ALTERATION

How do you cope when you find yourself in a situation with no idea how you got there?

  

Slowly the black gave way to stillness. He opened his eyes and saw emptiness. Where was he? Was this all a dream? He tried to stand up, but found his wrists were confined with manacles to the seat he occupied. His eyes looked around, seeing smooth mirrored walls, illuminated with a dim overhead light. He sought to yell, but then realized his mouth was restrained as well. This was when he detected underneath the clamp covering his lower jaw, there was a small feeding tube. He tasted what the tube had to offer. Obviously it was designed to be appealing, but he suspected it was also to render him unconscious, when need be. 

He suspected whoever put him here had anticipated he would struggle, scream beneath the gag, cause injury to himself for being confined with no explanation, but he decided against that. He remembered the last thing he saw, where he was. 

He was with friends. They were having a wonderful night out at the local club. They sang karaoke and laughed with more drinks. Bright lights shined in the darkness of the establishment, reflecting off sequined gowns and flashy makeup. He enjoyed himself so much, he pulled his wig off to fan himself, resulting in laughter from the assembly. 

The night grew late, so gradually the hysterical bunch made their way out to the parking lot, and tho somewhat inebriated, there were those, such as himself, who did not heed the rules of the road. 

He reached his car and leaned down to remove the heels. Opening the door, he tossed the shoes and the wig, which he never put back on, onto the back seat. He got in his car and now in the quiet, just before he put his key in the ignition, he took a deep breath and rested his head back on the seat. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. Then he cranked up and drove away. 

Or did he? He couldn't remember. Maybe he fell asleep in the car, within the parking lot. Was he arrested? Picked up for vagrancy? He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember anything after that, until he woke up here. And he didn't know where here was. 

He tried moving his feet to see if he had on shoes. His feet around the ankles were restrained as well. He allowed his eyes to look some more. Oh, he knew he was being watched. He just didn't know why. Well, he knew one thing. He had to relieve himself, so whoever was behind this better show up to provide him assistance. That was when he comprehended his groin was all concealed in a manner to provide him with the means to go as he pleased. He was not meant to move, and he didn't know why. 

He heard a door open behind him and the sound of heels on the tiled floor. Whoever it was, they simply tinkered with the back of the chair, something unhooked, then replaced. He hummed to see if he could get their attention. Then he heard footsteps and the door closed once more. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes. He opened them and looked around the quiet room a second time. 

Suddenly, all the mirrored surfaces flickered. A single bright light in the center of the panel burst into a full screen and on all these screens were women. Lovely young women, cavorting about, laughing, smiling. Full-figured beauties, buxom ladies. So beautiful. He observed as they smiled at the camera. Was this live? He didn't know. 

No matter which way he turned his gaze, there was a blonde, a brunette with sparkling blue eyes, a redhead. 

All completely naked. They lounged about, stretched, cupped a breast, opened their legs to him. If he closed his eyes, he still heard their girlish laughter, their purrs and deep sighs. He finally opened his eyes to see the blonde caressing between her legs, looking back to him, smiling and giving such a come-hither look. He looked as far in an opposite direction as he could, the brunette was on her hands and knees, looking backward at the camera. No matter which way he turned, there they were. 

He closed his eyes again. Think of Brad. Try to think of Brad. He clenched his eyes and tried to hum as loud as he could. He might have drowned out the women, but it also interfered with seeing Brad. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes again. 

Bright red lips smiling over smooth, milky skin and curvaceous, supple breasts. He honestly suspected the audio was turned up, so he could hear them louder. He allowed himself to just slump in the chair. They wanted him to fight and exhaust himself, hurt himself, but he refused to do that. But still, he gave in to the fatigue. He opened his eyes once more, to see a closeup on the breasts, on the n*****s. 

Then the door opened again. 

Once more, he heard the heels across the floor, but this time, the footsteps proceeded further. In the monitor screen's radiance, he saw the form of the person as they slowly walked into his line of view. He watched as she seemed to check readings and grids on various devices on the arms of the chair, on the sides. She scanned at his wrist. He heard a beep. He looked at her face, but couldn't make out her features due to the bright screen behind her. 

