____________________

One summer afternoon, I was looking around in an antique shop on South Street. No one was in the shop when I was there. The owner was busy watching his soaps on a small portable TV by the register. Browsing around amidst the wooden furniture, knick-knacks, books, and slightly musty smell of old things, I came across something rather odd at the back of the store: an old wringer. I have an unusual fetish: mentally using a wringer to flatten guys out, and this Victorian era wringer fascinated me. Wrought iron frame, rubber coated wooden rollers, about 4 feet wide. Large, and like new, in other words, unused.

I was running my hands over the rollers, not paying attention to what I was doing. Turning the crank with my right hand as my left hand was on the rollers, I let out a gasp as my hand rolled in and was shocked to see it flattened on the other side of the rollers. After the panic left me, I became fascinated and began feeling my flat fingers with my other hand. Almost paper thin, but they still had a firmness to them. Warm. And they could still move. Finally I came to my senses and with trepidation, I rolled my fingers back out and found them return to 3D. I breathed a sigh of relief and hurried to the owner to buy the wringer.

He was glad to get rid of it. He said it had been in the shop when he bought it twenty years ago. I handed him the cash and loaded the wringer in my car. I drove home thinking of all the guys I'd flattened in my head over the years, and now my fantasy was becoming a reality. Who would be the first person I'd put through it? Fortunately, no one was around to notice my hard-on as I brought the rather large machine into my apartment building lobby.

Setting it in the spare room, I couldn't help but wonder where it came from. I began inspecting the machine from the top to the bottom of each leg but found no trademark, no serial number, no name or identification of any kind. What was it the dealer said? He said the machine was there when he bought the store and it had been there for twenty years. I went into the living room and picked up the phone book and found the number of the shop.

"Hello?"

"Hello, yes, I'm the guy who bought the wringer from you today."

"Let me guess. It's seized up, right?"

"Oh no, it works fine. I'd like to know where it came from. Can you tell me the name of the previous owner of your shop? He might know where it came from."

"Sure. His name was Edwin Johnson. He was about sixty when he sold to me. He'd be around eighty by now, if he's even still alive that is. I never kept in contact with him after I took over."

"Do you know where he lived? His wife might still be alive."

"Yeah, just around the block from here. 1980 Dorchester. I remember 'cause it was the same year I bought the store."

"Great. Thanks very much."

"Glad to help."

"Bye." And I hung up.

I hopped into the car and drove to Dorchester Avenue.

At house 1980, I rang the doorbell.

An elderly woman answered the door.

"Yes?"

"Yes, hello. Are you Mrs. Edwin Johnson? I'm trying to locate Mr. Johnson."

"Oh no. My husband and I bought from Mr. and Mrs. Johnson a few years back. They were getting up in years. Mr. Johnson was beginning to suffer from Alzheimers and Mrs. Johnson wanted them both to move to a retirement home where Mr. Johnson would get proper medical care."

I nodded.

"Do you know which retirement home?" I asked.

"Oh, now just a minute. It's been so long....I'm sorry, I've forgotten the name of it. But it was on Ancaster Road. I remember that."

"Okay. That might be just the information I need. Thank you very much."

Smiling, the woman said, "You're welcome. I hope you find him. He was a nice man."

So I left and found the nearest telephone booth and pulled the Yellow Pages and checked under Retirement Homes. The only one on Ancaster was Sunny Lodge. Well, I had to take the chance. So, I drove to the number listed and found it to be a fairly large apartment style building.

Entering the reception area, a young woman in a white uniform and sweater was behind the desk and looked up at me.

"Can I help you?" she said.

"I was wondering if an Edwin Johnson is or was a resident here. I'm trying to locate him."

"Are you a relative?"

"My parents were friends of the family. But they lost touch with him some time back and asked me to try and find him."

The receptionist looked through the registry.

"Yes, there is an Edwin Johnson here."

"I know he must be quite elderly now. Can he see visitors?"

"Yes, I don't see why not. But according to his file here, he has advanced Alzheimers Disease. The chart says he can speak but I don't know if he'll speak to strangers."

"Can I try? It's quite an important personal matter."

