Kevin & Keith (mc mm ft hm)

Copyright © 2010

Synopsis: Two college chums respond to an ad for free clothes and get molded into gay country boys. mc, mm, ft, hm

This story deals with gay fetishes, gay sex, humiliation, and other adult subject matter. Don’t read this if you’re under age or you’re not supposed to in your living area. If you don’t like this kind of stuff, now’s the time to hit the “Back” button and go elsewhere. If you’re into it, read on.

“This is gonna be awesome, Dude!”, Kevin clasped his hand on Keith’s shoulder as he led him through the mal. The place was bustling with activity, as it was early summer and every shop was crawling with kids free from high school and the local junior college. Record stores, video and computer shops, and especially clothing outlets were clogged with teenagers and young adults with time on their hands and money in their pockets, all in a rush to get the latest toys and gadgets or the hippest new fashions. Those without money were crowding into the same stores nevertheless, either to window shop or find a summer job.

Kevin and Keith had just reached their third summer break from the junior college (or “JC” as they called it). The two met during a class in their freshmen year and became fast friends. Both Kevin and Keith were gay, although both remained closeted through high school and neither had said anything about it to anyone in college. But somehow they were drawn to each other at the beginning of that first school year, and deliberately partnered up on the first class project that called for teamwork among classmates.

Kevin and Keith shared a certain chemistry, there was no doubt about it. They had been hanging out for two terms before either one of them mentioned their sexuality. At 19 and 20, back then, both were still virgins but were anxious to remedy that situation, yet neither was any too anxious to make a ceremonious and public march out of their respective closets. It was on a late night after the movies that Kevin first said anything. The two were lounging at Keith’s crackerbox apartment (of which Kevin was supremely jealous, since he was still living in a room in the basement of a relative’s house), when Kevin opened his mouth. The two buds had run out of things to say about the flick, and as they sipped their “brewskis”, Kevin looked over at Keith and said, “Oh, you do know I’m gay, right?”

He was half-expecting his pal to leap away in shock and disgust, since he had yet to comment or respond to any of the signals he may or may not have gotten from Keith over several weeks to indicate his friend was equally gay. Keith just continued to sip on his beer, his legs stretched before him, his feet resting on the rickety coffee table, acting as if Kevin had said nothing more shocking than a comment about the weather.

After an especially long gulp from his bottle, Keith replied without looking back at Kevin, “Well, duh. Kind of obvious, dude.” Then another sip. Then, with a sly grin, “Takes one to know one.”

End of discussion. Nothing more was said of it and the topic never came up again. Both boys seemed to know that the other was still in the closet and that each was the first to reveal his true identity to the other.

They never became lovers. Keith once commented that they were too good of friends to wreck it with a relationship. But they now had one another to experiment with. They started slow, at Keith’s insistance, and spent several nights sleeping in the same bed at Keith’s apartment. They always slept naked, something that neither one had ever done--or would ever do--when alone.

The sleepovers led to morning (and evening) showers together. They made out a lot. Eventually, Keith gave in to Kevin’s routinely-mentioned suggestions, and they decided to try giving each other head. As it turned out, Keith was far better at it than Kevin, although Kevin was no slouch. The two found it provided the prefect release when studying together for their rigorous midterm exams. The new euphamism for blowing or sucking each other off was “study break”. It was the ideal solution after a few long hours of hitting the books to drop the pencils and notecards and announce, “Time for a study break!”

It wasn’t long before a study break would occur when there wasn’t even any studying going on.

Kevin and Keith grew closer as friends but still shied away from calling themselves a couple. Each would eye other boys in the quad and would then whisper their comments of lustful admiration to one another. There was no jealousy in this. Keith would say what they had was a “friendship with benefits”. Among the continuing benefits were aggressive making out, the showers, massages, lots of head, but never any screwing. Both boys were still uncertain and a little afraid of that prospect, so they continued to avoid it. Or as Kevin remarked, “There’ll be no fudge-packin’ for us, thanks very much.”


Today the two boys, now 21 and 22, made their way to the one outlet at the mall that always had the least traffic, when it had any at all. They were headed to “Country Boy Corners”. Kevin, who had grown much more comfortable with (and more than a little oblivious about) making physical contact with his friend in public, kept his arm around Keith with his hand clasped to his buddy’s shoulder as he led him through the mall.

“Bud”, Keith muttered, “get’cher arm off’a me. People are lookin’ at us, man.”

“So? They probably just think we’re good friends.”

A trio of high school boys, each in pants baggy enough to fit all three of them at once, proved different, as they struck effeminate poses and flapped a limp wrist or two as the guys passed. Keith groaned to himself and picked up the pace.

Once, Kevin showed up on Keith’s doorstep with two very slick identical jean jacket outfits of cadmium red and electric blue. His idea was that the two wear them to the movie they were attending that night. “Aren’t these awesome??”, he crowed. “If we wear these outside, people will think we’re brothers!”

Keith gave his friend a long, concerned stare and said, “Kev, we wear these out in public, and we’ll get our asses kicked.” Kevin was the only one to wear their nifty new ensembles that night, much to his dismay. Although Keith did concede to pose for pictures in them later.

So the duo made their way to the far end of the mall, to a store with little or no patrons, definitely not dressed in matching outfits. Keith looked down at the promo he held in his hands, the one Kevin had yanked from the student services bulletin board. It was the flyer that brought them both to the obscure little outlet store. It read:

“Calling ALL Country Boys!
Special Offer for Men Between the ages of 18-24
Two FREE Outfits Compliments of
‘Country Boy Corners’
After modeling same clothing first.
This weekend only - no modeling experience necessary
9am until Noon”

Keith still wasn’t too sure about the modeling part of it. Sure, he was all for free clothes--for free anything, on a college budget--but he never considered himself all that impressive to look at, much less model material. In fact, Keith was a rather good-looking young man. He stood six feet tall, with short-cropped strawberry blond hair. He had a fair complexion and a well-toned, if not muscular, physique from many hours spent running, as well as dancing at clubs and other social gatherings.

Kevin, on the other hand, was tall and lanky. He stood an inch taller than Keith, with angular features and an easy smile. Kevin had big hands and big feet, and a walk more like a bounce that indicated he had something else that was pretty big too, if you were looking in the right spot. Kevin’s hair was a dusty light brown, swept back off his forehead and away from his penetrating blue eyes which could switch their gaze from pensive to playful literally in a blink.

The two rounded the corner into the farthest hallway in the mall, where the crowd thinned considerably. Country Boy Corners stood near the far end, surrounded by other storefronts that easily explained why so few kids made it down this way. A closed H&R Block office was across the hall from CB Corners. Between the two, at the very end of the hall was Ruth’s Medical Uniform Alterations. And among the gems leading down the hall were Old Family Upholsterers, Bixby’s Office Furnishing Consultants, and Frich’s Appliance Parts. There might as well have been a large sign posted at the entrance to the hall that warned, “Stay Out or Risk Extreme Boredom”.

“Geez, it’s no wonder no one ever comes near this place”, Kevin commented as they closed in on their goal. But Keith was convinced that the apparel this store advertised most likely played as big a part in fending off younger patrons. Keith was more than a bit apprehensive about what attire they’d be asked to model. For a year or two now, Country Boy Corners had tried in vain through radio, TV, and print advertising to make farmer wear look cool. Bib overalls, flannel shirts, heavy plaids, Carhartt gear, and boots, boots, and more boots were displayed and offered in ad after ad. And while the ads were well done, they just could not make the backwoods bumpkin image look hip. So now they had a new plan, apparently. Take the kids with whom “hip” is associated, and have them make the farmer wear seem cool by association. What better advertisement than a real guy out walking around in the stuff?

The two boys turned to walk into the store and stopped short at the entrance. The duo stood dumbfounded at the store’s interior. Everything inside Country Boy Corners was made of wood. Benches and stools which served both customers and clerks were made of wood. The shelves, the display racks, the counters, were all built of fine and highly-polished wood which was reflected in the heavily-varnished hardwood floor. A wagon wheel hung on the far wall from which various sale items were displayed.

Posters hung here and there throughout the store, boasting name brands like Carhartt, Dickies, Levi’s, Pointer, Osh Kosh, Liberty, Northerner, Nora, Hunter, LaCrosse, and a host of others the boys did not recognize.

And as monotone as the decor seemed, the clothing out for sale was just the opposite. Colorful flannels of both plaid and solid patterns festooned the shirt racks. Nearby hangers were crowded with a line of bib overalls of all shapes and sizes available in stonewashed denim, forest green, cardinal red, black, khaki, painter’s white, brown duck, royal blue, hazard orange, hickory stripe, dusty gray, electric blue, and canary yellow. And that was just on the readily visible display facing the door.

As Kevin and Keith stumbled, more than walked, into the store, they saw the impressive line of footwear come into view. Work boots and shoes cluttered more shelves and bins; heavy shoes, Caterpillars, chukka boots, hiking boots, steel toes, among others. Across the aisle from these were knee-high pull-on rubber boots. Good God, did they have rubber knee boots! Black boots, red boots, white, Anton green, gray, navy, kelly green, olive, brown, rust, yellow, brilliant blue, all stretching outward, if not to infinty, then certainly down the shelves and around the back of the store.

Keith stood with his mouth gaping at the endless array of farmboy gear, until Kevin slapped his arm to snap him out of his trance-like stare. “Keith, dig it.”

Kevin pointed at the various clerks who bustled around the store going about their various tasks. To watch them at work, they appeared no different than any other clerks working at any outlet store. Some assisted customers (what few customers there were), another watched the register, others stocked shelves or checked inventory. What set the Country Boy Corners staff apart were their uniforms. Each clerk work sleek black bib overalls tightly strapped over a crisp white dress shirt. At the collar of the shirt was a neatly pressed necktie of a single color. And the tie was selected to perfectly match the clerk’s knee-high rubber boots.

No two tie-boot combinations were the same. A clerk with a solid red necktie and matching boots stood by the front checkout counter. A yellow tie/booted clerk restocked a shelf. A green tie & boots clerk helped an elderly gentleman select a new chambray shirt. And a clerk with baby blue boots (I swear I am not kidding) and coordinated tie assisted a scruffy-looking patron in choosing some new work boots.

Every one was dressed neatly, with the overalls pantlegs tucked snugly into the tall boot shafts. And every clerk was a boy. Not a girl in sight. Kevin couldn’t suppress a broad smile and a snicker that escaped from behind his clenched teeth.

“Okay, that’s it. We’re done”, said Keith. He turned to exit the store.

Kevin grabbed his arm. “Where are you going? This is what we came out here for! You wanna just leave?”

Keith looked at his friend, incredulous. He then spread his arms out to indicate their surroundings. “Uh, hello? Next stop, Freakville! Freakville, approaching on your right. Party of two?”

Kevin put his arm back around his friend’s shoulder. “Keith, we have GOT to go through with this, now that we’re here. It is too bizarre to miss. It’ll be fun.” Keith looked doubtful. “If we don’t like it, if we aren’t having fun right away, we’ll leave. Whattaya say?”

Keith shuffled his feet. “Wellll...”

“Besides”, Kevin added, nudging his friend in the ribs, “the scenery alone has gotta be worth lingering a few minutes.” At that, they watched another clerk join the yellow-booted boy who was busy stocking. This one was a bit taller than his coworker, and was clad in orange boots and tie. He was gorgeous. James Marsden gorgeous. And when Yellow turned to hand him a clipboard, Keith could see that the peachfuzz-headed lad was adorably cute.

Now it was Keith who was smiling, despite his best efforts to the contrary. “Maybe for a couple minutes.”


Kevin and Keith approached the front counter where the clerk in the red tie and boots stood by the register flipping through a store circular and absently making notes in a small pad. Before Kevin could say something to gain his attention, the clerk’s head popped up and he greeted them with a dazzling smile.

“Good morning. Welcome to Country Boy Corners, Gentlemen. How can I help you today?” It was obviously a required sales clerk shpeal he had to recite, but he spoke it with such enthusiasm that it sounded sincere.

Kevin snatched the flyer from Keith and handed it to the clerk. “We’re here for the free clothes, basically.”

Taking the flyer, the clerk’s smile widened, and he flipped a thick shock of brown hair away from his eyes with a casual tilt of his head. “That’s great, fellas. Why don’t you have a seat, and someone will be with you in a moment.” He indicated a bench directly in front of the counter where the boys could sit.

As he stepped down from his spot by the register to retrieve whomever it was he needed to retrieve, he locked eyes briefly with Keith. Despite his years of practice at hiding his attraction to other guys in public, Keith was drawn to the clerk’s stare. The two of them paused for a few seconds, just looking at each other. Keith felt a spark of chemistry between them. And suddenly, he felt an overwhelming urge to kiss him. He had never experienced anything like it before. It was like that old song, “Hello, I love you, won’t you tell me your name”. Just as Keith registered what he was feeling, the clerk flashed another dazzling smile and winked at Keith. His change of expression broke the mood, allowing Keith to collect himself mentally. The clerk then nodded to the bench for the boys to sit down, and walked away quickly down one of the aisles.

Kevin never saw the exchange. He was still gawking at his surroundings as Keith, slightly shaken, took his seat.


The clerk in the red boots and matching tie made his way rapidly to the back of the store, and slipped through a swinging door camouflaged by its similar appearance to the paneled walls around it. Beyond the door was a small hallway leading to back rooms of varied purpose. On the wall of the hallway was a red phone. The clerk picked it up and pushed a button on the bottom of the keypad that glowed with a blue light beneath it. After one ring, the line was picked up.


“Mr. Steadman, sir. We have two more. That’s all of them, isn’t it? I mean, that’s enough, right?”

“Let’s hold on a moment, Travis”, the resonant voice came back. “I’d like to have a look at them first.”

“Yessir”, Travis answered quickly. The charming boy with the relaxed manner now seemed furtive and excited. “They’re waiting right in front of the main counter. Camera 3.”

“Fine. Stay on the line while I look them over, and then I can send you back with a ‘yea’ or ‘nay’, alright?”

“Of course, Mr. Steadman. Standing by.”

On the other end of the line, Travis’s employer smiled. He truly liked Travis. Such a delightful boy. But then, Mr. Steadman liked all of his boys.


Mr. Frederick Steadman swiveled in his chair in his upstairs office above Country Boy Corners. Mr. Steadman spent most of his time in the dark-paneled office, managing his store, minding the books, and observing his boys at work via the many security cameras hidden throughout the store. Mr. Steadman was what was called back in the day, “a man of independent means”. He had used his considerable resources to create the Country Boy Corners stores and stock them with his favorite types of clothing. Mr. Steadman was a fetishist. For reasons even he could not define, he had always been turned on by working gear, particularly farm wear such as bib overalls, flannel shirts, and rubber knee boots. Especially rubber knee boots. In fact, as he grew older, just about rubber anything.

Mr. Steadman was not always a man of means, however. He came from a small family in a small farming town. He grew up in a time where growing up on a farm was fairly commonplace and accepted, but growing up gay was not. Young Frederick Steadman knew that he was gay from the first moment he got hard watching one of the tanned and muscular summer farmhands sweating shirtless beneath denim bibs with their long pant legs tucked into tall rubber boots. He knew who he was and what he was attracted to. He also knew he was in trouble.

In that time long before such popular programs as “Will & Grace” or MTV’s “Undressed” to present homosexuality as normal, Frederick had to be on guard 24/7. But eventually, the other farm workers found him out--or at least thought they did. The shy and respectful Frederick’s manner was unlike that of any other boy his age, and this alone made him suspect. In short order, whenever there were no parents around, the farmhands regarded Frederick as a freak, as their personal jester, the object of their jibes and pranks. He was addressed primarily by insults and slurs. One worker spent an entire summer on the farm knowing the lad only by a profane description, and departed in the fall without ever having learned Frederick’s real name. Nor did he bother to ask.

Frederick’s quiet moments of reflection on ways to improve the family business were regarded as moments of vacant stupidity, as he stared intently at nothing, sometimes for hours. But Frederick Steadman’s pensive moments paid off. After years of familiarizing himself with the workings of the farm and earnestly studying business at school, Uriah turned the struggling family business into a very profitable venture.

Much later, Frederick Steadman (now always regarded as “Mister”, and never by insult) was very rich. He had invested a great deal of money into clothing stores which supplied the kind of gear he wished he always had as a boy. Very little of the money invested ever returned, but Mr. Steadman didn’t mind, and thought of this particular venture as more of a hobby than a source of additional income. Besides, he could afford it.

And now he was finally able to indulge himself in a project of which he had dreamed for a very long time. A project in which Kevin and Keith were about to play a vital part.


Mr. Steadman rolled his chair over to the tv monitor screens from his security cameras. He looked at the image from Camera 3, and saw Kevin and Keith sitting on the wooden bench before the register counter. Kevin wasn’t bad looking, but didn’t do much for him. Then he saw Keith. Keith, too, was hardly runway model material, but his face, his posture, his build...he could have been Mr. Steadman’s twin brother when he was young. Or his son today. The only difference was the hair color, but as for the rest, the resemblance was uncanny.

Mr. Steadman toyed with the idea of sending the thin one home and inviting in the strawberry blond clone of himself. But then the thin one, clearly thinking that no one was watching--or perhaps not caring if they were--placed a hand on his companion’s knee and gave it an affectionate squeeze. The other looked back, smiling, and gave him a playful elbow in the arm. They leaned toward each other, and for a moment Mr. Steadman thought they were going to kiss. But a clerk passed by and the two rapidly looked in opposite directions, pretending to be oblivious of one another. After the clerk was gone, the two looked back at each other, and started laughing immediately.

Yes, thought Mr. Steadman. I must have you two. You will complete my collection. He rolled his chair back to the phone. “Travis?”

“Yes, Mr. Steadman?”

“They’ll do fine. They should be perfect, in fact.”

“Both of them? The lanky one kind of reminds me of Ichabod Crane. If Ichabod Crane was cuter, anyway.”

“Yes, if he was cuter. But this one is. Send them back, by all means, Travis.”

“Immediately, sir.” Travis was about to hang up, when-

“Oh, and Travis?”

“Yes, Mr. Steadman?”

“Thank-you for calling me.”

“My pleasure, sir.”


Keith watched with interest as the various clerks made their way around the store. Besides the fact that they were all attractive, something else caught his eye. “Kev, you notice anything about the help here?”

Kevin wasn’t really paying attention to Keith. “Like the black-haired babe in the green boots? Yum.”

“No”, Keith said, a bit perturbed, “not the boy in the green--” but then he looked where Kevin was, and saw the boy in question. “Good God, he is hot”, Keith conceded. Then, gathering his thoughts, “Besides that. I mean, check out the name tags. Jethro. Buford. Rufus. Elroy. Clovis.”

“All country boy names. ‘Cept of course, Elroy was also a Jetson.”

“It’s like that ‘50s theme restaurant that was out on 48th Street. Everyone had name tags like in an Archie comic. Veronica, Reggie--”

“Jughead’s Cafe. So either the country boy clerks have false names, or the manager was really selective in who he’d hire.”

The orange-booted clerk walked by, smiling in acknowledgement of the duo, then continuing on his way. His black overalls did an exceptional job of showing off his magnificent ass.

“I’d say he was pretty descriminating, regardless.”, Keith observed.


It was Travis who spoke, causing Keith and Kevin to jump to their feet as if they’d been caught misbehaving.

“If you’d be good enough to follow me, we can take care of both of you.”

The two friends grinned. “Cool.”

* * * * *

The normally inseparable duo found themselves separated by their handsome guide as each college boy was directed to a different changing room. Keith walked into his designated dressing area, expecting a cramped room with a wooden bench and a mirror. What he got first was a small foyer leading to a door marked “Dressing Room A”. The door stood out from everything else in the store, as it was not wood but a burnished gray. It looked like metal.

Keith went through this door, which was pretty light and easy to open given its metal appearance, and beyond it he found his smaller dressing area. This one was cramped. It couldn’t have been more than six or seven feet across, and not more than eight or nine feet deep. The ceilings were not much more than ten feet tall. Keith was glad he wasn’t claustrophobic. Still, he left the door ajar, if only for a little air circulation. Odd that the foyer leading to the dressing room was more spacious than the dressing area itself.

Keith stood there for a few moments. There were no free outfits waiting for him in here. No coathooks, no benches, no mirrors, nothing you would expect to find in a clothing store’s fitting room. Only two bare gray walls on either side, a third straight ahead with some lines etched into for whatever reason, a few fluorescent lights recessed overhead, and the door he came through. He had to have taken a wrong turn or been sent to the wrong room. That was it.

Keith turned to leave, but as he reached for the doorknob, he saw a small sign posted just above it. In red letters, it stated, “Please close door firmly behind you upon entering to begin fitting.” Well, that seemed kind of stupid. He would hardly need to close the door if he had nothing to try on or change into. Still, what the hell...

With a smirk, Keith closed the door all the way, then pressed against it with his palm until he heard it click tight against the jam. He was about to say, “Well, I’m waiting”, when the lights overhead changed hue dramatically.

The fluorescent bulbs turned a warm orange. The light filled the room and both the walls and Keith took on that color. And it wasn’t just the color of the lights that was getting warmer. The temperature seemed to be up by a few degrees.

“Welcome”, a voice chimed in from nowhere.

Keith jumped. “What the fuck--?”

“And thank-you for joining us for Country Boy Corner’s special free clothing and modeling day!” The piped-in voice sounded like those heard on prerecorded tapes at Disney World or other theme parks. Keith half expected the voice to tell him to lower his head and watch his step in preparation for one wall rolling up and revealing some novelty ride beyond.

Instead, a small shelf slid out of the wall to Keith’s left with a small serving tray on it. “Please enjoy these complimentary refreshments as we prepare a special country boy ensemble just for you.”, the invisible host said.

Keith was impressed that he hadn’t seen the opening for the retractable shelf when he came in. He peered at the tray to see a tall plastic cup filled with a fizzy red liquid and a large chocolate chip cookie in a wax paper pouch resting on a cocktail napkin. Okay, whatever.

“Thanks, I’ll pass”, Keith said to the voice. And he stood there, waiting. Nothing happened. “Let’s go, okay?”

“Please enjoy these complimentary refreshments as we prepare a special country boy ensemble just for you.”, the voice repeated. Then, nothing.

Keith looked around. No clothes were suddenly popping out of any hidden closets or display racks. So he decided, screw this. Keith turned to walk out the door and just ask that cutie Travis or anyone else to just give him the damn hillbilly outfit so he could get this over with.

The door was locked.

Keith yanked at the doorknob and pounded the metal door with his palm. “Hey! What is this?!”

“Please enjoy these complimentary refreshments as we prepare a special country boy ensemble just for you.”, the voice intoned again.

