IGMA LAMBDA ALPHA was the most prestigious and selective fraternity on campus. It was unusual since it didn’t specialize in just jocks or rich preps, but admitted the best of both. Sig Lams did better academically than the members of any other frat. It always produced the most distinguished alumni, assuring a generous endowment for future years.
From the outside, Sig Lam appeared to be a normal frat. This year, it had begun to select pledge candidates, had the occasional party, and its members behaved quite normally when not at the house.
But unknown to the outside world, Sig Lam had recently fallen victim to a mysterious force that was using the frat to perform control experiments with growing skill, as well as to satisfy some unusual desires. Most of the brothers were totally unaware of this, although some knew there was something odd about their own personal situations that they couldn’t explain. Anyway, they were powerless to say anything about it to each other or anyone else.
A tour of the house would reveal the highly raw results of these experiments. In Room 12, for example, lived Bill McPherson, ranked near the top of his class and junior class president. His father had also been a Sig Lam, and remained active in the frat’s financial affairs.
Bill had extraordinarily big, red lips that always seemed to be wet. Model agencies were always trying to sign him. In fact his face was so totally hot that Abercrombie featured him on the cover of their 2005 catalog. But there was an unusual thing about Bill. Every day, after getting back from his last class or student government meeting, Bill was compelled to spend one hour, motionless, as a fixture or piece of furniture in the frat.
Most days, he would kneel sideways in the first floor hall, believing he was the water fountain. Passing members would ocasionally lean over and drink from his mouth, sucking on his pornographically big lips, but because Bill was the water fountain he could neither move nor close his mouth. On another occasion, he had to act as a decorative statue, posing motionless, flexing in a Speedo on a platform in the TV lounge. In fact once, wearing white briefs, he had been forced to act as a coat-rack during a party for the members, although nobody noticed that he was anything other than a coatrack.
But no one in Sig Lam ever seemed to notice what Bill was doing. To them, while he was fulfilling his compulsion, he was just a natural part of the environment.
BUT BILL WAS NOT THE ONLY Sig Lam frat boy who looked like a model. And he was not the only Sig Lam brother who had fallen under a bizarre spell. In Room 14 lived Thomas and Dominic Parks.
These identical twins were on the swim team, and had the classic swimmer’s build, lean and muscled. Both were boyish, blond, 5’10”, and totally smooth. Since they were on the same team, and shared many classes, they were often seen together, and it was difficult to tell them apart. But once in their room, things changed.
The minute Tom arrived, he had to rip off his clothes very fast, since he was physically unable to wear anything in the room. Then when Dom arrived, Tom would have to crawl over and lick Dom’s shoes. Then Tom would have to undress Dom and put his clothes away. If Dom had a bad day, he might push Tom around, lightly punching him or bearhugging him off the ground, which Tom enjoyed though he did not know why.
As Dom’s desire to control Tom grew more and more extreme, Tom’s hunger to be humiliated only grew and grew. But on those rare occasions when the thought popped into Tom’s head that this was wrong, he found himself helpless to communicate. Instead, his face would freeze into a big smile until the thought slowly faded.
Room 22 had Steve and James, both prep types from New Jersey. They went through each day, and even each evening in the room, perfectly normally. They had only one quirk: once they began rooming together at Sig Lam, each soon discovered he could not get to sleep without the smell of his roommate’s feet near his nose. They slept head to toe in a single narrow bed for this reason. When either one of them left campus, he had to take a bag of his roommate’s socks with him to be able to sleep at all.
On the top floor, in Room 30, lived Lance, the president of the fraternity. Lance was one of only two frat boys who knew something was going on—and it was hardly a coincidence that he had been elected president. The other brother in the know was John, the frat’s pledge master, who lived next door in room 31. His job was to find the next generation of members that would serve the frat’s purposes, as they had come to be redefined.
John’s first find was Kenny, a freshman soccer stud from Minnesota, 6’ tall with Scandinavian innocent good looks and quite muscular legs. His constant workouts had also given him an impressive six-pack for the 18-year-old that he was. John had decided to grant Kenny “probational early admission” to the fraternity. Kenny wasn’t sure at first. But after his first frat meeting he knew he would do anything to become a Sig Lam.