"Sure. There's no harm in trying. He's in room 510. Elevators are just over there."

"Thank you."

I took the elevator to fifth floor and proceeded towards 510. The doors were all open. Some elderly people were laying in bed or in chairs, some asleep, some chatting with visitors.

I came to 510. A doctor with a stethoscope was listening to the chest of a very old man with thin wispy hair, blue patient clothes, and a bib sitting in a padded hospital chair. I smiled at the doctor as he did at me.

"There. That's all for today, Mr. Johnson. You're doing fine," said the middle-aged doctor to the older man. Turning to me, he said, "You're here to see Mr. Johnson?"

"Yes, this is my first time. I'm...a friend of the family. We've been trying to locate him. We've been wanting to ask him something about the past. An important personal matter."

"Well, I'm afraid it may not do much good. He has Alzheimers and his mind comes and goes."

The doctor saw my downcast look and said, "All right, I'll let you speak with him for a few minutes. I'm just doing rounds and I'll be just a door or two down the hall if you need me."

"Thank you. I appreciate it."

The doctor left and I approached Mr. Johnson who had his eyes closed.

"Is he gone?" Mr. Johnson suddenly said, his eyes still closed.

"Who? The doctor?" I said.

"Yeah."

"Yes, he's gone."

"Good." Opening his eyes a crack, the old man looked at me suspiciously.

"Who are you?" he said.

"Mr. Johnson...."

"No, that's my name. At least it was this morning. Unless they've changed it. Goddamned government. Voted Republican until Nixon...goddamned bastard...."

"Uh...." but Johnson still was grumbling.

Finally he was quiet.

"Uh...Mr. Johnson?"

"You still here?"

"Yes. My name is Dave Dupuis."

"Dupuis? Sounds French!"

"My ancestors came from France and settled in Louisiana."

Johnson's face pulled a bit and he said, "Is that a fact?" somewhat impressed.

"Sir, I have a question for you. You used to own an antique store here in town."

"I did?"

"Yes, sir. I made a purchase at the store you used to own."

"Yes, yes, the antique store. Long time ago. Yes."

"It was the Victorian wringer."

At that the old man closed his eyes, brows furrowed in deep concentration, then he opened them and looked directly at me. At first his eyes looked tired and weak, but in seconds, they seemed to grow larger, darker, filling with life.

"The wringer?" he said, his voice filling now with resonance.

"Yes. I'm trying to find out...where it came from."

Johnson only sighed a long sigh and nodded. "I knew it would come to this," he said, "but I hoped I'd be gone before trying to explain it." He looked at me again. "You the government? Don't lie, please."

"No, sir. No, I'm not. I'm just curious about the wringer."

Johnson focused his old eyes on me, trying harder and harder to see into me if he could.

"You don't look like FBI or CIA."

I only shook my head no.

Johnson looked off to the side and said sharply, "All right, I'll tell him!" making me raise my own eyebrows.

Looking back at me, Johnson only rolled his eyes.

"Don't look at me that way, frenchman. It's only the aliens."

"The...aliens?"

"What, is there an echo in here? Yeah, the aliens! They talk to me a lot now. Didn't used to."

Trying to play along, I said, "What are they like, these aliens?"

"Not like us. They aren't sad like us. And smart as a beehive cricket."

"Do they know about the wringer?"

"Know about it? They made it!"

"How did you get it, Mr. Johnson?"

"Edwin! My father's name is Mr. Johnson! Oh, yeah. Army surplus."

"Army surplus?"

"Goddamn it, there's that echo again. Gonna have to tell the doctor about these echo chambers they call rooms. Yes! The army did experiments, electrical experiments from about the time of Edison. The aliens helped. Gave some good ideas. Helped Tesla with his electrical camouflage experiments."

"The Philadelphia Experiment...." I murmured.

