MIKE THE SOMNAMBULIST
Act 2 (Part 2)
by StageShowMM
“…and wide awake.” Snap.
I blinked my eyes and lifted my head, drawing a deep breath and looking around. All around me, there were guys in various states of undress—shirts off, pants off, both off—filling a row of chairs spread out on either side of me. I seemed to vaguely remember coming up for a hypnosis show, but I couldn’t figure out why I was still here since all the girls were gone. Maybe the guy had just tried hypnotizing us or something. If that was the case, it didn’t seem to have worked. I was wide awake.
I couldn’t be quite so sure about some of the other guys, though, since, like I said, many were in different stages of undress. I didn’t know if maybe it was a Spring Break thing or what, but I really hoped that the hypnotist hadn’t actually gotten anyone to go under. I didn’t want to be up here any longer than I had to, and if we could all just get dismissed and go home instead of me having to interrupt things and ask to leave, that would be a lot easier and more pleasant for everyone (except maybe the hypnotist!).
On the floor, I noticed Hector pushing himself to his knees and climbing to his feet. He was really strangely dressed—shirtless, and wearing what looked like leggings and a tutu. Even more embarrassing, he didn’t seem to have on any underwear! I could see “everything” outlined clearly against the side of his left thigh! Jesus, I really hoped Hector hadn’t gotten hypnotized—we’d be stuck here all night if one of the guys got sucked into the show. Maybe if I asked the hypnotist when I left, he’d bring him out of it, and we could all have a laugh about it later. Hector wasn’t really the gullible type—in fact, he was notoriously strong-willed and resistant to persuasion—so I would be kind of surprised if he’d gotten taken in by this nonsense, but he sure was dressed strangely…
“Careful, man, you fell out of your seat,” said the hypnotist, offering Hector a hand for the last bit of his way up.
“Sorry…” muttered Hector, sounding dazed.
“It’s all right, happens all the time,” said the hypnotist.
Hector started back toward an empty seat in the middle of the row, but the hypnotist put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.
“Hold on just one sec,” he said. “I’m actually gonna rearrange a few of you guys before we start this next act…” Next act? Hadn’t we just come up?
“Ryan, I’m gonna have you just slide on over this way,” said the hypnotist, waving his hand to the right, toward Arpit, the Indian guy. “And we’re gonna have Dylan slip right in here next to Jay.” There was a little bit of tittering from the audience that I couldn’t explain.
Ryan, heaving a sigh (and for some reason wearing what looked like several separate pairs of underwear at the same time), dutifully slid over, and the guy next to me, a hipsterish-looking kid who was, incredibly, completely naked except for a pair of black boxer briefs on his head, got up and walked over as though it was the most normal thing in the world, plopping down between Ryan and Jay and glancing from side to side.
Ryan, for his part, didn’t seem terribly comfortable having a naked dude next to him, and he scooted over in his seat, closer to the Indian guy, who looked over at him strangely, probably weirded out by his choice of clothes.
Thankfully, his problem was quickly solved: “Arpit, I’m gonna actually have you trade with Jake, and Ant and Paul, I’m gonna have you guys switch too. Hector, you can grab that empty seat down there next to Mike,” said the hypnotist, as everyone started heading where he was told.
“Hec, dude, what are you wearing?” I asked as Hector plopped down between me and Josh.
“What?” Hector asked, sounding spaced out.
“You’re wearing a ballerina suit,” I said, unable at the moment to think precisely what it was called.
“What are you talking about? I’m wearing my clothes,” Hector said, to my complete astonishment. I couldn’t believe it! Maybe he was hypnotized.
“Why are you up here in your underwear?” he asked in return. I looked down, confirming—as I expected—that I was fully dressed.
“Hec, this guy really did a number on you—” I started.
“Dude, you’re in your fucking underwear,” he said again, more emphatically.
“Hec, dude, he’s right,” added Josh. “You’re wearing a tutu.”
“These are my fucking clothes!” Hector said, getting pissed. “He’s fucking naked!” he hissed, gesturing at me.
“You are in your underwear, bro,” whispered Josh.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I said, beginning to get annoyed myself.