Keith turned back around slowly and eyed the tray. Gingerly, he picked up the cup and sniffed the contents. It smelled like Hawaiian punch. With maybe a spritz of 7-Up for some extra bubbles. “Ya’d think with all the trouble they’re going to, they could at least make it a Heinekein...”, he grumbled. Then he tasted it. The punch tasted delicious. After a couple tentative sips, he was so overcome by the fruity taste that he drained half the cup in one gulp. He then picked up the cookie. It was still warm, the chocolate gooey and melting. The cookie was fantastic, like the kind they prepare for excessive cost at the cookie bakeries along the mall’s food court. Keith soon downed the whole scrumptious thing, burning the roof of his mouth once on the hot chocolate chips, but not really caring. Then he washed it all down with the last of the punch. As he wiped his hands off with the small napkin, he thought, “Damn, that really was good.”

The voice came back on. “We hope you enjoyed your refreshments. We are now ready to provide you with your free country boy clothing. Please follow all instructions and get ready to enjoy your handsome new outfit!”

Keith heard a faint hum and looked to see the serving shelf retract slowly back into the wall. The lights seemed to get, not brighter. Oranger, if there was such a thing. And it was getting kind of warm now, too. Keith felt very relaxed all of a sudden. That snack sure hit the spot. The bubbles in that punch, kinda fun. They sort of zipped up and tickled his nose. Now that tickle his head? And the soft, warm cookie, now resting in his belly. The warmth of the treat spreading outward, warming his chest. His arms. His legs. His whole body was starting to feel soft, like the cookie. It felt nice. Keith felt nice. It sure was nice of these cool Country Boy Corners people to give him a swell new set of clothes.

The temperature got just a bit warmer and Keith shook his head awake. He had never cared for the heat, and his aversion to the sudden discomfort of the cramped room started to bring him around.

“Damn, is it warm in here or what?”, he thought. “That why I feel so...funky?”

The piped-in voice returned, saying, “Please deposit all of your clothes and belongings into the receptacles before you, where they will be kept safe until you reclaim them at the front counter. Your new outfit will be presented to you as soon as you have removed your garments.”

The wall directly across from the door had two drawers suddenly glide open noiselessly. At this, the apparently random lines etched in the wall indicated different compartment openings. Inside, one drawers was marked “Clothes”, the other “Valuables”. Keith pulled off and neatly folded his shirt and pants, laying them into the drawer. He set his shoes beside them, the laces tucked inside the shoes. He placed his watch and wallet in the other drawer, then waited. It actually felt really good to get out of that shirt with the room being so warm. Pants, too.

Keith stood in his briefs and socks, waiting. The drawers just sat there.

“Your new outfit will be presented to you as soon as you have removed your garments.”, the voice repeated.

“Yeah, so?”, asked Keith. A wave of comfort washed over him. The fizz of the punch bubbled into his brain, the warmth of the cookie made his arms and legs feel soft and limp. “I’m undressed”, he mumbled. “Allll undresssed...”

“Your new outfit will be presented to you as soon as you have removed your garments.” came the voice again.

Keith felt another wave of relaxation and warmth spread throughout his body and mind. Warmth. His feet were suddenly very warm and confined. His crotch felt unusually warm as well. A small light dawned in Keith’s befuddled mind. “Ah. Not all undressed.” He then peeled off his socks and briefs and haphazardly folded them and set them in the clothes drawer.

As soon as he let go of them, the drawers retracted. He had to jerk his hands away to avoid them getting caught.

“Thank-you”, said the voice. “Your free new suit of clothes is on its way.”

Keith had never felt so good. Not without sex, anyway. He sighed, letting himself enjoy the warm, orange-lit room and the freedom of his confining clothes. The lights began to change again, this time to more of a yellow color, but in transition they started blinking rapidly.

“Our apologies”, said the voice. “We are experiencing momentary fluctuations with our lighting. It will be corrected shortly. We appreciate your patience.”

“Take your tiiimme”, Keith droned as he let himself slide to the floor and sat limp, with his back against the door, naked, as his head lolled to one side.


Not far from Keith, in “Dressing Room B”, Kevin was raring to go. He stepped energetically into the small dressing area and shut the door fast behind him with a quick swat of his hand.

The voice-over kicked in instantly. “Welcome! And thank-you for joining us for Country Boy Corners’ special free clothing and modeling day!”

Kevin smiled at the cheery welcome. “Hey. No, thank-YOU!”

“Please enjoy these complimentary refreshments as we prepare a special country boy ensemble just for you.”

When Kevin saw the goodie tray appear, he practically dived on it. “Sweeeet!” He gobbled down the cookie and fairly inhaled the punch. As he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the tray disappeared into the wall and the drawers for his clothes and belongings slid out of the other wall. The announcer guided him in what to do next.

“God, this is too cool”, Kevin crowed as he peeled off his shirt. He hadn’t even noticed the orange lights illuminating the room or how warm it had become. Kevin hurled his shirt, pants, and shoes into the bins in a heap, quickly followed by his socks and boxers. “Hope they provide undies”, he muttered to himself.

Then, he paused, considering whether or not he should retrieve his shorts just in case. “Nah, fuck it”, he decided.

In seconds, Kevin’s necklace, watch, and wallet (after he retrieved it from the back pocket of his cargo pants) were lobbed into the second drawer. As the two compartments retracted into the wall, Kevin noticed for the first time how good he was feeling. The warmth, the gentle buzzing in his head, the risky delight of disrobing in an unfamiliar place. He began to feel aroused, and reached down to stroke himself. He stopped for a second, wondering if he was being watched by security cameras, then shrugged. “They might as well get something for their free clothes. Peep show’ll do.”

The overhead lights blinked and the voice announced the delay. Kevin didn’t care. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this good. He leaned back against the wall and slid down to the floor, massaging his raging hard-on. He was so alert and so sleepy all at the same time. It was awesome. His head thudded back against the wall, his massive grin never fading.


Keith inhaled suddenly and opened his eyes. His skin was cool. Too cool. He rubbed his arms and realized where he was. Naked on the dressing room floor at Country Boy Corners. He looked up. The lights had stopped blinking. Their hue was now a fluorescent yellow. Much brighter. Keith started to stand up, and felt that soothing sensation wash over his whole body again. His mind felt a little muddled, but not as bad as before. The warmth was gone. He had a sudden urge to get dressed. He wanted to be covered. He needed it.

“We apologize for that temporary delay while we attended to our electrical difficulties.”, the voiceover said, making Keith jump. “We now present your new Country Boy Corners outfit!”

A panel in the etched wall hissed aside and out came a rack and hanger with--a t-shirt? A single, white t-shirt, that was it? It even looked too short, what was the big deal--

But then the wonderful fizz returned to Keith’s head and he reached for the tee. The soft fizzing grew to a steady, compelling buzz. That’s right, of course. One thing at a time. T-shirt first. Keith saw that the shirt was given to him inside-out. Reflexively, he started to turn it back the other way. Buzz. No, no, this was the right way, wasn’t it? Inside-out. He pulled the shirt on, but after putting his arms through the sleeves, it still didn’t feel right. Absently, his hand felt at the back of the collar was the tag was sticking out. Ah. There’s the problem. Keith pulled his arms in and rotated the shirt around so that the tag stuck out in front. That was better.

Another shirt appeared from a new hanger by way of the wall’s sliding panels. It was a short-sleeved plaid shirt. Green, white, and tan. Very wide sleeve cuffs that rode just above the elbow. “Oh, that looks tasteful”, Keith thought derisively. Buzz. Yeah, yeah it did. Y’know, he was going to look really good in this. He pulled the shirt on and buttoned it up. There were no buttons toward the top of the shirtfront, so his protruding t-shirt tag from his inside-out and backwards undershirt could be plainly seen under the open-collar.

Keith was starting to feel pretty good about himself. Despite the fact that he was naked from the waist down, he could feel that these new clothes were right for him. No, more than right. True. He was meant to dress like this.

Another panel, the largest yet, slid back. A pair of boot soles extended toward Keith. Rubber boots. Green. Same color as the green in his shirt. As Keith reached for them, he felt a tingle at the contact with the rubber that shot down his arms and up his spine. God, the rubber felt incredible to the touch. So soft, so supple. Smooth. His head was buzzing like mad now. He had to put on those boots. It wasn’t just a desire. It was a compulsion.

He pulled the boots toward him, marveling at how tall they were. They were at least knee highs...but they just kept coming. Were these hip boots? Keith started to become erect at the thought. Holy crap, to have these rubber waders over his bare legs in this shirt. He yanked them out faster. And they flopped to the floor. All 54 inches of them.

The green rubber boots extended into pantlegs, a seat, and all the way up to a chest covering and shoulder straps. Keith thought at first they were chest waders, but they were too slim for that, too slender. He then recognized that from the legs up, they were like overalls. Rubber bib overalls and boots all in one. Keith was so hard he could barely stand it. He clutched the rubber garment to his chest and rubbed them against his legs. The feel, the smell, it was overwhelming. He couldn’t believe how much he was getting off on it. He had never, never, been into rubber before, so how could this...Buzz. It didn’t matter. He just had to put them on.

Keith flipped the overall-boots around to take one last quick look before stepping into them. Then he saw the labels. Twin labels across the shin of the boots, another emblazoned across the chest bib, at least 2 1/2 inches wide, close to nine inches across. They all said the same thing. One word. One name.


Keith’s mouth fell open. No way. Putting on this rubber outfit (this intoxicating, incredible rubber outfit) would literally label him as a dipshit. No way, he couldn’t. Wasn’t he going to be seen wearing these in some kind of ad? He’d never hear the end of it. Keith the country boy dipshit.

He couldn’t do it, but he wanted these around his body so badly. He was getting so horny, his balls were buzzing like crazy. Keith stepped one leg into the cool, clinging rubber pantleg and felt his foot slip into the smooth, cushioned rubber of the boot. BUZZ. His head swam with muddied delight. He climbed into the other leg and the fit was close to perfect. BUUZZZZZZZ. He felt so good, so right like this. He realized as he yanked the bib straps over his shoulders that his shirt and t-shirt didn’t hang any lower than just above the navel. Plenty of room for his hard cock to rub against both himself and the rubber overalls undisturbed.

The bib straps locked into place inside the metal bib buttons, clicking like a car’s seat belt. The thick rubber wrapped snugly over his shoulders and held the high back and chest piece tightly to his body. He exhaled slowly, in sudden gasps. This felt so right. His dick was throbbing against the confines of his new suit. His uniform.

Keith looked at the wall with the sliding panels and noticed the one that offered his new rubber waders was still wide open. He stepped over towards it. With each step, he felt that sensuous rubber press against his legs, wrapping his feet, hugging his back and chest. Whoa. He bent over (ahh, the pressure against his knees, his crotch, oh momma) to see one last item waiting for his retrieval. He picked it up and looked at it. A baseball cap of green and tan, matching his shirt and waders. Across the crown, in huge block letters, his new slogan. DIPSHIT. He had to smile.

Keith looked again to see the panel closing, and a full-length mirror sliding into its former place. Keith froze as he saw himself in all his rubbered bumpkin splendor. Slowly, he turned around, taking it all in, reveling in the feel of the rubber caressing his body with every little movement. The chest of the bibs rode nearly up to his armpits. Twisting to look over his shoulder, he saw another “DIPSHIT” label, smaller than the others, on the back of his shirt between his shoulder blades. It was well framed in the V-back of the rubber bib straps. He turned full circle, and met his own reflection with an enormous smile. He was about to put on his cap when he noticed his hair.

“Hey, when the hell did I get a brush cut??” Sure enough, Keith’s hair was now trimmed perfectly flat on top, shaved to nearly peachfuzz on the sides. “How the fuck did that happ--” Buzz, buzz, buzz. Keith felt warm and contented all over. The rubber felt so good. He looked so dashing as a country boy. Backwards shirt tag and everything. He tugged on his namesake cap. “Looks good on me”, he said, dreamily. He may have been speaking of the haircut or the cap.

He then spread his arms wide, smiling just as broadly, and said to no one, “Lookitme, I’m Dipshit!” At that, a staggering wave of comfort, if not euphoria, swept over him. His arousal increased tenfold. His throbbing penis was literally slapping against the rubber which pressed it tight to his chest. His testicles ached to release the load churning inside them.

Keith fell to his knees, the rubber gripping him tight, enhancing his already intoxicating sensations. And out of nowhere, a thought occurred to him. “Holy Christ, I can’t remember my name.” Keith was alive with sexual pleasure, with the need for release. He had never felt this horny before. He had to let it all go, he had to. But he knew he’d never get unstrapped and out of his beautiful new suit in time. And why couldn’t he remember his own name? Where had it gone? His head fogged, his dick ached and throbbed. So good, too painful to hold it. Let it go, let it go....but what’s my name, what’s my name, why can’t I remember my--

And he shot a load unlike any he had in his life. A rush of ecstasy flooded every inch of his body. His head jerked back and his whole body was wracked with the most unimaginable spasms. He shot stream after glorious stream of his juices all over his chest and into his new suit. The snug bib kept any from squirting right out over the top, but only just barely.

After several minutes of continuous, extraordinary orgasms, Keith’s head drooped forward and he gasped for air. He felt the rivers of cum oozing around in front of his abs, down and around his legs and into his beautiful boots. He rested his palms gently upon his thighs, pressing the rubber pantlegs against himself, squishing the jism around beneath his fingers. And with one final sharp intake of breath, the buzzing fog settled comfortably around his brain. The warm feeling of contentment and submission hugged itself to his chest and shoulders. And he remembered his name. He knew without a doubt who he was. It was so obvious. Lost in the moment, he had just blanked for a second, that was all.

He raised his head, smiled and said, “I’m Dipshit.”

And still kneeling on the floor, he fell backwards with his arms splayed out at his sides, laughing with delight.

From above, in a dark-paneled office, Mr. Steadman watched Keith’s transformation into Dipshit via hidden cameras. The man glanced only peripherally at the handsome boy standing beside him in the red tie and boots, and said softly, “One down.”


Kevin was awakened by the unseen voice apologizing for the temporarily blinking lights. “Ohhh, no problem”, Kevin said as he clambered his naked body up from off the floor. The room was much cooler now, and Kevin was ready and eager for his new clothes.

When prompted, Kevin sauntered lazily over to the wall as the t-shirt appeared. His head was still in a bit of a fog, but it was such a nice, relaxing fog that he didn’t worry too much about it. His body would catch up soon enough.

Kevin started to feel more alert as he snatched up the t-shirt and started pulling it on. Inside-out and backwards. He knew that was the proper way to wear this style. Then the plaid short-sleeve arrived. It was identical to Keith’s (to Dipshit’s), but he of course did not know that yet. Kevin giggled at the sight of it. “This is too cool. Could this thing be any more cornpone?” He pulled it on and buttoned it up. The mists were still swirling around his head, creating that buzz, but it was still pretty soothing, so he knew there was no reason to worry. This all felt so good. So right.

Then the big booted overalls appeared. Kevin’s mouth practically watered at the sight of them and his dick shot out in front of him, leading the way to try them on. Kevin picked them up and felt the soft, green rubber between his long fingers. “Ohhh, yeah. Ohhhh, hell, yeah”, he said.

He was in them in a trice. One leg, then two. He fumbled with the straps for a few seconds, but soon he was tightly buckled in. The sensation was beyond compare. Kevin began rubbing himself all over to press the wonderful rubber to his skin. Stroking, massaging. His dick was sending electrical charges through his entire body. Without a doubt, this is what he was meant for.

Greedily, Kevin lunged at the still open compartment. “Is there more? Is there anything else?” He found the cap and pulled it out. For the first time, he saw on its crown the broad label that he missed seeing on his shirt and rubber uniform.


Kevin burst into hysterical laughter. It was too perfect. He yanked his cap on and continued to roar with amusement, gripping his sides, his whole body alight with the sensations of joy and erotic ecstasy. He didn’t know if he was going to die laughing or die from shooting out everything he had inside him.

Kevin finally saw the full-length mirror and caught the labels on his chest bib and on the front of his attached boots. Even backwards, he could tell easily what he was looking at. “DUMBFUCK, Dumbfuck, Dumbfuck”. That did it. Kevin let out one extended fit of laughter and at the same time let loose down below with everything he had. He stumbled against the wall, his whole body bucking with the fired jism, his long legs struggling for purchase as he swayed after each spasm.

He laughed, he came, he laughed, he came. Over and over again. It was the most intoxicating feeling he’d ever had. He knew all along it was a good idea coming here. He just knew it.

As Kevin let himself drop to the floor, a smile on his face and his giant trim waders full of cum, he let himself take some slow, deep breaths. His dick was already growing limp, but it still shot a little spurt here, a little spurt there, as it shrank. Kevin closed his eyes, and the mists within his mind buzzed into a steady, repetitive rhythm. The feeling of blissful surrender wrapped itself around him like a blanket. God damn, but he felt good.

Then, Kevin’s eyes popped open, a look of confusion and concern on his face. “Wait a minute. I only just met these people today. How’d they know my name was Dumbfuck?”


One storey above, Mr. Steadman smiled at Dumbfuck’s query. “That’s two. We’re all set.”


Dipshit was suddenly aware that he was making his way back down a drab hallway to where he had come from. Where was that again? When did he get up and start moving? He had been lying on the floor, he had just remembered his name...

Dipshit looked ahead of him and saw the handsome young man in the black overalls and red boots. “Oh, yeah. I know you...”, he started to say, but was hit by a wave of vertigo. Dipshit stopped and leaned against the wall. A warm buzz filled his head and he felt his shoulders slump. He was relaxing again, and becoming increasingly aware of his wonderful overall-waders. So much rubber...

“You okay?”

Dipshit saw the concern in the handsome boy’s face. “Travis, right?”

“That’s right. You alright?”

Dipshit straightened himself up and rocked on the heels of his boots. Suddenly he felt just fine. “Never better. What’s next? Don’t I have to pose for some ad pictures or something?”

Travis smiled and clasped Dipshit by the shoulder. “Something like that. C’mon.” Dipshit felt a tingle of excitement when Travis touched his shoulder. he’d happily follow him anywhere.

“We just need to get your friend”, Travis said over his shoulder.

Right, right. Dipshit remembered he had come here with his friend. In fact it had been his idea. His friend....his friend, um...oh, for God’s sake. Now he had forgotten his friend’s name too?

Travis and Dipshit reentered the store and met up with the boy in the orange boots and Dipshit’s friend trailing right behind. Travis asked his fellow employee, “Everything fit him okay, Malachi?” Malachi yet. Jesus.

Malachi couldn’t have been happier. “Yup. Dumbfuck here’s all set to go. Ain’t ya, Dumbfuck?”

“You bet!”, Dumbfuck answered with enthusiasm. Dipshit took in the sight of his pal dressed up in an outfit identical to his own. His name was clearly labeled all over him. Of course! His friend’s name had to be Dumbfuck. I mean, it had to be, right? And damn, he did look great in all that rubber.

“Lookin’ good, buddy”, Dipshit said, giving his pal the thumbs-up.

Dumbfuck looked at his pal and burst out laughing.

“What? What??”

“DIPSHIT!! Damn, man, you got “Dipshit” written all over you! Hell!”

Dipshit was baffled and more than a little irritated. “Well, no shit, moron. It is my name, anyways!”

Dumbfuck stopped laughing instantly, almost as if a plug had been pulled. He paused for a moment and a new look came across his eyes. For a split-second, his expression was blank. Then, just as quickly, his eyes brightened and his broad smile returned.

“Well, yeah, I know that, Dipshit! It’s just that, y’know, when I came up just now--” he stopped in mid-sentence and gave his friend a big bear hug. “Ha-ha! Finally got the two of us into matching outfits, bro!”

Travis and Malachi exchanged a quick glance, indicating something potenitally unpleasant had just been narrowly avoided.

Dipshit was trying to pry free of his friend’s grip. “Dumbfuck, okay, whatever, just paws off, man.”

Dumbfuck let him go, reluctantly. “Jesus, but you look really good in those rubber overall boot-things, Dipshit!”

“Waderalls”, Travis offered.

“Accentuates some of your best features, too, man.” Dumbfuck slapped his pal on his rubber-encased ass and gave him a good squeeze.

Dipshit, though aroused and flattered, swatted him away. “Dumbfuck, Christ, we’re out in public, fer cryin’ out loud.”

Travis waved his hand dismissively. “It’s okay, we’re all friends here. If you two could follow me. We’re taking most of the photos outside, and the sooner we could get started, the better.”

Malachi led Dumbfuck on ahead, and Travis stayed cose to Dipshit. The combination of his new rubber outfit as well as his friend’s sudden hug and grab at his ass had Dipshit’s dick aching again. With each footstep, the rubber brushed and folded against his legs, his ass, his cock. He was getting terribly horny again, simply from walking across the room!

Travis noticed his slackening pace. “You still okay, Dipshit?”

“Yeah,’s just that...uhh!” Dipshit’s rod was so stiff it was straining to tentpole his formidably thick waderalls. He could straighten it with a small shove of his hand, but didn’t want to be fingering himself out in the open like this.

“Little problem with your waderalls there?”, Travis asked.

“Something like that, unh.” The beautiful boy walked up to Dipshit and looked into his eyes, making the rubberclad country boy’s predicament worse.

“Need to stop and tend to something?”, Travis asked, as if getting horny inside giant booted rubber pants was an everyday occurrence. “Gotta take a leak?”

“No, no”, Dipshit groaned. “Don’t have to piss, but....oh, boy.”

“Oh, okay. Well, go ahead if you have to.”, he suggested.

“Go ahead what?”, asked Dipshit.

“Jack off. That is the problem, isn’t it?”

Dipshit blushed with embarrassment. “No, I’m okay. I didn’t mean to--” God DAMN, but he was hornier than hell. He tried thinking of the usual turn-offs; road kill, very old nuns, toilet bowl fungus, nothing worked.

“Hey, it’s okay”, Travis assured him. “It’s a common problem wearing waderalls. Especially a brand new pair. To this day I choke the chicken before I even put mine on.” He smiled warmly, as if they were discussing something as mundane as home improvement tips. Dipshit just stared. He was now leaning back against the wall, his dick throbbing like crazy.

Travis looked ahead of them. Malachi and Dumbfuck were already exiting the back door. A cursory glance revealed no other employees on hand. “No one’ll see us back here if we’re quick about it.”

Dipshit was incredulous. “US?!”

“Well, sure. You don’t look in any shape to take care of it very efficiently yourself, no offense. And anyway--” and he grabbed Dipshit’s meat right through the heavy rubber of his waderalls. “--I am in customer service, after all. How about if I service you?”

Dipshit inhaled sharply. The handsome lad in the crisp shirt and tie began pumping like nobody’s business. Even with all that industrial-thick rubber between them, Dipshit could feel the firm fingers moving and jerking his penis up and down in rapid strokes. Dipshit flattened his hands against the wall behind him. They were not far from another knee boot display. The smell of latex was overwhelming. Travis’s smile was just as inebriating, and it never wavered.

In under a minute, Dipshit erupted inside his waderalls again, adding more outpourings of cream to the already considerable funk around him. He gasped loudly at climax, and Travis moved toward him quickly, kissing him fully to smother the sound. The boy’s tongue probed Dipshit’s mouth as the palm of his hand continued to gently caress the crotch of the waderalls in an easy, circular motion. After a moment or two, the tension left Dipshit’s body, and he surrendered to Travis’s kiss.