"You're a quiet one," she said calmly. She leaned across him to scan another screen on the opposite armrest. He felt her pubic hair on his hand. He flattened his hand out, trying to keep from being touched by them. He had already detected she was completely naked, obviously except for a pair of heels. He wondered if she might be one of the women in the videos. She was still too shrouded by the monitors in the distance. As she leaned, he could only stare at the breasts swaying before him. She stood back up straight, did some more beeping on her hand-held device, then stepped out of his view. 

"Enjoy your movies, handsome." 

He heard heels walk away, then the door closed. 

The nude women on the screens laughed and danced with no sign of stopping. He breathed silently, comprehending to resist worked against him. But he was so tired. He heard the women laughing even as he seemed to nod off. 

And still heard them. 

When he came to, he was now in a different situation. He still had the clamp on his jaw, but it was a different one, still feeding him nutrients and whatever was required to keep him under control. He was in a standing position now, his hands chained to either side of him on what seemed to be metal rods, just above waist level. He could tell he was standing somewhat, and now, able to move his head, he looked down to see a conveyor belt. Clearly this was to be his exercise routine, to ensure he stays in shape and healthy. 

Obviously the sturdy attachments to his waist were to maintain his stature, so he didn't just slump and let the moving belt injure him, but what if he just lifted his feet and sat there, suspended in air? He immediately got his answer. 

Two digital counters were visible before him. One was labeled 'Designated Distance' and the other was "Your Distance'. The designated distance gave with a count of three miles. His distance said zero. The belt was moving. Then he heard the beep and the imposing screen before him once more went into use. 

Laughter. 

He already deduced what he had to do, but then heard a female voice, "please reach the designated distance with your counter, then you will be finished. Otherwise remain and enjoy the view." 

"You're a quiet one," meant there were others. Where were they? 

He began to run as instructed. He could have turned away as he ran, but he watched to see if any of the same women as before appeared, if any of the videos were reruns. He wondered if any of them were the woman who came to his room. How long had he been in this confined state in this place, not just on this exerciser? Who was doing this? 

"You're a quiet one." How many, he wondered.  

He tried once more to remember the last thing he could recall again. At the club, many drinks, laughter. Brad was there in sparkling white and a black wig, looking stunning. So many drinks. Why did he drink so much? More drinks. His heartbeat began to coincide with his feet running on the conveyor belt. If he had to look at these women all the time, he at least wanted to be sitting down, not having to exert himself like this. He had one more mile to go. 

Where was his car, with the wig and high heels on the back seat? Was no one missing him at work? Were the police trying to find him? 

"You're a quiet one." 

If there were others, was no one missing them? Letting the police know? 

BEEP! 

The counter showed he had reached the desired length. The screen with the women went black. Even tho his mouth was covered, he was able to excessively breathe having just run this distance. The taste of flavor was present in his mouth. He suspected he would eventually pass out into unconscious. 

He was correct. 

He opened his eyes once more to find himself back in the room, strapped in the chair as before. He relieved himself and waited for the women to return. Instead, the chair seemed to hum and began to turn. He now faced the opposite direction, staring at the door the woman used earlier and with that, the door opened. He so hoped he would be given some sort of control with the chair, but such was not the case. He decided the only way to escape from this was to see what all it had to offer, so he quietly waited. 

The chair moved forward, like an electric wheelchair. Now in the hallway of this establishment, he turned to his left to make his way down a plain dwelling, with polished floors to permit the chair to move. He could see a similar chair in front of him, deducing someone else was also in that prison. 

"You're a quiet one." 

He stared at the back of the moving machine, studying it. He observed the unfamiliar compartments and button consoles, trying to figure out what all it could do. Something must provide food, nourishment, potentially the same manner for drugging them. There must be medical items as well, and of course, the means to deal with the lower bodily functions. 

He wasn't able to see who was in front of him, but eventually comprehended a second chair ahead of him, then a third. They moved along like a train down this winding corridor. Finally they seemed to reach their destination. They rolled out into an open arena and slowly came to a halt. He heard loud grunting and moans from around him. The chair before him seemed to turn, allowing him to briefly glimpse the fellow before he rolled away. 

A button. 

