The clinic, part I.188.8.131.52
Two more clients and a third still waiting -
While the doctor explained what actually had happened to Gerald, the waiting room was full of men, waiting for their turn. Surely some would have left, knowing what the doc was telling his latest client. But the men waiting did not know it. And they all had problems remembering, when they had decided to come here.
Let’s have a look around: There was Matthew, 24 years old, skinny, IT-specialist, reading in one of the magazines. Here, we have Robert, 30, working as accountant, fluffy brown hair, clean shaved face, average body, glasses. Marcus, 50 years old, slim man, working in a hotel as concierge, elegantly dressed in a three parted suit. That should be enough for now, I think. What did those men have in common? Sure, they all had some unfulfilled dreams, obviously. They all want some adventure, some change in their life. The wishes they had, on the other hand, were very different as we will see later. So, what is the one thing they have in common? Let’s zoom in.
There is the backpack of Matthew. In one of the small compartments, we can see a white smartphone. The brand is Weihua, the new trendy Chinese company selling laptops, smartphones and tablets. Robert is checking his WhatsApp on his Weihua-phone in gold, trying to figure out, when he actually made the appointment. Strange, he remembered seeing the add and that he had called – and after that, nothing. Marcus was reading in one of the magazines, when suddenly his black Weihua-phone rang. It was his boss, asking him where in god’s name he was. His shift had started 20 minutes ago. He was shocked. Not a single day in his life he had been too late for work! Never. He had to go, oh, wait, there was a WhatsApp. He read it – and stayed.
Matthew had seen the add online as he had looked something up at the Weihua-support page. A company that could make dreams come true sounded very cool. He loved fantasy and scifi, but of course he was no moron. There was nothing like magic and no company could ever do for him, what he wanted. Nor would anybody in the whole world understand his secret wish. Matthew had been what his aunt Lisa had called “an odd child”. His granny was more gently, saying “he was an old soul in a child’s body”. Damn, she could not have said it better. He never had many friends in school. All their screaming and running and shouting was something that seemed stupid. He never liked, what they liked. He was a guy that liked books, and quiet and being alone. He was a kind of freak, when it came to computers, fixing the school computers and learning more about programming in his free time very day. He was a smart guy. But he was a lonely guy, too. Other than most people, he was sad about being lonely. He kind of liked it. He seemed not to be a social person. With 16, when all the boys and girls in school only talked about kissing, dating and having sex, he realized that he was gay. He did not fell in love with a fellow student, but with Mr. Harper, their literature teacher. Many young students secretly admire or love their teachers, but Mr. Harper was surely not the typical candidate for admiration. He was 61 years old when he took over Matthew’s class and you could see every single year of his life in his face and body. In fact, he looked older. He was bald, with one of those stupid comb-overs that made him look even balder, he had a big, grey moustache and was fat. Dresses always very old fashioned and smelled of eau d’cologne and pipe tobacco. It totally confused Matthew that he was so attracted by this man. Shouldn’t he admire one of those young, strong, muscular actors or famous sport starts? What was wrong with him.
After school, he realized, that he loved the company of older men. The way they moved, the way they spoke, smelled, dressed, all that fascinated him. To finance his studies, he started to give computer classes at a local community center and to his joy, many men between 60 and 80 joined the classes. After the class, he often went to a café with all those elderly gentlemen, having a coffee with thick, fat cream and eating cake. They called him “son” or “boy”, but he never liked that. He was not interested to be a “son” or “boy”, he was interested in having one of those creepy daddy-son relations. He wanted to be with a man like that in a relationship on equal turns.
Looking particularly young for his age did not help with that matter. He was skinny, had nearly no beard at all (he could name all hairs sprouting from his chin and his moustache was finer and lighter than that of most 13-year-old boys). Not to speak of body-hair. He still had unclean skin and pimples and most people thought, he was something between 15 and 18. For years now, he fantasized of being one of those old, bald, big bellied, conservative dressed, pipe-smoking older gentlemen, having a relationship with one of those men. On the other hand, the thought seemed creepy, strange, unhealthy. But being like that at least for some time, some hours maybe, that sounded like a fantastic idea. How this company could realize this strange fantasy was out of his imagination. Nevertheless, he was sitting here in the waiting area without being able to recall how he actually got here and why.