Travis lingered on Dipshit’s mouth longer than necessary, and pulled away slowly. He gulped, then looked quickly at the floor, a little ashamed of his impulsiveness. Then, he looked up at his customer and said with a soft voice, “Better now?”

All Dipshit could do was nod absently. Oh, hell yes, he was better now. The fog of comfort washed over his body again and the buzz in his brain pulsed forward. This was as good as it got.

Travis gently took Dipshit by the shoulder and led him to the back door. “We should catch up to the others.”

Dipshit allowed himself to be led, his mind a pleasant cloud of submission. Barely above a whisper, he responded, “Yes, sir.”   

* * * * *

Dipshit and Dumbfuck found themselves outside. It was an open lot area beyond the back of the mall. A service entrance lay behind them and tarmac of an open parking lot populated by only a few employee cars surrounded them. No one ever ventured back here. There was no reason to. Beyond the small strip of blacktop and parking slots was a large field of wild grass sprinkled here and there with what could have been weeds, or could have been flowers. Far beyond that, a rarely-used off ramp of the highway could be seen. But not easily, for all the grass and shrubbery.

"We shoot here", Malachi announced. He was adjusting the straps on Dumbfuck's waderalls. Dumbfuck stood there, swaying slightly, looking obliviously happy with a shit-eating grin spread across his face. He was willing to accept anything at this point. Travis led Dipshit over to the edge of the paved area.

"We've set up props and stuff to create a makeshift farm yard." He indicated various trappings such as old wagon wheels, hay bales, scattered old boots, and even a stage flat of a false barn set up at different vantage points along the grass. Dipshit was genuinely impressed. He could certainly see how, when viewed through the selective lens of a camera, this abandoned field could be accepted as an active farm.

"Light's perfect", said another boy Dipshit did not recognize. He was also in black canvas overalls, but with a gray pinstriped shirt and perfectly matching rubber boots (even down to the pinstripe pattern!). He also wore a red bandana and a black beret. He looked very artistic, if a bit cheesy. "We'd better get them through makeup if we want the best pictures."

Travis shuffled Dipshit over next to Dumbfuck. "Okay, we're moving, Seamus."

Dipshit leaned to his friend and whispered, "I guess he's Seamus, then." Dumbfuck broke into a fit of giggles.

Seamus pointed to a couple of folding director's-style chairs and said, "Have a seat here, fellas." The boys obliged. Makeup sounded like fun. At this point, everything sounded like fun. The makeup artist (boots and tie of carnation pink for him) quickly touched up the boys' features so that when they stood up from the chairs they had a fresh set of freckles and slightly ruddier complexions that looked completely natural. It also made them look just a touch more stupid, if such a thing were possible, given their wardrobes.

Dipshit and Dumbfuck looked at each other and began to laugh. Now they truly looked like freckle-faced country boys. "You look like an imbecile", Dipshit snickered.

"Hey, no more than you, hayseed", Dumbfuck laughed, snorting halfway through.

"Okay, let's get you two guys in front of the camera", Travis urged them.

"Shore thang, boss", Dipshit drawled comically.

"Right behand ya, pal. Derrrr...hyuk!"

Travis did not rise to the bait by telling them to stop horsing around. Quite the opposite. He said with a smile, "Good to see you getting into the spirit of things. Come on over here to start."

The two college boys, now country boys, were put to work smiling and hamming it up for the camera. The posed in front of the false barn, atop hay bales, laughed beside a line of fence posts, hung off a wooden gate, and sat astride an nonworking tractor. The more photos that were taken, the more they enjoyed themselves. The more they were told to smile, the more they found they couldn't do anything but. They longer the were in their waderalls and bumpkin attire, the better they felt in them. The clothes, once clumsy and awkward now felt incredibly comfortable. They felt true, they felt right. In fact, it was darn nice of these fellas to allow the boys to begin posing in their own clothes, wasn't it?

With each flash of the camera, Dipshit and Dumbfuck felt more and more at ease doing what they were doing, following direction and striking poses. Flash! Then the device would subtly, softly recharge itself. Buuzzzz. Flash! Buuzzzzzzzz. Flash! Buzz-Buzzz-Buuuzzzzzzz! The dopey grins the two best friends wore quickly stopped being affectations and felt entirely natural to them. At that point, they were.

"Okay, let's do a costume change!", Travis said.

The boys looked up, confused.

"Huh? What?"


"It's a clothing store, guys. We need to capture a good variety of the selection we offer. Best way to do that is for you to dress up in them and show them off." The duo nodded dimly. I guess that made sense. Travis began to unfasten the bib straps on the boy who had once been Keith, Malachi reached for the straps on the former Kevin. "Let's get you out of your waderalls." Both boys whined a bit and clutched at their rubber outfits. "You'll get them back", Travis assured them. "I promise." The two shrugged, then nodded dumbly.

"You're gonna have to let go of each other first", Travis said. The two looked down to find that they were holding hands. Firmly, with fingers interlaced. They had no idea when it had happened or for how long. They let go, wondering why it felt so uncomfortable to do so, and then reluctantly, they surrendered their precious bumpkin clothes. Soon they stood there in the open, buck naked and completely uncaring, as more outfits were laid out on a table before them.

As they put on their next country boy costumes, dark blue bib overalls, matching flannel plaid shirts and big red-toed rubbe rknee boots, Travis continued to direct them. "Arms around each other's shoulders for this one", he'd say. They obliged. Click. Flash. "Act like your horsing around together. Almost wrestling, headlock, playful fighting." They did that too. Click. Flash. "Stand back to back." Sure. "Lock elbows, like you're about to do a coutnry dance move." Right. "Give each other a hug."

The two boys stopped. "Hug?", Dipshit asked, uncertain.

"You guys are supposed to be best friends in these pictures. You are best friends, aren't you?" The duo looked at each other and nodded. "Well then, we'll need some best friends affection from time to time. So big hug. Like your favorite team just scored the winning touchdown." Oh, okay. Big hug, then. Click. Flash. The duo lingered in their hug, not realizing they had done so. The warmth of their embrace washed over them, making them feel much more at ease with what they were doing, what they were wearing, who was watching them. After they broke their hug, Dumbfuck grabbed Dipshit playfully and gave him a noogie. Dipshit laughed. "Okay, moving on", Travis smiled.

From there, things became a blur. Dipshit and Dumbfuck were no sooner dropped into one outfit than they were stripped of that and quickly put into another. They wore crisp bib overalls, stone washed bibs, coveralls, canvas worker's overalls, too. Flannel shirts, shirt-sleeved checked shirts, T-shirts and more. They got to wear hats as well- cowboy hats, straw hats, and logo-bearing ball caps. And boots—good God, did they wear boots. Rubber knee boots, hip boots and waders, work boots, steel-toed designer boots, overshoes, in all colors, brands, and sizes. The items were mixed together and reshuffled in various combinations, keeping the boys on their toes, a bit overwhelmed, but always happy. Neither noticed that some poses were a bit more intimate than perhaps most farm boys might express with each other. They only noticed that they were fun, and they felt good.

Eventually, the duo wound up shirtless in very worn bib overalls, barefoot, with nothing else on their bodies except frayed bird's nest straw hats. They were put in front of a different camera before a blank backdrop that had been pinned up over the barn door flat and a harsh flash burst before their eyes, leaving them dazed and temporarily blinded.

The young men who had been assisting them and supervising the photo session conferred with each other and went over a checklist of all they had wanted to do with their confused models. Dipshit and Dumbfuck sat side by side on a large hay bale and just enjoyed feeling really happy. "That makeup makes you look so stupid", Dipshit said to his friend, admiring his copious freckles.

"What makeup?", he asked. "We didn't put on any makeup."

Was that right? No, they did...they sat in those chairs and they had us... Dipshit looked over to find that the folding chairs he seemed to think would be there were gone. No sign of the kid in the pink boots, either. Although someone who looked remarkably like him was helping out Travis and Mala-whoever-he-was. Only this kid's boots and tie were sea-foam green. So it couldn't be him. Could it?

Dipshit looked back to his pal and decided, "Naw. We never put on makeup. Guess you always had them stupid freckles." He burst into a broad grin.

Dumbfuck smiled back. "Well, you got 'em too!" He shoved his best friend playfully. His warm palm felt good against the bare skin of Dipshit's shoulder.

Dipshit slapped his own hand atop his friends, not allowing him to take his hand away from him. Then Dipshit lightly slapped Dumbfuck's cheek twice, as a friend would. It made Dumbfuck laugh. He then grabbed Dipshit's wrist and the two began to wrestle right there, atop the hay bale. They laughed like little kids and pawed and shoved each other. Eventually, caught in a half-playful/half-affectionate clench, they tumbled off the bale and landed in the thick, soft wild grass beneath them.

The boys were overcome with a feeling of randiness unlike anything they'd experienced before, not even during one of their "study breaks". They could no more explain it than they could resist it. There was something about the costumes, the country boy clothes, each one almost more ridiculous than the last (well, maybe not—the waderalls and backwards T-shirts were pretty damn ridiculous), like assuming new roles, becoming entirely new people. Like a masquerade or Halloween party, the gay duo got to become someone else entirely, the change in identity offering a heretofore unheard of freedom.

The shirtless, bibbed lanky boy was on top of his similarly-attired friend. He smiled. His friend smiled back. "Dipshit", was all the lanky boy said.

"Dumbfuck", his pal answered back.

Something about saying each other's name aloud, right there, as they played and posed in costume, made them both laugh uncontrollably and worked to discard any remaining self control they may have still had. Dumbfuck began to tickle his friend as he sat atop him, making his buddy, who had never been ticklish, laugh hysterically. Eventually, kicking his feet frantically enough, Dipshit was able to dislodge his friend and roll over on top of him, reversing their positions. He now tickled Dumbfuck mercilessly, and his friend had always been very ticklish. Dumbfuck laughed convulsively, his big bare feet kicking at the air, his heels pounding on the grassy ground.

"Qu-quit it! I-hahahahaha-I-hahahahohohoho-I g-g-hehehehehe-give!"

"No way, Dumbfuck, you're mine now. Laugh."


After a while they collected themselves, Dipshit falling down in the grass beside his friend, and they looked at each other, all smiles, straw hats, bare arms and faded overalls, laughing. They grabbed hold of each other and kissed. It was like an explosion of joy inside them. They kissed passionately, their hats fell off and rolled away, and they grasped at one another's bodies. Every touch of skin on skin, costume against costume, lips connecting, tongues probing, was on a level of arousal and excitement that bordered on euphoria. They literally could not keep their hands off each other and it felt amazing. Oblivious to all else, having forgotten that a small camera was nearby and watching, they had their very own roll in the hay.

Travis smiled. He nodded to the other Country Boy Corners workers who were manning the camera equipment, most of whom watched with wide eyes and slack jaws. "You're gonna wanna get this", Travis said. The boy behind the camera just stared at the duo madly going at it in the tall grass. "Seamus?"

The boy behind the camera was shaken awake by the sound of his name. "Huh? Whuh?"

Travis pointed to the madly kissing hillbillies. "You're going to want to get pictures of this. If you could--?"

"Oh, yeah! yeah, right!"

As Dipshit and Dumbfuck hugged, caressed, and kissed, the camera flashed, clicked, and captured everything. The two new models never reacted to it. They either didn't notice that they were being photographed or didn't care. As they kept kissing, rolling, and now rubbing and pawing, Travis turned to a worker who was manning a small laptop and portable hard drive, collecting the digital images that were being taken.

"Cletus, send these last few images on up to Mr. Steadman's desktop, would you?"

"On it."

Travis produced a cell phone from his bibs and called the main office. "Mr. Steadman? Sir, are you seeing what we've sent you just now?"

"I am indeed, Travis."

"If there was ever any doubt, sir, I think we've found the two you've been looking for."

Travis could almost hear his employer smile on the other end of the line. "There was never any doubt."

"So should I continue as we discussed? The next step, I mean?"

The answer came immediately. "By all means. Proceed."

Travis closed his cell phone with a snap and turned to the boy with the carnation pink boots. "Gloves." The lad reached into the makeup kit he had secured out of sight under the table that held the laptop, and found a pair of latex gloves, which he tossed to Travis. As he yanked them onto his hands, he asked, "Have you got the--?"

"Right here." He handed a metal canister of brushed silver to the other boy. Travis exhaled heavily. "Here we go, then." There was a soft hissing sound as he unscrewed the lid on the cylindrical canister. Frigid air fogged out around the edges as he looked back to the two snogging bumpkins. Travis peered inside the canister, saw that its contents were there and, handing it off to one of his friends, went to Dipshit and Dumbfuck.

"Time for the next shot, you two", he told them, taking hold of their bib straps and hauling them to their feet.

The boys were still smiling and giggling, not at all put out by the fact that they had been caught making out together.

"Oh, right", said Dipshit. "We're still on the clock and all that."

"Kinda got a little distracted", Dumbfuck added sheepishly.

"Yeah, just a little", Travis agreed. He waved a hand to someone out of Dipshit and Dumbfuck's immediate line of vision. In a moment, an old pickup truck rounded the corner of the back lot and backed up to where the boys and Travis were standing. It was a classic 1958 pickup, painted grass green, and in excellent, if not mint, condition. Travis opened the back end and indicated the bed, which was filled with soft straw and hay. "Climb in, fellas."

"Nice car!", Dipshit said, admiring the beautiful old machine. He climbed in without question.

Dumbfuck followed him eagerly. "Truck, buddy. It's a truck. And a beaut."

"Little costume change", Travis said, tossing in two pairs of large gray rubber boots with red soles and toecaps. "Put these on."

Without question, the duo pulled on the somewhat oversized boots with what was quickly becoming practiced ease.

"Whoa, warm", Dipshit said of the boots.

"Comfy. Spongy", Dumbfuck observed.

"So is this hay stuff", Dipshit added. "Is there like a cushion or something under the straw?"

Travis just smiled. "These too." He handed them a pair of quilted buffalo plaid barn jackets.

"Cool." They put them on right away.

"A little hot in these things", Dumbfuck noted. "We gonna be in them long?"

"Almost done", Travis said, handing them both ridiculous rabbit hats with the fold-down ear flaps. "Put these on to complete the look."

The guys laughed at the sight of the silly hats, then even more so at the sight of themselves in them. "Seriously, these are really warm, man", Dipshit said.

"We do carry clothing for all seasons", Travis pointed out. That simple statement seemed to mollify them. It made sense. Granted, at this point if they had been told they needed to wear these accessories for the catalog going to the SugarPlum Queen of Lollipop Junction, they would have accepted that, too. "One last thing to complete the look", Travis told them. He picked up the silver canister. From the cylinder he pulled two wheat stalks. They looked like nothing more than the stereotypical "weed in the mouth" that invariably appeared in any photo or drawing of a classic farmboy.

Travis leaned forward, one wheat stalk in each gloved hand, and said, "Open your mouths." The boys laughed, but opened up gladly.

"Perfect final touch!", said Dumbfuck.

Dipshit agreed. "Classic."

The boys accepted the weedy stalks in their mouths, closing their lips on them and immediately feeling an odd tingle running through them upon contact. They looked at each other and laughed, neither noticing how the weeds stuck to their lips, never fell out when their mouths opened in laughter, or how a sweet, sticky taste was melting joyously upon their tongues and washing gleefully down their throats, making their heads go light.

"Duhhh...we're cun'try boyz...", Dipshit slurred. He was not trying to affect a caricature voice. It came out that way anyway.

"Hyuk, yer muh best frand, Dipshit. Derrrr..." Dumbfuck's eyes were already glazing over.

"Why don't you take a nap", Travis suggested. "We need a shot of you two bumpkins at rest, to show how comfortable these clothes are after a hard day's work in the fields.

"Good idea", Dipshit agreed. Dumbfuck was past the point of saying anything.

The two fell over backwards, collapsing serenly into the thick bed of hay. They looked as content as they did ridiculous. Travis sauntered over to the side of the truck and draped their arms over each other. As soon as he had, the duo snuggled closer together.

His eyelids fluttering, Dipshit found one thought lingering at the edges of his consciousness. "Trav...Traviss? Whut d'you need them gloves forrr...?"

"Good night, country boy", was all he said.

"G'niiiiiightttttt...." And he was gone.

Travis secured the back end of the truck and then patted his hand upon the roof of the cab twice. "All set. You're good to go."

The truck pulled away, it's unconcscious and unsuspecting cargo sleeping peacefully in back. Travis peeled pff the latex gloves and turned to Seamus. "Tell Mr. Steadman their on their way."

Seamus did so. Malachi walked up to Travis and furrowed his brow. "They gonna be too warm in those outfits, given the time of year?"

Travis shook his head. "No. With the distance they have to travel, the wind blowing past them all the way, they'll feel better covered up. They'll stay comfortable—and out like a light—the whole way there."

Malachi nodded. Good thinking. Then he said, "I wonder what's in those wheat stalk things, anyway."

Travis tossed him his gloves. "Pray you never have to find out."

* * * * *

The boys woke up on a farm. They had no idea where. They were both in motion, although they truly had no idea what they were doing or why. They sat upon milking stools, each of them before a large cow. They held udders in hand, slick and moist, as they felt their arms pumping up and down (were they each milking a cow??) as they blinked their eyes awake. They slowly looked around, seeing nothing they recognized. Then they saw each other. Then they broke into a wide smile.




They both jumped up, leaping away from their bovine companions, dazed and alarmed. "Whoa!"

"What the hell? Is that a cow?!"

They knocked over their milk buckets and the cows turned and looked at the boys as if they were imbeciles. They shared that expression with one another, then saw that they were, indeed, imbeciles. At least they were dressed like that.

They were back in rubber waderalls, although now they had on baby blue versions of the originals. Only the glaring labels of DIPSHIT and DUMBFUCK all over their gear remained the same. They each had on different shirts now too, these of a very ugly blue plaid pattern, which matched the waderalls. Their heads were topped with white caps, blue brims, and their insulting names written in boldface in the same hideous plaid of their short-sleeved shirts. They looked themselves over, seeing the baby blue rubber waderalls with the deep midnight blue rubber soles, the shirts, the hats, the white T-shirts on inside out and backwards with the tags protruding forward. They laughed, then hugged each other and held on tight.

"Sooo....where the fuck are we?", Dumbfuck asked.

"I have no idea."

"How the hell did we get here?"

"I have no idea."

They wandered away from the cows and the spilled milk buckets and looked around. What they saw was a magnificent lush field of green. Beyond that, a field of golden something or other (wheat, maybe?). Beyond that, a thick forest glen of tall trees and dark soil. To the left and to the right, everything seemed so rich and alive. Green grass, scattered trees with thick canpoies of leaves, and occasional darting rabbit or nibbling squirrel. Behind them, a large barn which held their cows, but also stretched on within, leading to a wooden ramp which angled up to—who knew what?

Dipshit looked at Dumbfuck. "So we're on a farm?"

Dumbfuck nodded. "Looks like it."

"Any clue as to where?"

"No idea."

"Any clue as to what we're doing here?"

"No idea."

"Well, you're not much fuckin' use then, are you?"

They two laughed and then hugged again. The feeling of their rubber waderalls pressing against each other, rubbing upon their bare skin underneath, felt fantastic. Dumbfuck pulled away so he could adjust himself, make room for his erection, and then rub his rubbered crotch a little. It felt as if something soft and gooey were inside the rubber.

"God, these things make me horny."

"What were we doing?", Dipshit pondered.

"Milking some cows, I guess, by the look of it."

"No, before that."

"Umm...getting some buckets? Squatting on stools?"

"No, there was something about clothes. Clothing. We were in a big store, in a mall."

"I thought we were taking pictures of something."

"We were having our pictures taken!"

"What for?"

Dipshit thought for a minute.

"No idea."

They scratched their heads, found that they couldn't stop smiling. They adjusted their caps, played with themselves through their heavy rubber outfits, found it completely natural. They moved close and began to play with each other. Dumbfuck's long, slender fingers moved skillfully along the thick rubber of Dipshit's suit and toyed with his dick. Dipshit pressed his palm flat against Dumbfuck's crotch and slowly moved his hand in circles, making the rubber and his buddy's own skin sandwich his cock in an increasingly erotic fashion. They smirked, they giggled. They felt stupid. Which felt wonderful. The more they pressed together, the more they felt the odd cream within the waderalls. It made them feel a bit slick and slippery. But it felt so good, and made them incredibly, powerful erect.

"There you are! Hup-two, you boys!"

The boys started, turning to see who had addressed them. Oddly enough, they saw no need to remove their hands from each other. It was two handsome and fit young men, both of them farm hands by the look of them. They were both clad in stonewashed bib overalls and no shirts, which truly accentuated their strong arms and defined chests. Their large feet in tall white rubber knee boots, the strapping farmboys strode toward the two milkers. They seemed strangely familiar to both of the boys, although neither of them could place from exactly where. Dipshit furrowed his brow as he looked at them. Shouldn't they be wearing something different? An image came to his mind of colored boots and matching neckties. He did not have time to dwell on it.

"C'mon, you too!", said the first one. "Enough horsing around there. Farmhands need to get to work already!"

Dumbfuck smiled but wasn't quite sure what he was smiling about. "Umm...what?" he blinked and looked at Dipshit, then back to the strapping shirtless lads in the white boots. "What work?"

"Are we farmhands?", Dipshit asked. "I, uh, I thought we were college boys or something."

"Men", Dumbfuck corrected him.

"College men. Right. We just wanted some free clothes." Dipshit looked to his friend for support. "It was about clothes, right?"

Dumbfuck looked confused. "But we are wearing clothes."

The first of the two shirtless farm workers strolled over to the duo. He had a close-shaven head of peachfuzz blond hair and his ears stuck out a little. Dipshit searched his memory about him. He felt he should know him. (Clovis? Cletus? Something hicky like that.) The peachfuzz boy wandered behind the two friends and started to finger the back of their waderalls. Before the boys could begin to protest or question what he was doing, the boy got what he was looking for and stepped in front of them again.

He waved two laminated I.D. cards before them. "Yes, as you can see, you are farmhands."

"Where did you get those?" Dumbfuck was reaching around behind himself trying to find whatever pocket the peachfuzz boy had produced those from, but found only smooth rubber.

"Hey, that's us!", declared Dipshit, looking at the I.D.s. Each one bore a grinning photo of one of the boys, in plaid shirts and ball cap, T-shirts on inside-out and backwards, their tags sticking out stupidly. Each one proclaimed the name of the one pictured as either Dipshit or Dumbfuck. To the right of the photo was a listing for 'Occupation: Farmhand'.

"Huh", observed Dipshit. "I guess we are farmhands." Then he looked at peachfuzz boy and asked, "These are our driver's licenses then?"

Like a magician performing a card trick, the peachfuzz boy flicked his fingers, swapping out the two cards for replacements. "No, that would be these."