A button beneath his finger. He was able to press it and the chair moved. He was now in control, but he wasn't. He knew whoever was behind this was still in charge and following their routine. He could simply move the chair in this enclosed paved arena with bright sunshine over head. 

They were getting fresh air. With their mouths prevented from moving. 

He quickly moved about to see how many he could detect. How many were there. Then he thought of Brad. Was Brad in here? Did they have Brad? He proceeded to circle the other chairs and just saw guys in similar predicaments to his own, or as best as he could detect. 

Some of the men had been crying. As he neared each chair, he saw the sad eyes from excessive crying, fiery red anger flaring from neath heavily furrowed brows. He would motion to another chair to see if it was Brad. Some of them would barely glance at him, then dash off somewhere else. 

They must be looking for someone else as well, he thought. Or they were begging to be rescued, desperate to escape. 

One chair bumped him. He briefly glanced the young man with curly blonde hair confined within, then he went on his way, anxious to somehow learn if Brad were here. He had coasted a small distance when he was struck once more by another chair. He hesitated, then turned to see who it was. It was the curly blonde haired kid again, his eyes visibly afraid. The young man grunted at him. 

He allowed his chair to draw near the young man, who grunted again beneath the mask. He looked at the youth. Was he recognized? Did he know something. He gave no recollection of curly blonde hair at all. 

The young man grunted again. What was he trying to say? All he could see, all any of them could see of each other, was the nose and the eyes. He looked at the young man's eyes, tearful, red. 

He grunted again. What? What did he want? The fellow seemed to be following him. 

He couldn't stay here any longer. He had to find Brad, learn if Brad was here. He backed away to see more of the other guys, when sure enough, there came the curly blonde kid again. 

Another grunt. 

He moved in as close as he could, to see the lad. 

He was handsome, actually cute in his youthful way. And just so very much in pain. He could tell. This person didn't know what was going on either. Well neither did he. He suspected none of them did. He looked back to the frightened person and tried to give a consoling expression in return. 

It's all right, he wanted to say. We'll get out of this. Don't worry. He raised his eyebrows and closed his eyes, then slowly opened them in this attempt to sooth this individual's distraught nerves. Then he gave the kid a wink. 

The young man sniffed and seemed to relax. He guessed it worked. 

Somewhat calmer, the fellow gave with another hard grunt. All he could return was an mm-hmm, mm-hmm. Just some idea of agreement for now. He had actually forgotten about Brad. 

They heard a loud horn, like an alarm. High upon another large screen, the words SESSION OVER appeared, then the chairs began to move all over the place. He vainly pressed the button to try to go in another direction, but to no avail. The chairs began filing back through the door from where they came, all lined back up to return within. Recess was over, he thought. He pretty much deduced it would be back to his incarceration. 

Once more like a train, they rolled through the pathway, occasionally this one or that one being steered off into their designated room. Still he could hear the struggling sounds of protest from behind him. Was it the curly blonde guy? Was Brad there, but unable to get to him? 

Sure enough, he veered off to enter his room. Or for all he knew, it could be the same room. He was suspecting all the compartments looked exactly the same, so he really didn't know if it was the same room he was in before. 

Once more the panels around him blinked and lit up. He stared blankly at the women who were shown. Grew oblivious to their merriment. Even as he closed his eyes and tried to think of Brad, he could still hear them. He tried to quietly hum to muffle them from before him, but it was as before; doing so prevented him from seeing Brad. Slowly he opened his eyes to see the beautiful pair of big brown eyes looking back at him from the screen, as her polished fingernails heaved her breasts up before the camera for him to see. And she smiled. Such a beautiful smile, surrounded by glistening red lips. 

This then was the routine. This was what he had to work with. Maybe if he could get the feeding tube out of his mouth, he could prevent them from drugging him into unconsciousness, but he suspected some of the other fellows had tried, so he must see what else he might do. 

He sought to note if it was the same guys during "recess". Some did seem the same and sometimes they all seemed different. He also figured there must be about fifty of them during each outing, but obviously not the same fifty. 

Why were they there? Clearly they were to be converted to give up their lifestyles. He knew nothing about the other fellows he couldn't even speak with, but it seemed very likely they were all in the same predicament. He used to wonder if they were there to quit smoking or drinking or some other addiction, but he knew it had to be sexual orientation they were trying to erase. 