Johnson chuckled. "The ALLEGED Philly Experiment. Yer not as dumb as you look, frenchman. And Tesla went as far as he could. But it was too deep for us. Too deep! We thought electricity alone could do it. No. It's still a long way off. The aliens are advanced. They know about Die-mentional Theory and stuff. They gave the wringer to the army as an experiment of their own. When the army saw it could flatten things, they tried figuring it out, but they couldn't. That told the aliens we had a long way to go. The army lost track of the wringer in some friggin' warehouse and it eventually was sold as junk to an army surplus/antique dealer. I bought half his stock including the wringer in about oh, '65." Johnson cackled. "The army couldn't figure it out, the morons!!"

"What should I do with the wringer?"

"Give it back!"

"To who?"

"The aliens! It's their wringer!"

"How do I find these aliens?"

Johnson closed his eyes, concentrating.

"Hmm?" he said off to the side. "Oh. Don't worry, frenchman. They know now. They'll find YOU."

And Johnson opened his eyes a crack and looked at me.

"They all think I'm crazy, frenchman. But the aliens don't. And that's good enough for me."

I nodded. And approached Mr. Johnson.

"I've been worried about that thing on and off for years," Johnson said, "but the aliens said don't worry about it. I'm glad they're getting it back again. We...we don't deserve it."

"Thank you," I said softly, "Edwin."

"No. Thank YOU for coming to see me...Mr. Dupuis."

"Just Dave. My father's name is Mr. Dupuis."

Johnson slowly broke into a big smile and closed his eyes. I squeezed his shoulder in a gesture of friendship, then left.

I just drove around and around, thinking about Mr. Johnson's words. What I saw happen to my arm was a physical miracle. And dimensional theory sounded right for some reason, some higher mathematics that even our greatest minds couldn't conceive of yet. What if there were aliens?

I went to the park and sat on a bench, watched the kids swinging on swings, a couple of young guys throwing football back and forth, mothers strolling babies in the stroller and just kept watching until everyone had gone home, and then I watched the sunset and then the night with stars until finally the full moon rise beautiful and white. A name came to me from Hindu legend: Ramachandra, Rama of the Moon, the Moon being Chandra, a paradise planet, like our Christian idea of Heaven. The sight of it filled me, and I couldn't remember seeing anything more pure.

"Beautiful night, isn't it?"

I turned, startled, to the voice behind me. It was a man, dressed in a fedora and trenchcoat, the collar turned up, his face in shadow. My God, why did I stay out so late? Was I going to be robbed?

I could only nod. I didn't know what to say.

The last thing I remember was him lunging forward, and a silver hand reaching for me.

Then I was in a kind of black space.

"Hello?" I said, my voice wavering in genuine fear. My voice was dull as if absorbed by the surrounding atmosphere.

Then they appeared, slowly, like a set of lights with a dimmer switch, only they were slowly becoming brighter. They appeared formless at first then took on definition as nude silver androgynous human beings with large all-black eyes and bald heads.

One stepped forward. His lips did not move, but I could hear a male voice all around me, ambient and echoing, each word tapering quickly off to silence.

"Hello. We are the 'aliens' who speak to Edwin Johnson. I am the speaker for my people. I have a...gift for language, you might say."

"Oh," I said shakily. "So he's not crazy."

The alien smiled slightly and said, "Not at all. In fact, his soul is about to leave the physical universe for the non-physical. This, in combination with his deteriorating brain, leaves him in a good position to commune with us. I'm sorry I had to bring you here by force, but it was necessary."

"Am I dreaming?"

"Your body is only resting in the park. Do not fear."

"Um...I guess you'll be wanting your wringer."

"Yes, but there is no hurry." He looked back at his companions and telepathed with them. Another alien raised his head slightly and a tiny ball of light emanated from his body and floated over to me and entered me, disappearing completely.

The first alien spoke again.

"You have been given...hmmm...I suppose an appropriate analogy would be...a tag. When your physical vitality ceases permanently, the tag will activate a transporter mechanism which will deliver the wringer to our hands once more. Don't worry. It won't harm you and is undetectable by your current technology."

"You mean...when I die, you'll take the wringer back."

"Yes," the alien said, smiling.

"Is it true what Edwin Johnson said about you helping with electrical experiments and Edison and Tesla?"