Now two new I.D. cards appeared, looking for all the world like state-issued licenses, showing the two boys with the same dopey grins, only this time standing shirtless, in bib overalls, and frayed straw hats. One friend's license had a large "H" in the upper corner, the other showed a "B". Their names were typed in very officially, Last name, First and Middle, as:

Hick, Dipshit Ignorant and Bumpkin, Dumbfuck Country

Dumbfuck's mouth fell open. "Holy shit, are those are full names?"


"They must be", Dipshit nodded.

"I guess the first ones were worker's I.D.s", Dumbfuck concluded.

"But aren't we in college too?", Dipshit pondered. "What do our student I.D.s look like?" He almost expected another I.D. card trick and was disappointed when his inquiry didn't prompt one.

The other one of the boys (Malachi? was that his name?) rolled his eyes. As he ushered the two new farmhands along, he told them gruffly, "Yes, yes, you WERE college boys, but you came into the store in the mall for a job interview. And you got the job as farmhands—remember?" They both looked at him in confusion. "Sure you do", he emphasized. The boys blinked as a wave or something foggy and indistinct washed over their brains. BUZZZZZZZZZ.

In unison, they replied. "Sure we do."

Not allowing the duo any time to reflect on the brand spanking new "facts" that had just been stuffed into their muddled heads, Malachi took both of them by the shoulder and led them away from the milking barn. "It's time you two get on to your real jobs for the day."

"Are we...are we supposed to be milking cows?", Dipshit asked.

"I don't even think I kow how to milk a cow", Dumbfuck admitted.

"Naw, you two aren't even supposed to be milking cows, but it never stops you from wandering in here and trying", Malachi improvised. "C'mon, let's get you back over to your proper work area."

The boys went along with it. They had no clue what was going on, but they knew that they felt really good and for some reason they should trust this farm boy. Even though it made no sense to do so.



"Here we are", Malachi announced, standing with his charges at the edge of a small field that dipped down slightly on an incline, creating what appeared to be a huge salad bowl of grass and hay. He patted both young men firmly on the back. "Get to it, then."

They looked on blankly. "Um, get to what?", Dipshit asked.

"Why, stamping, of course!", Malachi said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "All this tall grass and loose hay piles and hay-rolls need to be mashed down and trampled. We need this whole are flatter'n a pancake by mid afternoon."

Dumbfuck scratched his head beneath his stupid-looking cap, thinking, then readjusted it back in place. "So shouldn’t we have, I dunno, shovels or rakes or pitchforks or something?"

"Yeah", Dipshit agreed. "What do we stamp it with?"

Malachi kicked their big rubber boots gently with his own worn soles. "What do you think you have on, ya dumb country boys? Waderalls! Ain't no better stamping tools than what you have on." He slapped their rubbered butts for emphasis.

"How...", Dipshit stammered, still a bit confused, "how do we start...?"

Malachi shook his head. "Man, they knew what they were doing when they named you guys Dipshit and Dumbfuck. Hug." They turned and looked at him, expressions blank and clueless. He waved his arms, ushering them together. "You heard me! Hug each other!" Uncertain but obedient, the duo reached out and put their arms around each other. "Nice an' tight now", Malachi coached them. They hugged each other like lovers. "You holding tight?" They nodded. Malachi planted a giant boots against their hips and gave them a tremendous shove. Falling like a couple of bowling pins, Dipshit and Dumbfuck toppled over the gradual incline and rolled one over the other through the tall grass and loose weed stalks, holding tight together, finally coming to a stop almost halfway through the large grass bowl.

They came undone from each other, slightly dizzy, feeling giddy and trying not to laugh like idiots. They were only partly successful. It was Dipshit who was able to collect himself enough to speak first. "Wha—what was that?!"

"Look at your path", Malachi said, pointing down at the ground they'd just rolled over. Sure enough, a trail roughly as wide as the boys were tall had been stamped down where they had rolled across it.

Dumbfuck snickered. "Dude, if we gotta roll over every inch of this mess, I'm gonna puke before too long."

Malachi gestured to the entire grassy recess with his arm. "Roll where you want, stomp and dance where you don't. Frolic. Wrestle. Have a roll in the hay. I don't care, juts have fun and get it done by mid-afternoon."

Dipshit couldn't believe what he was hearing. He may have been no further into any rural areas than a suburban park when growing up, but he knew that farm work was notoriously backbreaking and difficult. This seemed too easy. "What, seriously? I mean...we just have do we do--?"

WHUMP! Dumbfuck gave his buddy no more time to dwell on it. He tackled him, grass blades and weed stalks going everywhere. Rubber suit on rubber suit, Dumbfuck brought Dipshit down upon his back into the tall brush and began to tickle him mercilessly. Dumbfuck's fingers were long and slender, easily able to reach under the tall rubber waderalls bib and get to Dipshit's rub through the dizzy plaid shirt and backward T-shirt beneath. Dipshirt squirmed and squealed like a little kid being tormented by an older sibling. As they rolled and played, the grass mashed and flattened beneath them.

"That's they way!", Malachi praised them. "He's got the hang of it. No better way to tamp down all this loose brush than a good frolicking. Get TO it, fellers!" He walked away, leaving the wild grass in capable hands.

Their play began very aggressively. Tackling one another, throwing themselves into large piles or hay and straw, throwing handfuls of grass into the air to block one friend's vision for better tackling by the other. Tickle fights brought smaller tufts of grass down to the ground, taller weedy shafts required wrestling. At one point, Dipshit jumped on Dumbfuck's back and rode him piggyback as the other boy's larger feet trampled everything in his path. It was before mid afternoon when the vast majority of the grass hole was flattened rather effectively. Well before. The two lay panting beside the one remaining large hay pile, looking at each other, smiling, gasping past spontaneous bursts of laughter. They looked at each other, covered in rubber, shirts on backwards, grass and starw stuck to them everywhere in odd bits. Their hair was covered in hay and dust (their caps having long since rolled away), although Dumbfuck seemed to have gotten the worst of it. They looked at each other, and they smiled.

Dipshit noticed how blue Dumbfuck's eyes were. Dumbfuck admire Dipshit's wonderfully impish grin.

And that was that.

The two fell upon each other, kissing passionately. As they fell into the hay pile, their roll in the hay had officially become truly that. Their clutching became stronger, this time fingers grappling and kneading, feeling the smooth rubber under their fingers, pressing against bare skin inside. Toes curled within thick-soled boots and legs rubbed against the rubber and against each other.

They had never kissed like this before. Not even when they'd temporarily lost control of their impulses back at the photo shoot they could no longer recall. There was a fire, a raw energy here unlike anything they had ever felt or experienced. They were just a couple of dumb country boys without a care in the world who were incredibly hot for each other. Any past memories or baggage, any hesitation or denial was long gone now. There was no Kevin or Keith, no college boys who were best friends with benefits partially denying their own orientation. They were Dipshit and Dumbfuck now. That was all. And that was all that was needed.

Dumbfuck wasn't even certain when he started unbuckling Dipshit's bib straps. They were just suddenly there, in his hands, and he was fighting and fidgeting with them to come undone, to drop the thick straps of rubber and get to the bare skin underneath. As Dumbfuck made progress with the first buckle, Dipshit went to work on the other, impatient to make progress. Dumbfuck grabbed Dipshit's face in his hands and pulled him close fiercely, kissing him with abandon. Dipshit kissed him back, eyes closed, undoing his friend's bibs without even looking. As Dipshit's waderalls fell loose and slid down around his knees, he tossed Dumbfuck's bib straps backward over his friend's shoulders and began to tug on his waderalls so that they would do the same.

Their dicks were bulging and sticking straight out ahead of them, bobbing up and down as they kissed. Their entire lowers halves were thick with the creamy lube or lotion or whatever it was that had been coated inside their waderalls. It made the pleasant summer air feel cooler than it was as the breeze blew against them.

"Dipshit, I wanna cornhole you so bad."

Dipshit laughed. "Cornhole? Do we really say that?"

"We're farmboys now, ain't we?", Dumbfuck said, never letting go of his friend.

"Reckon we are", Dipshit drawled back in an exaggerated accent. "Fuck me, buddy. I want you to." They were both panting madly at this point.

"You do?"

"Pretty sure."

In a thrice, Dumbfuck whirled Dipshit around and had him down on all fours. Dipshit did nothing to resist. Dumbfuck was inside his best friend in short order. There was so much cream, so much lube to be had on both of them, that it was surprisingly easy. Dipshit may have had a virgin hole, but Dumbfuck's tool was long and slender, so that combined with their own eager willingness made the fit smoother than either boy had expected. Once Dumbfuck was inside Dipshit, it was as if they had finally found each other. They had been friends for ages now, but this was how they were meant to be. Both of them gasped and felt overwhelmed by waves of euphoria.

"Oh God", Dipshit panted, "fuck me, Dumbfuck!"

"Oh, man, yes!", Dumbfuck agreed.

The two pumped together, Dipshit's bare knees sliding atop his slickened rubber waderalls, Dumbfuck occasionally losing his grip on Dipshit's lotion-coated sides. They were awhirl with feelings they never experienced or anticipated. Which is probably why it didn't last very long.

"UHH!", Dumbfuck moaned, and stumbled backward, shooting his load all over Dipshit's ass. He barely had had time to pull out.

"AHHH!" Simultaneously, Dipshit shot a massive stream all over the insides of his undone waderalls. Then the two collapsed onto each other. Dipshit hit his waderalls with a wet slap and Dumbfuck fell across his buddy's back. They lay there, in the trampled grass, skin on skin, sighing contentedly and absently caressing one another in the soft, moistened grass.

"I really love you, Dipshit", Dumbfuck said softly.

"I love you too", Dipshit agreed.

Gone were the days when they had sworn there would be "no fudge-packin' for them". They did not even recall those days. Not that at would have mattered.


"They did what, now?", Mr. Steadman asked. He was quite certain he heard perfectly what he had just been told, but he wanted it repeated nevertheless.

"Had sex after their "chores" were done", Travis told him.

"Did they go anywhere secluded, or--?"

"They did it right there in the grass, sir."

The man in charge swiveled slowly in his chair, fingers steepled, unable to suppress a wide grin. "Can you describe for me what happened next, please, if you would?"

"I can do better than that, sir", Travis The smiling young man removed a tiny device from his overalls bib. It looked at a passing glance to be just another brass button of the kind all over his worker's overalls, but there was a short tube of some kind attached to that had been hidden by his bib pocket. The tube ended with a USB outlet. Travis moved toward his employer's computer, holding up the miniature device. "May I?"


Travis plugged the button device into a port and immediately the screen on Mr. Steadman's computer came alive with a video player marquee window. On the screen appeared Dipshit and Dumbfuck, sleeping atop each other, bare-assed and dicks hanging, their rubber waderalls still pulled down past their knees.

"Time to get up, farmboys", came a voice from off-camera. It was Malachi.

The two farmboys roused, seeming more put off by having been caught napping than by the fact that they were openly exposed.

"Good job on the grass flattening, fellers", Travis said from behind the button camera. His voice sounded louder, being so close to the camera's hidden microphone.

The duo rose to their feet, untangling themselves from each other, smiling sheepishly. Dipshit stammered a bit. "We, um...We didn't get to the pile we kind of, um, well—"

"Fucked behind?", Dumbfuck offered helpfully.

"I was gonna say cornholed or something euphemistic or like that", Dipshit said back. He looked back into the camera he didn't know was there. "We, ah, we kinda..."

"Cornholed", Dumpfuck answered.

"It happens", said Malachi. "Not uncommon on the farm at all." Travis snickered behind the camera. "C'mon, let's get you two lovebirds some chow." The two clomped along behind Malachi as he let them out of the sunken grass bowl. Travis followed behind them, getting their fully exposed asses and trailing rubber bib straps on video.

"You might want to pull your pants up", Malachi suggested. "Y'know, just to make walking easier."

"Oh, yeah." they said. "Right, I forgot." It was clear that yanking up their clothes had never even occurred to them. As they did so, awkwardly, Mr. Steadman paused the playback.

"It would appear we have indeed found the right twosome at long last", he smiled.

"I would say so, yes sir", Travis agreed.

"Travis, do keep the camera on our new boys, won't you? I'm quite intent to follow all their adventures."

"Certainly, sir", Travis said, retrieving his tiny camera and replacing it to its concealed spot on his bib. As he departed the room, Mr. Steadman stopped him.

"All the cameras, Travis." He smiled warmly. "If you please." Travis nodded obediently and left the room.

Mr. Steadman returned to his computer and replayed the video clip a dozen times before going on to other business.

* * * * *

They had lost track of how long they had been on the farm, and at this point they didn't really care. They felt as if they had been granted their dream vacation without ever having know they dreamed of being two country bumpkins on a farm. The other farm hands were so kind and friendly and had no problem with their two new workers holding hands everywhere they went, kissing all the time, and otherwise hanging all over each other. It was seen as perfectly natural. Not that the former college boys could stop themselves.

There was a freedom on the farm unlike any they had experienced anywhere else in their lives. They were two stupid farmboys, they wore rubber waderalls, checkered shirts, rubber knee boots or hip waders, bib overalls and a variety of hayseed hats, all of them boldly labeled with their demeaning names of DIPSHIT and DUMBFUCK that, to them, didn't feel demeaning at all. They kissed openly in the fields, skipped along dirt and gravel roads while holding hands, broke into dances in the barnyards whenever another worker drove by with the radio blasting from his open truck window. They even went skinny-dipping in the swimming hole with no shame or embarrassment. It was if they had been given a pass on any self-conscious feelings or thoughts of embarrassment they may have had in their former life. In fact, thoughts about any former life became more and more faint.

The food was great (country cookin'), the surroundings beautiful and isolated, the workers cheerful and supportive. The work they were assigned tended to blend with play and always ended amorously. Everyone went along with that, too. "You're gonna get that from time to time on a farm." "Oh, yeah, I lose track of how many times hard labor turned into lovemaking." "You two gonna need some more time in that hayloft, then?"

Dipshit and Dumbfuck were working in a drainage ditch. They wore baggy rubber chest waders of lime green. Besides their caps (these made of the same rubber as the waders), and some elbow-length rubber goves, they wore nothing else. As they wroked at cleaning out the thicker floating chunks in the still water, Dipshit noticed something odd.

"Dumbfuck, is it just me, or does this seem really clean for drainage water?"

Dumbfuck kept right on scooping with the long netted skimmer he held. "Well, I guess other guys cleaned it before us."

Dipshit set down his skimmer on the bank and ran his gloved fingers through the slurry. "It seems pretty un-filthy is all."

Dumbfuck held his skimmer net right in front of Dipshit's face. There was a huge glob of greenish much in it. "What do you call this, then?"

Dipshit stuck a couple fingers into the slimy good and pulled it close to his nose. He sniffed. "Heh. It kinda smells like pistachio pie filling." He stuck out his tongue to taste it, but never got the chance.


Dumbfuck had slapped the gunky mess from his net atop his best friend's head. Dipshit stood there with slack jaw and wide eyes from only a moment before he gathered up two handfuls of slippery gunk and chucked them right at Dumbfuck's bare chest. SPLATT!

"That's it! The war is on!!"

The duo tossed chunks of pudding, pie filling, and aspic at each other (the ingredients in the specially-prepared slurry) and were soon coated, slimed, and thoroughly turned on. This time it was Dipshit who tackled his buddy and brought him down into the viscous runoff fluids. Dumbfuck's waders flooded, weighing him down and allow Dipshit to get on top of him. They pressed together, bare skin against the slippery rubber waders, the two waders against each other. Soon Dipshit's waders flooded as well and they clung to each other in the shallow water, kissing and stroking and eventually fucking. The slickened water acted as the perfect lube, and Dipshit slid in and out of his best pal with ease. The slick waters made the experience just as pleasurable, if not more so, for the lanky buddy. It's just as well Dipshit didn't sample it. The mixture of lube, spermicide, and medicinal ingredients to ensure their continued good health would have made the part that was pistachio pie filling taste terrible.


The two vacationing friends were cleaning the hen house. This time they were in white rubber coveralls (strange how everything was made of rubber...), with matching hats, and gloves and knee boots of gleaming black. After sweeping and scrubbing, the two discovered a large bushel of eggs that had been marked as REJECTED. They paused, pitting down their cleaning supplies. Dipshit pointed out the sign.

"Why d'you supposed these have been rejected?"

Dumbfuck shrugged. "Dunno. What's this other part say?" They read it. It said- Please dispose of these eggs. Do NOT eat or sell..

"Are we supposed to get rid of them?", Dipshit pondered aloud.

"That's what the sign says", Dumbfuck observed.

"Yeah, but are we supposed to be the ones to do it?"

"Well, our job today was to clean out the hen house."

"Sure, but how do we get rid of them? I mean, nobody even told us about these bad eggs or how we would dispose of—"


Dumbfuck cracked an egg right over the top of Dipshit's rubber cap.

"Dude, you are so not doing the drainage ditch all over again, man."

"Why not? That ended with you fucking me!"

Dipshit grabbed a handful of eggs. Dumbfuck claimed and armload. And they were off. Eggs flew, shells cracked, yokes spattered against rubber workwear, boots slipped on raw egg whites. Before long, the cleaned chicken coop was a mess of smashed eggshells, yellow yolky smears, overturned straw bushels, spilled feed...and two young laughing chickens. Dumbfuck had wound up on top of Dipshit, holding him down like wrestler, pinning his arms to the slick floorboards. They panted and smiled, and Dumbfuck said, "You know, these suits have drop seats."

Dipshit grinned. "Yeah, I noticed."

"Couldn't figure out why at first." Dumbfuck moved his grip from Dipshit's wrists to his sides, preparing to tickle him.

"I can now", Dipshit snickered. Reaching up between his friends legs and tore open his drop seat, exposing his bare ass to the air.

"Guess again", Dumbfuck warned, and grasping Dipshit's sides, flopped him over onto his back. Dipshit laughed hysterically as Dumbfuck tore open his buddy's drop seat with a combined pop of snap-buttons.

"Hey, who's turn is it?", Dipshit asked. "Aren't we going back and forth with the cornholing?"

"It's in and out, not back and forth, numbnuts", Dumbfuck corrected, as he grabbed a couple of the few eggs that hadn't been smashed and brought them down hard on Dipshit's head. They laughed convulsively. They wrestled playfully. And they fucked hard.

In the afterglow, Dumbfuck and Dipshit lay side by side, gasping for breath as Dumbfuck undid Dipshit's fly and stroked him tenderly in return for the use of his friend's ass.

"This has got to be the best job ever", Dipshit observed, staring at the ceiling. "Look, we even got some egg up there in the rafters—oh! Yeah, right there, man."

"You like that?", Dumbfuck asked, stroking his friend.

"Oh...OHHhhhhhh...oh, shit, yeah, you know I....uhh!...I d-do..."

Dumbfuck stroked faster, Dipshit's head whirled as he slid back down from his elbows that supported him.


"Y-yeah...oh man...yeah...f-fas-ster...please..."

Dumbfuck pumped his pal's cock as Dipshit's fingers scratched blindly in search of gaps between the floorboards to grip.

Dumbfuck went faster and faster, Dipshit's muscles tensed. Finally, Dipshit wheezed out, "I'm...I'm gonna cum--!"

"That's the point, country boy."

"UNHHH!!" Dipshit shot a massive stream of jizz all over the front of his rubber coveralls. As he gasped for breath, his body lying limp, Dumbfuck gently ran his tongue over his friend's front, lapping up his cum. Then he kissed him.

Dipshit reached up and ran his fingers through Dumbfuck's sticky hair, feeling bits of eggshell there amongst the hardening yolk. He smiled.

"You're the best friend ever, Kevin."

Dumbfuck stopped. There was a look of puzzlement on his face as he said simply, "Who?"

Dipshit blinked. There was a moment of clarity in his eyes and flash of confusion in his expression. "What?"

"Yeah, what. What did you just call me?"

Dipshit blinked. "Your name." He had to stop to think of it. "Dumbfuck."

Dumbfuck laughed softly, dismissing the moment easily. He kissed his best buddy on the forehead and rolled over to lie beside him.

"That was weird."

"Yeah. I guess."

From the doorway of the hen house, just enough out of the way to go unnoticed, Travis watched with concern.


So the days went for Dipshit and Dumbfuck. With each thing they experienced, each ridiculous chore they did, they submerged deeper and deeper into their country bumpkin identities. More and more they accepted them. Although there was the occasional slip.

Dipshit and Dumbfuck were head to toe in bright lime green rubber suits that looked more like a sea diver's drysuit than like any kind of farm gear they had ever seen. They had on huge heavy rubber boots with lug soles, loose-fitting full body rubber suits attached, including thick rubber gloves and high collars that hugged their necks. The zippers which locked them in tight were across their shoulder blades, very difficult to reach without help, impossible to grasp with their thick gloves. They were naked as jaybirds inside their suits.

The two boys lay covered in mud, muck in filth on the floor of the pig pen. Two huge pigs scampered about them playfully, as covered in gunk as the bumpkin duo, but seeming to love it a lot more.

"I'd never heard of this farm chore before today", Dipshit pondered. He wondered how he would extricate himself from the muddy mire as he lay on his back. "Pig wrestling."

"Yeah, who'da thought, huh?", Dumbfuck agreed. After lying there in the filth for a while longer, he smacked a dirty glove upon his friend's rubbered chest. "Well, c'mon. These pigs aren't going to wrestle themselves."

With help from each other and no small amount of effort, Dipshit and Dumbfuck made it to their feet eventually, and then pointed to the playful pigs. "You take that one, I'll go after the other one this time. On three? 1...2...3! Get 'em!" The boys chased after the energetic swine, slipping and sliding and bumping into fence posts and each other, finally grasping hold of the oversized creatures. Dipshit got his around the belly in a bear hug and even started to heft him off his feet. Dumbfuck wound up atop his pig, trying to wear him down but mostly just got hauled around by him.

In a fit of laughter and surrender, the pigs threw their captors and the duo were back to wallowing in the mud and howling with delight at their own predicament. As they crawled back to their feet, using the pen railing for purchase, Dumbfuck asked, " you think...this chore is considered...finished?"

"No clue", Dipshit admitted. He brushed a huge glop of mud from off of Dumbfuck's shoulders from behind. Dumbfuck stood a little straighter at the contact.

"You okay?"

Dumbfuck nodded. "Yeah. That just...felt nice. You touching my suit. I'm all gooey and sweaty inside it. It just was it again."

Dipshit did so. Only this time, he pressed his heavy glove slowly against his pal's shoulder, pushing down and then rubbing his shoulder. Dumbfuck moaned happily.


Dipshit drew his friend close and held him tightly, his front pressed against his best buddy's back. They rubbed together. Dipshit's thick shaft could be felt against Dumbfuck's bare ass crack, even through the thick rubber. Mindless of the mud and goo that coated them, they pressed and grinded against each other. Dumbfuck's arms reached around behind him and held Dipshit's torso tightly to him. Dipshit hugged his arms around his friend’s chest, sliding under his arms. They both sighed and moaned.