A woman wearing high heels and nothing else, like an attendant, would show up maybe four even five times a day. He sought to get a count on the women; was it the same woman or different women? How many women? Did some show up more than others. Rarely did any of them speak, but sometimes one did. 

"You're a quiet one." 

He knew that comment must work in his favor and he began to know what he would do. 

And of course, once or twice, these female attendants made the point to motion close enough to him, brushing his arm and hand with her pubic hair, some leaning in even closer, so he could feel her vagina. Always making sure contact was made. 

He wondered if they were required to do that, or if they chose to do it on their own, to annoy him, and any of the others they did this to? On occasion, the woman would step forward, her back to him, so he could study her bare body. he heard beeps, then she would turn and leave. 

Exercise occurred every other day, as far as he could tell. How many days had it been? He was really starting to lose track. Slowly the distance he had to cover increased. Either he stayed there longer, observing the screen before him, or he could run faster. 

And always the laughter. Endless videos of the laughing, happy women. They would do acrobatics, completely unclothed and sometimes they would fail at the effort. He would laugh at their misfortune. He was starting to enjoy them. 

And that's what was wanted, wasn't it? 

Recess. Out in the courtyard. 

He had seen Curly only about once or twice and tried to communicate with him. The best option seemed to be eye blinks of some kind for each letter or something; one blink for A, two for B and so on. 

He tried blinking out his name to the kid, but it just took too long to reach some letters. After a while, he suspected Curly was catching on and he struggled to motion for Curly's name. 

Two blinks. 

That's a B. 

Lot of blinks. He lost count. Okay, that's a letter toward the end of the alphabet, he decided. 

Third letter? 

One blink. 

Next letter? Four blinks. 

He stared at Curly as the face sought to get him to understand, but he did understand. 

B-something-A-D. 

Brad. This fellow knew Brad. How did he know Brad? How could he find out what he knew? 

The siren sounded. The large overhead screen gave its instruction: RESIDENTS WILL BE RETURNED TO THEIR ROOMS. The automatic chairs all rolled into order to enter the building once more. 

Now he was enraged. How long had it been since he saw Brad? He wanted to hear from Brad and this guy seemed to know something about Brad, but he couldn't learn what he knew. He was back in the room. Laughter. 

He grunted and groaned beneath the vice across his mouth, the anger blowing out his nostrils in mucus as he grew even more furious. 

Laughter. 

He recognized one of the women. That seemed to get his attention. He was seeing the same woman, so maybe the others were some of the same women too. This calmed him down. As he had done with the nude female attendants and guys in the courtyard, so now he focused on the women in the videos. He recognized one, but many of the others seemed different. Who were these women, so many of them, to subject themselves to this behavior, he thought to himself. Just so many of them. 

This was when he comprehended how the women in the videos always appeared; alone. They were never with another woman, engaging in sex, which of course the common heterosexual man would enjoy. So they weren't wanting to encourage lesbianism in any capacity. He deduced what would be the point of discouraging men from sex with each other if only to show women with each other? 

He pondered then if there were women being forced to watch handsome nude men cavorting about in a similar fasion to this. Were the women having to sit and stare at all that manliness, that male virility and muscular physique? And obviously then, if he was seeing no lesbianism, it seemed to be a safe bet they were observing no all male action. 

What if these women on the videos were the lesbians being . . . . reprogrammed. Then were the men they were watching many of the same men he was seeing in the courtyard? And he was in fairly good shape, he thought. Why wasn't he being recruited for video play?

So many questions. So many possibilities. 

Then he recognized a second woman. He watched her to see how long ago he might have seen her last, only to realize it was a repeat video. This at least let him know how far they were going. He settled back. He was going to find Brad. 

Eventually. 

The door opened and heels came in. He deduced it must be nap time. He was correct. He was learning, but not what they were wanting him to learn.

He didn't see Curly anymore at recess. Were they being separated, since they were communicating with blinks? Maybe Curly was telling him that his name was Brad. He was doubting. It was okay to doubt, as long as he kept what he was learning in order. 

He began to think it was drawing near to putting his plan into action.  

