This story is erotic gay fiction and is for mature audiences only. It may contain supernatural themes, sex scenes, violence, coarse language, drug use, and other adult themes.

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Something more revealing 1

by Keeky

SOMETHING MORE REVEALING

“American men are so conservative, aren’t they?”
Kyle turned to see a stranger standing just behind him. “Excuse me?” he asked the stranger.
“I was observing how conservative American men are. Just look at this beach. The women are wearing next to nothing but the men, with just as much to show off, in their own way, are all covered up. Look at you…”

The guy was starting to creep Kyle out more than a little. He suspected he was being hit on and being hit on by another guy was not his idea of cool. Nevertheless, there was something about him that commanded attention, maybe even respect. Oddly, for someone who seemed to be complaining about the shorts and t-shirts worn by most of the men on the beach, he was particularly well dressed in a two-piece white suit and collared shirt. But, as he waved his hand demonstrably over Kyle it was his own baggy t-shirt and board shorts that became the focus of the teenager’s attention.

“Look at you,” the stranger almost commanded, “you’re young and as fit as any of those beach babes, but you hide your light under a bushel.”
“My what under a what?” asked the younger man.
“I mean,” the stranger said smiling in acknowledgement of the obsolescence of his metaphor, “you’re not dressing - or perhaps undressing - for effect.”

Kyle was sure now that he was being hit on and started to turn away, his body language betraying his nervousness, “Look mister, I’m flattered and all..”

The stranger held up his hand and Kyle instantly felt compelled to stop talking and stand still. “Dear boy, I am not propositioning you. I merely have a, shall I say, aesthetic interest in all people. It pains me to see you and your male compatriots so hidebound by convention that you feel compelled to wrap yourself up like Victorian matriarchs. Do you see?”
Kyle was not stupid by any means but some of the words the stranger used left him having to try to bridge gaps in his understanding. “Erm, you mean you like looking at men’s bodies and you want to see what mine looks like?”
“Well, that isn’t quite what I said, but I think you caught the gist. So then, tell me, why do you feel the need to cover so much of yourself. Don’t you know, for instance, that you’d look better in a shirt that hugged your chest and showed your arms?”

Kyle squared his jaw defiantly and answered as strongly as his unaccustomed nervousness would allow, “I’d look like a fag. And I’m NOT a fag.”
The stranger looked momentarily puzzled, “A fag ..? Ah, I see, according to your imposed stereotyping, you think that more flattering clothes would mark you as homosexual?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said. Tight clothes are faggy. Tank tops are faggy.”
“And do you believe that wearing them would make you into what you call a fag?”
“Mister, nothing would make me into a fag.”
“Surely. But don’t you ever look at another man and admire his beauty?”

Kyle still felt compelled to stand and answer the stranger’s questions, but he was growing angry and tried to show it, “I do not. I am NOT a fag.”
The stranger held up his hand again, “I chose my words unwisely. Let me put it another way, don’t you enjoy it when you notice someone admiring you?”
“Sure, women. Not men. I am NOT..”
The stranger cut him off with his commanding hand gesture, “I know - you are not a fag. And I’m starting to think that you ARE a pygmy.”
“A pygmy? I’m six-two!”
“So you are. Physically, as I have already conceded, you are a prime specimen of American manhood. But intellectually, you are a pygmy. I had hoped to use persuasion to tweak your society out of its prurience. But I am afraid that most of you would not only reject my appeals to adopt a more aesthetic outlook I believe you would be hostile to any man who did. Do you agree?”
“What. I’m agreeing to nothing you suggest.”
“Oh do try to concentrate”, the stranger snapped back, his own tone at last betraying irritation, “I’m asking you whether, if you saw a man dressed in a manner you regard as ‘faggy’ you would want to shun him and perhaps even hurt him. Is that so?”
“Do I hate fags? Sure, I hate fags.”

