Bottoming Out

Chapter 3
Chapter Three

When Peter opened his eyes the following morning the first thing he saw was the empty spot next to him. After a moment’s confusion the events of the previous night came rushed back to him and with it the supreme embarrassment he had felt. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. It’s almost over. All you’ve gotta do is get to the gym, track down Albert, and throttle the little nerd until he gives you the antidote. No problem.

Buoyed by the thought, Peter pulled himself out of bed - only for his boxers to fall off the second he hit the ground. He was instantly sober, eyes wide and heart pounding as he studied the room and immediately realized that something was very, very wrong. His surroundings had seemingly shot up overnight, as though...as though...

Peter took a deep breath. You won’t know what you’re up against unless you look. Fucking man up. Summoning up every bit of courage he had Peter finally allowed his gaze to drift downwards...and take in the small, naked body of a little boy. His mind reeled as his eyes took in every aspect, every shameful little detail of his new form. His arms were scrawny and powerless. The outline of his ribs showed clearly beneath the pale, smooth skin of his bony chest. It wasn’t until his eyes drifted even lower - and saw the tiny worm of flesh poking out innocently between his skinny legs - that things really hit home for him. The lanky teenage body he had possessed as recently as last night seemed Herculean by comparison.

“Jesus Christ.” He whispered, cringing at his voice’s heightened pitch.

“Peter?”

Peter’s heart stopped. Rebecca. In an instant he was back in bed, cowering under the covers like a child hiding from the monster in the closet.

“Peter?” She called again through the door. “Are you in there?”

The boy cleared his throat.

“Uh, yeah.” He called back in as deep a voice as he could manage. “Listen, babe, I’m not feeling great - I think I’m gonna call off work today.”

“That’s probably for the best. Sounds like you’ve got a sore throat or something. Do you need me to get you anything?”

“No, that’s okay, babe.” Just leave, already! “I’m just gonna rest for a while.”

“Well, alright. I’ve gotta go to my mother’s for a little bit, so make sure the boys don’t get into any trouble, okay?”

Peter began to protest but she had already walked away. He grit his teeth. Well, at least it’s only the two brats that I have to sneak by now. Once he heard her car start and pull away the boy jumped out of bed and rushed over to his dresser. In the back of his mind he knew that nothing he had would fit and instead searched for something that would do a suitable job of draping his scrawny little body. He had settled on an oversized sweatshirt and was just about to pull it on...when Joey barged into the room.

“Peter, I gotta - ” The boy froze and locked his eyes on the child standing at Peter’s dresser, clutching a sweatshirt to his body to conceal his nudity. One could actually see the gears turning in Joey’s mind as he tried to puzzle out what he was looking at.

“Brian?” Joey called out, keeping his eyes locked on the strange boy.

“Yeah?”

“There’s a naked kid in mom and Peter’s room.”

“What are you talking about?” Brian responded, his voice growing louder as he came up behind his brother. “Why would there - ”

The older boy stepped into the room and was similarly struck by the sight. Peter’s mind raced. Think, damn it, think! They’re just stupid kids, surely you can come up with something they would buy. But before he cold come up with an explanation Peter was paralyzed by the fear he felt when Brian stepped forward and narrowed his eyes.

“What are you doing here, kid?” Brian asked, his tone low and suspicious. “Are you trying to steal from us?”

“No!” Peter cried. “I swear I’m not! I just - ”

“How did you even get in here?” Brian interrupted. “There’s the only the one door into the room and the window’s locked.”

Sweat formed on Peter’s brow.

“I-I...”

Brian took a step closer and seemed an instant away from grabbing him - before suddenly stepping back and straightening up.

“No way.” He murmured with a grin that sent chills down Peter’s spine. “No. Way.”

“What is it, Brian?” Joey asked. “Who is this kid?”

“It’s Peter. This little shrimp is Peter.”

“What?” Joey looked at the boy, incredulous. “Peter’s, like, gigantic.”

“I mean, it’s Peter when he was little.” Brian explained, keeping his eyes locked on the trapped child. “Mom showed me a picture of him once to show how puny he used to be.”

Joey’s eyes widened and he giggled a little bit.

“She showed me the same picture.”

Peter went pale and he inwardly cursed himself. The picture in question was one Rebecca had plucked from his mom’s photo book when they went to visit him - it showed him at nine years old on Halloween, flexing and mugging for the camera in a Superman costume that hung loosely from his bony arms.

He shuddered. Nine years old.