“Guys,” interrupted the hypnotist. “What’s the problem?”
“They think I’m dressed weird,” grumbled Hector, crossing his arms over his bare chest.
“I’m sorry, man, I knew I shouldn’t’ve put you there. Why don’t you switch seats with Ant?” asked the hypnotist, gesturing toward the alt guy down the row.
Hector stood up, giving both Josh and me a dirty look, and stomped across the stage, looking ridiculous huffing around in a pink tutu and tights. At the other end, Ant got up and headed over in our direction, giving Hector a really weird double-take as he passed, confirming in my mind that I definitely wasn’t the one who was crazy. I wished Hector wouldn’t be so stubborn sometimes. Now I had to sit next to some weirdo instead of my (apparently hypnotized) friend.
“Now,” continued the hypnotist, walking back toward center stage, “As I was saying, I want to give a few of you guys a little treat for coming up here, even though I know for many of you that decision may not have been strictly vol- er, your own.” The audience snickered.
“This is something I do every year for certain special guests,” the hypnotist continued, “and I hope you’ll—and we’ll—all get a nice rise out of it.” The audience chuckled again. I was totally lost.
“Now, first of all, I know a few of you guys said you were kind of hot up here, so I wanted to give you each a popsicle before we get started… Is there anyone up here who’s feeling particularly hot right now?” I noticed a few hands go up down the row—some kind of halfway, but a few straight up in the air.
“Now, I’ve only got a few popsicles,” said the hypnotist, reaching into a small sack I just noticed he was carrying, “so I’m only gonna be able to give them out to those of you who are really, really hot…” For a few of the people, the arm waving got more and more frantic, while the rest seemed to realize they weren’t serious contenders and slowly put theirs down. I noticed down the length of the row that Ryan seemed to be one of the guys waiving his arm vigorously. Closer to me, Jay was doing the same, and was even panting a bit and clutching at his throat. The guys on either side of them were looking around confusedly—admittedly it was strange, seeing people suddenly acting like they had just spent a week in the desert when they were in the middle of a fairly temperate room.
“Now, I’m gonna ask you guys to wait just a second as I hand all these out until you have yours. Jay, it looks like you’re pretty hot…”
Jay nodded vigorously, and the hypnotist withdrew his hand from the bag, handing out a long, tan object which Jay gladly accepted. “Ryan, you’ve been looking pretty hot all night, so I’ve got one here for you too…” said the hypnotist, handing him another, identical object.
“Now, I have one more, if anyone else is feeling particularly hot,” the hypnotist said. Parker, toward the other end of the row, nearly fell out of his chair from gesticulating, and the hypnotist strode over and handed him, as well, one of the tan objects, which didn’t really look much like any popsicle I had ever seen.
“All right, now that you three are all settled, why don’t you go ahead and dig in, and remember, these popsicles don’t melt, so you can lick and suck as much as you want...” the hypnotist trailed off as the roar of gasps and laughter from the crowd quickly drowned him out, the room rapidly filling with an almost deafening din of cackling and applause.
As Ryan and Jay held the objects higher up to lick them, I finally got a clear enough view to see that they weren’t popsicles at all, but rather long, floppy, and very anatomically correct dildos. Judging by Jay’s, which was the closest to me, each was about nine or ten inches long, and molded quite realistically, complete with wrinkles and folds and a couple of thick veins running up the side. Each of the three guys seemed totally unaware he was licking a dildo, and was vigorously running his tongue up and down the front and sides, along with intermittently enveloping the first few inches of the head in him mouth and running his tongue around the tip.
As astonishing as this spectacle was, though, it was only a part of what was driving the audience into hysterics. Instead, what was really causing all the commotion were the reactions of the people to the sides of each guy, who suddenly began writhing in their seats and emitting loud, uncontrollable moans of pleasure. To my immediate right, Sam, who had been staring wide-eyed as his friend Jay had been holding (what I now realized to be) the dildo, suddenly leaned back in his chair and began squirming and twisting the second Jay plopped the object in his mouth, keeping his eyes on Jay the whole time while bucking his barely-clad hips (both he and Jay were wearing only the skimpiest of colored briefs) in time with the dildo’s movements.