Lance had moved Kenny into his room, and informed him that he was to become Lance’s personal helper for the next two months. If he successfully accomplished that, he would become a member of the frat.
Kenny started out helping Lance with administrative work at the frat, but soon the jobs became more personal. It became clear to Kenny that Lance was gay, and very attracted to Kenny. Now normally that might have bothered Kenny, but under the circumstances [and after a frat meeting or two], he was glad it gave him a chance to enter a fraternity that would otherwise not have considered him.
But now here is the funny thing. After his first frat meeting, Kenny found he no longer needed Lance’s verbal instructions. In fact, anytime Lance grabbed both sides of Kenny’s head and smiled in Kenny’s face from a distance of less than one foot, Kenny would automatically know what Lance wanted him to do. Not only that, he found himself powerless not to do it. For example, if Lance smiled at him, Kenny would immediately drop to his hands and knees. Also, a sudden smile from Lance would cause Kenny’s blood to suddenly flow into parts of his body which cannot be mentioned due to the pervasive influence of the Christian Right.
Nonetheless [and here we must again apologize to Pat Robertson and John Ashcroft], Kenny found that once Lance had given him an uncontrollable blood flow, the effect was permanent, although Kenny could not completely lose control without a second smile from Lance.
ONE MORNING, IN THE FRESHMAN DORM, Bobby Burston was alone in his quad room’s bathroom finishing his shower. Bobby, 6’6” with blond hair, freckles, a grin that made him look 15, huge pecs and shoulders, had been a second-team All-American as a tight end and kicker on his Texas high school football team, and frankly would be one hell of a hot porn star stud if this magazine were not aimed at minors. In any event, Bobby had been heavily recruited by the school.
Because this is not a porn story, we cannot discuss his cucumber, but let’s just say Bobby was looking forward to four years of football, illegal beer drinking, womanizing, and generally being a dumb-ass but sexy bully. But we digress. As he dried himself off, he admired the effect his new workout regimen was giving his smooth upper body.
As he dried off his long arms and big, sure hands—so useful on the field for making tackles and catching footballs—he thought he saw someone in the door, but when he looked, no one was there. Running naked and dripping into the hall, he grabbed the boy he found there. The boy was young—clearly in early high school [maybe about 15, he thought]—about 5’7”, longish blond hair, skinny, and with a face that made him look even younger.
The boy had been carrying a notepad, which he dropped when Bobby grabbed him. Wouldn’t you, dear reader? Effortlessly, Bobby [still dripping wet] held the frightened boy suspended over the floor and screamed in his face.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Bobby growled, holding the boy very very tight. “Staring at me in the shower? You some kind of fag?”
“Uh, I’m sorry... I was just... lost.... please don’t kill me, please....” begged the boy, struggling unsuccessfully to escape.
“You’re disgusting. I don’t understand that shit anyway. I never felt nothing for no guy. I mean, when my girlfriend is away I’ll make out with a guy, but not normally! It’s not normal! You make me sick! Now get out of here, you don’t belong in here. If I ever see you in here, I’m gonna kick your fucken* ass all over this place.”
Bobby let go, dropping the boy to the ground. The boy sprang to his feet, grabbed his notepad from the floor, and ran to the stairs and out of the dorm. On the dorm’s front steps, he paused a moment, jotted something on the notepad, and then walked out to the sidewalk.
Immediately, a large black BMW with blacked-out windows pulled up in front of the boy. He got in the passenger side, and the car took off.
Kool Aid Acid.
THE WEEKLY SIG LAM MEETING was that evening. Nobody ever missed a meeting for any reason. The meeting chamber was in the basement, and two beefy brothers [football linemen] were posted at the door to the basement stairs, to prevent any non-brothers from getting in—and possibly any brothers from getting out.
As each member entered the meeting chamber in the basement, he was handed a large cup of Kool-Aid Brand Soft DrinkTM, which he drank when he sat down. Once all the brothers were accounted for, Lance, the fraternity president, walked up to the raised platform at the front of the room. Waiting until he saw by their swaying heads that the laced Kool-Aid Brand Soft DrinkSM had taken effect, Lance began the ritual.