But before he could get too lost in the memory Peter realized that Brian had advanced on him again. Without a moment’s notice the boy grabbed the sweatshirt and snatched it away from him, leaving Peter completely bare for the moment before he could clamp his hands over his groin. He felt as though he were blushing from the soles of his feet to the tips of his ears as the brothers looked him over, Brian’s lips curled into a devious smirk as his little brother pointed and giggled.

“He’s even littler’n I am.” He said. “What should we do with him, Brian?”

“Well, seeing as it’s such a nice day...” Brian bared his teeth. “I think we should go play outside.”

A minute later the three of them were standing on the front porch, the brothers standing behind Peter as he cowered and curled into a ball. Already kids from across the street had taken notice, pointing and laughing at the silly little boy who had forgotten his clothing.

“Okay.” Peter whimpered. “You proved your point. Can we go back inside now?”

“Uh uh.” Brian grinned and wagged his finger. “I want you to do a little march up and down the street. Then we’ll let you back in.”

Peter looked up at the boy with tears in his eyes.

“Please...I don’t wanna...”

“Or...” Brian said as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose I could just spank you right here on the front porch in front of everybody. How does that sound?”

Peter swallowed as tears began to flow freely from his cheeks. With slow, trembling movements, he stood, moved his hands away - which made the giggling from across the street exponentially louder - and began to march. When the shameful circuit had been completed Peter turned and dashed into the house, ears still ringing with the laughter the children had let loose at the sight of his lily-white bottom and tiny bouncing boyhood. The brothers tried to keep up with him but were hobbled by laughter themselves - and when Brian tried the front door he realized that Peter had locked it behind him. In an instant his amusement vanished as he began pounding at the door, yelling at Peter that he was only making things worse for himself. This went on until he saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and realized that it was Peter making his escape. The boy had swiped a set of clothing from Joey’s dresser and was now making a break for it after stealing the younger boy’s bike, rambling down the street as fast as his skinny little legs would allow. He looked over his shoulder to see Brian take after him only to give up a moment later, realizing that even a scrawny twerp is faster on a bike than a big kid is on his feet.

Peter returned his attention to the road, shaking off the ultimate shame he had just experienced. If this is what happened to me, he thought with a shudder, I can only imagine what Brent’s going through.

---

Brent had been standing in front of the mirror now for what felt like hours. At first it was a mere inability to accept what it was he was looking at...but in the last few minutes that sensation had disappeared, replaced by one thought that ran through his head over and over again.

This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.

Given the circumstances, it seemed a reasonable response. Two days ago he had been at the top of the food chain, a bastion of masculinity that all men could look up to. And now? He was a pudgy boy on the cusp of puberty trying not to cry in a hotel bathroom. The flabby arms, The bouncing little boy-boobs, the round soft belly that hid his pathetic excuse for a penis from sight...it was too much to take. Brent felt nearly overtaken by despair when a knock came from the hallway.

“Mr. DeLuca?”

Brent’s breath caught in his throat. Christopher. After what happened last night Brent had forgotten to call off work and now was running very late for work - his boss must have sent his assistant over to see what was going on. Suddenly struck with the possibility of being seen like this Brent snapped from his daze and began rifling through his gym bag for anything that might stay on him. After a moment he came up with a pair of spandex shorts and pulled them on, at the same time pleased that he had done away with his nudity and embarrassed that his thighs were fat enough to keep up a piece of clothing designed for a grown man.

“Mr. DeLuca?” Christopher called again. “I’m coming in.”

Before Brent could utter a word of protest Christopher stepped into the room, struck by the sight of the plump little boy pulling on an adult pair of spandex shorts. He looked up and their eyes locked.

“Uh...” Christopher seemed at a lost for words. “Are you a nephew of Brent’s, young man? Do you know where he is?”

“Christopher, listen to me!” Brent cried, his assistant furrowing his brow at hearing the boy say his name. “I’m Brent! I know it’s crazy, but there’s something happening to me and I need your help!”

Christopher stared at him for a moment before shaking his head and chuckling.

“Very funny.” He laughed. “Do me a favor and get Brent from wherever he’s hiding, okay? He’s late for work.”

“Your social security number is 389-02-3127.” Brent recited. “The references you gave when you applied were from the Blue Sun, RAMJAC and Roxxon corporations. At the last company banquet you ate a bad oyster and were out sick for three days.”

Christopher’s face went blank.

“Good lord.” He murmured. “It really is you.”

“I’m glad we’ve gotten that out of the way.” Brent said, assuming control of the situation. “Now, here’s what I need you to do - ”

Brent was stopped in the middle of his recitation by the sight of Christopher closing the door and advancing on his boss with an odd little look on his face. Despite himself Brent couldn’t help but take a step backwards and cower at the seemingly-gigantic man that was closing in on him.