Pumping, pushing, grinding, the duo lost sight of their "chore" once again and sank into the world of each other. Dumbfuck's gloved hand gripping Dipshit's ass, Dipshit's glove grasping Dumbfuck's rod through the front of his suit. Pumping, pushing, edging closer and closer. It took them less time now than before to bring each other to climax. They had gotten such a feel for one another that they knew how to press, how to push, how to pump, how to ply. In another moment, both were shuddering in ecstasy and clinging to each other for support as much as in affection.

All done, leaning back against the wooden fence railing, the boys looked at each other, laughing and smiling brightly. "You are one awesome farmboy, Kevin", Dipshit said.

Dumbfuck slapped him on the shoulder, causing a spatter of mud to fly from him. "Right back at'cha, Keith."

The two caught their breath and nodded silently, indicating it was time to get back to rasslin' piggies. They took one step back into the muck of the pig sty and froze. They glanced back at each other. Keith pointed at Kevin.

"Dumbfuck, right?"

Kevin pointed back at his buddy. "Dipshit, wasn't it?"

They both burst out laughing at that, having no idea why their own names had slipped their minds, but finding it absurdly ridiculous. A shared set of slaps on the shoulder and Dipshit and Dumbfuck were back to "work".

From the far side of the barn on the edge of the sty, Travis watched everything. His brow was creased with worry.


"Sir, we have a problem."

Travis stood in Mr. Steadman's office. The man in charge was going over the latest feed of his two charges' antics, loving every minute of it. On the flat screen before him were his unknowing captives, in their lime green wadersuits, covered in mud, humping against each other with looks of joy on their faces. Mr. Steadman's happy expression almost matched theirs.

"Wonderful, just wonderful", he said to himself.

"Sir, I think we need to do something", Travis stressed.

"And what would you propose we do, exactly?", Mr. Steadman asked, not looking away from his screen.

"The personality alterations are slipping. You heard what they said to each other."

"I heard." Mr. Steadman rewound his player. There was a certain moment he wanted to see again.

"They called each other by their real names."

Mr. Steadman pointed at the screen. "There it is. Look at that happy expression! They way the clutch each other...ahh, that's the stuff. It was only for a moment."

It took Travis a second to realize that his employer had switched gears and was now addressing his concern. "Yes, but shouldn't we..."

"And, incidentally", he glanced at Travis, "Dipshit and Dumbfuck are their real names."

Travis lowered his head, nodding. "Yes sir, of course, sir. I'm just worried that they might be reverting to..."

"And you suggest what, then?"

"Well...perhaps some form or reinforcement of their programming. Perhaps even reintroducing the treated wheat stalks."

"That's a bit extreme, don't you think?" Mr. Steadman looked to Travis and saw something else in his expression. Something more than worry about maintaining control over their captive farmboy fantasy.

"Well, we don't want know, just up and leaving."

Mr. Steadman followed Travis's gaze to the screen of his video monitor. "You like him, don't you?"

Travis was quick to look away from the screen and back to his boss. "Who?", he asked unconvincingly.

"You know who."

Travis began to say something, then looked down at his boots. After an awkward pause, he asked, "What do you propose we do, sir?"

"Nothing as yet. Keep them under observation as you have been, inform Malachi of the potential for program slippage, and report back to me with any further developments. In the meantime..."

"Yes, sir?"

Mr. Steadman grinned warmly. "Let them have their fun."

Travis nodded. "Yes, sir." He turned and left the room. Mr. Steadman turned back to look at the paused image on the screen. It was Dipshit, mouth flashing a broad smile, his eyes sparkling as he beheld the face of his farmboy friend off-screen. Mr. Steadman spoke quietly to himself.

"And I shall keep things under observation, too."


Dipshit and Dumbfuck were pitching hay into the loft. They were shirtless, wearing only tattered bib overalls, short gloves, and tall rubber boots. Dumbfuck had allowed his bibs to become unbuttoned at the sides, making it obvious that he wore nothing underneath. Dipshit found that hot. He did the same. As the two worked, They would deliberately rub against each other, skin to skin, pausing here and there to pinch butt cheeks, or wrap an affectionate arm around their shoulders.

Neither of the boys had particularly impressive builds back when they were just college boys. Dipshit had always been slender and Dumbfuck was downright scrawny. But the time they'd spent on the farm working, even though most of their chores were ridiculous playtime, had started to tone and define what muscles they had and build some new ones. They two addled farmboys, working there shirtless and glistening with sweat, only served make them more randy for each other. In short order their pitchforks were tossed javelin-style into nearby hay bales and the two began to grope each other right there, standing on the hay wagon, work gloves tossed aside and gentle fingers reaching inside the bib overalls to grope and caress. They never made it to fucking this time, but they did damn near everything else. All while standing tall in their boots.

After a fifteen-minute or so break of groping, kissing, and clutching, Dumbfuck smacked Dipshit on the ass and retrieved his gloves. Yanking them on, he said, "Back to baling hay, then." Then he grinned at his companion. "We're getting pretty good at this, you know? This farm boy thing. And...the other stuff."

"That we are, Kev—", Dipshit stopped himself. Quickly, he corrected himself. "Dumbfuck." Keith looked past the hay wagon to see Travis standing nearby, leaning against the edge of the barn, well within earshot. He did not look happy.

Putting his own gloves back on, Keith winked at Travis. Then he flashed a very silly—and very posed—smile. He knew full well who he was and what was happening. Dumbfuck had retrieved his pitchfork and handed the other one back to his buddy. Keith took it, smiling gratefully. "Why, thank-you, DUMBfuck", he said, taking care to pronounce his friend's assigned name clearly.

"Don't mention it."

Dipshit went back to work, making no more indication that anything unusual had happened. For all anyone could tell, he didn't even remember that anything had happened. He may well have already forgotten it.

Travis didn't.


"And you're absolutely certain that he had a moment of recall?", Mr. Steadman asked.

Travis nodded emphatically. "I'm certain of it. He had to make an effort not to call Dumbfuck by his old name. And the look in his eyes when he looked at me...yes, I'm certain of it."

Mr. Steadman rubbed his lower lip with a bony finger, thinking.

"Should I get the release form for the wheat stalks, sir?"

Mr. Steadman waved the idea away. "No, no. It's much too early for that. Besides, it's too soon after their last dose. You know how potent those things are."

"Then sir, what are we supposed to do? We could lose him!"

"Distraction", was all Mr. Steadman said. Travis looked at him blankly. Mr. Steadman elucidated. "I think it's time for our good boys to have some fun that we have a greater hand in organizing for them. And let's have them see a bit more of the farm, meet the other young workers."

Travis paused, eyes looking upward, considering that. Yes, that could work.

"I'll arrange things right away."

Travis turned to leave quickly when Mr. Steadman stopped him. "Oh, and Travis?" The boy turned. "You said we could lose 'him'. I do believe you meant to say we could lose 'them', didn't you?"

Travis swallowed. "Yessir. I'm sure that was what I must have meant." He nodded in acknowledgement and left quickly. Long after the door had closed and he sat alone, Mr. Steadman spoke again to the empty room.

"Of course you did."

* * * * *

That morning at breakfast, Dipshit didn't notice that the other workers were keeping a close eye on him, and Dumbfuck as well. They scarfed down their fluffy scrambled eggs, bacon and toast, guzzled their coffee and slurped their juice without once picking up on the tension that passed between their overseers. Before the duo could rise from the table to tackle with relish whatever chores (or playful excuse for chores) had been laid out for them, another farm worker appeared. He was clad in bib overalls that looked checkered chef's pants, had a white button-flap shirt and white rubber boots all topped off with a tall chef's hat and red neckerchief. It was difficult to tell if he was a workhand or a cook. He didn't wait for the boys to figure it out.

"Hold up there, bumpkin boys", he announced. "Got some leftover flapjacks here and I really don't want 'em to go to waste. Polish 'em off for me, would'ja?"

He slid two plates bearing three fluffy pancakes over to the boys. The pancakes were garnished with fresh strawberries and were still steaming hot.

"Man, I dunno, I'm stuffed", Dipshit said.

"Yeah", Dumbfuck agreed. "I don't know where...I'd put 'em..."

The scent of the flapjacks had hit them. It was intoxicating. Their eyes began to glaze over just taking in the heavenly aroma.

"Damn, but those smell good", Dumbfuck remarked.

"They really do, don't they?", added Dipshit.

"Shame to let 'em go to waste", the country cook said. "Just take a few bites. What you don't finish we'll toss." He gave the plates a slight nudge.

It was all the prompting they needed. Both boys dove into the small stacks and took tremendous bites. Their taste buds went into overdrive.

"Gaw, dese're GOOH!", Dumbfuck spoke with a full mouth.

"Mmm-HMM", Dipshit agreed.

As they devoured the better part of half their pancakes, Malachi, who'd been working kitchen duty and was bussing a nearby table, nodded to Travis, who stood close by. Travis did nothing. Malachi's eyes shot downward, to a bottle of maple syrup near Travis's hands. Travis bit his lower lip but only continued to watch. The duo of country bumpkins were making progress on their flapjacks. Malachi hustled over to the small bottle and snatched it up, to bring it quickly back to Dipshit and Dumbfuck. Standing behind them, not waiting for any invitation, he poured generous rivers of maple gooiness onto their pancakes.

"You're gonna want some syrup with those", he informed them. "LOTS of syrup."

The boys didn't argue. They continued to dive into their pancakes, only now their mouths became filled with the sticky sweetness of the maple syrup. They thought it must have been all-natural or something. They had never tasted syrup like this. It was so good, so flavorful, tinged with a hint of cinnamon (is that what it was?), and so amazing that their eyelids began to flutter, their breathing became sharper, coming in quick puffs through their noses. Dopey smiles curled onto their faces. Then, there was a single SPLAP as both young men fell face-first onto their plates.

"Now that they're out, you think you can get 'em out to the milking shed", Malachi asked Travis, his annoyance clear in his voice.

"No, I've got it from here", Travis assured him.

"Good", Malachi answered, tossing the syrup bottle to Travis, who caught it easily.

"Make sure you clean them up as well as get them dressed up properly."

Travis addressed Malachi's back as he left the dining hall. "I know." Travis looked at the bottle. It had a sticker on it of a small wheat stalk. Of all the syrup bottles in the room, it was the only one that did. Travis looked back at Dumbfuck and Dipshit. Especially Dipshit. Even passed out in a plate of syrup and mashed pancakes, he looked cute as hell.


Dipshit was leaning back, half-awake/half-asleep, feeling absolutely wonderful. He felt warm, he felt secure. His head was resting against something firm but comforting. A vinyl headrest? Too much trouble to turn around and look. Don’t bother. Dipshit adjusted his shoulders a bit, then decided that maybe he would roll over on his side, as it was always easier for him to sleep that way. He found he couldn’t. His eyes opened a crack. “Hmm?” He tried more aggressively to rock his body to one side. He wasn’t budging. He tugged sleepily at his arms, and found something holding him by the wrists. “Whu--what?”

He had expected to wake up in a field or hayloft or even a mud pile beside his best buddy, his head a bit foggy from wild lovemaking (excuse me, cornholing) after tending to mock chores. But Dipshit quickly remembered they hadn't even started working yet, they were having breakfast. But this certainly wasn't the mess hall.

Dipshit tried to swing his legs off of whatever it was he’d been resting on. Nothing doing. Whatever it was had his ankles, too. Not too long ago, when he was simply a college boy, something this bizarre and untoward would snap him instantly awake, probably in a panic. Well, it would snap Keith awake, anyway. Not Dipshit. I mean, if he was restrained, there had to be some reason for it, right? Yeah, sure.

Dipshit lifted his head as much as he could, which wasn’t much. He could look down at himself, as the restraining bench he was on was set at a slight incline. He saw his clothes had changed again. Had he done that himself, or had someone dressed him? He grinned at that, imagining one of the strapping young farmhands undressing and re-dressing his dozing body. Cool.

Dipshit saw from his pantlegs and could feel by the slight pressure over his shoulders that he was in a new pair of rubber overalls. Thick, sturdy. They were white with black splotches all over them, like a cow. Maybe he was being shipped to an obsolete computer company. He snickered at the idiocy of it. He saw he had on tall, shiny black rubber knee boots--and was that pink trim around the soles? Whoa. The straps across his ankles were also black, and from what little he could make out from that angle, they looked pretty formidable. He wasn’t going anywhere.

He twisted his head to the side and could see he was in what appeared to be a white western shirt. Black yoke over the shoulders. “Geez”, he thought, “I wish I had a mirror in front of me so I could check myself out. I must look pretty sweet.”

Dipshit dropped his head back and grew dimly aware of something stiff around his neck. Rubber. A collar? He tried to shift again and heard a soft, dull clank. “What was--?” He strained his head again to look down and saw just the edge of something metal resting on his chest bib. He jerked again, not making much movement, restrained as he was. Another dull clank, a bit louder this time. That’s when it dawned on him. Dipshit broke into a beautiful broad smile, shaking his head. “Fuck me, I’m wearing a cow bell”, he said, laughing. “Like, moo.”

“Hey, you’re up. Well, you’re awake, anyway.”

“Travis!” The tall young man who'd kept such a watchful eye over Dipshit walked up to him from around a corner. Dipshit could see now that he was in what looked like the stall of some kind of barn. Oddly enough, one he had not yet been in on the farm. It was cleaner and neater than any barn he’d ever seen, but it was a barn nevertheless.

Travis was now wearing hickory-striped baggy bib overalls tucked into the tallest buckle-up galoshes Dipshit had ever seen. Up to the knee, at least. he wore a small cap that matched his bibs, and a white tank-top underneath that showed off his toned arms. Travis had a red bandana tied in a knot around his neck. He looked absolutely adorable.

“Say, Dude, did you know I’m a cow now?”, said Dipshit.

Travis smiled at that. “You catch on quick, Dipshit. How you feeling?” Travis walked right up beside Dipshit and without thinking, caressed the side of his head. Dipshit let his head fall against the soft, gentle fingers. “I feel freakin’ fantastic, man.” Travis’s smile widened at that, the bit of concern that lingered in his eyes when he had entered went away.

“That’s good”, he said softly. He began to walk to the end of the stall and reach around the corner for something.

“Hey”, Dipshit beckoned him back. Travis returned, his head inclined to show he was listening. “This has been great and all, and y’know, I’m messed up enough right now off pancakes or syrup or whatever to tell you that you are unbelievably hot and I think I could totally fall for with you.”

Travis froze where he was, whatever task he was in the process of doing was forgotten.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I've seen the way you watch over us and how attentive you are and how you make little mental notes and smile when we're happy and look concerned if you think something's going wrong and..." Dipshit paused, looking at the dumbfounded expression on Travis's face and then grinned stupidly at him. "God, you really are fucking hot."

Travis looked away, his cheeks reddening. Dipshit continued. “But, even this fucked up, and this...well, happy...I can tell...”

Travis tried to collect himself and glanced back to Dipshit partway .“Yeah, what is it?”

He whispered. “My name’s not really Dipshit, is it?” Travis took half a step back. This was it, it was all slipping. Then louder, Dipshit amended, “I mean, it’s a cool name and all--I like it! But, it’s just, I’ve got this niggling in the back of my head and it won’t go away. Sometimes it even comes back but then...poof! just like that, it's gone."

"Dipshit...", Travis began. But the brainwashed bumpkin cut him off.

"I'm not stupid, you know." He reconsidered that one. "Well, okay...yeah, I am. I am now, anyway. But I know something's been done to me. To us. I know there was stuff in the punch, the cookie, the lights, and all that. Back at the store in the mall."

"You remember the store in the mall?" Travis's heart was pounding.

"Sometimes. It turned me into Dipshit, didn’t it? That stuff. I was someone else before I got here, wasn’t I?”

Travis spoke slowly, deliberately. “Are you okay with that? Do you want to go back now? Should we stop?”

“No!” Then, after a heartbeat, “No, I’m Dipshit, seriously. My name is Dipshit. I’m into rubber, and farmboys--”, then quickly, “and I’ve always been into guys, even before.” And quietly, he added, “Please don’t go.”

“I won’t.” Travis rested his hand on Dipshit’s chest, slowly stroking it. Dipshit could feel the caring fingers pressing the thick rubber against him.

“Later on, do I get my real name back?”

Travis had no idea how long this elaborate masquerade was supposed to go on. Weeks? Months? Forever? “Sure.”

Dipshit let out a deep sigh of satisfaction. “Then I’m Dipshit for now. What’s next?”

Travis squatted down beside the bench. “Your restraints okay? Not too tight?”

“Perfect. Howcum I’m not supposed to move? I’m dying to see how I look as a cow.”

“You will, you will. And you’ll also understand the reason for the restraints in a minute. We’ll get started right after your bovine companion gets wheeled in. It’s easier to do this with two.”

“My bovine companion??”

“Heeyyyy, buddy!”

Dumbfuck entered on a strange contraption that was part gurney, part dolly. Malachi pushed him along from behind. Dumbfuck was as strapped in as Dipshit, similarly attired, only his outfit had brown splotches on it instead of black. Dipshit could see that atop his friend's head was a rubber ball cap with foam horns and floppy rubber cow's ears. Dipshit shook his head a bit to find that from the feel of it, he must have a similar cap on his own head.

Dumbfuck smiled like an imbecile as he was wheeled along beside his buddy, although facing in the opposite direction, so they could more easily speak to one another.

"Gotta ask you sumpin', Dipshit", he grinned foolishly. Dipshit widened his eyes in anticipation of the question. Dumbfuck lowered his voice to a near-whisper. "Are we cows now?"

They both burst out laughing.

Malachi patted his charge on the shoulder and excused himself. Dipshit noted that he was dressed exactly the same as Travis. "We gotta go get something over here, guys. But we'll be back in a sec."

Dipshit commented, "Mal, what's with the change in outfit for you guys?"

"These are milking clothes", he said matter-of-factly, as he walked away.

Dipshit settled himself into his restraints, finding them oddly comfortable. "Well, if they're milking clothes, then that's okay, then." He snickered, which made Dumbfuck snicker. There was no denying that despite their current bizarre set of circumstances, they both felt great. Dipshit sighed and looked at the friend with whom he'd been screwing around all over the farm and felt the need to confess something to him.

"Hey, Dumbfuck?"


"You know Travis?", Dipshit asked.

"That guy?" Dumbfuck nodded in the direction of the young farm hand who'd been helping his friend, now tinkering with something just out of their line of vision. "He's the guy who's been lurking around all the time watching us while we do our thing, right?"

"That's the one."

"What about him?"

Dipshit rested his head back and sighed. "I am majorly crushing on him."

Dumbfuck smirked. "Kinda figured."

Malachi and Travis came back, wheeling some kind of complicated contraption neither boy had ever seen before. It was set upon some kind of metal dolly, and carried two large, shining silver jugs of some kind. Metal arms extended around and before it, carrying a number of sturdy tubing. At the end of the tubing and arms was a series of cylindrical metal vials, each highly polished and gleaming in the light, each ending in rubber covers that circled the lips of the vials. Behind all of this business was what looked like an outboard motor, or perhaps a small generator.

Their lighthearted chatter and dreamy sense of well-being evaporated rapidly, and Dipshit and Dumbfuck looked wide-eyed at the strange device.

"Um, what...what's that?", Dipshit asked with great trepidation.

"Dude! You're not going to do something to us with that, are you??", Dumbfuck panicked.

"Relax", Malachi told them.

"I'll relax as soon as you wheel that thing out of here!" Dumbfuck began to struggle against his bonds. It did no good. The straps were too snug, the bonds too formidable. Besides, his limbs felt like jello.

"Seriously, Travis", Dipshit said pleadingly, "what's going on?"

Travis came close to Dipshit and rested a hand gently on his shoulder. "It's going to be okay, buddy. Everything will be fine, you'll see." Then he winked. "You're gonna love this." As he pulled away, he placed a hand lovingly upon Dipshit's cheek and held his face for a moment. Then he went back to work setting up his contraption.

Dumbfuck mouthed blatantly to his best friend. Oh YEAH. He's INTO you!

Malachi missed the exchange, busy as he was with the tubes and hoses, but said simply, "You're cows now. And you know what happens to cows, don't you?"

"Hamburger!", Dumbfuck panicked. "I KNEW this farm boy vacation was too good to true! Oh God, we're dead!"

Travis tried not laugh. "What were you guys doing when you first got to the farm?"

"Wondering how we got here?", Dumbfuck said, puzzled.

"Loving the big boots and the new look?", Dipshit offered.

"You were milking cows", Malachi reminded them. He held up one of the long tubes ending in a silver cylinder. "Cows get milked."

"Whuh...what? Come again?", Dumbfuck asked.

Not stopping to clarify, Malachi unzipped the fly on Dumbfuck's rubber overalls. he reached in and pulled out the lanky boy's cock. Dumbfuck was taken aback.

"Whoa! Hell-O!"

With skilled hands, Malachi began to pump Dumbfuck's member to erection. It did not take long. Travis moved over to Dipshit and did the same. "You too", was all he said as prelude as he unzipped the captive country boy and pulled out his dick. He didn't have much to do, as Dipshit was already partially erect. After both boys had stiff cocks, Malachi produced a small plastic bottle that looked like a ketchup dispenser. Malachi squirted a large glob of its contents onto Dumbfuck's hard dick. It was not ketchup. It was a thick, clear gelatinous lube that made Dumbfuck feel amazing. Cool at first, it soon warmed up in all the right ways. Dumbfuck's toes curled inside his cow boots and his fingers clawed at the air.

"Ohhhh FUCK!"

Malachi tossed the bottle over to Travis, who gave Dipshit the same treatment. As Dipshit moaned and twisted within his bonds, waves of euphoria rippling through him, Travis could not help but smile. There was no suppressing it.

Dipshit's eyelids fluttered, but he was still able to string sentences together. he knew the moment would not last long if this kept up, so he spoke quickly. "Trav? What is that machine thing?"

Travis spoke softly but with a trace of anticipation in his voice. "It's a milking machine."

"Oh woooowwww...", was all Dipshit could say.

"Hook 'em up", Malachi ordered.

Both he and Travis took one of the silver-capped tubes in hand and fit a milking cylinder over their respective boy's throbbing cock. Both Dipshit and Dumbfuck quivered as the device was fit snugly over their members and locked in place.

"You okay?", Malachi asked Dumbfuck. The farmboy nodded.

"How you doing in there?", Travis asked Dipshit. Dipshit could no longer speak, so he just gave his new friend a double thumbs-up.

"Starting it up", Malachi announced. Travis stepped away from the duo and Malachi hit the switch. Immediately the milker began pumping, the tubes sucking, the cylinders bouncing up and down on the farmboys' cocks. There was a steady whirr of the engine and a slurping sound as rubber lining within the silver cylinders drew relentlessly on the boy-cows cocks.