He checked his Weihua-phone one last time, hoping to find a clue. It was 1 p.m. now. Suddenly, he was called over the speaker and ordered to treatment room 4.
Nothing seemed special about the small treatment room, but he saw that the computer (Weihua) was quite expensive and a very good model, kind of too expensive for being used as a better typewriter. The screen was enormous. Interesting. Minutes later, a doctor entered the room and introduced himself as Dr. Wilbur. His handshake was firm and very intense, a person one could trust immediately. “So, Mr. Gringster, I have studied your file”, he said, flipping through a thick folder. “Your wish is to look older, bald, with a moustache and a belly?”
Hearing that aloud was kind of embarrassing but nevertheless, he nodded. “Yes, I never felt like a guy my age. I always adored men in their 60’s, real men, big men, bald men, that is right. I know that I still have a lot of time to reach my goals and who knows, maybe, one day, I will be a man like that, although I doubt that I ever go bald or get fat. This wish has been in my mind for ever now and after I read your head, I decided to come here and see what you can do for me. Allow me one question first, will you?”
“Please, feel free to ask anything Matthew, may I call you Matthew?” And so, Matthew asked how the doctor was planning on achieving the alterations to his body. The explanation was – unbelievable. On one hand. On the other hand, it made total sense. In fact, it was super fascinating. “You are really that far? Wow, I am kind of speechless. May I see them?”
The doctor turned the screen of his computer and Matthew saw them. Really fascinating, extremely interesting. “But you have so many options of using those miracles, why waste them to what you do here, no offense meant”. “This is merely a test-run, so to speak. We are testing different ways of activating them, deactivating them, you see, we have the one-time injection and a system of a control via a smart-watch-like device.” The two men talked shop for quite a while. Matthew was so fascinated – and he would be a part of that test. A test, that could alter the entire human race.
“So, you are still willing to participate?” In a way, he had not expected that he could back out after what he had heard. Not that this had been an option for him. “Absolutely” “So, we only have to decide for the period of your transformation.” “Will it affect my health? I mean, when I choose, what I always wanted, will I actually age? That spooks me out a bit as you might understand.” “Matthew, not at all. In fact, our results so far show, that the chance to die of diseases like cancer is reduced to nearly 0 % as they would fight that off. It’s a purely optical change – and mental, when you want that to happen. It is up to you, as is the time period…” “Can I have one of those devices you talked about? I mean, to transform whenever I want?” “It does not work like that I am afraid. And you are not on our list for the device, I am sorry.”
Matthew’s mind was racing. When all this was true – and he kind of knew it was – this was a perfect chance. Why only stay in his dream form for only some hours? Why not go the full way. His fear that he might actually age seemed to be wrong and this gave him a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. “I take the 24 hour-treatment. Fuck, I really want this!” The doctor smiled. “Ok Matthew, I explained how it works, so please undress. I will inject them now, that can burn a bit, afterwards you will get the activation-device, those goggles here, and then you just do what I told you. One last chance to think about the 24-hour commitment.”
Matthew just smiled and gave the doc both thumbs up. The doc smiled back and typed in something in the computer. A strange machine started to pump a clear liquid into a syringe inside a glass cubicle. The doctor grabbed the syringe, gave the goggles to Matthew and then injected the clear liquid into Matthew’s arm. The program started immediately…
While Dr. Wilbur was the talkative guy, Dr. Li was not. He had ushered in a still confused Marcus into treatment room 3. He saw the blank look in his eyes and made a hook in his mental notebook. The program was working very well. The guinea-pig, sorry, human test person, was responding perfectly. It seemed that most of his free will had melted away. Now they would be able to make him respond without any social restrains holding him back. He would not remember anything of the treatment afterwards, that was a fourth option, Dr. Wilbur had not even mentioned to Matthew. Dr. Li would be a bit creative with this guy as he was not very specific in his wishes. Sure, he had mentioned some details, but a lot was still open to creative decisions made by the man in charge, and that was, without any doubt, Dr. Li.
Marcus felt a bit dizzy. He was not sure why he was talking so much to the doctor, telling him things he had never told anybody before. Most people he knows would call him crazy or stupid, that was very sure. His story goes like that: Marcus works in one of the most expensive hotels in town, he is the concierge. He his head of staff, a man fluent not only in English and Spanish but in French, Italian and German, too. He loved his job, that was no question. He was born to be in service, he loved pleasing his clients and he was a perfectionist. But he had those moments, when it was all annoying him. Being polite all the time, smile all the time, be the perfect gentleman all the time.