She stood beside him, as was the routine, pressing buttons on her device, scanning areas, then leaned in, so he could once again feel her pubic hair on his arm. She seemed to brush along his hairy arm, the hairs rolling and twisting together. He was quiet as he stared forward. 

She got right to the end, so her hairs were brushing his hand. She pressed a few buttons and then leaned over to scan a light on the other arm of the chair. 

And that was when he grabbed as big a handful of hair as he could. He clenched his fist and held it as tightly as possible. She gave with a slight objection, grasping at his wrist, then instinctively, she began slapping at him, but the restraint on his jaw prevented her from striking much of his face and all she could do was hit the top of his head. 

She slapped at his eyes, so he clenched them shut as best he could. She clawed at his arms and his forehead, so he twisted the contents in his hand even more. She delivered another verbal protest to his actions and actually began hitting him in the head with the hand-held device. She was now straddling across him, trying to make him release her as she also struck at his face and lower jaw, only to strike the clamp which now worked toward his protection. Same for if she attempted to knee him in the groin as the fixture for enabling him to urinate in place likewise kept him safe from outside injury. During one hit, her thumb came between the two objects and she whelped in pain. This caused her to hesitate from the agony, and that was when he gave with a stern grunt. 

She gave with a feeble, "let me go!" to which he merely grunted again.  She winced and began hitting his arms, his chest, his forehead, but she was becoming weaker. He gave with another fierce grunt. Shaking, she brought the hand-held device to her attention and began activating it. He gave with another growl in protest. 

"It's to dismantle the confines," she said viciously. She turned the device to his opposite wrist. A beep was heard, then the manacle opened and his arm was free. He brought his hand up and pointed at his face. Tearfully now, she made a similar gesture and his mouth was uncovered, spitting out the intricately placed tube. Gasping, he reached up and grabbed her wrist. 

"I'm going to let you go now, honey," he said hoarsely, "and I want you to unlock my feet and the rest of me."

No longer holding her by her hair, but still clenching her wrist in his free hand, he guided her toward his feet, his groin, then finally, his offending hand. Somewhat wobbly, he came to his feet, as naked as she was. 

"What are you going to do?" she asked, afraid. "You won't escape." 

With that statement, he grabbed her other arm and forced her into the chair, somewhat clumsily pushing the manacles down on her wrists and across her mouth to keep her in place. Then he grabbed the hand-held from her possession. He walked toward the door and there, most conveniently, was a white lab coat. She must wear it when she exits the room, he concluded. Now she can watch the lady videos and maybe they will make her as drawn to them as they were supposed to do him. Without looking back, he opened the door to leave the room. A part of him wondered if she was that very first woman who spoke to him. He tried to recall the voices, if they sounded the same, but he was unable to do so. 

Once in the hall, he cautiously made his way to the next room and slowly opened the door. Sure enough, the set-up was exactly the same; dark room, large screens of nude women. A single chair in the center of the floor. He walked around the floor to see a bald fellow look at him with surprise. 

"I'm going to let you go," he said calmly to the man. 

He examined the hand-held device and found the buttons he needed. First the wrists, then the jaw was freed of the tube, until finally the man was completely removed from the chair. The former captive stood before this second freed man, aside from having a beard, he also sported various tattoos all over his person. 

"Why have you imprisoned me like this?" the tattooed man asked him. 

"I haven't done any of this," he replied. "I just escaped myself." 

The naked man looked at him with some astonished disbelief, then raced to the door.

"Wait!" 

But it did no good. The other man fled out the door and took off down the winding hallways with seemingly no idea where he was going. He tried to follow, then decided it best to venture to the next door instead. He would just have to contend with that guy later.  

He approached the next door and sought to open it. It seemed to be locked. He walked over to the next door to find it too was unable to open. He began to suspect they were on to him. He hurried further down to a random door to discover it too was unwilling to move. He stepped back into the hallway and paused. He motioned to yet a fourth door to see if it would open when, surprisingly it did, but not from anything he did. He watched as the chair made its way out of the dark room, a poor individual strapped into it as he had been. 

Next thing he knew, the train of chairs with the terrified or startled men came out of the rooms, all barreling toward him. Many of them were surprised to see him in front of them, something that had never happened before. He tossed the hand-held at the lead chair, almost instinctively, as if it might cause the vehicle to turn or swerve. He ran as fast as he could to stay ahead of the onslaught, but they seemed to be managing to stay right with them. He began running as fast as he could. 

