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From: Inosolan@galaxycorp.com (Inosolan)
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Subject: {ASSM} Hank's Housemate (1/2.5?)
Date: Fri, 27 Oct 2000 21:10:08 -0400
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Hank's Housemate (1/2.5?)
a "Hot Rags" story
by Inosolan
(gay,science-fiction,no sex)
(Copyright by the author.)
(No commercial reproduction without permission.)
(Intended for adults who can legally have it where they live.)
(If you aren't one of the above, don't read it.)
(I promise there'll be sex in at least one of the next two parts that will
appear simultaneously as soon as i finish them.)
Hank had a little problem. Or, rather he had a large problem. Two large
problems, for that matter.
One was six-foot-two, blonde and handsome.
The other was nine inches long, hard as a rock, and impossible to hide.
The first caused the second.
Hank was hot for his housemate, Fred.
And Fred was straight.
Hank hadn't really thought about the problems having a roommate might cause
-- all he knew was the he was facing a sudden rent increase and a cutback
in hours at his job at the same time and he had to do something about it.
So he'd advertised in the ESU student paper, and Fred, the first who
answered the ad would have been perfect, anyway... even if Hank hadn't
fallen hopelessly in love with the big freshman as soon as he set eyes on
him.
Fred was six-two, with wavy blonde hair and Robert Redford-type good looks.
He was quiet, considerate and easy to share a house with. He had blue eyes
a fellow (or a girl) could drown in, wonderful tight buns that Hank ached
to get his hands -- at least -- on, and (unless the pants he wore fooled
the eye) was hung like a horse.
And he was *straight*! No-one who looked that delicious had any business
not being available for anyone who appreciated him, no matter who or what.
It just wasn't *fair*!
Hank had always been a cleanly type; he was taking so many cold showers a
day that he was positively spotless since Fred moved in.
And it seemed as if every time he looked up, there was Fred facing away
from him, bending over to pick something off a low shelf and nearly pushing
that sweet ass right in Hank's face, or lounging carelessly on the couch in
sweat pants that bunched tight and showed every detail under them or as in
the most recent incident, walking up by Hank's chair quietly, so that Hank
turned suddenly on impulse and found his eyes focused directly on Fred's
crotch from a distance of about eighteen inches. It had taken every bit of
willpower he had to not grab it right then.
* * * * * * * * * *
...And just what the hell was he doing in a clothing-and-toy-store, anyway,
Hank was wondering, even if it *was* a *very* "interesting" store.
"Hot Rags" was the name, and, from the outside, it looked like any of a
number of other boutiques near the ESU campus, though the styles on the
mannequins in the window were pretty damned sexy... and the mannequins,
themselves, were shaped like actual women and men someone might actually
like to fuck if they were real, instead of modelgrrls with pipecleaner legs
and arms.
But inside -- well.
There were extremely well-detailed mannequins wearing all sorts of erotic
lingerie and clothing, including at least one anatomicaly-correct male
mannequin wearing the latest in kinky leather gear. Hank wasn't sure if it
was just his own charged up state that caused it or if the mannequin
actually *did* look as much like Brad as he thought it did when he first
saw it. He glanced away and then back and stopped in his tracks -- surely
the damned thing hadn't been winking at him when he first saw it!
He stepped over to the mannequin and poked at it -- yup; plaster or plastic
or whatever. Must be imagining that it had changed expressions.
"Can I help you?" asked a clear contralto voice from behind him.
He turned, and found himself face to face with the most oddly-dressed
salesgirl he had ever encountered -- she was dressed as Supergirl!
And, if anyone was right for the costume in real life, this one just might
be the one. Almost six feet tall in her stocking feet, the high-heeled red
patent leather boots made her at least six two. Heavy, gleaming blonde
hair (surely hair that perfect had to be a wig, but look as he might from
this short distance, it looked real) fell to her shoulders in a Bettie Page
bob. And, even though he was gay, Hank could easily tell that what lay in
between would be absolutely welcome in any straight guy's wet dreams. Firm,
high-standing and obviously braless breasts did Interesting Things to the
super-"S" symbol, the thin material of the tunic clung tightly and lovingly
to every line of the body under it -- you could almost tell if her
bellybutton was an innie or an outie -- and the the "v"-plunge of the
gleaming golden belt below her flat belly inevitably led the eyes downward
to the shortshort red leather skirt and to thoughts of what the belt
pointed directly to, under the skirt.
And the long long legs in between red skirt and red boots were to die for.
"erk," he said, cleverly, while "Maybe being bi wouldn't be so bad after
all..." rushed through his semi-stunned brain.
"Oh, good -- Hank -- you're here!" she said with a smile.
"Ummm, I am? I mean, I am. But why am I here -- or, I guess I'm here
because I walked in the door, though damned if I know why I did -- but who
are you, and how do you know my name?"