He removed the blanket covering a large copy of the fraternity symbol, with a moving spiral behind it. “Gaze upon the greatness of Sigma Lambda Alpha,” he chanted over and over. Each brother gazed at the symbol with crossed eyes.
What with the drug in the Kool-Aid Brand Soft DrinkMARCA REGISTRADA, and the induction by Lance, all were soon completely suggestible and under his power.
As the brothers were drifting off downstairs, the car pulled up in front of the fraternity. Two people stepped out and walked in: the driver, Wayne, who was a Sig Lam brother, looking a bit dazed but happy, and a slight blond boy of about 15, striding confidently, almost cocky. As the boy made his way to the basement, the two beefy brothers guarding the stairs stood at attention and stared straight ahead, a glint of fear in their eyes.
The boy got to the basement, moved past the seated hypnotized brothers and stepped onto the podium, throwing his skateboard to the ground with a bang. But nobody jumped, since the spiral symbol had done its work on the room full of frat boys. So Lance turned it off, re-covered it and stepped aside, making way for the boy at center stage.
The boy flipped his hair behind his head, put his hands on his hips, and sneered. “I am the Grand Master of Sigma Lambda Alpha,” the boy repeated three times. This information seemed to flip a switch in the zonked brothers. In their drugged state, they became even more relaxed and attentive. “Repeat after me: ‘I hear and obey. I hear and obey. I hear and obey. I hear and obey...’” The Grand Master led the group further and further down an imaginary stairway, leaving their minds completely open to any belief and suggestion. He then proceeded to program them with information they needed for the next week.
“First order of business. In two weeks I am getting my driver’s license. I’ve had my eye on a silver Porsche you’ll find at the dealer on Route 12. It would be suspicious if I owned it personally, but I know you have enough in the Sig Lam funds to buy it as a frat car. But only I, the Grand Master, am allowed to drive it, unless I call and instruct one of you to pick me up in it. It shall be your job to keep it shining and in good condition. Some of you will spend your weekends outside in briefs, waxing it, keeping it in great running condition, and cleaning the hub caps with a toothbrush. Keeping my Porsche beautiful is a point of pride for all Sig Lam brothers.
“As your weekly reward for attending, you will be able to touch each other tonight. You’ll realize that this ability is a gift from me, even though most of you don’t even consciously know who I am. For the rest of the week, you will not be able to touch each other without explicit permission from me or Lance.
“As always, you will use all your time for workouts and studying. I need a fit, smart frat to help me live my life the way I deserve to, as your Grand Master. And those of you on scholarships need to excel at your sports and academics to keep them. Now, it’s time for me to see how you’re coming along and make adjustments. Stand as I call you.
“First, Tom and Dom.” The hypnotized twins stood up. “I think it’s time we moved your relationship to a new, more extreme level....”
Once he had reinforced his hypnotic power over each frat boy at the meeting, and modified the behavior of some of them, he ordered them to sleep. At his command, the heads of all the seated brothers nodded. The Grand Master, president Lance, and John [the Sig Lam pledge master carrying the Kool-Aid Brand Soft DrinkPATENT PENDING bucket], walked off the podium and up the basement stairs. At the top, they were joined by the two guard brothers, and all five went up to Lance’s room. As they entered, Kenny the pledge candidate stood at attention, wearing only his dog collar as he had been ordered. The Grand Master glanced over at Kenny, thinking “what a fine addition that tall hot blond will be to my frat,” and designing in his mind a diabolical plan for him.
The Grand Master pulled a piece of notepaper from his pocket, and passed it to Lance and John. “Here are a few boys I think we should pledge. Heard of any of them?” Both Lance and John noticed the name of Bobby Burston. John said, “I’d like him, Grand Master, but don’t you think he’s going to pledge to that dumb jock frat, Tau Epsilon?”