Every day on his way to the hotel, he walked through a small park as a short cut. And every day he walked past a group of punkers. Six, sometimes up to ten young men, around 20 to 25, all dressed like punks, in red checked pants, super skinny jeans with holes in them, marked with Edding, some in leather, loose hanging shirts, leather vests, high boots, all inked and pierced, the majority with tall, colorful mohawks and totally shaved sides, one with half his head shaved, one with a kind of double mohawk. They were drinking and smoking pot most of the time, giggling, laughing – and to his surprise making out with each other. They walked through the park as if it was their property, scaring all ladies and begging from the people, passing by.
First, he thought like most people passing those punks: he was disgusted, a tiny bit afraid and kind of angry that those guys spent all the day hanging out, drinking, doing drugs and making out while decent people like him had to work hard to earn their living. But, with the days passing, he started to envy those young men. Sometimes he pitied them, too, as they were still very young but couldn´t possible reach anything in life, just hanging around in the park all day.
The times, he envied them, doubled, when his job was very stressful. In those moments he wished he could just throw away his fancy clothes, dress in tight leather jeans and hang out with the punks. Being a bit younger again could be nice, too. Of course, he was not thinking of giving up his entire life. No, he had worked way to hard to get the position he was in yet. Leaving school with 16, he had started as a hall-boy in the very same hotel he was still working now, 34 years later. He had become a page, then a room-boy, worked at the information, in the restaurant, everywhere. He had studied language and good behavior, had read books and magazines about hairstyles, clothing, music, architecture and culture, he had visited museums and expensive shops to learn more about the lifestyle of the upper-class that stayed in the hotel. He got a taste for good food and wine, he liked fine clothes for himself now, and last but not least, he was a in very good position now being the chief concierge of the hotel. But escaping this role for one afternoon, just being somebody totally different, that was his anti-stress dream and now it was about to become true, at least for a short period of time, just as it should be.
For Marcus, the idea of being transformed into a punk like the guys in the park, was something like a spa-treatment. A moment to calm down, being free from stress, pressure and social norms. The doctor had told him that they would alter his appearance so drastically, nobody could ever recognize him for the period, he would be a 23 years old punk. The doc had explained how it works, didn´t he. He could not remember. Strange. He saw himself signing a kind of contract, saying that his transformation would last 8 hours. That was the longest period he could afford to pay for. Shame, he would have liked to get a full day, but 8 hours was ok, he guessed.
The doc ordered him to undress and so he did. He put away his clothes meticulously. The doctor was doing something at the computer, and he saw a syringe being filled with some clear liquid. “It is 14:00 now, your transformation will last until 10 p.m., try to be at home when transforming back, could be a bit odd to change back while being in company!”
“Ouch” the syringe was in his arm and the clear liquid pumped into his blood circle. He rubbed his arm while the doctor put a kind of VR device around his head. There was a strange humming filling his head and flashes appeared before his eyes. As the doctor said, he pressed the button at the goggles and the humming sound and flashlights stopped. His head was kind of spinning when he took it off. He was lone in the treatment room now. Excited, he walked over to the large mirror that dominated the rear wall.
Here he was, naked, and not changed at all. Still his longish, silver grey hair, his grey, very distinguished looking full beard, his slender, nearly skinny body with a light amount of salt and pepper body-hair. He sighed. Would have been to good to be tr… aaaaah. Suddenly, he writhed in pain.
The pain was not to be localized. It felt like lava was running through his veins, set his skin on fire and inflame his nerves. Through a curtain of tears, he watched himself in the mirror – and opened his eyes wide. The first thing he realized that his slightly sacking chest was taut again, his nipples being back at the position they used to be in when he was 20. It was a kind of subtle change but for him it was so obvious. His neck looked very firm again and, still in pain but fascinated, he walked closer to the mirror. Yes, his face looked younger, no wrinkles anymore, the skin nearly rosy and fresh.
He felt like Madeline Ashton in “Death suits her”. His entire body feeling tighter, firmer, younger. His hands, his belly, his legs. Wow. The body-hair dissolved under his eyes, leaving him hair-free, only in his armpits and at his pubes he still had some very dark hair. Wait, under his arms? He shaved under his arms! But there was hair.