"Oh -- sorry. My name's Nikki; I own 'Hot Rags'. And you're here because
you sensed we could help you with your problem."
"Problem? You can help me? What kind of problem could I have that you
could help me with?"
"Look around you. Duh. A sexual one, of course."
"This is a weird conversation, and I don't like it. What -- is this some
kind of front for a whorehouse and you're offering to get me laid? 'Cos
that ain't my problem -- at least not any way you or any of your girls
could help me with."
She smiled.
"You'd be surprised what my girlfriend and I can do if we set our ... minds
... to it. But your problem's not just a simple random need to get laid --
people with that problem seldom wind up here unless they're potential
rapists and I need to do something about them.
"But I can sense that your problem is a *lot* more complex than you know;
even I may not be able to handle it. Come on in the back and we'll run a
consult."
She turned toward the back of the store. "Jo, dear, can you mind the front
while I run the ball on Hank, here?"
"Sure, babe," answered another voice and another long-legged (but not so
tall) Supergirl -- this one the younger, more adolescent animated TV
Supergirl, with the midriff-baring t-shirt top, short blue skirt and red
knee-high Doc Martens, and a straight blonde wig with a hairband -- came
trotting from the office in the back.
At first glance, this one looked demure and teenagerish in contrast to her
taller girlfriend... but then Hank noticed that the skirt was slit all the
way to the waist on both sides, and when she stepped up to the low platform
behind the cash register, he saw that underneath it she wore only a skimpy
red thong. He wasn't sure, but it looked as if the super-S logo was on the
front of the panty.
Catching the direction of his gaze, she gave him a freindlylily-malicious
glare, then laughed out loud as he blushed.
"I like this one, luv," she said. "If you can't solve his problem, can I
keep him for a pet?"
"Now, you know you didn't clean up after your last pet enough and finally
we had to unlock him and let him go... Come on, Hank -- there's no
reasoning with her when she's in this mood."
* * * * * * * * * *
From behind, as she led the way, the short leather skirt and the spike-heel
boots conspired to create a sight that any male with the normal amount of
testesterone would find absolutely fascinating, and Hank allowed himself a
certain aesthetic appreciation.
"Sit there," she said, pointing to a swivel chair that sat among three
small tables with strange-looking odds and ends on them. He sat.
"Okay, turn left, look into the eyepieces." Hank looked nto the eyepieces
on the machine indicated and was rewarded by a strange purple flash that
left him blinking away afterimages. "Now turn back to the right, facing
me, and put your palms on the two metal disks on the table top."
"Ummm, okay..."
As he put his hands on the plates, he glanced at the tabletop for the first
time.
"What's that?"
"It's a crystal ball, of course."
"But it's got all wires and..."
"Special tuner so I can watch my soaps without interference. Hush."
She stared into the ball. Then she looked at Hank. Then she looked into
the ball from another angle. Then she leaned forward and glanced at Hank's
crotch.
"Well, there's the problem. You're in the wrong world."
"Huh?"
"Okay. Let's say this is Earth-1. There are a lot of other Earths, just
like this one, but with one or two little things different. Some a lot
different. I don'r advise you to visit the one where the Nazis won World
War 2 if you happen to be circumcised..."
She looked up at him. "Skeptical" might have covered his expression, if
you spread it thin.
"You don't have to believe it, but if you act as if you do, the rest of the
explanation will go easier. Okay?"
He nodded.
"Right. Sometimes something goes wrong, and something that's ... 'supposed
to be' ... for want of a better term, in one world winds up in another --
usually it's a straight swap between the counterparts in one world and
another..
"And usually it doesn't matter. But this time it does -- let's just say
that the Earth-1 Fred and Hank are destined for great things, and the
Earth-2 Fred and Hank are just destined to be very happy together all of
their lives.
"Unfortunately, my friend, *you* are the Earth-2 Hank, and the Earth-1 Hank
is in Earth-2...and not only has no way to fulfill that destiny but, like
you, to be more or less miserable to the end of your life."
"Uh huh," Hank said.
"I can send you over there, bringing the other Hank over here and setting
things right for history and your own personal happiness..."
"Uh, yeah ... well, look, this is interesting, but I gotta go..."
Hank stood to leave -- or, rather *tried* to, because his hands stuck
solidly to the metal plates in the tabletop.
"Sit." she said.
"Sorry, Hank, but it's going to happen. You will be happier, I promise.
"And you won't remember anything about this; the shock of the exchange will
cause you to have a short, ultimately harmless, but temporarily devastating
breakdown. Not only will it explain why you've been gone for a few days,
but you'll have some memory effects explaining why you might get minor
things wrong..."
And the lights went out.
* * * * * * * * * *
[{To be continued -- twice, once for each Hank. They *will* be
different.}]
--
Inosolan@galaxycorp.com
He who would speak truth should have one foot in the saddle.
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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