On Jay’s left, Dylan was doing the same thing, sliding his ass forward and sitting way back in his chair, head lolling around and moaning “Oh fuck…” while stealing occasional peeks back over at Jay’s ministrations on his “popsicle.” Very quickly during the course of this, the black underwear slipped off Dylan’s head and onto the floor behind him, leaving him totally nude (as though the underwear-hat really counted). Even with clothes on, Dylan might have been the most obscene—he was moaning the loudest and writhing the most suggestively, while rubbing his slender hands all over his smooth, pale stomach and thighs while thrusting his hips. Being the most undressed of all the guys, however, his display was downright pornographic—his hands rubbed deep between his legs and right past his cock and balls, which swung about freely with his wriggling. Indeed, judging by the thickness and heft of his shaft, it was starting to seem like he might have been getting a hard-on!
Typical of my luck, it was only further away from me that things were calmer (which is to say, less like a gay porno). Next to Dylan (and who Dylan was, incidentally, completely ignoring!), Ryan was working with similar vigor on his “popsicle,” while next to him slender little Jake was rocking about and emitting shuddering, feminine groans of his own, eyes consistently glued to the spectacle of Ryan’s oral ministrations. Next to him, a truly bewildered Kyle and Arpit were glancing about in both directions, trying to figure out what the hell was going on on either side of them, while to Arpit’s left Parker was engaged in similar work licking and sucking his own dildo. Next to Parker, Paul was watching him dreamily, his eyes, too, transfixed on the display his friend was giving, his hips bucking in time with the movements of the dildo. Like Sam, Paul thankfully had underwear on, though unfortunately, despite it being a baggy pair of boxers, it still didn’t manage to conceal the floppy, waggling tent pole at its center.
“As you can see, I think Paul’s been antsy to see this happen for quite some time,” said the hypnotist, as Paul’s look of beatific, dreamlike pleasure suddenly crinkled into a mask of discomfort. Never taking his eyes off Parker, Paul nevertheless reached down with his left hand and began clawing between his legs, scratching his balls and causing them to jangle around in his baggy underwear.
Leaning in, the hypnotist placed a hand on Paul’s shoulder and whispered something softly into his ear. Still totally focused on Parker and looking as if his mind was a thousand miles away, Paul nodded, distantly, and reached down, hooking his fingers under the waistband of his boxers and sliding them down his legs, where they slipped off his feet and to the floor.
Now sitting onstage with no pants on at all, in front of a room full of hundreds of people, Paul visibly relaxed again, his face melting into an expression of relief, and he sat back and returned his full attention to Parker, who was continuing just as vigorously with his “popsicle” sucking. Staring dreamily, Paul went back to bucking his hips in time with the licks, causing his erection to bob rhythmically between his legs. The audience went insane, cheering and applauding and whistling and yelling. I had no idea why a roomful of people was so excited to see a guy’s dick, but I was really embarrassed and glad I wasn’t involved.
During all of this, Len and Hector, sitting next to Paul, had slowly scooted their chairs a few feet away and were talking together while making sure to keep their eyes averted from the whole thing.
Kyle and Arpit were kind of hovering half-in, half-out of their seats and looking about ready to bolt as the hypnotist continued down the row of chairs behind them. He gestured for them to sit back down, and both seemed to protest a little, shaking their heads and pointing at the guys either writhing around or sucking on a dildo on either side of them. The hypnotist held out his mic just in time to catch Kyle finishing: “—know what the fuck is up with these guys, man.” He seemed totally bewildered by the situation, which was certainly understandable.
“Just grab a seat, guys. I promise, I’ll take care of it,” said the hypnotist. Arpit, having been pretty good about doing what he was told the whole time we were up here (how long hand it been? I was pretty sure only a few minutes, though for some reason I couldn’t find as much evidence as I thought to back that statement up) hesitantly sat back down first, and Kyle reluctantly followed, still hovering over his chair and watching Jake next to him uncomfortably.