The beard turned from grey to black again but when he stroke the now shiny black carpet, he had hairs between his fingers. It was a bit shocking. Seconds later, the heavy beard, his pride and joy, was gone, leaving some patchy looking stubble. The moustache fell off in a big clump, only the goatee left. And that goatee grew in length, nearly reaching his nipples. It turned from black to totally white and then to a bright red. He gasped in shock before he remembered that he had not chosen to be his younger self but a punker. In this moment, he regretted that decision. The feeling of being young again would have been enough…
The new long goatee was a bit sparse, thin around the edges and had surely never seen beard oil. Oh gosh, what was that smell? A strong scent filled the room, sweet and sour at the same time. He sniffed again and when he moved, the scent grew stronger. Oh god, it was him! He lifted his arm and the smell of sour sweat filled his nose. He smelled like he hadn´t seen a shower in weeks. And there was more, beer, booze, pot, piss? In the park, he had never realized that those punks reeked, but here, in a closed room, it was breathtaking. He started to panic a bit. Maybe that all had been a huge mistake. Being free and young was one thing but smelling like that something totally different. He felt his cock come to life, realizing, that this smell turned him on. That was spooky!! But he had wished to be one of those gay punks that use to make out with each other in the park. Must mean, that he now kind of liked that smell, he better should to have some fun with those punks.
When he looked at his fingers, he saw that he now had black enamel on his nail, chipped off black enamel to be correct. And his fingers looked different, stained, especially the index and middle finger at his left hand. Irritated he scratched his head and saw chunks of hair coming off. He nearly hyperventilated. He should have expected that part of the transformation but seeing his hair change from silver pompadour to a mohawk was … kind of shocking. The sides of his head were super smooth, not even a shadow visible while one long dreadlock formed in the back, nearly reaching his ass. The rest of his hair turned white, then neon green before his eyes. The mohawk was not styled, hanging down at one side like a green, dry and shaggy curtain.
The pain changed and hit him in his face. He buried his face in his hands in agony and suddenly felt something weird. Shaking, he looked back in the mirror and couldn´t believe what he saw. That was, in a way, the strangest transformation yet. Suddenly, he sported six rings in his lower lip, accompanied by snakebites and a septum, two nostril piercings at the right and two at the left side, two rings in the left and two in the right brow, a piercing in his cheek, one at the root of his nose. He could feel two piercings in his tongue, too. His ears were nearly invisible under 16 rings in each ear. And he sported tunnels. His earlobes nearly touching his shoulders. There were no tunnels in them but very heavy rings, pulling the grotesquely enlarged lobed further down. His skin darkened at some positions of his body, turning into rough looking and badly made tattoos before his eyes. A skull and a rose on his neck, the A for anarchy on his chest, FUCK YOU on his belly, another skull at his right arm, PUNK at his left knuckles and FUCK at the right, a crude looking design at the back of his left hand, more on his legs. Those were no studio-made tattoos but home-made designs, hacked into the skin by only slightly talented and surely stoned friends in a very dirty bathroom or kitchen.
The pain was suddenly gone as the transformation was over. Marcus stared at his reflection in a mixture between shock, fascination, horniness and disgust. He smelled very badly, looked kind of dirty and very cheap. And absolutely non-conformist. He was young again, but the youthful body was disfigured with metal and ink, not to speak about a longish fire red goatee and a neon green, unstyled mohawk. He touched his face with all the strange metal in it, played around with the piercings in his tongue and while do so, realized that his normally perfect teeth were yellowish.
And suddenly, he got kicked into his face, figurative speaking. He got a headache like hit by a lightening. His mind got fuzzy and dizzy and new knowledge streamed in. He could literally feel his hard-earned cultural knowledge melt away and being replaced by alien knew information about punk-bands, drugs and stuff like that. The horniness grew to a new level as did his interest in work, hygiene and a regular life diminished to zero.
The strange thing was, that he could see his old life like in a bubble enshrined in his head. He could not really reach it, but it was there. He observed himself scratch his ass and then burp. He smiled, yeah, had been a good one. He sniffed at his pits and loved how it made his eyes water. Suddenly, somebody knocked at the door and one of those preppy, clean guys in white stepped into the room. He made a grimace, as his nose was hit by the smell of that punk. Even he was surprised how much the company could change their clients.
