looking for it. I felt so much more naked without the hair than with it, and the fact that my body didn’t let itself get dressed just left me feeling completely exposed to the world. How was I going to go anywhere if I couldn’t even get clothes on me? It was at this point that I looked down at myself and noticed, for the first time this morning, that I was throbbingly erect and actually leaking a puddle of precome onto the floor. I hadn’t noticed before, but then I recalled it had been hard when I was at the sink too. It started to soften as I stared at it in horror, but never seemed to reach a completely unaroused state. It jutted out from my balls in a semi-excited state.

I felt no sexual pleasure, though. I was too scared to. I felt like I was in someone else’s body...something that almost fit, but not quite. As if I were a guest in someone else’s home, and wasn’t all that welcome at the moment. Had I been given the option of experiencing all this or being taken over completely until whatever was using me was done with me, with nothing in between, I don’t know at that moment what I would have picked.

I sat in the kitchen, sipping the coffee and trying my damnest to calm down and think about what to do. I had to get dressed. I might be 25 miles from the nearest town, but yesterday had shown me that distance meant nothing with whatever was happening to me. I started to panic again, just thinking about what it would look like with me wandering around naked downtown, denuded in so many ways. Somehow, I had to get dressed.

Clearly, I couldn’t wear the slacks. Whatever force had control over me wouldn’t let me wear what I’d picked out. It had let me put on the briefs, so I decided to start there. I unstuck myself from the chair, ran up the stairs, and pulled the exact same pair of briefs I had pulled out before from the dresser, where I could not remember placing them. I slid them on and just stood there a moment, daring myself to let me keep them on. After a couple of minutes, I decided that nothing further was going to happen. It was a start.

I went back into the closet. How was I going to do this? I never felt anything as I was picking out the first set of clothes, no warning that they were “wrong”, so how could I know what was right? Whatever possessed me seemed to have a certain look in mind, and the closest I could think of to come to it was the trashiest gear I owned. I picked out a pair of lounging denim shorts that I hadn’t worn in a long time, since the time I’d spent in the gym had made them uncomfortably tight. I slid them on, working them over my thighs until I was able to button them up. The last button wouldn’t fit! No matter how much I jumped or tried, I could not get it to button up fully. Had I had pubes still, it would have shown them prominently. As it was now, it was clear I had no pubes. At least it hid my cock and balls, to some effect. The shorts pushed them up and out, giving a slightly obscene bulge, but you couldn’t see them. I turned around slightly and could see the bottom of my ass peeking out over the ragged edge of the short shorts. Now that really did look obscene. I had a naturally large butt, and these shorts filled them out completely. My hairless legs gleamed a bit in the natural light, making me look like a mountain biker or a marathon runner—in a gay pride parade, I figured sourly.

Then again, at least I had shorts on and my body hadn’t punished me this time. I rummaged around in the closet for the tightest tee-shirt I had, and found one that I wouldn’t be caught dead in outside, but at least would give me cover. It left my navel bare, like Amos’s kid’s old tee-shirt had the night before, and was sleeveless, so it showcased my too-prominent shoulder blades and my curvy arms. I went back to the bathroom and hung up the mirror. There, I looked like a trashy street whore, but at least I hadn’t come back to find myself bald, or something even stranger.

I breathed a sigh of relief and sat down on my bed. I didn’t think I looked much more decent than I had with the boxer briefs the day before, but I really was. I wouldn’t be naked if I got sweaty again, anyway. Assuming I didn’t wake up in front of a little old lady going to church, I didn’t think I’d be arrested for indecency.

I headed down the hall and switched the load from the washer to the dryer, and then went back downstairs and started unpacking boxes in the front room, dejectedly. After a few hours had passed, I had made a sizable dent in the number I had left to unpack, and was actually starting to forget my state of relative undress as well as the events of the morning, lost in my work, which of course had been the intent. If I could just keep myself busy...

I was standing at the fireplace with my shorts and briefs down around my ankles in the afternoon sun, bent over and twisted around behind me with my middle finger of my left hand and my index finger up my ass, while my right hand was pumping away furiously at my dick. I quickly popped out the fingers with a wince and a short yell, and let go of my hard cock. Shit! It had happened again! I quickly pulled up my briefs and my shorts and looked down at my left hand, noticing it was covered with a sticky, viscous goo. I stared around for what it could possibly be and could see nothing. I ran for the kitchen sink and washed my hand off. I had never engaged in anal play before, considering it a no-man’s land, and suddenly my body had decided to start fingering itself? I tried to will down my leaking cock, but it wouldn’t go down. If anything, the more I thought about it, the harder it got. I actually had a stain in front of my shorts now. I had to distract myself!

Doing routine things seemed to help, so I grabbed a dishrag and started washing the dishes, hyperventilating again. All I could think was “this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening” over and over in my head. But it was happening, and it was getting weirder and weirder, and I couldn’t stop it. And it was happening more and more. The more I thought I was getting a grip around the parameters of whatever was happening to me, the more something kept coming up that shifted me right back onto unsolid ground. The only place I seemed to be safe was in my bedroom, asleep on my bed, but I couldn’t go to sleep at 4 in the afternoon. I had to keep going.

I willed myself to calm down, though my dick stayed uncomfortably hard in the too-short shorts, visibly snaking down my left leg—thank god it wasn’t poking out—and I felt myself steadily emitting precome, making a very prominent stain in the shorts. Even worse, whereas before I didn’t feel sexual, I felt an uncomfortable flush on my skin now, and my breathing was less panicked than it was labored and low. There was no question of it, I was becoming very horny. The effect felt distinctly not my own, and I very much wanted it to go away, but thinking about it made it worse. My hand kept drifting down to my shorts and rubbing at my hard cock, and I kept yanking it away. All this time I was standing in front of the kitchen sink, rubbing a plate over and over with a sponge, until I noticed what I was doing and forced myself to stop.

Whatever was happening, I couldn’t stop it, but while I had control of my actions, I would control MY actions. I stomped back to an unopened box, yanked it open, and started pulling items out to place around the front room. My candlesticks that had been an engagement present from my aunt in Baltimore went up on the mantle; the paintings I’d purchased at art fairs at Harvard Yard went on the other side of the room. The little acts kept me going, and eventually the sun set, forcing me to turn on the lights.

I sat down on the sofa, noticing the rags I’d worn to the doctor’s clinic the day before and wincing at the remembrance of my involuntary trip into town. At least I hadn’t had a repeat of that today—everything that had happened to me had happened alone. I prayed that it didn’t change before I headed to bed.

Knowing that I couldn’t go to the gym, I performed some warm-up stretches and ran down the beach outside my home for a few miles—the shorts were shockingly good as running shorts, as they were so small they didn’t rub up against my legs and chafe. I sat down in the sand for a bit to watch the stars and absentmindedly rubbed my cock a bit. My shorts were soaked through. I was so horny! I’d almost forgotten why, and then it all came back to me and I yanked my hand off my cock. I didn’t know what relation my sexual awareness had to the lost time, but I wasn’t going to push it. I hauled myself up and back into the house, stepped into the shower, and very hurriedly got washed up. This time, I didn’t have a shift and end up with a cock in my mouth, but I felt like I would at any moment. My dick remained tumescent the entire time I was in the shower, only going back down to a half-hard state once I toweled myself off and headed for bed.

I’d survived one day of this insanity. Tomorrow, I would have to call Wayne again to get some things taken care of downtown, and I wasn’t looking forward to that uncomfortable reunion. I drifted off to sleep, under my covers this time, naked and erect.