“I think we can convince him to come here, and I have some special plans for him,” replied the Grand Master. He described his ordeal at the freshman dorm. “Once we get him, he’ll start dreaming about me,” said the boy. “We’ll make him sneak around to see my body through the bushes at night, and keep pictures of me in his room. He’ll get totally obsessed with me. But he’ll be forbidden to talk to me or let me see him, until I make his humiliation complete. Hahaha. HAHAHAHA.”
An evil grin came over the Grand Master’s face as he laughed.
“By the way, do you need any more of the stuff from my dad’s lab for next week’s meeting?”
“I don’t think so, we’ve got enough,” replied Lance. “Unless you want to try that experiment with the basketball team that we discussed.”
“Nah, I haven’t even finished with most of the guys here in the house yet. We’ll set that one up when their season begins. I’ll be able to do a lot more next year, when my big brother starts here and joins Sig Lam.”
“You’ll initiate him too?” asked John.
“I don’t have to. I’ve had him under my control for the last year and a half. He knows if he doesn’t obey me completely, he’ll beat himself up. Last time, he gave himself a black eye and nearly broke his nose. It’s so built in now he obeys me without even thinking about it. And under my enforced workout suggestions, he’s getting really buff, too. You’ll like him a lot.”
Now it was time for Lance, John, Kenny, and the guards to have their Kool-Aid Brand Whatever and receive their hypnotic reinforcement and programming for the following week. In any event, when they awoke, the Grand Master was gone, and only Lance and John had any memory of him having been there, and of what happened. John went downstairs to awaken the rest of the brothers. When he got down there, he noticed that a few of the brothers were already gone. This made him only mildly curious, since it had happened before. The remaining brothers slowly woke and returned to their rooms, convinced they had just experienced an ordinary, boring meeting. But back in Lance’s room, at a smile from Lance, Kenny dropped to his knees, experienced a blood rush, removed Lance’s shoes, and lay back under Lance’s desk for his face to become Lance’s footrest.
Little known to the house, however, a new experiment was starting in Room 27. There were now two roommates: Cliff, the 6’11” center of the basketball team, and Cody, a tightly-muscled 5’5” gymnast. Cliff had always been attracted to muscled short guys—at least he thought so, he couldn’t quite remember—and found buzz-cut blond Cody particularly hot. He thought of himself as way too tall, and of Cody as his physical ideal. He wished he were small and tight like Cody. He wished his shoulders were wider than his height, like Cody. When Cody was out of the room, Cliff would sniff Cody’s bed and his size small clothes that he always wore tight over his big chest and shoulders.
Each day his attraction to gymnast Cody would grow. But Cliff was compelled never to tell Cody any of this, since Cody was straight and Cliff didn’t want to risk having Cody move out of the room.
Meanwhile, Cody had always had a thing for tall guys [or so he thought]. He could barely prevent himself from losing control every time he looked two feet up past Cliff’s well-developed chest, pecs and biceps, and into his blue eyes. When Cliff wasn’t in the room, Cody would put his size 9 feet into Cliff’s size 16 shoes. Although Cody had the excessively buff, ridiculously muscular body of a gymnast, he thought of himself as too short, and wished he were taller. Anyway, our general point here is that every day, Cody got more attracted to Cliff. But he was compelled never to tell Cliff about it, since Cliff was straight and Cody didn’t want to gross him out and cause him to move out.
As Wayne drove his controller home in Wayne’s black BMW, the Grand Master smiled. It would be interesting to see how the new Cliff/Cody experiment progressed over time as the frustration level went up day after day, with both of them internally programmed, powerless to exchange any words to discuss their situation.
The Plot Thickens Like A Meringue.
T WAS THE MONDAY BEFORE THANKSGIVING. The weather was already brisk, and a fire was going in the fireplace in the living room, where Bill McPherson was currently serving as the ottoman to an easy chair occupied by Dennis, last year’s star first baseman. Dennis sat back and talked on the phone while he absent-mindedly rubbed his large white-socked feet across what appeared to him to be a smooth, comfortable piece of furniture, but was in fact Bill’s big lips. Bill’s mouth was completely covered by the soles of Dennis’s socks, and Bill could not close his mouth. For his part, Dennis was planning his Thanksgiving trip home.