Dipshit and Dumbfuck thrust and trembled as the milking machine sucked them off with a power and satisfaction neither had ever felt. They understood at once why they had been restrained. Had they not, they would be flopping around on the ground, rolling about in helpless rapture. Their bliss continued as the machine sped up to an incredibly fast pace, gently but firmly pulling their dicks so rapidly each burst of pleasure could barely be registered before several others flooded in their pace. Then the pumping action slowed, allowing the boys a brief respite, letting them catch their gasping breath, allowing their erections to soften ever-so-slightly before speeding up again, tubes tugging, the rubber lining within the metal cylinders kissing and caressing, bringing them to aching hardness again. The machine was edging them.

"Adding juices", Malachi declared impassively.

"Got it", Travis acknowledged, and they both turned some kind of knobs or release dials. There was a gurgle of some kind of thick syrupy fluid and a stream of some kind of cream or lubricant raced down the tubes to mix with the pumping action and massage the farmboys' cocks in soothing, arousing gels.



Both boys convulsed in their bonds and felt themselves grow harder. They knew at this point that there was nothing they could do to stop their milking. They were helpless to the whims of this machine and its controllers. Neither of them wanted it to stop, anyway.

"And set for climax", Malachi said.

Both boys opened their eyes wide and shook their heads. The new the word climax indicated an increased level neither was prepared for. It didn't matter, they weren't being consulted about it. Travis flipped his control knob just as Malachi did. "Setting for climax."

There was a terrible moment of silence as the two farmboy cows panted in anticipation, their silver cock tubes still pumping steadily away. Then Malachi spoke.

"And go."

Suddenly, the machine kicked into high gear. The silver cylinders pumped and pulled, the tubes sucked and drew in lube and streaming precum. The boys writhed on their boards, gasping and moaning as never before. Then a stream of crystal clear water rushed down the tubes, cleansing the two young cocks, washing back from where it had originated, leaving everything in its path sparkling clean. It felt amazing. Now their dicks were tantalized and licked in ways they could never have imagined. It all came on so quickly, so strongly. They were completely unprepared for it. And they couldn't hold it anymore. As one, they cried out in unison.


They came together. Gushing thick streams of boy cum shot outward and was sucked down the long tubes into the sliver containers on the metal dolly. Then it happened again. Something in the machine, it's tubes, it's soft and playful liner, made them cum a second time. The boys thrust and grinded, helpless against their bonds, unable to resist.


They lay, spent, panting, dizzy from the experience. They no longer wondered about what their names might be. They barely knew anything at all at this point. More sperm went whizzing down the tubes to collect in the waiting metal jugs. The boys in their cow suits gasped and wheezed, ready to pass out from exhaustion.

The machine began again.

"No, no, no no", Dumbfuck begged.

"You can' can't...I CAN'T!", Dipshit pleaded.

Too late.

A pulse ran through the contraption and their bumpkin cocks were pulled a final time, actviating pleasure centers and sensations heretofore unknown to the young farm boys. They froze in paralysis, mouths open like 'O's, eyes blank and staring at nothing. This time when they came, they came in silence, save for quiet gasps fro air.

"Uh! Uhh! Oh!"

"Nuhh! Utt! Ah!"

As the last of their orgasm faded, both boys collapsed against their tilted beds, fast asleep, a tiny trickle of drool visible at the corners of their mouths. A final collection of jism flowed easily down the tubes to gather in the metal jugs.

"Well", observed Malachi, "I'd say their sufficiently distracted, wouldn't you?"

Travis nodded. "I'd say so." Then he looked at the metal jug containers on the dolly. He released a latch that opened a side panel door. Within the cool jugs were large metal cups, like the kind used to make old-fashioned milkshakes at soda fountains. Above each of the twin cups was the end point of the suction tubes, and from it dripped the last of the collected farmboy seed. Malachi peered inside the cups.

"Wow. They really had quite the loads to shoot, huh?"

"What do we do with this now?", Travis asked, pointing to the tall cups.

Malachi reached in and picked them up. They were both nearly half full. He handed one cup to Travis. "Cheers."

They clinked their cups together and drank them down.

* * * * *

Cletus was talking on his small company cell phone. He stood near Uriah, who stared at the chicken coop not far away from them. "Yes sir, everything seems to be going along as planned." He was speaking to Mr. Steadman. "The milking experience most deifinitely deepened the submergence into their character roles—" He stopped, listening. "Yes, their true identities, I meant. Yes, I'm sorry, sir. Won't happen again."

Uriah looked back at Cletus and rolled his eyes. Cletus nodded. Yeah, I know.

"Well, since getting milked, there's been no evidence of slippage. Yes sir, that is good news. Now? They're in the chicken coop, sir. No, the other one. Oh, I'd say that's all they're able to think about right now." He looked to Uriah, who turned back from his sentry of the chicken coop and gave a big thumbs-up then an A-Okay sign.

"Yes sir, it's working very well." A quiet pause. Then, more softly, "No, Travis doesn't know we've been keeping an eye on him. Sir, with respect, do you think it's necessary that Uriah and I--? Yes, I understand that, of course, sir. It's just that, he's my friend and fellow country boy and I don't really feel comfortable spying on—" Another pause. Cletus's face became very serious. "Yes, sir. If you say so, I'll do it, yes sir." he tossed the phone to Uriah, making a gesture that indicated he was done talking to the big man.

"Sir?", Uriah said into the cell. "Oh yeah, we've got the other farmboys all ready for the big meet-and-greet. Yeah, it's gonna be pretty cool. When? Well..." he glanced back toward the coop and shrugged. "As soon as our boys are done..laying eggs, I guess."


What Dipshit and Dumbfuck were experiencing now actually made them forget about the milking machine. The duo was each in yet another rubberized costume, this one much more tight-fitting than anything they'd worn previously. Both the boys were in skintight open-face hooded rubber catsuits of polished white. Atop the suits were heavy white rubber barn jackets with front snaps and togs, huge white rubber gloves attached at the sleeves, and loose-hanging broad curving fringes around the elbows that apparently served no purpose whatsoever. On their feet were snug knee boots of bright orange and yellow, ribbed up the front and back, with strangely massive feet. The tops of the boots were painted to look like three-toed chicken feet. On their heads, Dipshit and Dumbfuck had rubber ball caps, each with a bright red crest running over the crown and a big yellow beak on the bill matching their boots.

Dumbfuck looked at Dipshit, unable to hold back his stupid grin. "Do we have to start clucking, you think?" Dipshit just dropped his head, laughing.

They were seated before a row of hen's nests, their feet secrurely strapped in place. A broad and formidable leash attached to the front of their jackets and around their midsection held them there, fastened to the wood of the coop.

Malachi clapped his hands on the boys' shoulders. "You ready to get things underway, fellers?"

Dipshit looked up, still smiling, but clearly confused. "I don't know. We seem to be chickens or something now. I'm not sure what's supposed to happen next. I mean, we were cows like just a minute ago..."

"And you had fun then, didn't you?"

Dumbfuck smiled brightly. "Good point. Let's do this!"

Dipshit shrugged. "Whatever 'this' is."

Travis was behind Diphit and rested a gentle hand upon his back. "Don't worry, buddy. This is gonna be really cool. Trust me."

He did. Dipshit's face broke into a broad smile when Travis looked him in the eye. That was all the assurance he needed. He looked back to Dumbfuck. "Right. Let's do this."

Malachi sauntered up beside them and set down a large basket bearing two eggs. he set the basket down by the hens' nests where the boys could see it clearly. The eggs were like none other the boys had seen. Obviously fake, made of a semi-clear gelatinous-looking plastic or something. They gave off a faint heat signature and the insides jiggled just a bit as Malachi picked one of them up.

"What...what are you gonna do with those?", Dipshit asked, rethinking his former enthusiasm.

Malachi nodded to Travis, who picked up the other egg. Both boys looked worried now, but Travis just whispered again confidently, "Trust me."

Dumbfuck felt Malachi's fingers against his bare ass. Bare ass? Dumbfuck tried to turn around, found that he couldn't, really. "Wait, how is it can I feel--?"

"There's a slit opening in the seat of your suit."

Dumbfuck looked quickly to Dipshit. "There's a slit opening in the seat of our suits."

Dipshit grinned but then jumped a bit when he felt Travis kneading his own ass and spreading his cheeks. "Whoa! I see that!"

As the farm hands fingered and massaged the asses of the two best friends, they spread on a soothing lubricant, thick and viscous. It felt amazing. It made their skin tingle and all their posterior muscles relax. The faint scent of the lube wafted of to the boys’ nostrils and made them feel incredibly relaxed and peaceful.

“Time to see if these here are layin’ chickens”, Malachi drawled. Travis grinned in agreement and they both plunged their arms forward and up, shoving the faux eggs firmly into Dipshit and Dumbfuck’s holes.

Both boys sat bolt upright, their restraints pulling taut as they felt the large egg-plug things enter their bodies. At first they squirmed and thrashed, not certain what to make of what was going on, but even as they struggled against their bonds, Dipshit and Dumbfuck both felt waves of soothing warmth filling their insides.

Travis rested a gentle hand upon Dipshit’s head. “Let it happen, buddy. Just be a chicken for a little while.”

Dipshit nodded, accepting that whatever this was, it would be good. Dumbfuck picked up on his friend’s calmer posture and took it on himself, without any prompting from Malachi.

“Just be a chicken”, Dumbfuck muttered. “…be a chicken…”

The gelatinous, semi-solid eggs shoved into their assholes pulsed gently with warmth, caressing their insides, pushing against their prostates. As their cheeks naturally clenched against the intruding objects, Dipshit and Dumbfuck unknowingly released more and more rushes of pleasure and erotic sensation. The eggs pulsed and pumped, moving about inside the boys as if they really held something alive within their shells. As Dipshit and Dumbfuck quivered with rising pleasure and excitement, Travis and Malachi took hold of the fringed sleeves of their heavy rubber barn jackets.

Fastening straps that up until then had remained hidden, Travis and Malachi bent the arms of their charges, guiding knuckles into armpits and securing the sleeves in that position so that the boys fund themselves no longer with fringed sleeves but with what looked more like wings. Chicken wings. They both pulled back to return their arms to a more natural position, but found that the jacket straps held them that way.

“Flap your wings, chickens”, Malachi said.

The two boys, already giddy with arousal, shrugged. Why not? So they flapped their wings. And it felt amazing. As they did so, foolish as it felt at first, it seemed to activate further magic from the eggs in their asses. A flood of intense arousal and satisfcation flushed upward and through their systems. It was incredible.

“Now buck”, Travis nodded. They both looked at him. You’ve got to be fucking kidding, right? He just smiled at them. “Buck like the good chickens you are, now.”

So they did. Slowly at first. Hesitatingly.

“Buck-buck-buck.” “Buck-bakaww.”

ZOOM! A blast of pleasure rocketed through their bodies, orginating from the eggs in their asses all the way out to the tips of their fingers pushed into their armpits and the toes now curling inside their chicken-footed boots. It was all the prompting they needed. As soon as they caught their breath and were able to steady themselves, they set to work being chickens.


They flapped their arms, bucked and clucked, and felt rush upon rush of erotic joy such as they never had before. But it was so intense, so overwhelming, that it was clear they could not keep it up for long. Malachi looked at Travis and his silent message was received.

Travis said to the chicken boys, “Okay, you’ve got to lay your eggs now, chickens. You need to get those out of you. Do it now, or they could just wind up stuck up there.”

Dipshit smiled like that was an appealing idea. Dumbfuck managed to speak in between his squawking. “Buck-buck-sounds good to me--Buh-KAWWK!”

“Seriously”, Malachi interjected, “you’ve got to trust us on this.

They did. So as they flapped and bucked, the boys began to push. The pleasure increased tenfold. And they had no idea what they were doing to cause this, but it felt great. The egg-plugs seemed to hang on tight, not wanting to come free from inside their holes. Every attempt to push them out sent increasing ripples of sheer pleasure through their bodies. In short order, the duo found their flapping wings were doing little more than trembling, their eyelids fluttering, their mouths moving as if they were still clucking, but nothing was coming out. Of either end.

“Keep going, guys”, Travis urged them.

“Yeah, you gotta get those eggs out of you now”, Malachi told them. “Let’s lay those eggs, now.”

The plugs had been treated with a chemical lube that enhanced not only tactile sensation but pleasure response. They were working perfectly. Dipshit and Dumbfuck kept on trying, kept on pushing, but at this point they were doing little more than shaking a bit and lurching forward once or twice as they fought unsuccessfully against the constant waves of physical pleasure their own squeezing butt cheeks were creating.

“Keep on clucking and flap your wings hard”, Travis said. “It’s the only way you’re gonna get those eggs out.”

“Don’t…don’t think I want it out…”, Dumbfuck admitted dreamily.

“Yah…”, Dipshit concurred. “I like…being a chicken…”

Malachi was on the verge of bursting out laughing. He took Dumbfuck by the elbows and began to help him flap. He nodded to Travis to do the same with Dipshit. His partner was happy to oblige. “Get clucking”, Malachi ordered. “Hard as you can.”

“Buh…bluh..buk-bukk…”, they wheezed.

“C’mon, you can do better than that”, Travis grinned.

“Yeah, let’s hear it!”, Malachi coached. “Really let it out!”

The two chickenified hicks gave it their all. “Buck-buck-baawwrkk-buhKAWK!!” Their eyes almost popped as the eggs inside them finally let go and slid out their holes. A rush of sheer sexual pleasure such as they had never felt flooded through their bodies, making them go limp. As the plugs smacked out onto the floor with wet thuds, Dipshit and Dumbfuck collapsed backwards into the hands of their farmhand handlers. Gently, Travis and Malachi lowered them down to the ground. Travis saw that beneath their rubber suits they both had massive erections. Curious, Travis touched the white rubber just above Dipshit’s hard cock. It squished. Travis smiled and Malachi shook his head in amusement. It was pretty clear both guys had just shot their wads. Again.

“They look sufficiently distracted to you?”, Travis asked.

“Ohh yeah, they’re distracted.” Malachi looked at his companion. “Let’s get ‘em ready for their big tour.”

From a safe distance, Uriah and Cletus watched intently. They got a signal from Malachi as Travis busied himself with the passed-out chicken hicks. Cletus nodded and the two made their way to another part of the farm. This next part would be the clincher, they expected. They hoped. If not…they hurried on their way, choosing not to think about that.

* * * * *

Dipshit and Dumbfuck walked along happily, almost dreamily. They were clad once again in a pair of waderalls and poorly-matching plaid shirts, all of rubber. The caps atop their heads as well as the labels plastered all over their outfits declared their names in clear, oversized boldface print.

“Thought you might like to meet some of the other fellows here on the farm”, Malachi said to them.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, guys?”, Travis smiled brightly.

Dipshit and Dumbfuck thought that was a grand idea. “Sure.” “You bet.”

Actually, neither Dipshit nor Dumbfuck had the faintest idea how they had gotten there. They remembered being cows for a while (which was great) and then being chickens (which was really great) and now they were here, walking along the lush grass with two of the main farm hands. In truth, they had no idea where “here” was, other than that it was some part of the farm they hadn’t been to before. In another moment, they didn’t care. Rising up over a small incline in the grassy knoll, Dipshit and Dumbfuck saw what looked like a playground for happy bumpkins. What looked like at least a dozen country boys frolicked and played in the grass and among the tall shade trees. They were all dressed as Dipshit and Dumbfuck were, in rubber waderalls outfits or similarly clownish country boy attire. They all appeared to be of the same college age. They all appeared to be having the time of their lives.

“Would you care to meet some of the other country boys?”, Travis asked them.

“Yeah!”, Dipshit beamed. “I’d love it!” He looked to his best friend. “Wouldn’t you love to meet everybody, pal?”

Dumbfuck’s face began to relax a little. He’d had a stupid grin on his face all along, but it seemed forced and uncertain. Now his face looked a bit more pleasant, some of the tension fading from it. He looked like a man who had just learned he was not alone.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I would.”

“Well, let’s go do it”, Malachi suggested.

The quartet strolled down the slanting hill, the two hicks in waderalls in the lead, their keepers right behind. They were no closer than fifty feet away from the crowd of frolicking farmboys when a few of them noticed them coming. One or two nudged their fellows and pointed out the approaching newcomers. Malachi raised his voice to be heard by all the country boys. “Who wants to come meet a couple new country boys?”

There was no verbal response, nor was one needed. The country boys stopped what they were doing and rushed over to Dipshit and Dumbfuck, clustered around them and shared happy greetings. They patted the duo on the shoulder, laughed happily and blurted out welcomes. It was all a bit overwhelming. Travis stepped in and pushed them back a few paces to give Dipshit and Dumbfuck a little room to breathe.

“How about if you boys take turns and introduce yourselves to your two new friends?”

Obediently, the country boys moved back a few paces and as Travis signaled them, they came forward and shook hands, announcing who they were. The first one to approach was a kid who could have passed for banana. Long face, big ears sticking out at the sides, unbelievably wide toothy grin. In bright yellow waderalls and matching hat, garish orange, peach, and gray plaid shirt, he could have been a cartoon stepped off a cereal box. “Hey. I’m Mulepiss.” He needn’t have bothered to say his name, as it was plastered all over him, in labels just like those of the best friend duo. Mulepiss reached over and pulled over another college-age boy, this one in waderalls of hideous orange with black soles, and a shirt of dizzying purple, beige, green, rust, and ochre plaid. “This here’s my best pal Dogvomit.”

Dogvomit waved his hand cheerfully. “What’s up?”

They shook hands. Dipshit seemed amused, if not delighted, to make their acquaintance. Dumbfuck seemed a bit confused, but he went along with it. The next two came forward. No waderalls for them, but worn, faded bib overalls tucked into tall black rubber knee boots, long-sleeved plaid flannel shirts and straw cowboy hats that seemed almost too small for them. They looked no less stupid than the pair named for animal excrement. Their overalls, boots and hats also bore large labels with their names on them. The first one in the white and gray-flecked shirt smiled and took Dipshit’s hand as he said his greeting. “Hi! Chickenshit.” The one in the pink and red-flecked flannel shirt shook Dumbfuck’s hand and followed suit. “Howdy. Pigshit!”

For a second, the duo thought that perhaps the happy couple were insulting them, then saw the labels and realized they were just introducing themselves. Wow. They shook hands vigorously, then traded partners. “Glad to have ya here!” They had to be peeled away by Travis and Malachi in order for the next country boys to say hello.

Dumbfuck looked at Dipshit quizzically. What the hell? Dipshit smiled back and mouthed, I know. The next two were in short-sleeve shirts of equally unflattering plaid. They had caps with very small brims and matching bib overalls or gray with thin navy blue pinstripes. They each wore tall rubber boots of white, one with pink rubber soles, the other with gray. They introduced themselves as their labels declared them. “Fuckup”, said the one in the pink-soled boots. “Dumbass”, announced the one in gray. Dipshit and Dumbfuck held out hand to shake, but the two instead threw their arms around them and hugged them.

“Whup! Um, okay”, Dipshit said, thrown off-balance.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough”, Dumbfuck said, pushing Dumbass off him. “I’m good, I’m good, you’ve sufficiently greeted me. Go away now.”

The country boys all seemed to be separated in pairs, Until a group of three very cute college boys walked up, arm in arm, all smiling and happy like their fellows. All three were in waderalls of soft light brown, much like Dipshit and Dumbfuck’s, save that these had snap-on codpieces. Their shirts varied in colors from blue to red to green, all bright and cheerful. They introduced themselves as Dimwit, Dickweed, and Dickhead. Then as an afterthought Dickhead added, “No relation”. As if that would be a concern.

Nearby was a college man who looked like he was either stoned or lobotomized. He smiled in a way that was beyond happy and ventured into brain dead. His hair was bushy and his grin toothy. Travis had to wave his arms a bit to get his attention. It took Malachi joining in to finally urge him over.

He sauntered up with a huge grin on his face. He wore tan canvas overalls that had seen better days, a dizzying brown-and-white checkered shirt, and sun-faded brown rub hip waders that fit him poorly. His cap was soiled and ugly. It bore a strange logo that looked like a cartoon of a human brain covered in chocolate sauce. The boys had no idea what it meant or could have represented. The poorly-dressed country boy extended a warm hand in greeting. “Hi, y’all. I’m Shit-For-Brains! Good ta meetya.” The two friends looked at each other with a similar look of dismay. It wasn’t chocolate cause, then. He then reached over and took the arm of the other brain-dead bumpkin standing nearby. This one looked as if he’d had his brains funneled out through his ears and all that was left was oblivious happiness. He was just as unattractively attired as his companion, only he was in gray hip waders and a shirt of red and black checks. His dingy hat bore a cartoon logo of a farmboy with a large penis sticking out of his forehead. No kidding. “This here’s my best buddy in the whole world.” The best friend just held his brainless, broad grin and snickered a little. Dipshit and Dumbfuck looked at the goofballs’ hat, then looked at each other. No way. It couldn’t be. Shit-For-Brains went on. “His name’s Fuckhead!” Yep. It was.

The rest came up in turn. Many of them were very cute, others were interesting characters, a few were a little odd-looking. All of them were happy (or believed they were), all of them were dressed in some country boy costumes of overalls or waderalls, hipboots or knee boots, all labeled with a disparaging name each seemed to take pride in. They met Dumbass, Asswipe, Shithole, Asscrack, Mulepuke, Fuckup, and even Cowchip, who appeared to have arrived on his own but was still having fun with the others, who had accepted him warmly.

Travis knew that these boys were among those who had responded to the Country Boy Corners ad calling for models for the free clothing giveaway. Most had arrived before Dipshit and Dumbfuck, but a few, like Cowchip, had come after. Travis didn’t know why Mr. Steadman kept them around (there had been even more, but after a day or two they had been sent home), but his job was not to question the motives of his employer.

Travis looked to Dipshit, who smiled back at the group of dumb country boys who were so much like himself. There was something about Dipshit’s smile, the expression of his eyes. It was different from all the other brainwashed country boys. There was recognition in it. As if the wheels were turning beneath that stupid cap, as if he were divining the source of all these dumb hicks, and that they were once college boys like himself. Dipshit returned Travis’s stare and flashed a beautiful smile. There was now more than a hint of knowledge in that expression. It was an appreciation for what must be the complex machinations that brought them here. Travis felt his pulse quicken. Did he know?

Dipshit turned to the crowd of country boys. “So, how long have you guys been here? My buddy and I have been here…” His mind raced and searched for the rest of that statement. How long had they been there? Days? Weeks? Months? “…um, a little while now.”

Mulepiss chimed in first. “I been here for a while, too. Some of us just a few days or so.”

Chickenshit added, “Some less’n that. Cowchip just got here.” He pulled his friend close, put an affectionate arm around him.

“So who’re you guys?”, smiled Dumbass. His name notwithstanding, it would seem apparent who the two newcomers were, if only by the gigantic labels all over them which screamed their names. But everyone nodded eagerly in echo of the sentiment, they all wanted an introduction.