"Every bit," the alien said. "We did not communicate with them directly, you understand. We inspired them when they were asleep. Only their souls in the dream state could commune in any fashion with us. And of course, any discoveries they made were their own. Our technology is...quite advanced compared to yours. Indeed, you perceive us as physical now, but we are not. My appearance to you was a...well-crafted illusion. For we are not physical at all. We were physical once. The wringer you have is a replica of a device used by our children when we were physical beings to teach dimensional theory. It was of course great fun too."

"Your children?"

"Yes. It would be what you call...a toy."

"A toy. A children's toy. Our greatest military minds were trying to figure out...a children's toy!" And I had to laugh. The aliens also smiled and looked at each other.

"We also were quite amused," the first alien said, smiling and looking at me once more.

"Ummm...I've never been very religious, but...are you gods?"

"Good heavens, no. As I said, we were like you, physical beings once, but we have evolved beyond physical bodies. We inspire your race, but few are inspired, unfortunately. Most are--what's the expression?-- 'slow on the uptake'. Your better artists commune often with us in the dream state. Such artistic natures can produce work of extraordinary power but they themselves are often undisciplined and psychologically unstable, destroying themselves with excess alcohol or drugs, not the least of which is nicotine."

"The wringer...I'm grateful for having it. But I'm afraid of it falling into..."

"Enemy hands? Yes, I'm only too familiar with THAT expression. If we did not trust you, we would have the wringer in our possession now. We will depend on your discretion." The alien looked back at another alien. And this other alien emanated another ball of energy from himself and it floated over to me and entered me.

The first alien continued. "If you are certain the machine will fall into dangerous hands, this tag will activate and transport the wringer to us immediately. It will be activated by your will alone. Do not wish it so unless you are positive it is or will imminently fall into hands you feel would be dangerous for all, for once it transports to us, it cannot be returned."

"Thank you. I'm honoured you trust me in this way."

Staring at me, the alien's eyes narrowed and his voice rose instantly with gigantic strength and overwhelming emotion all around me. "Honoured??? What do you know of HONOUR??? You are filled with VANITY and SELF-INDULGENCE!!!", his words a curious mix of surprise, disgust, and grief cracking like lightning and rumbling in echo like thunder. His large black eyes stared at me horribly and I was trembling, the pit of my stomach growing weak. Then he softened and his face relaxed, his ambient voice returning to normal. "But you are also honest. It is these qualities which make it suitable for you to have it...until your passage to the non-physical."

I swallowed, and nodded.

"Thank you," I stammered.

Resuming his former pleasant demeanor, the alien said, "Well now, we must be off. A fond good evening to you, David!"

"Thank..." A break off.

"...you." And I was awake again in the park. No one was around. No one but the moon as my witness, and the moon keeps its opinions to itself, shining alone in silence.

My fetish is not one I've shared with many people. The one person I did share it with was my friend Tony. I met him at a local gay bar. He was a gorgeous stripper on weekends to make extra money for his living expenses. But I fell for him hard and was more than happy to "supplement his income" one particular night. He liked me too and wanted to meet me again. After his strip number was over, he approached me and we talked. I was surprised to find out he was an English lit undergrad at Penn State. Being a writer myself, I offered to tutor him. I remember helping him with an assignment once on creative writing. I asked him, "If you were going to flatten yourself and you're alive and well, but flat, what would you use and how would you do it?" He responded with a wringer and either feet or hands first.

I called Tony the next afternoon.

"Hey, Tony, are you doing anything tonight?" I asked.

He responded, "No, how about I stop by?"

"Sounds like a plan. How does pizza sound?"

"Sounds good to me!"

"Great. See you around 6:00 then."

About 6 p.m., my doorbell rang. With my heart hammering in my chest, I opened the door for my friend.

He stood there in a deliciously loose position, in baggy Levi's and oversized hooded sweatshirt, the sleeves halfway over the hands, his shoulder-length black hair framing a kissable but fatigued face.

"Hey, Tony, how's it going?"

"Stressful," he growled in a husky voice. "Classes all day."

"I think I have a way of wringing your stress out of you!"

He laughed easily at my flattening reference and said, "Man, I could use it today."