The Grand Master was up in Lance’s room with John, making plans for the first time many of the brothers would be leaving town since their involvement in the Master’s controlled lifestyle. They had to make sure that nothing in the brothers’ programming would cause suspicion back home. Kenny, Lance’s freshman “personal assistant,” having finished his schoolwork for the day, sat obediently in the corner, putting Lance’s socks in his mouth.
“I’m not worried about the “feet guys,” they’ll be bringing each other’s socks with them,” said the Master. “Although at the last meeting I raised the stakes, and now they have to sniff each other’s socks every few hours. But I guess we can just make Steve drive home with Dan’s socks in his mouth.”
“As for Bobby Burston, I let him follow me into a laundromat downtown and steal a jockstrap of mine. He’ll probably wear it over his nose and mouth on his long drive home to Texas. He’s still afraid to let me see him anyway, so his leaving town won’t matter. You two are fine. That leaves Kenny, Tom and Dom, and Cliff and Cody.”
At the mention of his name, and a look from Lance, Kenny tried to pull the socks out of his mouth, but found he could not move his arms up there to do it. Instead, he found himself standing up, standing to attention, and flexing his arms like a bodybuilder. He also found himself staring at Lance’s hot smile, unable to move his eyes away from that spot.
Kenny could not move. “Yeah, that’s right, we can’t send Kenny to Duluth like this, can we?” said Lance, smiling into Kenny’s face as Kenny stared back at him. “I’m gonna miss him this weekend. We’ve developed an almost psychic bond.”
Lance continued to hold Kenny’s head and talk in his face. “OK, when we’re done here let’s take Kenny downstairs and make him as normal as we can. I’m not sure how we can make him temporarily forget his situation, yet remember enough to talk about school when he’s home. We’ll figure it out later.” Kenny continued to stand wide-eyed and flexed.
“I’m worried about Tom and Dom, though,” said John. “They’ve gotten to the point of regular humiliation that both of them now want. We had to program the brothers who live in nearby rooms not to hear the noises from Tom and Dom’s room. Of course, since they’re on the swim team, Dom knows he can’t leave visible marks anywhere except the area under his speedo. What can we do?”
“Well, I guess we could just order them to hide their ‘true’ situation from their folks, and pretend that they’re equals while they’re at home. It’s only for a few days. If they need a control fix, they can go in the bathroom or something,” Lance said.
The Grand Master growled. “Yeah whatever,” he said, “I guess we’re set for Thanksgiving. Now to some new business. Remember when we were discussing possible pledges, and I mentioned Jason Cole?”
One of the Grand Master’s freshman pledge prospects, Jason Cole, had pledged Rho Tau Rho instead. Jason, a member of the volleyball team, was a 6’7” blond typical southern California surfer , with hair that fell in his eyes. Unlike many of the other pledge selections, the Master was sure Jason was gay. At least, Jason had never seemed to object when the Master lingered outside the bathroom while Jason was showering, and sometimes even winked and seemed to be showing off while soaping up. And with his tall tight surfers’ body, he had reason to show off—at Sig Lam, only Kenny even came close to matching Jason’s body.
Naturally, the Grand Master’s excited thoughts were more about controlling Jason than actually sleeping with him. Instead, since Jason had pledged RTR, the Grand Master began to plot an experiment for Jason.
First, Lance would meet with Roger, the RTR president, offer him a lovely drink of Kool-Aid, and then—while he was highly Kool-Aided out, Lance would convince Roger to bring small groups of RTR brothers to Sig Lam on some spurious pretext, where they would be programmed. The Master explained to Lance and John that he had decided to set up competing RTR as a hierarchy based completely on size.* “If someone is slightly bigger than you, he’s your bud, but you’re likely to believe him and follow his suggestions. If he’s quite a bit bigger, you’ll respect him and do most of what he says. And if he’s really bigger, then you’ll worship him, and be totally in awe of him. You’ll be helpless to refuse him anything.”