Suddenly, he saw the familiar open door with the exterior yard in front of him. He raced out the door to at least get some room to move around from the automatic chairs, when suddenly the door closed behind him. He then realized he had been corralled into this area. All was quiet, then the overhead screen lit up and an image came into view. 

"Brad?" 

Brad looked at him from the screen, then took a deep breath before he spoke. 

"I told them you would be clever. I said, he's not going to behave as you think he will." 

"Brad, what are you doing? What is this? I've missed you." 

Brad grinned. 

"Brad, I love you." 

"You don't know what love is," Brad said, rather bitterly.

"Brad, . . . . " 

"All you ever wanted to do was go to the clubs, be the center of attention." 

He stood dead center in the arena, looking up at the screen. 

"Brad, . . . we were having fun." 

"I told you time and again I didn't want to go to the clubs like that all the time. Always getting dressed up. You really made me begin to hate those dresses and makeup." 

He began to think back, how he would be dressed to the nines and Brad barely put on any lipstick. 

"Brad, . . . I'm sorry. I didn't know." 

"You did know!" Brad yelled. "I was telling you time and again I just wanted to stay at home, but you wouldn't have that. You just had to go out and always insisted I go with you!" 

"Brad, what have you done? What is all of this?" 

Brad scowled at him from above. He used to think it was so cute when Brad protested. He now realized he thought wrong. 

"I wanted to be rid of you," Brad answered. "I never wanted you coming around me again, trying to apologize."

Brad closed his eyes and raised his eyebrows, then slowly opened his eyes again. 

"So I learned of this operation that would, one way or another, get you away from me. All I had to do was ply you with several drinks laced with knock-out powder, until off you went." 

All those drinks. Why did he keep having so many drinks? Because Brad kept insisting he have them. He watched as Brad gave way with a big smile, a similar smile he was all but certain he saw that last night at the club. He collapsed to his knees. 

"Brad," he sobbed, "I loved you. You loved me, too." 

Brad Scowled again. 

"Feelings change. I have someone new in my life now anyway." 

He watched as a figure appeared off-camera and stood beside Brad. A young person. 

With curly blonde hair. 

Had he been tricked? What sort of game was this? He wanted to scream, but all his emotion caved within him. He thought he heard Brad saying something, but he couldn't make out what it was. He gave one last hazy look to the monitor to see the curly blonde-haired kid smiling back at him, then he fell forward. He detected footsteps coming toward him and a needle being injected, but he was already passing out.  

Now it was time for him to open his eyes. He did so to once again, find himself in the all-too-familiar chair, bound and gagged as before. He was starting all over. The screen before him lit up. Laughter. 

He sniffed, then began to cry as difficultly as he could with the tube in his mouth. He sniffed as best he could. It was all over between him and Brad. He wept some more. The women on the screen laughed and danced around. He felt defeated. 

He didn't hear the door open. He figured it must have been because he was gasping while he cried, but he now detected someone was in the room with him. As best he could, he gazed at his hands to see they had plastic transparent bubble coverings on them, so there would be no more grabbing at anyone. He was completely surrendered to this whole practice and waited for the woman to step forward and do all the necessary scans. He heard the buttons beep. 

The jaw clamp loosened and became unhooked. He was startled. What was going on? 

More beeps and the sounds of other buttons pressed, the fetters on his hands came off, as well as on his wrists. In the darkness, he observed the hand-held device come into view. He observed the silhouette holding the contraption. 

It wasn't female. 

He looked to the face as the arm stretched out to press another button and undo another lock. 

"They were focused on catching you, chasing you outside with all the other guys in these chairs," his companion said. He recognized the smiling expression. He had seen it only briefly. 

"I saw when you threw this thing you used to free me," he said calmly, holding up the hand-held device, "so I grabbed it up and hid with it. Been figuring out how it works. Really simple, ain't it?" 

The last manacle was removed. He sat staring at his rescuer. 

  

In the dimly lit room, he detected the person was bald, sporting a beard and was covered with many tattoos upon his body.