As Kyle tried to stare down the stranger, his own eyes blazing into the ice blue gaze opposite him, he became aware that the stranger had started to somehow recede without actually appearing to move. “Thank you young man. Whether you like it or not I have chosen you as my instrument. I will be in touch.”
Kyle felt the force that had kept him compliant lift from him and he started to give full vent to his anger, “Instrument? I’m not your fu…” but he broke off, realising that he was yelling at thin air.



A few hours later, Kyle had convinced himself that his conversation with the stranger was just part of the weirdness to be encountered in LA. He’d met his friends, played some beach football, chatted to the girls and generally done straight college boy weekend stuff. But now, as he lay on the sand, propped up on his elbows, he felt his eyes drawn to one man after another. That blond guy walking into the sea in his grey baggies; what would he look like in a hot pink thong to match his girlfriend‘s? The volleyball players; shouldn’t they be in bikini briefs? Why shouldn’t male lifeguards be dressed as revealingly as the females?

He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to physically rid himself of these thoughts. “Hey you guys,” he called to his friends, male and female, who were lying alongside him in the sand, “heading home.”
“See you later right? Saturday night bud,” grinned his best friend Stewart, suggestively.
Kyle tried to grin back, but felt sick as his imagination stripped Stewart to a barely legal lycra triangle. “Er, sure. Catch you later.”

Kyle drove home, still tormented by his imagination. He was especially disgusted by a motorcycle cop in his helmet, shades, boots and leather pouch. His folks were out when he reached his house and, seeking oblivion, he crawled into bed without undressing. But sleep would not come. Every time he closed his eyes he saw some new horror of semi-naked men and, after a couple of hours, he was just lying staring at the ceiling. And then the door bell rang.

Glad of the distraction, Kyle hurried down the stairs and opened the door. There stood a man straight from Kyle’s waking nightmares. He had on a frightening parody of a letter carrier’s uniform, a one-piece suit in pale grey wet-look lycra. It had a collar, like a shirt, but it was open to the crotch wide enough to almost reveal the nipples that stood up against the barely-there thin fabric. The pant legs had an in-seam of not more that two inches and everywhere the suit was tight enough to show every contour and ripple of the guy’s lean and muscular frame. Kyle noted with satisfaction that the suit told him absolutely everything there was to know about the guys body even that it was completely shaved, before he recalled himself and frantically tried to keep his eyes on the handsome face opposite his own. He was aware that his own face was burning with the shame he felt at both his actions and his toughts.

The courier smiled, kindly, and said, “That’s okay. Thanks for looking.”
“I-I …” Kyle stammered, and in his confusion he again allowed his eyes to wander all over the courier.
“Like I said, that’s okay. Here, package for you from head office.”
Dumbly Kyle took the proffered parcel and stared at the label on which his name and address were printed. After a second he collected his thoughts and looked up to ask what was meant by ‘head office’ but the courier was no longer there.

Feeling slightly faint he somehow managed to get back upstairs where he sat on his bed and opened the parcel. The first thing he found was a letter, hand written in ink on thick, yellowish paper. It read,

"Dear Kyle

You are becoming my instrument and will need the enclosed. Tomorrow you will begin your work, convincing others by your example. But now you must sleep."

As soon as he finished reading, Kyle felt so tired he just had to lie down, close his eyes and drift off.





Sunday, Kyle woke, yawned and stretched. “Wow” he thought, “I feel good”. Then he remembered the disturbing events of the day before. Or rather, he remembered that he had been disturbed. Quite why he could not altogether recollect. Whatever it might have been it didn’t seem at all threatening in the morning sunshine. He swung his legs out of bed and stood up, stretching again, which was when he caught sigh of himself in the mirror.

“Oh my God! I got fat!” Utterly appalled he stared open mouthed at the disgusting lump that he had somehow become. “I must have put on 60 pounds overnight. How the hell…”

Yet through his shock reason was trying to prevail. Eventually he calmed down enough to realise that he was still wearing the baggy shorts and t-shirt of the day before and it was they that were somehow making him look fat. Desperately he stripped to his boxer shorts and to his enormous relief he saw that the extra weight was an illusion caused by the horrible clothes. His young body was as ripped as ever. But wait! His cock and balls - they were gone! He pulled down his boxers. No, it was okay, everything was just as it had been. But what the hell had he been thinking wearing these clothes that made him look like a fat eunuch.