“Wow,” said John. “That’s going to change things around over there. I’ve seen Roger the RTR president, and he’s really small. And I’ve heard you describe Jason.”
“Yeah that’s right, HAHAHA,” laughed the Grand Master. Jason the freshman will immediately become president of the frat. And Roger, I guess, will be looked down on by most of the brothers. They’ll make fun of him, push him around. They’ll probably make him scrub the showers, wash dishes, collect the garbage, and humiliate him like in those Abercrombie ads produced by that pornographer! But he’ll feel he has to do it, since his brothers are so much more godlike than he is.
“The part that’s really interesting is that I’m sure most of the RTR brothers are straight, but their new president will be gay. And I’m sure Jason will be able to turn their immense respect and admiration for him into something else.”
“Will you set up regular frat meetings over there?” asked Lance.
“Heck no, I don’t have enough time. But like I’ll control Jason, so I will control the frat.”
IT WAS 8PM ON A LATE DECEMBER EVENING towards the end of the term. Christmas was coming, and the Sigma Lambda Alpha fraternity was decorated for the occasion. In the brothers-only television lounge stood what they all considered to be a festively decorated Christmas tree, although if any outsider had stepped in, they would instead have seen it was really Bill McPherson, standing motionless, with his arms and legs extended, covered with tinsel and dressed only in festive holiday decorations.
Over at RTR, freshman and president Jason Cole was enjoying the second month of his exalted status. When he wasn’t playing volleyball or working out, he’d spend the evening in his room studying, with the door open, wearing only boxers, smiling constantly, sprawled on a reclining chair with his long muscled legs stretched out and one big foot over the other. Occasionally he would brush his long blond hair out of his eyes, but then he would lower his hands back onto his hips.
Jason was now living in the largest room in the house, which formerly was Roger’s room, and although it was on the top floor, many of the brothers would find an excuse to pass by his door and admire his body. Originally, the straight ones among them would have a pang of fear when Jason called out “Yo dude, come in here a minute” as they passed his door, but as time went by, they began to look forward to it, and would even linger a bit by the door hoping he would call them in. The sheer honor and excitement of serving someone that big gave them such a rush that they began to get out of bed late, having to lay there imagining themselves being ordered around by Jason while they performed actions that are thoroughly objectionable and cannot be mentioned due to the family nature of our magazine. But let’s just say almost every room secretly had a copy of one of Jason’s volleyball photos under the bed.
Back at Sig Lam, some new experiments were underway. The Grand Master had admired the physique of Dennis the baseball player, so now whenever Dennis was anywhere in the house, he wore only white socks. In the television lounge, at the dinner table, in the rec room playing pool, Dennis was always dressed, [or shall we say, undressed] identically. Naturally, no one noticed this, least of all Dennis. This led to some highly amusing scenes: Dennis at the coffee machine in the morning, wearing socks among a group of brothers heavily dressed in warm winter clothes; or Dennis in the living room chair with Bill the ottoman’s big open lips under his socked feet, each brother largely oblivious to the other. Of course, the humor in all this was only apparent to the Grand Master and yourself, dear reader.
When Cliff got back to the frat after Thanksgiving, the Grand Master used him to initiate the basketball team experiment he had planned a month previously. Cliff brought each team member to Sig Lam, treating each player to a lovely and nutritional glass of Kool-Aid. The Master then easily learned that all but one of the 12 basketball team members were straight [well, until now]. “Fine,” he thought. “That will make the experiment better.”
Visiting the local skate park, the Grand Master rounded up a dozen of his H.S. skater boy friends, inviting them over to his house for a kick-ass nonalcoholic party. XY is a clean-living magazine so of course the party was nonalcoholic! Besides, it was a hot day so they all happily drank the Kool-Aid they were offered.
Shortly thereafter, each one was brought into a room with an equally zonked basketball player. There, the player became convinced that before each game, to be able to focus, to be the best player he could be, he needed to swallow the saliva of his skater boy match. Meanwhile, the skater became convinced that it was a very natural thing for his college basketball player to need his saliva.