"Let's wait until we've eaten." He gave me a puzzled look as I shut the door and walked into the living room. He followed and we sat on the sofa. We talked about his classes over our beer and pizza which had arrived only a few minutes before. We finished, and he stretched, making it impossible for me to believe such a loose-limbed student could ever be knotted up from fatigue. I said, "Now, about that stress." He chuckled and looked at me.

"Again with the flattening, if it could be possible, I'd let you do it to me. I went through another kind of wringer today."

"Well, what if it could actually happen?"

He looked at me, intrigued with my playfulness and his lips pursed with pouty skepticism.

"I bought something today that can flatten you out," I said. I took him over to the wringer in the spare room. He laughed when he saw it.

"Let me guess," he said, "you're going to put me through that!"

"Yup! This thing actually works. I found it in an antique shop today."

Nonplussed, he said, "You're telling me that you can press me flat?"

"Here, let me show you."

I ran my left arm up to my elbow through the rollers and it came out flat on the other side.

Tony shook his head.

"A trick. A magic trick. Come on, Dave, you can do better than that!"

"It's not a trick. Put your hand in."

Furrowing his brows, Tony pulled up a loose sleeve then put fingers to the rollers as I slowly cranked the wringer. Out the arm came, flat. Tony gasped.

I reversed the crank and it came back out and he looked down at the arm in amazement. Felt it. It was completely normal again.

Tony looked at the wringer and said, "What is it?"

And I told him briefly of my conversation with Edwin Johnson and my encounter with the aliens.

"This machine is...alien technology," I said. "It was not made by human hands."

Still incredulous, Tony only shook his head and said, "C'mon, Dave, it...it can't be."

"I saw them," I said. "And I have no reason to lie. I am convinced that I experienced only a tiny example of what power they have and the complex emotions they feel."

He looked at me, saw I wasn't joking, and simply said, "Flatten me."

He stripped nude and his muscular body made me gulp. I walked to the kitchen and pulled a chair from the dinner table, returning to the spare room and set it down next to the rollers. Tony sat down.

"Are you ready?" I asked. He just pushed his toes to the rollers. I turned the crank and watched. Tony gasped as his feet rolled through first. I helped him inch forward, still turning the crank. His legs rolled through. I flattened his calves, then thighs.

"What does it feel like?" I said.

"Strange. It doesn't hurt. In fact, it's like a massage," he replied. "Like my body is being rubbed and relaxed." Noticing his hard-on, I said, "Looks like you're enjoying it!" He smiled and said, "Go ahead. Flatten me out." We both watched as his crotch rolled into the wringer pressing his hard-on flat. As I flattened his dick, I noticed his flat toes curl up. "You must have enjoyed that!" He smiled and nodded, his face looking to be in increasing ecstasy. I continued flattening his stomach, then his arms, chest, then his shoulders. Then I rolled his head through, without any difficulty with the rollers. He flopped loosely onto the floor on the other side, his body folded neatly upon itself. I picked my flattened friend up from the floor and admired his flat body from head to toes, carefully cradling his flat head and shoulders in my arms, touching his flat smooth skin. I asked him if he was all right, but he couldnt respond. Then, I gasped as I saw Tony begin to move! He smiled, and his head and shoulders began moving away from me of their own accord. Tony had to bend his ankles so his feet could stand flat on the floor, and then he slowly began to walk a bit, unsteady at first, like a baby's first steps, but he got better, looking like animated paper.

"Tony?" I said. As excited as I was, I was a bit scared seeing my friend like this. But Tony only turned to me, still smiling and looking at himself.

"Tony, my God, are you all right?"

He nodded his flat head up and down yes.

"You're not in pain, are you?" I said, a little frantic in the voice.

Tony, still smiling, slowly shook his flat head from side to side, no. He then stopped smiling and stuck out his tongue, but it was flat, appearing to slowly ooze from his flat lips and down his chin. He approached me, and I touched his face. His tongue felt like a normal tongue, just flat as paper. It was so weird. Tony approached my face and licked my cheek. Trembling, I began taking off my clothes, and my own dick was hard as a rock. Tony still had his hard-on, flat to his abdomen.