Dumbfuck didn’t hear them. He was rubbing the bridge of his nose and squinting his eyes as if suffering from a headache. Dipshit noticed and looked concerned.

“DF? You okay?”

Dumbfuck shook his head. “…something’s wrong, something’s wrong…”

Travis began to say something, but Dipshit spoke first. “You too hot in the waderalls maybe, buddy? It is a warm sunny day. I bet we could switch into some lighter overalls or like that if we asked, no problem.”

Dumbfuck shook his head again, but only once. The completely irrelevant suggestion posed by his best friend seemed to serve to distract him from whatever it was that was really on his mind. He furrowed his brow in an attempt to recapture what had been on his mind, but it escaped him.

“So what are you guys’ names?”, asked the cheerful Cowchip, apparently oblivious to the giant name tags labeled all over the duo.

“I’m Kevin”, Dumbfuck answered automatically. “My friend’s name is Keith.”

Travis and Malachi froze. The answer came so quickly, so reflexively, that it unnerved them. The other country boys had a different reaction. They laughed. Some of them laughed hysterically.

“What? What kind of stupid names are those?” The brainwashed bumpkins grabbed their sides, leaned on each other, and slapped their knees in hilarity. “Those are some pretty embarrassing names, y’all!”

Dumbfuck looked at them askance. Were they? What had he said, exactly?

Dipshit smiled. “Our names aren’t stupid. I’m Dipshit and my best buddy here is Dumbfuck!” He threw a loving arm around his pal and said with the utmost sincerity, “He was just funnin’ ya.” Everybody seemed very pleased with that explanation and in another moment it was forgotten, even by Dumbfuck.

“Can we get out of here?”, he asked Dipshit.

Dipshit kept his arm around his pal. “I’d like to stay and get to know these fellers if it’s okay with you. They seem like fun.” Dumbfuck looked doubtful, but Dipshit continued. “We get to stay in our waderalls suits if we stay, too. Don’t they feel amazing?” He placed a firm hand over Dumbfuck’s crotch and squeezed his member, coaxing it to erection. “Just feel that smooth rubber on your cock. Doesn’t it feel amazing? Wiggle your toes. Bend your knees. It’s all over your bare skin. It’s amazing.” Dumbfuck’s eyes glazed over as he began to lose himself again to the sensual input of his costume.

Dipshit placed a hand against Dumbfuck’s chest and pressed the rubber bib to his skin. “It feels so great to wear our waderalls, doesn’t it?” Dumbfuck nodded. His head was pleasantly buzzing again, pushing out any unwelcome thoughts and unwanted reason. “Now lookit these guys. They’re just like us. Happy country boys—and a bunch of them are really hot-looking. I want to play with ‘em. Don’t you want to play with   

‘em?” Dumbfuck nodded dumbly. There was little else he could do.

A couple of the hicks grabbed hold of their hands, two boys on either side of the best friends, and led them off, over the grassy hill and toward the giant shade tree. There was a tire swing and a nearby pond and who knew what other grand adventures awaited. Dipshit turned back as he was led off and flashed a happy look at Travis. Then he did something totally unexpected. He winked. Then he and his mesmerize pal were gone.

“He knows”, Malachi said.

Travis faltered, then said back, “Come on, we don’t know for sure—“

“He knows, Travis. You saw that wink. And twice…twice just now…he saved our bacon by bringing his friend back to his assigned identity. He knows what’s going on. For who knows how long.”

“Maybe we should just wait it out. He’s obviously helping us.”

Malachi shot his friend a look of incredulity. “You know what we have to do now. We tell Mr. Steadman.”

Travis looked away, toward the cluster of happy, playing country boy in their silly costumes, who now appeared so small in the distance. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. You go ahead.”

Malachi took him by the wrist. “We both tell him.”


“Sir, I think we’re just going to have to dope them up again. I really don’t see any other alternative.”

Travis looked at Malachi in shock and it was clear that Mr. Steadman wasn’t too crazy about the suggestion, either. “We do not ‘dope anyone up’ as you so bluntly put it, Malachi, we use our resources to coax them into taking part in the joy that is this bucolic fantasy.” His words were almost lackadaisical, but his tone was cutting and his message clear. Watch it. Then, “You’re quite certain that Dipshit was aware of what was happening…behind the scenes, that is?”

“I can’t speak to the extent of his knowledge at this point”, Malachi stated, “but his actions, the look in his eyes, it was unmistakable. He’s awake.”

“He was always awake”, Mr. Steadman pointed out. “I never wanted either of them in a foggy daze.”

“But being awake and being aware are too different things—“, Malachi began. Mr. Steadman waved his statement away.

He looked to Travis, started to say something, then changed his mind. Instead he looked to Cletus, who was lingering at the back of the room. “What would you say the situation is, Cletus?”

“I pretty much think that Dumbfuck wants out.”

“I wouldn’t put it quite so severely as that”, Travis began. Cletus interrupted him.

“When two incredibly hot college boys dressed up like adorable bumpkins are ready to take turns getting into his big rubber pants to blow him and he keeps pushing them off, I’d say that’s a pretty good sign that he wants out.”

“And Dipshit?”, Mr. Steadman asked, trying to keep the worry from his voice.

Cletus shrugged. “He seems to be having the time of his life. Whether he knows what’s going on or not, I’d say he does not want to leave.”

“And he did help us twice already that we know of to keep his friend’s head in the game, so to speak”, Mr. Steadman mused.

“But I don’t know how long he’s going to stay that way”, Cletus pointed out. “Uriah’s there watching them now. Dumbfuck’s not really raising a fuss yet, but he’s not into like his buddy is.”

Malachi jumped in. “I still say we need to reprogram them both fast, before it gets away from us—“

“Your suggestion has been noted”, Mr. Steadman reminded him. He paused for a moment, then continued. “Dipshit and Dumbfuck are to be escorted away from the other country boys. “They do need a bit or reminding as to who they really are, who they are meant to be. They have been here longer than any other of our guests.” Malachi began to say something in agreement, but Mr. Steadman wouldn’t let him. “I suggest a simple walk through the misting barn. After that, let’s dress them as hillbillies. Shirtless, straw hats, older bib overalls, barefoot. There’ll be a certain sense of freedom without the waderalls, but should the idea occur to them it will also make it difficult to run away if they’re shoeless.”

Malachi nodded, Cletus made a quick note.

“The misting barn—it won’t hurt them, will it?”, Travis asked. Mr. Steadman stared at him levelly. “I mean, they’ll retain their memories of their time here..of us, right?”

Mr. Steadman chose not to address Travis’s question and instead went on as if it has not been spoken. “I also think it’s time they have a change in chaperones. Cletus, you and Uriah will take over watching our two star guests. Travis, you and Malachi will be assigned other duties.”

“NO!”, Travis blurted out, too loudly. “I mean, they know us. Wouldn’t it be better for him, for them, I mean, if we stayed as—“

“You have gotten far too close to these boys”, Mr. Steadman pointed out. “To one in particular. They are meant to be together, and we cannot have them distracted from that.”


“You may accompany Uriah and Cletus as he escorts them to the misting barn to say your goodbyes. That is all.”

“There is another option”, Travis said hurriedly. “We could still keep one of them and let the other g—“

“I am not accustomed to being questioned!”, Mr. Steadman shouted. It brought on a coughing fit. The sound of the wracking cough silenced everyone in the room more than his angry words. There was a thick, fluid gurgle behind the cough that indicated there was something more serious going on than the occasional loss of breath that comes with age. Malachi made a move to assist his employer, but Mr. Steadman waved him away, even as he braced himself against his desk to steady himself. It was nearly a minute and half of wheezing and throat-clearing before the older man could speak again.

“You may watch the boys on occasion, should your work take you near them”, he conceded. “But you are not to interact with them anymore.” Travis started to say something, to ask for more than that, but his employer had said all he was going to say. “You have your instructions. Carry them out.”

Cletus left rapidly, eager to distance himself from the tension in the room. Travis was still staring with concern at his mentor when Malachi took him by the arm and guided him toward the door. “Let’s go”, he whispered.


Travis walked along beside Dipshit and Dumbfuck. Malachi kept a discreet distance and Uriah and Cletus lingered not far behind. Travis tried to keep his tone light and his talk cheerful, but it was clear to the others that his heart was not in it, if not to Dipshit.

“That was a blast”, Dipshit beamed. “I had no clue that there were even other farm boys here like us. Wasn’t it great, Dumbfuck?”

Dumbfuck still looked muddled and confused. “Yeah, great.”

“Did you know if you jump into the pond with your waderalls strapped up real tight that you’ll float?”, Dipshit smiled to Travis.

“No, I never knew that.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t drown”, Dumbfuck grumbled. “If you had capsized and wound up upside-down…”

Dipshit slapped him on the shoulder. “Oh, come on! The other guys would’ve hauled me out.”

“I guess.” Dumbfuck’s expression indicated he was thinking hard about something. Thinking too hard, as far as the others could see. “What do all those other guys do around here, anyway? I mean, I know we milk cows and trample grass and all that, but what do they even do here, apart from a lot of horseplay and getting each other off?” His college mind was poking holes through the logic of Steadman’s fantasy world.

“You got some grass and leaves and seeds and things all over your nice outfits”, Travis observed, picking a few odd bits off Dipshit’s shirt.

“Yeah, we got into some serious rasslin’ matches with Mulepiss and Dogvomit”, Dipshit grinned. “Once, we wound up rolling down this hill and neither one of us would let go and I was all ‘Stop! We’re gonna run somebody over!’ and we all were laughing like crazy—“

“So what do they do here, anyway?”, Dumbfuck pressed.

“Tell you what”, Travis said. “Why don’t you two saunter on through the barn there. They’re doing some cleanup and the spray from the hoses will clean you up easily enough without drenching you too much. It’ll feel pretty good, too. Go on, we’ll meet you on the other side.”

“You gonna answer my question?”, Dumbfuck asked.

Malachi stepped in. “We can tell you on the other side. The longer you have that stuff on you, the harder it’s gonna be to clean off. Go on.”

The duo wandered into the barn, which was large and spacious; with its big doors wide open on either end. Dipshit looked back to Travis.

“Do we keep our hats on then, or take ‘em off?”

“Either or”, Travis shrugged.

“Let’s go, fellas”, Uriah said from behind Malachi.

So they went inside. There about half a dozen workmen were attired in white coveralls and matching boots. They wore hardhats, chemical masks, and heavy gloves as they worked power hoses, which sprayed down the tall interior walls of the barn. They were stalls that could fit either animals or equipment. A few chains and winches hung from the rafters, some smaller tractors were lined up in the far corner. Everything was spotlessly clean. The barn seemed quite out of place, as if it should be at a chemical warehouse rather than on a farm.

“You could probably eat off the floors in here”, Dipshit marveled.

“I wonder what they use it for”, Dumbfuck pondered. The faceless men in their masks and goggles seemed a bit scary to him, until one of them tossed them a friendly wave. Dipshit was quick to return it.

“That stuff they’re spraying smells kinda nice”, Dipshit remarked.

The power hoses fired against the wall, causing strong rivers of foamy water to run straight down to the floor, where it drained off into grated recess along the floor. Whatever they doing filled the air with a fine mist that clouded over the entire room like the spray off of a waterfall. The boys walked right through it.

“It smells like strawberries”, Dipshit said, not paying any attention to the fact that they were walking fully exposed through something that these men felt they needed to guarded against by protective gear.

“It…yeah, it kind of does”, Dumbfuck agreed. He hadn’t noticed before his friend said anything, but now he did see that the fresh scent of summer fruit did linger in the air.

They were perhaps a third of the way in when Dipshit held up his arms. “Hey, look!” The mist washed over them, easily whisking away the stray bits of grass and seeds that speckled their attire. “It’s working.”

Dumbfuck looked at himself and saw that it was indeed true. He held up his slender arms and watched as the bits of leaves and strands of weeds seemed to take on a life of their own, quiver and dance for a moment, then swish away. “He couldn’t help but giggle a bit. Why was that so funny?”

“Hey, watch this!” Dipshit put his arms out wide at his sides and walked ahead in pronounced steps. The mist condensed against his rubber bib, and as he turned around, any excess bits that had clung there washed away down the outer seam of his waderalls. Dumbfuck found it fascinating. He could no longer recall why he had hesitated to come in here. This was too cool.

“Let me try!” He did, getting the same result. They both laughed.

“This is the best way to clean up ever!”, Dipshit crowed. “It’s like taking a shower without ever having to get undressed, even!” He waved his cap around in the air, scooping up mist as he went, then he plopped it down onto his head. Dumbfuck was on him in an instant, his large hands holding the cap there firmly, pressing it to his buddy’s scalp. When Dipshit finally yanked it off again, his hair was soaked. He shook his head, causing droplets of moisture to flip this way and that.

The two clasped hands and spun each other in circles, spinning along the wet concrete floor; their heavy rubber boot soles the only thing that kept them from slipping and sliding into a wall. The length of the barn from door to door was between fifty and sixty feet. Dipshit and Dumbfuck had made it no more than twenty feet in when they already felt giddy. About halfway, they had forgotten what it was they were doing there, and by forty-five feet in, the exit seemed to be miles away.

By the time they reached the door, bodies moist and refreshed, waderalls and shirts glistening, they were hanging on each other like a pair of inebriates and laughing hysterically.

“You boys all cleaned up now?”, Travis asked.

They tried to answer but could manage only more laughter. Dumbfuck snickered, Dipshit even snorted once, pressing his face into his best friend’s neck. They collapsed on the ground right there. Face down; arms still draped around each other, the two recruited farm boys, stupid once more, began drifting off to blissful sleep.

Malachi squatted next to Dumbfuck, the object of their concern. “What’s your name?”

Dumbfuck was still giggling a bit when he answered. “Um…Dumbsomething. Kevin. No…Dumb Kevin. Fuck? Kevin Fuck.” He gave way to a last sort of laugher and then he was out.

“Oh yeah”, Uriah stated. “He needs work.”

Travis kneeled down beside Dipshit. “Hey. Can you tell me your name buddy? Do you remember who you are?”

Dipshit looked gleefully up at Travis. “Which one? My real one or my new one? I’d rather be Dipshit. Can I be Dipshit.” Then he was gone too. Very tenderly, Travis help the cute college boy’s face in his hands. Without even thinking about the other young men standing there watching, Travis kissed him on the forehead. He then lowered him back down to the ground into sleep. The other three workers looked at each other with concern.

“Get the hillbilly gear”, Uriah said. Cletus nodded and was off. “You take care of him”, he nodded to Travis. Travis turned to see that Uriah was addressing Malachi. “Make sure he stays clear. We’ll take it from here”

Malachi took Travis by the shoulder. “Come on. There’s someplace we gotta be.”


“I take it you’ve said your goodbyes”, Mr. Steadman said, looking levelly at Travis. Travis only nodded.

“The duo are now in hillbilly attire and have been taken to an area of the farm they’ve never been before, sir”, Malachi told him. “They’re not going anywhere.”

“And in what state are they now?” The man paced behind his desk, but after a few strides back and forth, he had to stop, bracing himself against his chair.

“Dipshit seems really happy where he is”, Travis began.

“It remains to be determined”, Malachi answered. “Yes, while it seems that dipshit is enjoying himself quite a bit, it’s also pretty clear that he knows who he is and what’s really going on.”

“And Dumbfuck?”

“He’s coming out of it fast. Even after the giggle mist, he had trouble remembering his assigned—“ Steadman looked at him sternly. “—his real name.” Mr. Steadman opened a drawer in his desk by a crack. Inside was a brushed silver canister. It caught the light for a moment, causing it to gleam briefly. He shut the drawer quickly. “Sir?”, Malachi said. “We may have to take another look at going back to the hayseed wheat stalks.” Steadman said nothing. “Sir? Did you hear me? It may be necessary—“

“I heard you”, the old man said flatly. “Every option is being considered at this point. Regardless, whatever option I decide upon will be run through Uriah and Cletus. It is no longer your concern.” Malachi nodded, appearing more than happy to be free of the responsibility. “Now if you could be on your way please, Malachi, I’d like to have a few words with Travis.” Malachi departed, leaving the two of them alone. There was a moment of uneasy silence before Travis spoke first.

“Sir, there is another option I think we’ve been overlooking.” The old man looked at him with interest. “We could keep Dipshit here on the farm and let Dumbfuck go home. It seems a logical step, as the one boy is obviously so uncomfortable here and the other is having the time of his life—“ Mr. Steadman shook his head vigorously. It made him slightly dizzy so he stopped, but his expression remained intractable. “Sir, if you could only see how happy Dipshit is and how his friend’s growing unease is having an effect on him too—“

“No, no, no”, Steadman insisted. “If we do send one of them home, then what? He decides that his friend needs to be rescued and comes back here with the authorities, with his friend’s family?”

“Sir, he doesn’t even know where ‘here’ is.”

“He’ll show up at the store, then!”

“But if we sat them down and gave them a choice, I know that Dipshit would opt to stay. I can just feel it. We don’t have to have both—“

“Yes!”, Mr. Steadman practically shouted. “Yes, we do! I must have both of them! It is meaningless without both of them here together!” He began to have another coughing fit, which was cut short by a huge gobbet of phlegm that had spat up into a handkerchief. He barely got it to his mouth in time. As he held the cloth to his face, Mr. Steadman coughed a few more times, the sound harsh and wet. Travis moved to help his mentor, but the man shook his head. Stay away, please.

“Sir, I really don’t understand why—“

“I know you don’t, Travis. It’s just that…” For a moment, Travis thought Mr. Steadman was going to reveal something very important, but then thought better of it. Instead, he said, “I promise I will give your suggestion some consideration, son.” His eyes held a certain kindness when he said it, helping Travis feel the words were sincere and not just meant to mollify him. “I’d like some time alone now, if you don’t mind.”

Steadman waved Travis away, who knew enough to leave the room without further urging. Steadman lowered himself into his chair with great effort, using the edge of his desk for support. His health was not what it once had been, and he was feeling it more every day. He had expected that this discovery, the young Dipshit and his best friend Dumbfuck, would fill him with renewed energy and restored vigor, but his expectations were amiss. Still, if he were to go out now, he wanted to go under the certainty that two loving country boys, a Dipshit and a Dumbfuck, were left caring for one another on a farm when Steadman left the earth. They had to be together. Steadman could not bear another Dumbfuck leaving him.

He slumped back in his chair, his breathing labored. He opened the second drawer down on his right, where he kept his emergency medications. He fingered the various prescription bottles and pill vials, searching for the right ones to ease the tightness in his chest, the catch in his throat, the dizziness in his head. But after looking at a few labels, he tossed the vials back and gave up on them. "Fuck it", he wheezed, thinking of days long ago, of health and youth and the original bearers or backwoods insults for their names. "Cue the flashback", he mumbled grimly to himself, and he allowed his eyes to close as his memory traveled back a great many years.

* * * * *

Frederick Steadman was 16. He loved the world of the farm and its hard work in the open air and beautiful countryside. Even more, he loved the handsome, burly men who worked there. He always felt excited when he pulled on his bib overalls and Stepped into his knee-high rubber boots. Folks from town smirked and waved as they drove past the fields where the workers toiled. To them, as well as to many of the workers themselves, the bibs and boots or the farmhand singled them out as inferior, as bumpkins, and working-class hicks. To Frederick, it was a uniform of beauty and simplicity, to be worn with dignity and pride. That alone would have been enough to set Frederick aside as a nut, but his daydreaming made it worse.

Even at 16, Frederick's genius brain was already working in overdrive on how the farm may be improved. How to make production more efficient, how to get the most our of its resources and then increase them. He often found himself slipping into a dreamlike fog that began with questions such as, "What will the best farm be like in 10 years? In 20?" But as his mind was busy envisioning innovations decades ahead of their time, all the workers saw was a kid whose mind was not on his work. His eyes dreamy and blank, they saw a stupid hick who was unable to concentrate on his simple tasks at hand.

His apparently clueless expression earned the young farm boy the nickname "Steady Freddie", as that was what the other farm hands often said to him as they drew the short straw and got stuck working with him. "Steady, Freddie—keep your mind on the job." But as milk cans tumbled, loft pulleys jammed, hay bales crashed, and tractors wound up in ditches, Freddie very quickly became known solely as "Dipshit".

He actually didn't mind being called Dipshit, believe it or not. While the workmen used the term as one of malice, insulting the stupid kid they'd been forced to take on, Dipshit himself chose to see his new name as a term of affection. Spoken gruffly by these ruggedly handsome men, many with their one- or two-day beard scruff, all of them with large muscles, sun tanned skin, and big boots. He wanted to be one of them, but was willing to accept being their mascot, their pet. He also knew that they'd all be working for him by the time he was 25.

As well as seeing advances in his beloved farm, Dipshit imagined novel ways to get off. And to get these hunky farmers off as well. He had glorious visions of how to apply the milking machines, how to redesign the waders and slickers, how he might put to advantageous use the groves of loco weed he had discovered when he lodged a back hoe onto an old stump out in the back 40. As his mind ran, Dipshit found it more and more difficult not to get rock hard while watching his heroes at work, insulting him as they went. He thought it couldn't get any better than this. He was mistaken.

Along came Dumbfuck. Oh, that wasn't his real name, of course. His real name was Patrick or Peter or something along those lines. Something with a 'P'. He was lanky, fit young man of 17 whose family fell on hard times when a neighboring auto plant closed and his father found himself out of a job. They moved to live with relatives in the country and he and his father were thrust into unfamiliar waters in order to bring some kind of income to their new home, their new lives. Patrick (or Peter) was a smart kid who knew a little about just about everything...except farming. On that, he was clueless. The farm hands took his ignorance for stupidity and quickly dubbed him "Dumbfuck". His insistence that he be called by his proper name only egged them on to keep his new name going.

"He doesn't even know what a plowshare is! What a dumbfuck!"

"Hey! That's your new name, boy! Welcome to the farm, Dumbfuck!!"

Dumbfuck had arrived at the farm dressed for success, which in this context meant failure. He had been taught by his father and grandfather not to show up to a job interview looking like a slob. He was to appear serious and professional at all times. So Dumbfuck walked up the long dirt road to the barn wearing a silk shirt, crisp tie, designer slacks, and shining dress shoes (which showed less of a polish due to the dust and gravel of the road). He had a brand new fountain pen in his pocket and a leather folder under one arm holding his resume with his list of skills and experience. He was almost laughed right off the farm the minute the men got a look at him.

The men were more than happy to take young Patrick (or Peter) on, but would have to initiate him first. Dipshit, clad in only baggy overalls and black rubber boots a size too large to fit his feet, first saw Dumbfuck as he was being hefted by the farm hands in the middle of the barnyard, in front of everybody. Hands gathered around to see and laugh at the spectacle.

Two large men held Dumbfuck aloft, his feet kicking ineffectually as another farm hand stripped off his pants, then his shoes and socks. As Dumbfuck flailed and cried out, the two who held him turned him end over end and before they set him barefoot upon the ground, they had relieved him of his shirt and tie. Standing there clad in only his briefs, his folder long since scattered away in the dirt, Dumbfuck was totally humiliated.

