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Slobbing Up Part 1
|Pulling up the small driveway, I turned off the car. I stopped in front of a tiny, rundown house on the outskirts of some weird, tiny blue collar town I never heard of until he sent me the address. I had to stop at the gas station where a slobby looking guy smoking a cigarette gave me the final directions. He could barely tell his right from his left and then he stuck his ass in my car window and farted. I drove away as I saw him laughing in the rear view mirror. What a creep. |
Anyway, about a week ago, I responded to an ad for a medical test subject: 3 months for $100,000. It was hard to believe; but after talking to Dr. Charles Heffman, who posted the ad, it was certainly real. And after getting laid off at my post-college job a few months ago, I needed the money, especially for my student loans. He asked for my basic physical info and medical history over the phone and wired the money in advance. Soon after, he sent me the address for the study. So here I am, Saturday 7PM like he asked.
I stepped up the creaky steps to the rusty front door and heard a deep voice yell, "It's open." I walked into a tiny hallway, and the smell of old BO, food, and cigarettes hit me. It seemed to come from the house itself. The hallway led straight to the kitchen. Everything was just as rundown on the inside of the house. The kitchen had old linoleum and appliances from the 70's. I only saw three things that seemed odd: a stack of papers with an official seal on them and pen, a laptop, and a tube running from the ceiling with a nipple on the end on the plastic kitchen table. The small kitchen went straight to the crappy carpet of the living room, which had a musty looking couch, big chair, and a big clunky TV. At the back of the living room, a door was open, showing a messy looking bed, and the door next to the bedroom was shut.
I heard a flush as the man I assumed to be Dr. Heffman walked out of the bathroom. He looked about ten years my senior and had a decent looking build and brown hair combed in a nice short brush over, and he wore a classy shirt and well fitting khaki pants. He held himself in a strong, confident manner, like he was superman or something. In short he looked nothing like a research scientist, more like a leading guy on a movie or something.
"Found everything alright?"
"Yeah, it took a while to find."
"Yes, the isolation and characteristics of this area are key to my study. You may sit at the table if you'd like."
I sat in front of the papers, and he handed me the pen.
"Would you sign these? You may read them if you like; it's just a contract of your participation, making sure you do the full three months and that I'm not liable for any consequences of your participation?"
"Not at all?"
"I'm paying you 100K, so you can take it or leave it."
He said this with a smile that was half joking. I hesitated for a moment and then signed the papers. I needed the money, and it was worth the risk. He sat next to me in front of the laptop. He typed on the computer for a moment.
"Excellent, I next to want confirm the records you gave me over the phone. Your name is Michael Gurber?"
"I have you at 22 years old, 6 foot, and 175 pounds?"
"No family history of obesity, heart, or lung disease?"
"And some final questions. How would you describe your diet?"
"Pretty healthy, I guess. I try not to eat too much junk."
"You ever have problems with gas or indigestion?"
"You or anyone in your family smoke?"
"Alright. I need you to prepare for the study then. The bathroom also has a door that connects to the bedroom. Go in and remove your clothes. There are clippers in the bathroom that you must use to buzz your head and face. You'll use those regularly to stay groomed. Once you've used the clippers, shower. I will put out new clothes to be worn for the study. You're a medium?"
"I'll let you get to it then."
I went into the bedroom and shut the door. It was just as musty as the rest of the house. I stripped off my shoes, shirt, pants, and boxers and went into the bathroom. Inside was a dirty sink, toilet, and shower. I also saw an old scale on the floor. I made sure both bathroom doors were locked and picked up the clippers he left on the sink. I wasn't too happy to buzz my head, but it's $100k and only hair. I shared off my normal length hair and ran the clippers over my face as well. A few minutes later, there was an even five-o-clock shadow all over my face and head. It felt really weird, but I figured I'd get used to it. I hopped in the shower, but there was no soap or shampoo. I just rinsed off, and I realized there was no towel either. So I kind of had to air dry for a bit.