Once I was nude, Tony stepped back and began "performing" for me, like a stripper, though it had to be the strangest dance ever performed. Tony undulated from the head all the way down, waving in and out in one smooth motion, like waves on water! Then all over from head to toe in constant undulating little waves. I was breathing hard. This was a fantasy I'd had about so many hot guys. And now here one was, right in front of me. Not moving now, Tony, looking at me with a smirk and a come-on look, first standing straight up on tip-toes, let himself flop forward from the feet up. In only a second, Tony was flat on the floor, face down, unmoving. I gasped at how erotic that act of falling forward full-tilt and not getting hurt was!

"Tony!" I was scared he HAD hurt himself. But Tony only lifted his flat head off the floor and turned to look at me and his lips pulled into a flat smile. He undulated his left arm off the floor and held it up to me. I approached him and gently grasped it and slowly pulled him up.

"My God, Tony, you don't know how sexy you look. I've wanted to touch a flattened guy for..."

But Tony cut me off short by pressing his flat lips to mine and brushing them with a kiss only a flat person could give. Then getting behind me, he wrapped his stomach and chest around my back until the front of him was in front of me, smiling. He wrapped his flat left arm around my right arm and his right arm around my left until his palms touched mine and the flattened fingers of both his hands slithered around my own. Then, his legs in front of me, he wrapped his left leg around my right leg and his right leg around my left. Then he pressed his face to mine and stuck his flat tongue out and began licking me all over my face, then all over my neck until I laughed and almost lost my balance. Tony wasn't nearly as heavy as what he would be in his normal state. When he stopped, I swallowed and touched his face with his own arms and fingers still wrapped around me. His face was...still Tony's face, his skin still feeling warm and human, only utterly flat!

Understandably overwhelmed by the situation, I was a bit bashful when I asked, "Can I...kiss you?"

Tony only smiled silently and nodded his head.

I kissed his flat head all over his hair first, which seemed somehow pasted to his head, unmoving. Then his forehead. He shut his eyes and I kissed his flat eyelids tenderly. Then his nose and his mouth which had retracted his flat tongue. I stopped and Tony slowly unwound himself from my body and stepped back.

Pressing his arms close to himself and his legs together, he began to roll himself like a scroll from the head down in a tight roll and didn't stop until he was rolled up completely in a tight tube. The piece de resistance was when he began rolling across the floor of his own accord!

"Tony!" I yelped.

He rolled himself to the door then unscrolled himself quickly and got up. Seeing the door to the spare room, he slowly pushed it closed until the door latched shut. I wondered what he was going to do next!

Flopping forward onto the floor as before from the feet up, he inched himself slowly forward to the bottom of the door. Now, there was only a crack of space between the bottom of that door and the floor, but Tony simply slid his head under the door and began slithering his head like a flat snake under the door and appearing on the other side. I couldn't miss this, so I grabbed the door, opened it only a couple of inches to see the action on both sides. Tony simply continued slithering his body and slowly inched his way under the door and out the other side! He began raising his head as soon as it was entirely on the other side of the door. Once his shoulders were on the other side of the door, all he had to do was pull a little and his arms slid from the one side of the door under it and appeared on the other side. Then it was just a matter of a little more pulling once he got a bit more leverage and finally he pulled his feet from under the door and he was completely on the other side. He looked up at me from the floor with a look of triumph on his face. Then he got up and faced me. And went to the kitchen. He found my iron and made gestures of ironing him.

"No..." I said, startled. "You're not serious," I said.

He nodded. So I got out my ironing board and plugged my iron in only until it was warm, not hot. Tony only flopped his body onto the ironing board and then turned to look up at me shyly. I placed him fully lengthwise on the ironing board, then I proceeded to iron my flat friend, first the back of him, then the front, Tony smiling with expressions of ecstacy and closing and opening his eyes as if he were getting the best fuck of his life.

Once I finished ironing him on both sides from head to toe, Tony stood up on his feet again and made a gesture of sleeping: closed eyes, and head laid on folded hands.

"Bed?" I said. "Sleep? What?"

But Tony only opened his eyes, and smiled, making a few undulating movements with his flat hips and I understood only too well.