“That’s right guys, don’t worry—Sleeeeep,” said the hypnotist, clapping a hand on each guy’s shoulder and sending him collapsing down, folding over into his own lap. Each one seemed totally relaxed, drawing deep, steady breaths, arms hanging in front of him, while the guys on either side of them writhed and sucked ecstatically. “We’ll have more fun with you later,” said the hypnotist, continuing down the row.
Stopping behind Dylan, the hypnotist again leaned down and whispered something into Dylan’s ear, an act made more challenging by Dylan’s exaggerated writhing and moaning. Dylan nodded, and the hypnotist, having slipped his hand back into that same black bag when no one was looking, reached out and placed one more tan flesh dildo into Dylan’s palm. Immediately, Dylan brought it up to his lips, hocked a big gob of spit onto it, and quickly began sliding his mouth up and down it like there was no tomorrow, deep-throating the thing in a matter of seconds. It was clear he didn’t think he was sucking a popsicle.
Again, the crowd went nuts, though Dylan remained completely oblivious, sucking away and staring at Jay longingly as his chub quickly swelled into a full-on erection. The audience went apeshit, applauding and cheering and clapping and laughing. I couldn’t believe my eyes! By this point, I was glad I was sitting next to Sam, who was acting tame by comparison. I couldn’t imagine what Ryan would say if he realized he was sitting next to a naked dude with a hard-on who was deep-throating a dildo! Craziest of all, I realized, was the fact that—aside from a few pairs of underwear and a little less advanced state of arousal—Ryan was doing the exact same thing!
“Whadda you think about that, Mike?” asked the hypnotist, stooping down with the microphone. “Ever seen anyone enjoy a popsicle like this?”
“This is fucked up…” was all I could say, really disgusted but unable to take my eyes away.
“Well, I’ve noticed a number of you guys have a weird relationship with food,” said the hypnotist. “Hey, you mind if I borrow your friend here for just a second?” he added. I looked over. I wasn’t sure who he was talking about.
The hypnotist clicked his tongue. “Sleep,” he said, resting a hand on Ant’s shoulder. Ant’s head rolled to the side, his body slumping over toward me, with only the hypnotist’s hand keeping it from keeling over into my lap.
“Ant,” said the hypnotist, keeping his hand firmly planed on the guy’s bare, tattooed shoulder, “since these other boys are having such a nice, hot day at the beach, you’ve decided it’d be a great time to work on your tan. In a moment, when I snap my fingers, you’re going to wake up, take the bottle of suntan lotion I give you, head to the center of the stage, lie down in the warm sand, and apply liberal amounts of lotion all over your body so you don’t burn. And remember, this is a private, nude beach, and no one can see you. You’ve been dying to work on a full-body tan all summer, ’cause all the ladies this season love a full-body tan, so now’s the perfect opportunity. Just make sure you put on lots of sunscreen. Eyes open on one, two… three.” Snap.
Ant’s torso suddenly inflated and he lifted his head, blinking and looking around. Noticing the hypnotist out of the corner of his eye, he turned around and took the bottle the hypnotist proffered, which he had slipped from the same sack of props.
“Thanks,” muttered Ant, rising from his chair distractedly and making his way to center stage, setting the bottle down and looking around from side to side. Though the audience was laughing and giggling uproariously, Ant didn’t seem to notice, and he reached up and stretched his arms over his head, then crossed them behind his back, getting a good stretch through his shoulders.
Glancing around again to make sure no one was around, he unbuttoned his baggy shorts and dropped them, the heavy fabric and chains falling with a clump around his feet.
Stepping out, he slid them to the side, stretched his arms over his head one more time, and sat down, plopping his lanky, pale ass directly on the stage.
Reaching back, Ant grabbed the oddly-shaped bottle of tanning lotion, popped the cap, upended it, and pressed back on the depressor.
Pffffft. It was only then, hearing that familiar sound, that I suddenly realized this hadn’t been a sunscreen bottle at all—it was a can of whipped cream! The audience seemed to realize too, and went from chuckles to full-on laughter, a few of them even shouting “Ohs!” of realization, which I could only assume meant they’d thought he had a bottle of tanning lotion as well.