Once I was pretty dry, I went back out to the bedroom to find that my clothes were gone. On the bed were a wifebeater and pair of tighty whities. Like the Walmart kind. There had to be other clothes somewhere, but the bedroom was bare except for the underclothes. Preferring not to go out naked, I pulled on wifebeater and whities, not used to how tight everything is. I also didn't anticipate the support on ass and balls from the whities, but it honestly felt kinda nice. Then I remembered that I needed to ask Dr. Heffman for more clothes, so I stepped out of the bedroom into the kitchen.
I couldn't believe my eyes. Gone were the laptop and stack of parts and in its place was every kind of junk food: chips, twinkies, a few boxes of pizza, candy, a stack of bologna on a plate, a jar of mayonnaise, a six pack of beer, a two liter of coke, and a gallon of whole milk. The tube from the ceiling was lying on top of all the food.
"Lookin' good, Mikey."
I turned to see Dr. Heffman walk in the front door. He sounded less professional, like a guy you'd see at a bar or something. He smacked my ass as he walked past me. He had a gas station bag that he emptied on the kitchen counter. Out came a few packs of Marlboro reds and two lighters.
"What the hell is going on?"
He unwrapped a pack, took out a red and lit it. He inhaled the smoke and exhaled as if a massive weight had been taken off his shoulder.
"Fuck that's good. Haven't felt that in years."
"What the hell is going on? Where are the rest of my clothes?"
He looked at me and smiled. Not a normal smile; he wrinkled his nose and rose one side of his mouth higher than the other. It reminded me of the face my uncle would make whenever he farted, which he loved to do a lot.
"Those are your clothes, kid. Well until you need new ones hehe."
"Maybe I should explain my study a bit to ya. Or even better, show ya what I looked like when I was your age."
He pulled out a picture of his wallet and handed it to me. I unfolded it and widened my eyes in shock. I saw a short, stocky guy arms akimbo in front of the house we were in. He had muscles, but they were all covered by a good amount of fat and even more hair all over. He wore a dirty wifebeater that didn't cover all of his belly with jeans shorts, dirty Chuck Taylors, and even dirtier tube socks bunched on top of his shoes. You could see the white waistband of his underwear over his shorts, and his fat head was buzzed like mine. He was smiling like he did a moment ago, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. I looked up and down again at the picture. Dr. Heffman and the picture seemed radically different, but after looking closely I saw they had the same face. One fatter obviously.
"That was you?"
"Fuckin' right. Right before I moved into this place."
"You used to live here?"
"I just said that, num nuts. I haven't even messed with your mind yet."
"Let me tell ya a story. When I was your age, I didn't think about college or a job. I couldn't fuckin think straight. I got a part time job at the gas station mini mart down the road and split the rent on this place with my dad who worked at the local mill. I wore exactly what you were wearing, constantly eating all the crap and smoking as many reds as I wanted from the gas station. I'd stuff myself silly and see how loud I could burp and fart afterwards. I'd barely shower or put on real clothes."
He must have seen my look of disgust, because he made that dumb smile again.
"I was a fuckin' pig, and everyone in town knew it. It was the fuckin' pits until the mill shut down. The whole town revolved around the mill for jobs, so when it shut down everything else did. Both my dad and I lost our jobs, and I was forced to go to college to get a job. I hated it. I had a class schedule, couldn't eat at 2AM like I used to. I had to wear pants all the time and couldn't smoke in the dorms. I tried finding a roommate like me, but all the slobs like me didn't go to college. I was so angry that I had to give up being a total glutton. Until I discovered I had a knack for chemistry. I got my undergrad, masters, and Ph. D. in biochemistry. I fueled my anger into research that found what makes a man a total pig. I masked it as 'health research.' I created compounds that gives a man a great physique, suppresses appetite, sharpens intelligence and poise. And I used them on myself, to get rid of the constant urges I had to be a total pig. I grew my hair out, bought a new wardrobe and boxers instead of whities, and I quit smoking. That research won me a Nobel Prize in biochemistry. Then I used the grant money to plunge into what I really wanted to do."
"What was that?"