“Would you please follow me, Sir” the funny bro said. “Sir” haha, what a fucktard. “Yo, bro, coming, you got a ciggy, bro?” he heard himself say. “And you’ve got a dollar, dude?”. It was as if there was the original Marcus sitting in the back of his head and observing the new outside Marcus, acting like a real punk.
He followed this preppy boy and entered a small changing room. The chamber smelled of leather, sweat and pot. Marcus found a shirt, sleeves cut off, a leather vest with rivets, over nd over decorated with patches and hand writings in white Edding (a large ANARCHY A all over the back), super tight leather jeans with laces at the sides and high, worn, red Dr. Martens boots with 30 holes. A belt with spikes completed the outfit along with a heavy metal chain for his neck, closed with a padlock.
Marcus dressed in the clothes that smelled of sweat, beer, pot and old tobacco, immediately feeling more like himself. He found some leather bracelets, too and put them on. He grinned as his reflection, now really looking like a punk. The preppy boy, who had watched all the time (surely he was horny and wanted to fuck with that dirty punk, yeah bro!) guided him to another room and on the way gave him a leather pouch with tobacco, papers and obviously some pot in it. Marcus, who had never smoked in his life, rolled two ciggies, put one behind his ear and the other one between his lips. He saw the no smoking signs but fuck’ em all. He smoked where he wanted. And so he did.
The way too clean boy guided him into what looked like a hairdresser’s salon where another preppy boy was waiting for him. He was shocked by the smell of the punk, the burning ciggy in his mouth. Marcus flipped himself into the chair, half lying. “Go on bru, dat mo needs some lacquer to stand up like my fat cock!”
Marcus massaged his cock through the tight leather quite obscenely and grinned at the shocked hairstylist. He caped Marcus and started to work on the hawk until it stood 3 feet tall on his head. “Yeah. Dat’s bedda, bru, fuck, dat’s how a proper mo has to look like!”
Marcus stood up, more jumping to his feet, and between two streams of smoke coming from his mouth, kissed the surprised and shocked hairdresser on his mouth, his tongue with the piercings entering deep into his mouth. The man was disgusted and tried to push Marcus away, but he grabbed him by the balls and forced him to his knees. The second preppy boy only looked in shock, but started to massage his own crotch through his white pants, as Marcus forced the hairdresser on his knees and opened the fly of his leather pants. His raunchy cock flipped out and nearly poked into the guy’s eye. Marcus forced his big, dirty cock into his mouth and started to face fuck him, screaming obscene insults and looking right into the second guys eyes.
The man came a bit closer and suddenly was at Marcus’ side, who grabbed and kissed him. The guy squeak in surprise but then gave in. After some minutes, he filled the hairdresser with his punk-cum and he swallowed the last drop of it before he suddenly forced the second guy into the barberchair. He grabbed the clippers and placed himself on the lap of the shocked man. Unable to move, he begged Marcus not to cut his hair, but Marcus had a run and started to buzz a wide strip right in the middle of the guy’s head without a guard. The man had longish hair, all brushed back and Marcus would give him a super punky deadhawk, the cut the singer of prodigy had, with two hawks and the middle and sides shaved bald.
Hair flew everywhere and the not so preppy boy started to cry like a baby while the hairdresser started to lick and kiss the sweaty and stinky body of the newborn punker that was transforming another man. Although Not-Preppy-Boy was crying like a baby, Marcus could feel his hard dick through the pants. Now and then, he stopped in his hairdressing and stroke the dick, he freed from the textile.
The boy thought it was over when the clippers felt silent, but Marcus grabbed the shaving cream and a razor and finished his job properly, taking off not only the stubble on his head but shaving off the guy’s short full-beard, too. With hairspray and a blow-dryer, he spiked the two rows of hair, rolled a ciggy for himself and a second, spiced with pot, for the still sobbing Not-Preppy-Boy. He placed the burning joint between his lips and forced him to inhale by pinching his nose. He coughed but finally got the hang of it. Marcus then fed some smoke to the second guy before he started to piss all over the now kneeling transformed Not-Preppy-Boy. The hairstylist crawled under the golden shower, too. After that, Marcus just left the boys, lying on the floor, soaked in punk-piss.
****Now he would have some fun with his new friends in the park