Filling his right hand with a big gob of cream, Ant transferred some to the other palm and began rubbing the puffy white substance all over his shoulders and down the length of his tattooed arms. Leaning back on one elbow, Ant next sprayed a liberal amount right onto his similarly tattooed chest, eliciting a number of cheers and catcall whistles from the audience.
Remaining oblivious, Ant sat back up and began rubbing the substance over his chest and stomach, then grabbed the can one more time and sprayed another huge gob into his palm. Plopping part of this gob into the other hand, he proceeded to rub up and down his legs and feet, even spritzing a little more cream onto his fingers at the end and delicately rubbing it over the surface of his cock. Out in the audience, I heard one female voice go, “Oh… Oh my god! Hahahaha!” and break out into bellowing laughter, an occurrence I didn’t quite understand over such a simple detail.
“You like whipped cream, Mike?” asked the hypnotist, holding down the microphone to me again.
“Not anymore…” I muttered, staring at the spectacle before me. By this point, Ant had another little daub of cream in his hands, which he was spreading around between his fingers and wiping all over his face and neck. The audience was in hysterics.
“How about you, man, you like whipped cream?” the hypnotist asked Josh.
“Fuck, man, that’s nasty,” groaned Josh, staring forward in disgust. At the center of the stage, Ant had set the bottle off one side and was just laying down on his back, eyes closed, presumably catching some rays.
“Our friend Ant certainly has an affinity for it,” said the hypnotist, stepping out from behind the row of chairs and striding across the stage toward the naked alt boy.
“Sleep,” he said, stooping down and snapping directly next to Ant’s temple. Ant, eyes already closed and looking pretty relaxed, simply lolled his head to the side, body becoming noticeably limper and looser.
“Some of you guys,” said the hypnotist, squatting down and grabbing the bottle of cream, “really seem to like popsicles. Others,” he continued, popping the cap back off, “really like…” He squirted a large gob of cream onto each of Ant’s nipples as though frosting a cake, “…whipped cream.”
After a moment of pregnant pause, and a look out at the audience—suddenly calmer, despite the seven or so guys still writhing around on stage—the hypnotist reached forward and squirted a long, thick trail of cream up the length of Ant’s penis, terminating in a medium-sized spiral on top of his thick, dark pubes. The audience went nuts, cheering and applauding and yelling at the top of its lungs. I couldn’t imagine why people were that excited to see Ant get frosted like a birthday cake.
“It’s all right, though,” said the hypnotist, rising to his feet and capping the bottle as he strode back toward us. “Some people like popsicles, and some people like whipped cream. Some people like other things entirely.” He gently tossed the bottle up and down as he walked, launching it a few inches into the air and deftly catching it with the same hand, making the whole thing look easy.
“But I think we all can agree, in one form or another…” he continued, “Pretty much everybody up here loves… dessert.”
Suddenly, it hit me. Dessert? Whipped cream was dessert! People love eating dessert, and people loved eating whipped cream! I loved eating whipped cream! In fact, it had been so long since I’d seen any, I’d almost forgotten about my whipped cream fetish. I was a whipped cream addict. Whenever I saw the stuff, I lost my mind—I had to have it, no matter where I was or where it was. It didn’t matter. I lived for the stuff.
Before I even realized what I was doing, I was halfway across the stage, and it seemed like I wasn’t alone—half the people up here seemed to have the same problem as me. I scrambled forward a little faster so they wouldn’t beat me to it and sunk down as quickly as I could, wrapping my lips around what I wasn’t even thinking about being Ant’s nipple, and quickly sucked away the big, fluffy gob of delicious cream off the top.
Unfortunately, Josh was too fast for me and had managed to get his lips around the big gob on the other nipple, so I dove down toward Ant’s waist to get some of the extra goodness before the other guys licked it away.
Hector was already down there licking huge globs off the length of Ant’s cock, so I dove directly into the big pile above, gobbling it up as quickly as I could. Off in the back of my mind, I heard someone mumble over the PA, “Don’t worry, the worst they can get is crabs—and I’ve already checked for that!” I was vaguely aware of faint laughter in the distance, like the waves of a gentle sea.