"How to turn a man into a pig. How to give him a stocky physique, increase body hair, grow his appetite for the unhealthiest of foods, create a constant source of intestinal gas, establish a hyper strong addiction to smoking, decrease his inhibition and intelligence, make him hate bathing, give him a strong preference for the baser things in life. Making the compounds was easy, but to finish conditioning I had to delve into psychology. I teamed up with Dr. William Rust, a leading psychiatrist, to create the drugs and conditioning programs. Subliminal messages that play during sleep or flash on the television while you're watching it.
"To do what?"
"To make a man dumb up, cuss like a sailor, love to smoke, love and be proud of eating a ton of crap and burping and farting alone or in public, like only crude sports and shows and jokes, love buzzing his head, love wearing just his whities--"
"What you're wearing are the underwear pigs wear, kid. A pig's gotta love em."
"Well what happened to the other guy?"
"Did ya go to the gas station in town?"
"Remember the attendant?"
"Yeah. Now that I think about it he looked a lot like that picture. And he got his right and left mixed up when I asked him for directions. Farted into my window right in my face."
Dr. Heffman laughed, but it wasn't a normal laugh. It was dumb and gross sounding. He dropped his cigarette butt on the floor and lit up another.
"That's Rusty for ya."
"Was that the psych--"
"Yup. I fuckin' made sure he didn't get in the way of my final plan, so I 'accidentally' locked him in a room with the conditioning files. In our research it seemed to take several months to kick in, so I upped the intensity. Only took a week. By the end, he could barely write his own name and almost peed his pants laughing every time he farted. I finessed my physical compounds on him after, since he was so willing. He was much happier once he had whities on suckin on the pig tit.
"He was only truly happy once his built up a gut and the ability to fart whenever he pleased. He'd jiggle himself in the mirror, the proud pig. Once he was fully slobbed up, I got him at the gas station. He's what I showed to the army as proof of my finalized research."
"Why would the army want your research?"
"After the water boarding controversy, the military needed a peaceful way to subdue terrorist to interrogate them. So I showed them how they could slob em up, make em dumb and docile. They'd love their new selves as you saw with Rusty, and and they'd use the reduced inhibition to get them to tell the truth. Then the dumbing down will take place so they'll never be a threat again. The compounds I use are relatively inexpensive, and the programs are all set. A cheap package to solve a big problem. They've offered me $5 billion for it all. The only side effect is that it makes ya real horny for other slobs."
"It makes you gay?"
"For other slobs. It sets in after the final conditioning. I guess it does too good a job at fucking you over hehe. Rusty always did have a hard on in his whities. Bet he wished I was a slob like him. But I hear from his gas station regulars that he gets it on regularly. Sucks and fucks like a real hog."
"You won't think so soon."
"What? Didn't you prove it with Dr.--"
"Yes, but they want to see the transformation live. Which is why I set up this house with cameras that'll record your, well our, progress."
"You're going to make me a pig? And wait, you too?"
"Fuck yeah, you'll love it. And it's about time I've gotten out of this horrible body and be my dumb, fat, slobby self again. Fuck my mind over so I'll be as dumb as if not dumber than you. The military will record this data live for the next few months. Once it's all over, all the surveillance technology will destroy itself. My compounds and conditioning software will send automatically to the military base. And the $5 billion will be wired into my account. That'll leave us as pigs left with this house to live in and enough money to slob off of for the rest of our lives."
"Wouldn't that make us gay for each other?"
"Fuckin' right. When I was your age, I always had a hard on. I wish there had been someone to take care of it 24/7, and you'll soon want the same. We'll be there for each other hehe."
"You can't be serious."
Completely, But in case you didn't like it at the end of the transformation, the stuff to make us back to normal will appear on the kitchen table from the ceiling if either of us want go back to normal. But I won't want it and neither will you."
"I offered it to Rusty after, telling him he could be stronger and smarter than he was before. In response I got a fart in the face similar to the one you got today, the little fucker."
"I'll want it."
"If you say so."
"You're insane! I want out."
"Aw, but you just signed a military contract regarding top secret research. Leave and you might end in an underground facility for the rest of your life. Just sayin'."
I remembered the official seal on top of the papers I signed and realized he was right.
"Fine. Where do we start?"
"With the pig tit of course. Sit in the kitchen chair."
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