"Bed!" I said. And he nodded. He approached me and made gestures of lifting him. I nodded and lifted him up from behind his back and behind his legs at the knees. He was so light, lighter than a child! He put his arm around me for support and looked back towards the bedroom.

I opened the door and laid Tony on my bed. I sat down beside him. He then pulled himself to a sitting position. He made more gestures: smile, pointing at me, masturbating motions with his hand. I thought I understood but wasn't sure.

"You're flat, Tony. I can't suck you off, and I doubt I can fuck you. Where would I shove my dick?"

Tony only shook his head. And repeated his gestures.

The smiles and pointing at me gave me an idea.

"You...you want me to...play with you until I cum?"

Tony beamed and nodded.

"With you like this, I'm afraid I'll cum only too soon."

So, for the next few hours, I played with him, folded all parts of him every which way, tied him in knots and untied him, kissed him from head to toe, did all the things I've dreamed about doing. Sometimes Tony was active in touching me, giving me jolts of excitement when parts of his flat body would touch me; sometimes he was passive and let me touch him and just play with his flat body. I massaged his flat feet, his flat back, and every inch of his flat body. Finally he pulled himself up to me, positioned one flat leg on one side of me and his other leg on my other side then pulled himself in front of me and slowly stuck himself from his hips to his chest tightly against mine. He wrapped his flat arms around my body and just looked at me.

I was once again thrilled instantly after hours of endless pleasures and experiences by him just holding me like this and began kissing him furiously, pulling half his loose face into my mouth and sucking on him. Though he was flat, he wasn't stiff. His body could move and bend like loose flesh. He then pointed to his head and made crumpling gesture with his hands.

I understood and gently took his head and began squeezing it. It began to fold in on itself like crumpling a piece of paper and I again only shook my head with wonder. The last I saw was his smiling lips folding in on themselves. I couldn't resist and I shoved his whole head in my mouth and sucked on it, rolling my tongue ecstatically all over his crumpled head. Then I pulled him out slowly and his head began uncrumpling of its own accord. Tony's tongue was out, lolling off to the side and he looked dizzy but deliriously happy, his eyes rolling around. He flopped down like a flat doll onto my bed and I finally couldn't stand it anymore. I pumped my dick and shot one of the most powerful loads in my life all over Tony's flattened chest, while he looked and smiled dreamily at me. I heaved a sigh and fell onto Tony, almost dead with exhaustion. Tony's flat arms only slithered around my body and he held me.

Despite how miraculous and sexy that experience was, I couldn't help but feel embarrassed. Guess it was just my upbringing. I had DONE something to Tony, putting him in a vulnerable position. He could hear, see, and feel, but he couldn't speak. I got Kleenex from the bathroom, cleaned us up, then once more put my arms around Tony's back and legs, lifting him up. He was as spent as I, and his flat head lolled loosely down from his neck. I took him back to the wringer and slowly ran him through from the opposite side. Sure enough, his feet came out the other end in 3D. I placed his feet on the chair, helping him get his balance, then continued cranking. And Tony slowly came back to the world of three dimensions. He looked exhausted when I helped him ease his feet onto the floor again. And his head was down. He broke away and headed for a corner of the room and slumped down, his head in his hands.

"Tony?"

He only waved me away and held his head. My God, what if I had disrupted vital organs inside him or destroyed his mind? I'd never forgive myself. I only waited.

Finally, Tony looked up at me, and I was about to speak. But he put his fingers to his lips, silencing me.

"I'm...all right," he whispered and swallowed. "Just...having trouble becoming...myself again. Your voice was like a crowd screaming. The air itself...sounded like thunder crashing from a storm. It's going away. You can talk now."

I kept my voice low in case it hurt him.

"I'd never forgive myself if you were hurt. What was I thinking??"

"I chose to do it, Dave. The risk was mine, not yours."

"My God, what was it like?"

"My senses except my voice functioned as usual. It was...like being in a dream."

"You're sure you're all right?"

Tony nodded and slowly smiled.

I knew he was more than all right when I heard him say softly, "Let's do it again sometime...lover."

The Holy Insurgent of Uncertainty
c2001