“I’d be happy to help you, Mr. DeLuca.” Christopher grinned. “I just need you to do something for me first.”

“S-Sure.” Brent offered him a nervous little smile. “What would you like? A raise? An extra week of vacation?”

“No no, nothing like that.” Christopher waved his hand dismissively. “All I need you to do is dance for me.”

Brent blinked.

“What?”

“You’ve always been so proud of your body, after all.” The assistant said as he whipped out his smartphone and aimed the camera in Brent’s direction. “So why don’t you show it off with a little dance, butterball?”

Brent closed his eyes and exhaled with a shudder. When this is all over I’m going to personally beat the shit out of you, Christopher. Unsure of what it was his assistant actually wanted, Brent stepped in a circle and began wiggling his arms.

“Oh, c’mon.” Christopher teased. “You can do better than that. Shake your jelly belly, pork pie.”

Brent grit his teeth but did as he was asked, shaking his hips so that his distended stomach jiggled like a bowl of jelly. Christopher chuckled.

“Say ?I’m a fat little boy’.”

“I’m a fat little boy.” Brent repeated.

“Now say it with a lisp.”

Brent trembled as tears began to sting at the corners of his eyes.

“I-I’m a fat widdle boy.”

The assistant practically howled with laughter but kept the camera trained on Brent, not daring to miss an instant of his comeuppance. It wasn’t until several moments later that he composed himself enough to speak again.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough.” He said as he caught his breath. “Best of luck, blubber butt.”

“Wait!” Brent cried as his assistant turned to leave. “Aren’t you going to help me?”

Christopher smirked.

“Promise them anything they want.” He said. “Isn’t that what you always told me?”

Without another word he left the room, leaving Brent alone, frightened and angry, suffocating under the weight of the humiliation his assistant had piled onto him. It was several minutes before he could compose himself enough to find his smallest shirt, throw it on, and head for the gym. As he ran into the parking lot - breathing hard from the exertion - Brent scanned the area for any sign of Peter.

“Psst! Brent!”

Brent’s ears perked and he looked in the direction of the alley next to the gym. A small hand beckoned him forward. Brent crept in his direction and carefully turned the corner...to see a scrawny little boy crouching by a bicycle. He looked up at Brent with unfathomable sadness in his eyes.

“Hey.”

“Oh my God, Peter...” Seeing what happened to his friend, a man with a physique every bit of impressive as his, sent Brent to the edge again. He found himself sniffling back tears...and when Peter saw that he began to do the same. In two days’ time they had been stripped of everything that made them men and reduced to sniveling little boys, hiding in an alley from the big scary world that surrounded them.

“Wow. It worked even better than I expected.”

Brent and Peter simultaneously looked up to see Albert standing in the entrance of the alley, hands on his hips and a smile on his face. He examined his subjects with unabashed glee.

“Do you know how difficult it is to get live testing subjects for something like this?” He asked. “You boys should be proud of yourself - you’ve advanced our research by years.”

“Albert.” Brent said, his voice thick with sadness. “We’re sorry. We’re sorry for everything.”

“We’re so sorry.” Peter chimed in.

“And we promise to never, ever mess with you again.” Brent sniffed. “Could you please give us the antidote?”

Albert snorted.

“You guys really are morons, aren’t you?” He said. “This isn’t science-fiction. There is no ?antidote’. You’re just gonna have to grow up again the hard way.”

It was the final blow. As their minds processed the possibilities of what Albert had just said both boys screwed their faces up and began to bawl, the frustration and humiliation of their ordeal all coming back in one agonizing outpouring of emotion.

“Oh, quit being such crybabies.” Albert teased. “Think of it this way - maybe this time you won’t grow up to be such jerks. Have a nice life, fellas.”

With that he was gone, leaving the boys alone to cry their eyes out. When a passing police officer - having received an anonymous report about some abandoned children - came by, they stopped crying long enough to tell him their story. He was disbelieving to say the least and drove them to children’s services, where their constant assertions that they were men trapped in the bodies of little boys went ignored by caseworkers that had grown weary of hearing the lies of runaways. Since their parents couldn’t be found and the system was overworked as it is, Peter and Brent found themselves shipped off to a boarding school upstate with a reputation for taking on troubled children. Even then they stuck to their stories, refusing to accept the new life that had been thrust upon them even though doing so made them the whipping boys for their hardnosed disbelieving classmates. Still, the curriculum is solid, and discipline is one of the institute’s most cherished values. Maybe that was what they needed all along.

Guess we’ll find out eventually.

 

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