In front of me, Len had dived in and was licking up a little blob of cream that he slipped off Ant’s dick and down onto the side of his balls. Hector was licking the surface of the limp cock wildly, which was basically clean now, and he soon gave up and moved on to Ant’s pale, lightly fuzzy inner thigh, which was, like the rest of his body, shellacked in a thinner but no less delicious coat of cream.
Almost done cleaning out the pubic area myself, I remember thinking a number of strange thoughts, primarily that I had never seen Hector’s lips on another guy’s dick (why would I?) and that I didn’t even know he was gay, but if he was I was happy for him. For some reason, it didn’t occur to me at the time that I was maybe two inches away from where Hector was, licking the same dude’s nasty, sweaty body. For some reason, the association of it being a body I was licking just didn’t seem to be there—I understood that it applied to Hector, but for me, it was just a neutral, blank, cream-covered surface.
Done cleaning up the bigger deposits, I quickly joined the other guys in working on the thinner areas, running my tongue up and down Ant’s knobby torso, trying to get as much of the delicious cream off of the shimmering, multicolored surface as I could.
At one point, I heard the instantly recognizable pffft of the whipped cream can (instantly recognizable to a whipped cream addict, that is!), and dove back in its direction, where I found a couple of freshly laid deposits on the tips of Ant’s toes.
Unfortunately, Hector and Len, who were concentrating generally on the lower half of Ant’s body, got some of the biggest blobs first, but I was still able to sneak a dollop off of one of Ant’s pinkies, as well as clean a little that had run down in between. There was a vaguely funky, musky odor that a part of my consciousness recognized under all of this (and for some reason associated with ice cream…), but I totally put it out of my mind for the moment, as I was a man on a mission.
“You might want to take your shirt off if you’re worried about getting it messy,” I heard someone say in the distance, and I felt Len pull away, affording me an excellent opportunity to get in some more work on Ant’s slender, firm leg. I dutifully ran my tongue over the length of his calf while on the other leg Hector did the same. Behind me, I was vaguely aware of some rustling, and then Len diving back in to do more work on the torso.
Largely satisfied with my work on the legs, I crawled back up and grabbed one of Ant’s lanky, tattooed arms, running my tongue desperately up the length of his tight but scrawny bicep, only to find it, unfortunately, wet and free of delicious whipped cream flavor.
I was starting to get desperate. Josh had clearly worked over the upper half pretty well while I was down below, and I was starting to worry there would be no more cream left. Like all addicts, I was already thinking about my next fix! Having started, I just wanted the joy to never stop—I wanted to eat whipped cream until the day I died!
Another pfffft caught my attention, and I looked up just in time to see Josh tongue swab away a huge gob of cream that had been freshly deposited on Ant’s lips. Insanely jealous, I dove up his body, basically crawling over Len, and swiped my tongue over Ant’s mouth, sweeping away what remnants I could find of the fresh deposit.
This reminded me that I had seen Ant rubbing cream over his face and neck before, and I quickly set in to exploring this as well. Unfortunately, the face, again, seemed to be largely shimmering with saliva (Josh!), though I was happily able to uncover a pretty decent deposit in the crux next to Ant’s collar bone. Meanwhile, very far away, I just barely registered someone saying something along the lines of, “just the person I’m touching, wide awake and believing yourself covered in the four most beautiful women you’ve ever seen…”
Suddenly, I felt the form beneath me jolt. I looked up and saw a guy—it vaguely registered to me that it was the guy I’d been licking, though I didn’t really understand what that implied—staring down, wide-eyed and jaw agape. He started pushing himself back with his elbows, alternately raising a hand to swat us away as we continued trying to lick the last remnants of cream off his body.
“Woah, ladies… This is really cool and all, but… It’s kinda weird…”
“We need the cream!” I muttered, crawling toward him. I was vaguely aware of a cacophony of laughter somewhere in the distance.
“Hey, if that’s what you girls are into, I mean… Let’s just slow down a bit, huh?” said the cream-covered man.
“Here, you wanna give it a try?” I heard someone say, and the voice passed Ant the bottle.