Shaking his head at his own stupidity he turned again to the mirror and admired his own naked body. “Boy”, he thought, “am I hot.” But a cloud of doubt crept into his mind. He ran a hand across the fine hair on his chest and then down into the tangled blond curls on his groin. “When did I let myself get so hairy?” he frowned. For some reason this made him think of the parcel from head office, which still lay on the corner of his bed. He reached inside and took out the first object he found. Examining it he found that it was a tube, like an oversized toothpaste tube. It was white and in black letters it said, ‘Permanent Hair Removal Cream’ above a set of instructions.

A few minutes later Kyle emerged from the shower, his already tan body hairless from the neck down. He felt fantastic and contemplated remaining naked. But he should probably wear something. What though?

He went through his closets with growing disgust, finding that everything made him look grossly overweight, or old or deformed. He was starting to feel hungry and pretty soon he might have to join his parents as he was. But then he again remembered the parcel. He reached in and extracted everything that was left inside - some scraps of fabric and another letter. He turned to the letter first, it read,

"Dear Kyle

You will need to shop and develop your own style. Meanwhile these will keep you out of jail."

He carefully slipped on the three scraps of fabric. They were a pink lycra tank top just long enough to cover his pecs and so tight and delicate that, without colour, he would still have appeared shirtless, a thong in the same material and a pair of white ass-hugging high-cut shorts through which his thong could clearly be seen from all angles. Again he turned to the mirror and gasped with admiration of his own image. Slowly he rubbed his hands over his chest, around his ass, up his thighs. Finally, with one hand he freed his hard cock and jerked, while his other hand pleasured his ass until his cum splattered his reflection and trembling and gasping he sank to his knees.

When, finally, he could tear himself from the mirror, he put on his sneakers and, ignoring the fact that his cock, now back in his thong, was still quite hard, he headed down to breakfast. As he entered the kitchen his dad literally jumped out of his chair, his 16 year old sister squealed with laughter and his mom stared at him open mouthed.

“Boy, what the hell are you wearing?” roared his dad.
His mom, with tears visible in her eyes, asked, “Is there something you need to tell us dear?”
Kyle smiled, looked his mom in the eye and said, “Yes, mom. I need to tell you that there is nothing wrong with a fit young man showing his body.” Instantly his mother’s worried expression became a smile.
“What the fuck are you talking about? screamed his dad, “you look like …”
Before he could say any more, Kyle caught his eye and said, “Dad, there is nothing wrong with a fit young man showing his body.”
His dad became calm immediately and he too smiled. “you know son, I guess you’re right at that. Good for you. Do you think I could …”
“Sure you could dad. But I think you need to join a gym for a while first.”
“Oh but Kyle”, his Mom joined in, “you know you got your hot body from your dad. Maybe he needs something a little less slutty than my favourite himbo but he still has great legs and fantastic ass.”
Kyle’s sister Susan looked at her parents and brother in total disbelief, her mocking laughter having died in her throat. Eventually she found her voice. “What are you guys talking about? He looks like a total fruit!! You‘d freak if I put that much of my ass on show! And his dick is practically waving about, for God‘s sake!”
“Listen to me young lady,” her mom scolded, “I will not have that kind of talk in this house. As long as you live here you live by our rules and I say there is nothing wrong with a fit young man showing his body. Is that clear?”
Susan smiled. “Yes mom, that’s okay. I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Love the smooth legs Kyle. Hey! I’m meeting my friends later. Wait till I tell them.” And she hurried off to get ready.

Kyle’s mom turned back to him. “Sweetie you look beautiful. We love you and we want you to show yourself off as much as you like. Come here.” She gave him a hug. “Let’s look at you - turn around. “Oh you have a cute ass”, she said, as she ran her hand over his butt and then between his legs to stroke his balls. "Now go have fun with your friends."

Continues?

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