And that was it. The basketball player was under no direct compulsion to do anything the skater said, but the skater was in a great negotiating position. Desperate for saliva from his skater, before each game the helpless player would have to perform for his skater. It usually involved a personal favor or an act of public humiliation in front of the skater’s H.S. friends—calling him Sir, licking his board, performing a strip act. The player would be caught between society’s preposterous idea that “straightness” is acceptable, and helpless desire for the skater’s saliva. The Grand Master wondered if the latter would eventually overcome the former, and cause relationships that lasted into the summer. With basketball season having started, the Grand Master was entertained at various times with the sight of tall buff muscular basketball players desperately trying to kiss scrawny teen skater boys to get the skater boys’ saliva.
In one particularly amusing matchup, the Master had hand-picked his friend Josh to be Cliff’s controller. Josh was bad, but Josh was hot. He was gay, 15 and had an evil grin and penetrating pale blue eyes. Cliff would desperately go after Josh’s lips, but when he did that Josh would pull away laughing hysterically and turn Cliff into a puppy who couldn’t stand on two legs and could only bark. But as Cliff yapped and jumped, he couldn’t help himself. Whenever he swallowed Josh’s saliva, he felt himself growing stronger, smarter, more adept.
Unknown to Cliff, however, Josh had begun to alter Cliff’s programming to make them fall in love with Cody. Grabbing Cliff’s head, Josh said with a sneer, “Since you’ve been obedient, I’m going to give you a gift. Whenever you wear Cody’s sneakers clothes, you’ll become shorter. Your clothes will become looser as you become like him. You’ve always wanted to be a trim, buff gymnast like Cody.”
Josh laughed hysterically as Cliff tried to touch his lips on Josh’s. Meanwhile, in another room, Lance was programming Cody. “Cody, when you put on Cliff’s shoes and sniff his jersey, you’ll feel yourself growing taller. You’ll feel your arms getting longer. You will become big like him.” Cody grunted.
“When you, Cody, become taller than Cliff, you will regain control of your speech and be able to reveal your lust for one other. Other people will still act as if you, were still short. They won’t see the change. But you two will know it when you are standing together, and you, Cliff, are gazing way up into Cody’s eyes.”
“You will remember all this subconsciously. But for now you will forget... forget... forget...”
Having reached the end of his own program, Josh shook his head awake. He forgot everything that just happened, looked down, wondered what he was doing in this dumb-ass frat full of loser jocks, and left. When Cliff and Cody awoke, they stole glances at each other with frustrated longing, but also with a buried sense of great hope that they had never felt before. They had no idea where the sense of hope came from, but they were soon destined to find out. The Grand Master didn’t mind if one of his experiments ended in satisfaction for the subjects, because like whatever, you know?
AND SO the Grand Master’s basketball team experiment played itself out. The mentalities of most of the players were slowly altered across the season to where they actually looked forward to their pregame activities, much as one might enjoy a pregame workout. And the funny part was, the team played considerably better than expected. They seemed more focused, and played as a team as never before. They rose in the college ranks, won their league, and were invited to the NCAA tournament. But then, everyone knows that gay boys are the best athletes.
Of course, they had to pay to fly their controlling skaters to the regional tournament in order to ensure a fresh supply of saliva. Beside which, the Grand Master didn’t want to miss being in the hotel room where the scene unfolded of the wiry shirtless skaters, standing in a row with their arms crossed, looking down fondly as their tall muscled jock slaves, on their knees, kissed them for all they were worth.
Clearly, all of them, even the “straight” jocks and skaters, were enjoying this. The full season had obviously worked changes on them all.
The tournament began the next day. Even though they were in way over their heads, the team went on to win the bowl.
“Incredible what the power of the mind can do,” said the tall new RTR President Jason, clad in just briefs, as he held his boyfriend tight in the private Sig Lam Skybox, high above the stadium.
“Yeah,” replied the teenage Grand Master as he too watched from high above the game. “Now gimme a kiss. Hahaha! That is too cool.”
So, Jason lifted the Grand Master off the ground and held him tight kissing him hard. Then they both spun round in fast circles, looking in each other’s eyes and laughing their heads off at the whole fucken world.