“All right, now, take it easy, take it easy…” He said. The four of us were crouched around him, sitting on our haunches like a pack of dogs waiting for meat. Ant was still sprawled halfway back, resting on his butt and elbows. Sitting up further, he extended an index finger and, holding the bottle in his other hand, deposited a fresh, shining gob of ecstasy there with one sensuous pffft.
We all lunged for it, tongues lapping in a mad frenzy, and Ant yanked back his finger in shock, causing half the gob to fall to the floor. Josh expertly dove in and scooped it up (lucky bastard!) and Len finished with a few thorough licks, totally cleansing the floor.
“Go on, man, just spray some all over your chest. How many guys get to say they had this happen?” I heard a voice say.
With a shake of his head and a disbelieving grin, Ant upended the bottle and let loose, spraying his smooth chest with a wide splatter of fresh cream.
That was all it took. The four of us lunged, and Ant was instantly flat on his back again, clutching the bottle of cream for dear life. (It should have occurred to me to grab the bottle, but for some reason it didn’t.) The four of us swirled around Ant’s torso, tongues lapping up the light, delicious gobs of cream. Off in the distance, I continued to hear the soft roar of laughter and faint applause, seemingly coming from miles away, along with a voice, gently saying, “At the count of three, everyone wide awake, remembering you’re unable to touch each other, unable to leave the stage, and—as always—fully clothed. One, two, three…”
I shoved away bare, smooth torsos—Len’s, Hector’s—diving continuously back, trying to get at the last slick, white remnants of cream covering the smooth, colorful surface. I hoped he sprayed more soon! We were almost running out again! I didn’t know what I was going to do if I didn’t-
Snap. “Wide awake.”
I blinked, shaking my head and pulling my face away from whatever I was doing—I didn’t remember, but somehow I knew I probably didn’t want to be doing it.
“Ah! Jesus, fuck!” I heard someone scream, and I quickly scrambled backward, falling onto my elbows along with a few other guys as in front of me a naked, tattooed guy leapt to his feet, swiping his hands down his torso and flinging them at the ground, sending a splatter of cloudy white liquid onto the stage floor.
“What the FUCK?!” he screamed again, storming toward another guy I just noticed on the periphery of my vision.
“Sleep!” said the guy calmly, snapping his fingers in the tattooed guy’s face just as he was about to reach him—and, it looked like, bust his nose. The tattooed guy crumpled forward and the man caught him, slowly lowering him to the ground.
“And you guys, what the fuck are you doing?! Get back in your chairs!” the guy continued, and it suddenly hit me—came flooding back—that I’d been licking whipped cream off the body of that naked, tattooed, sweaty-ass guy, and I started gagging in the middle of the stage.
“I mean, I knew those guys were perverts, but you four really take the cake!” said the guy again as I started crawling back to my chair. Why the fuck had I been doing that? Why did I just have my lips and tongue all over another guy? I couldn’t imagine what came over me, but more and more little realizations kept occurring and each one just made things worse. Hadn’t everyone else also been licking- And hadn’t I been licking down by his- And wasn’t I in front of a room full of-
I tried to shove each thought out of my head before it could make its way to full consciousness, but unfortunately it was a pretty difficult task. I barely remembered most of what happened, but somehow every little glimmer was still too much, and that last realization completely got to me. Turning around and staring out into the blackness, I flushed absolute, pure red and lunged to my feet, dashing back to the safety of my chair. Since I couldn’t leave the stage, it seemed like the most sensible, comforting place.
Diving into my seat, I noticed the guy next to me, who I seemed to recall had been doing something strange before, though I didn’t know what, now slumped over, head resting against the shoulder of the person next to him, who, it appeared, was similarly out cold. In fact, looking down the row, it seemed that everyone had collapsed in some form or other, and was similarly sprawled out unconscious.
Just as I sat down, I heard a voice whisper, “Sleep, Josh,” and turned to notice another guy—my friend—collapsing in a chair to the other side of me.
Before I could register the form moving away from him and toward me, I felt a firm grasp around my hand followed by a sharp tug and a “Sleep, Mike,” which sent me toppling sideways, over into the empty chair between me and the guy to my right, and down into blackness.