I felt bad about calling in sick today. The Bishop was probably saying The Mass at 3AM. “Hey big boss man. Wont you hear me when I call?” But I had other fish to fry. I’m a professor of Humanities at the catholic university. Moonlighting at the Burger King. Just last leak, I confessed that I was having an erectile dysfunction. He told me to avoid reptiles.
Good Friday, 9PM. My shift over at the Burger King. Called in, cancelling the night class “Big boss man, Wont you hear me when I call? Wanna rest easy…Better get a scrub tonight.”
Annachelle Spink, a 66 year old retired Mother Superior who had recently given up her bat wings and cashed in her rosery…purchasing the house next door. We were fast becoming more than friends, often sharing a twilight tea and three hot toddy shooters. Some would say that she was esscentic but I should have known that. In her garden, she often wore daisy dukes shorts with garters, to hold up her support hose. Her high top Converse tennis shoes gave her away as being a little bit different. When she open the door, she notice that I was a little bit out of sorts and reconmened an enema…but we weren’t that intimate. Athough, we had watched The View, together. I was soon to be her naked brunch.
Soom.She was hobnobbIng on my cock with her lips in no particular way. Sucking my penis as if she were Hare Krishna, praying for sentient beings. Tasting my sperm, and counting. ” One fish two fish.” Obsessed, for my spunk, thinking it her Welsh Rarebit. She whispered. “I think your radiator is leaking.” In those days, I didn’t know shit from Shinola, My penis was throbbing, probably bruising her pallet, with a whole lot of shakin’ goin on. I was inhaling nitrous oxide from a can, being discreet…but the laughing stop when she called me her little Pinocchio. “Who the fuck is that!”
Holding a pattern against my chest. “You are more a medium than a small,” she murmured, her eyes tracing the line of my soon to be transformation. She didn’t just want the clothes; she wanted the surrender and for me to me become her whore…in role play.
“Big boss man, Won’t you hear me when I call? Wanna rest easy…Better get a scrub for tomorrow. I think I caught the flu.”
“Hold your breath,” she commanded, the fabric of a stiff, oversized collar snapping against my neck like a trap. It wasn’t just a costume; it was a blueprint for a version of me she had already designed in her head. She began to layer the clothes on me with a clinical precision, each button a small, hard victory for her. The shorts were too short, but she cut them twice and they were still to short. Ending above the knees.The waistcoat was a vibrant, absurd yellow that made me feel stripped of every shred of masculine dignity I had ever clung to. I felt like tiptoeing through the tulips, hoping outside security lights would chase away the neighborhood voyeur.
“Stand still, you wooden thing,” she murmured, her voice possessing a sudden, authoritative richness that reminded me of the chapel organs during a Sunday morning service. She wasn’t just dressing me; she was sculpting me. She reached for a pair of oversized, bright red suspenders that clashed violently with the yellow waistcoat, snapping them against my shoulders with a rhythmic thwack that echoed through the small room. She leaned in close, her breath smelling faintly of peppermint schnapps, and whispered that the nose was the only thing missing.