"You ain't gonna be needing these on no farm, son!", one man jeered, tossing the expensive silk shirt and tie into the mud.

"Not exactly the right footwear for what you'll be doin'", said another, looking over the shoes with barely concealed envy and contempt. "Ooohhh...fancy!" Those too went into the mud, where the saturated shirt lay, the shoes sinking relatively quickly into the muck.

Dumbfuck didn't know what to make of his situation, save that he was frightened and wanted to escape, but could scarcely run away stripped of his clothing as well as his dignity. Dumbfuck tried to cover himself with his hands, which made him appear all the more pathetic and the men laugh even harder. Before he knew what was happening, the boy was lifted up again, this time with his slender legs dangling beneath him. He was too much in shock to kick or struggle.

Dipshit watched in awe and amazement, silently wishing with all his heart that the mighty farmer men would do the same thing to him.

Terrified and on the verge of tears, Dumbfuck was dropped into a pair of worn bib overalls that were held underneath him. As his feet struck the dirt, the large workmen on either side of him buttoned him up and fastened his bib straps over his shoulders with practiced skill and speed. There he stood, this honor student and scholarship applicant, barefoot and shirtless, reduced from fine clothing to only a faded pair of bib overalls. The boy meant for board rooms and hi-rise headquarters lost and half naked in a barnyard.

"What's your shoe size, kid?"

Dumbfuck looked up at the huge man bearing down on him, unable to process so arbitrary a question. He didn't know why, as follow up to an assault, he'd be asking it.

"Whuh—what? I-I-I don't know wh—"

The man howled. "Dumbfuck is so stupid he doesn't even know his own shoe size!" Everyone joined in the fun with laughter. They had themselves a real winner here.

"Here, take these", someone said, and hurled a pair of dusty rubber boots into the boy's stomach. He doubled over, more from surprise than pain, and everyone else, apparently having had their fun, went on their way.

"You'll do fine here, Dumbfuck", said the man who'd asked his shoes size, ruffling the confused boy's hair as has passed.

"Work hard, stay out of trouble, that'll be your last hazing", said another, slapping the lad on the ass.

"Let's get back to work, all."

Patrick (or Peter), now Dumbfuck, fumbled with his new boots and with head reeling wondered if this meant he'd just gotten the job. Dipshit approached him to see if he was alright.

"They're okay guys, really. They don't mean nothing by it. It's just their way of showing you that you're one of the gang now."

"What the hell do they do to people who are outcasts??"

Dumbfuck held the boots in his hands, uncertain of how to even put them on.

"They're slip-ons", Dipshit said. Dumbfuck looked at him in a way that showed he had no idea what that meant. Dipshit kicked off one of his own boots. "Like this." Easily, Dipshit wrapped his pant leg tight around his ankle and stepped into the rubber boot. Dumbfuck nodded. He did the same, finding it surprisingly simple.

"How do they fit ya?"


"Here, let's switch. Mine are too big."

The two boys swapped boots, finding their exchange a perfect fit. As Dumbfuck tucked in his pants, he said sadly, "They think I'm stupid. I'm a straight-A student. I want to go to Westbury University. I'm already a member of the Junior Professionals Club. Head of my region."

"'Fraid that won't do you much good around here."

Dumbfuck looked at his new friend and Dipshit looked back in awe. Dipshit was so certain that the ideal male for him was the big, rugged, muscled farmer that pushed him around and called him names. But he had never felt the way he did when looking at this young, smooth, boyish-faced tousled-haired lad, so out of place in his new setting. His heart and his cock stirred as one.

A harsh voice hollered to them from the vicinity of the barn. "Show him the ropes and get him to work quick, Dipshit!"

Dumbfuck looked at his companion with puzzlement. His friend offered him his hand. "I'm Dipshit."

He sighed, then took his hand in greeting. "Well, I guess I'm Dumbfuck."


That was Friday morning. By Friday evening, Dipshit had shown his new coworker and apple of his eye the general routine of the farm. Exhausted by the physical labor he was unaccustomed to, Dumbfuck was ready to collapse come sundown. "It'll get easier", Dipshit told him, knowing he was lying. He rested a reassuring hand on his new friend's bare shoulder. The contact alone of that soft, warm, and slender shoulder beneath his palm made Dipshit's head swim and his heart swell. Dumbfuck was too tired to notice anything, one way or the other. He shrugged Dipshit's hand off and collected the ruined clothes that had been left for him draped across a hay bale. Dumbfuck pulled on the once beautiful garments, now crusty and caked with mud. He slumped off the farm without ever seeing how Dipshit's overalls had tented at his crotch.

Saturday morning, stiff and sore, Dumbfuck showed up for work wearing a worn white T-shirt, tattered blue jeans, and a pair of old work boots he'd borrowed from his uncle. He met Dipshit in the entryway of the barn where all the spare work clothes were kept. It was there they'd be given their work orders for the day. He found the overalls he'd worn the day before waiting for him, hanging from a wooden peg, his boots set up underneath them. They had been altered slightly. The farm hands—in surely nothing more than good-natured fun, his pal Dipshit later decided—had painted in black across the front of the overalls bib, DUMBFUCK. The new boy sighed when he saw it, then looked down at the rubber boots to find that same word DUMBFUCK, DUMBFUCK in white paint on the sides of the boot shafts.

"So's you don't lose track of who you are", snickered a workman as he walked past the new boy.


Dumbfuck turned to see his young guide and companion buckling his own bibs in place, seeing that his workwear had been similarly vandalized. Right across the bib of his overalls had been painted his insult name, DIPSHIT. Dumbfuck looked down to see his boots had also been marked with white paint, DIPSHIT, DIPSHIT.

When he saw his friend's dour expression, Dipshit smiled at him. "They're just funnin', is all. It means they like you, wanna keep you around." Dumbfuck shook his head. This was going to be another long day. He picked up a shovel and began to set out of the barn to work, when Dipshit said, "Um, you better suit up, DF."

Dumbfuck turned to see Dipshit holding the painted overalls on their peg. His expression indicated he thought if best if the new boy wore them. Dumbfuck just shook his head.

"No way."

It was mid-morning when the duo, digging a small irrigation trench, found themselves surrounded by a cluster of the men. "Looks like somebody thinks he's too good to wear the uniform we were good enough to lay out and prepare special for him."

Dumbfuck tried not to look up form his digging. "Come on, guys. Let's just keeping working, alright?"

"That's plumb ungrateful."

"Yeah, that's what it is, ungrateful. We went to all that trouble and he thinks he's too good to dress like the rest of us."

The fact was, at that moment, in his T-shirt and jeans, Dumbfuck resembled one of the farm hands more than did Dipshit, in his bib and boots.

Dumbfuck stopped in his work and stared down at his spade. "I just need the work, guys. I don't want any trouble."

"Too late", laughed one of the men.

Dipshit knew what was going to happen next, as he'd already experienced it once himself. As a couple of them men stood in front of Dumbfuck, taking his shovel away from him, another came up behind him, unseen. The unseen fellow had a straw bird's nest hat in his hand, of the kind Huckleberry Finn might have worn. Dumbfuck never saw him.

"Come on, guys", Dumbfuck sighed. "Let's not do this."

"You cain't be out here in the hot sun all day without coverin' your head", one man said, placing a beefy hand on the boy's shoulder to hold him in place.

"Yeah", agreed another. "Yew need a hat. We're just lookin' out for ya."

The man with the Huckleberry Finn hat walked right up to Dumbfuck. Dipshit saw immediately that the interior of the hat had been coated with the clear gooey substance he recognized as a powerful adhesive concoction used in woodworking repairs, a predecessor to liquid nails. Dipshit began to warn his friend, but the man with the hat shook his head. Don't even try it, kid. He plopped the straw hat down on Dumbfuck's head and held it there, nice and tight, for several seconds. That was all it took.

"Hey!!", the young man hollered.

The men stepped back as Dumbfuck tried with all his might to yank the bird's nest hat off of his head. But it had already bonded to his head and hair, the powerful glue securing the straw weave to his skull.

"What the hell is this? Get this off of me!"

"Sorry, kid. Just lookin' out fer the new guy." Everyone laughed uproariously. Everyone but Dipshit. He just marveled at how cute his pal Dumbfuck looked in the country boy hat. Then he saw that Dumbfuck looked as if he was about to cry. He spoke very quietly, very evenly to Dipshit.

"You knew about this, didn't you?"

Dipshit shook his head fearfully. No, don't let him think I was in on this. Sure, he had known it could happen, having experienced it once himself, but he could not predict it would happen to his friend right now, on this day at this time. Dipshit looked past the hurt expression on his friend's face to see one of the men coming up behind him with a bucket filled with fertilizer. He was about to upend it over Dumbfuck's head. Dipshit stepped in between them quickly.

"Don't I get a hat, too?"

Everyone froze. The man with the bucket halted.

"I mean", Dipshit said, "I gotta be out in the sun all day, too. You don't want me drop over from the heat right next to my new friend, do ya?"

Then they all laughed. "You heard him, fellas. Get the little dipshit a hat!"

In less time than it took to tell, another straw hat, equally as stupid-looking as Dumbfuck's, equally as coated with glue, was slapped atop Dipshit's head. He tried to offer a good-humored grin for the fellows to laugh at, but he was mostly watching Dumbfuck to see his expression. The new boy watched in awe, his tears blinked back, halted by the act of solidarity.

"Yer more stand-up than I would'a thought, Dipshit", said one man, slapping him hard on the back. Dipshit stumbled forward, saying nothing but nodding in appreciation.

The man who'd held the bucket leaned in behind Dumbfuck and spoke into his hear, "You have no clue how much this little idjit just saved you."

The men went back to their respective jobs, leaving their mascots behind. One worker tossed Dumbfuck's shovel onto the ground before him. "Get back to work now. You've fallen behind with all your horseplay." Dumbfuck simmered beneath his stupid hat, but said nothing. Then he approached Dipshit and looked at him for a moment. He reached out and tugged at the frayed brim of Dipshit's straw hat. It did not budge.

"Ow! Watch it, willya?"

Dumbfuck grinned, truly impressed. "You didn't have to do that for me. Thanks."

Dipshit shrugged. "We're in this together, DF." Dumbfuck smiled at him and Dipshit felt his heart melt. Then he said, with some urgency in his voice, "You'd better get into those bibs and rubber boots, buddy."

"You think I need to, after this?", he pointed to his hat.

Dipshit looked at the discarded bucket filled with shit and dark soil only a few feet away. "Trust me, I think you'd better."

So Dipshit and Dumbfuck set to work, both in their marked bibs and boots, foolish straw hats on their heads, looking like imbeciles. At lunch, they took a break under the shade of beautiful oak tree, it's thick canopy of leaves stretched out like a protective umbrella above them. They'd kicked of their boots and shucked their T-shirts (no easy feat given the hats), sitting shirtless and barefoot in their bibs and straw hats as they ate their sandwiches. They looked like a couple of stupid hillbillies, but Dumbfuck felt that no matter how they looked, he had found a friend. Dipshit felt that he had found his first love.

At day's end, as everyone else headed for home, Dipshit took Dumbfuck out back to the washing area and taught him how to drizzle a special turpentine mixture over the crown of his ridiculous straw hat to dissolve the glue. "Don't pull it, you'll just tear your hair out. Even some of your skin. Trust me, I know."

Dumbfuck squinted and his eyes watered mercilessly. "Aww, God, it stinks!"

"I know, I know, just rub it in and around like I'm showin' you."

After ten or fifteen minutes of rubbing, rinsing, and squinting, breath gasping and spitting out foul-tasting water that ran down his cheeks, Dumbfuck was able to pry the hat off of his head with Dipshit's help. He tossed the hat aside angrily. "God! Thought it'd never come off!"

Dipshit looked at him, standing there squinting beneath the spray of a hose that had been looped over a low rafter, water drizzling down his face. His hair matted and sticky, his bare shoulders glistening in the fading light of evening. They were both naked, except for their hats, and it was all Dipshit could do not to get hard just looking at him. Gently, Dipshit brushed stray bits of straw and clumps or solidified glue from Dumbfuck's face and neck.

"It's okay, I've got it", he told him.

Dipshit did not hear him. He cradled his lovely friend's face in his hand, caught in the soft touch of his cheek, the dampness of his hair, the shape of his lips. He moved closer. If he could only kiss him. Just once, here, naked in the shadows of dusk, together beneath the gentle cascade of the hose. Dipshit's other hand picked off a bit of straw from Dumbfuck's shoulder, then came to rest tenderly upon his neck.

Dumbfuck's eyes opened. Those dazzling eyes, sharp and focused, staring right at him.

"Hey. I said I've got it."

Dipshit remembered himself and took a step back. "Oh. Right. Sorry." His friend took Dipshit's hand off his person. "Just tryin' to help", Dipshit said sheepishly.

"Yeah, well, I can get it on my own now."

Dipshit began to busy himself with the hose and the solvent mixture for his own hat, which was still stuck to his head, now damp and drooping. "Umm, your own clothes are still in the barn where we left 'em this morning."


"Uh, you're gonna wanna wash your hair but good as soon as you get home."

"I figured as much."

"Try Murphy's Oil Soap. Works real good. Your hair will be kind of chewy for the next couple days, but that's normal."

"I gotta go, then. I'm late."

Dipshit nodded, his back now to his friend. "Okay, I gotta get this off my head, too. See you tomorrow."

Dumbfuck stopped, a towel already in hand as he moved toward the barn. "We work on Sunday?"

"Just for tomorrow afternoon. They asked us to come in for something. Guess it's something they want to git a head-start on fer Monday."

Dumbfuck shrugged. He had already learned not to ask too many questions. "See you then, I guess."

With his future boyfriend gone, Dipshit beat off in the freezing water like he never had before. He dreamed of Dumbfuck, standing there naked with him, hat still stuck on his head, that it was his boyfriend's hands jerking him off rather than his own. It was half an hour and two orgasms later before he even began to work on his hat.


Sunday afternoon, Dipshit and Dumbfuck met each other in the barn's entryway to find two hats hung up on pegs in addition to their marked overalls and boots. These were billed caps like the kind many of the men wore on the job. 'Trucker hats' was the standard vernacular for them. But these each had been marked up right along with the overalls and boots. Right across the front, with a thick marker, they'd been designated DIPSHIT and DUMBFUCK. Without hesitation, Dumbfuck took his hat off its peg and put it right on his head. Dipshit looked at him askance and his friend said, "I've learned not to make a fuss about the clothes." Dipshit nodded in agreement.

The duo made their way out back behind the barn as they'd been instructed. The stopped short at the sight of the men, all gathered around, doing nothing expect waiting. Waiting for the two of them.

"Umm...what's up, guys?", Dipshit asked.

"You come on over here", one of the men told him, pointing to a spot on the ground near him. The duo began to shuffle in that direction, not sure at all what was going on, when the man pointed a stabbing finger at Dumbfuck. "Not you. You stay right there where you are."

Dumbfuck looked at Dipshit, he was the one who knew all about this hazing/initiation stuff, but Dipshit just gave him a blank look and shrugged. Search me. Dipshit had to walk around a large mud hole that was part of the farm's irrigation system. Water runoff from various points drained into this sunken pit, turning the dirt and soil into thick, pasty brown mud. To step into it was to slip, fall, and get stuck. Dipshit gave it a wide birth, wondering why on earth the men had asked them to meet there. Soon the two young men with the stupid names stood facing each other across the mud pit.

"I noticed that you been workin' real hard since you came here a couple days ago, boy", another man said to Dumbfuck. "Tryin' to catch on, do yer best."

Dumbfuck nodded. "Yes, sir. Thank-you, sir."

The man spat on the ground. "Yew don't hafta call me sir. Name's Virgil, that'll do."

Dumbfuck nodded again. "Thank-you, Virgil." Maybe this was some kind of award for a job well done. or to apologize for the way he'd been treated. He looked in Dipshit's eyes and saw nothing there but mounting horror. Dumbfuck knew at once there would be no awards or apologies.

"Still think you're a stupid dumbass", Virgil drawled. The other men laughed. "A dumbfuck."

"Please, what are we supposed to be doing here today?", Dumbfuck asked. A tremor was rising in his voice.

Another one of the men stepped up. "This here mud hole needs cleanin' up. Got us some shovels, a few buckets, like that. You two need to earn your keep by getting this excess sludge all scraped out, make the way for more incoming water." Dumbfuck looked at the thick and clogged mud pit, nodded slowly. He supposed he could do that. But the men had begun to snicker.

Dipshit knew why they laughed. This was a fool's errand. One sunny day and the ground would absorb the water safely, the dirt solidify to the point that one man with a good-sized spade could clear away any excess mud in about fifteen or twenty minutes. Dipshit saw how soft and gooey the mud was, how there were watery puddles here and there creating a slick and slippery ground. The blue sky, the bright sunshine, and recent dry days were enough to tell Dipshit that these men had not spent this Sunday morning at church. They had spent it watering down the mud hole.

"You can't go in there dressed like that, though", the man said, pointing to Dumbfuck's bib overalls and knee boots.

"Um, okay, sir. What should I--?"

"It's Zeke, not sir. And we'll help ya with all that."

In an instant, four men had grabbed Dumbfuck and lifted him off the ground. Two men grabbed his boots, one each, and yanked them off the boy's bare feet, tossing the boots away with glee. Dipshit started to move forward, to see to his friend, but Virgil's hands came done firmly upon his shoulders and held him. Dipshit looked up at the man and Virgil just shook his head once. Stay outta this one, boy.

Dumbfuck kicked and squirmed as the men unbuckled his overall bib straps. "Wait! I'm wearing the overalls and boots you gave me already! What are you doing?"

Without answering, unless laughter was an answer, they stripped the young man of his bib overalls and hurled them well out of the way as well. But they didn't stop there. They grabbed the elastic waistband of his underwear. "No! NOOOO!!" With a quick, fierce yank, Dumbfuck was pantsed, naked from the waist down.

Virgil leaned in close to Dipshit's ear. "You into this, boy? You little dipshit." Dipshit shook his head violently. "Aww, I've seen the way you look at us big, strong men all the time. We all have." He squeezed Dipshit's slender shoulder tightly. "But that ain't nuthin' compared to how you look at that skinny little dumbfuck there." Dipshit just swallowed hard. He couldn't deny it.

Dumbfuck tried to flail, but the men moved like a well-oiled machine, grasping his ankles or wrists as needed, stripping him bare. They swatted off his hat and yanked off his T-shirt.

"Don't tell me that don't get you hot, Dipshit", Virgil whispered. "That skinny city boy there, all nekkid and helpless, gotta do what we make him do. I know you want him so bad right now."

Dipshit was shaking, as much out of fear of the stinging truth of Virgil's words as for his newfound friend and crush's safety.

"Don't...don't hurt him."

"Naw, we ain't gonna hurt him. We gonna hep him find himself."

Dumbfuck's T-shirt was jerked back onto him, now turned inside-out and backwards. Someone had written DUMBFUCK in indelible ink on the shirt tag. They planted his skinny legs and big feet back down on the ground, still holding him by the arms and shoulders to prevent his escape. Using a calking gun, they sprayed the boy down with a clear goo that could have been anything. It had a sickly sweet smell and it ran over him slowly, like syrup. From his chest down, they didn't miss a spot.

"STOP IT!!", Dumbfuck cried to no avail. "Let me GO!!!"

Dipshit watched with wide eyes. He knew what the goo was. It was cattle insemination lube. They had it in gallon drums on the farm. Of course, Dumbfuck had no idea what it was that was coating his bare body, but it felt as if he had been dunked in a pool of precum. He wasn't far off.

The men lifted Dumbfuck off the ground again. The boy was not struggling as much. He knew it was no use. His tears flowed freely and he no longer cared who saw it. he just wanted to be free, to make this end, to go home. The men produced a pair of what looked like chest-high rubber waders. They were a hideous green, and had been folded in on the sides and glued in place so that they more closely resembled bib overalls, but were still loose-fitting enough that poor Dumbfuck was easily dropped right into them, like a peg into a hole. The lube he was coated in allowed him to slide in instantly, without getting caught halfway. Even his feet slid right into the boots. The men set to work strapping him in with rubberized elastic suspenders that fastened so securely in place that Dipshit was not certain how they might be undone. He knew Dumbfuck would have no clue. He was in that suit until he was let out.

"Cute getup, huh, Dipshit?", Virgil chided him. "We all know how much you love yer overalls and especially them rubber boots. While that-there's ALL rubber boots!" he clapped Dipshit on the shoulder. "We call 'em dumbass waders!"

Dipshit looked at the rubber one-piece suit with admiration and arousal. "They're more like...waderalls", he said aloud without thinking.

Virgil loved that. He laughed loudly and slapped Dipshit on the back. "Good name! That's a perfect name for those rubber pants, Dipshit!" He held Dipshit close and reached around his baggy overalls. "An' I kin tell that you're gettin' all worked up just watchin' your boy all duded up in 'em, too. Ain't that right, Dipshit?" Virgil grabbed Dipshit's stiff cock through his bibs and stroked it. There was no way Dipshit could deny that he was hard.

"Yes, Virgil", was all he could say.

Dumbfuck was in bad shape. He was crying openly as the men plopped his ball cap back on his head. "Please...just let me go home."

They tossed a tattered plaid shirt on him that matched his stupid farmer hat but had long since lost all its buttons. "Naw, you got work to do, cleanin' up this mud hole", one of the men said. "Ain't you been listening to us, Dumbfuck?"

Dipshit looked at Virgil. "Okay, you made your point. He's city folk and a college boy. He doesn't know the farm. Just go easy on him or let him quit."

Virgil looked at his mascot with a mixture of offense and pride. Dipshit had never stood up for himself, much less anyone else. He should never have spoken up against his superiors, but the fact that he did so for someone else was a testament to his character. Virgil only allowed himself to be proud of the little dipshit for a moment, though. He soon picked Dipshit up under the arms and shook him back and forth like a rag doll. "Don't worry, Dumbfuck", he called across the mud hole, "we'll make sure you have help!"

The men descended on Dipshit. A couple stayed by Dumbfuck, each with a hand on his shoulder, so he couldn't run off. Dipshit's boots were ripped off him, followed by his overalls, T-shirt and underwear. He stood naked as they marked up the tag of his shirt. Dipshit looked across at Dumbfuck, his eyes pleading apology. Dumbfuck was blinking back tears and did not see him. It was just as well, because Dipshit's erection was still sticking right out in front of him.

Dipshit's shirt was yanked back on him, inside-out and backwards, the tag marked wit his insult nickname. He was hosed down with insemination lube. It was cold and sticky. But it went much more quickly with him, as he didn't put up a fight. The men all saw his boner and pointed and laughed at him. A few made remarks like "No surprises there", others let it pass. Dipshit was slid easily into his rubber outfit and locked inside.

"Dipshit here's christened these 'waderalls', boys!", shouted Virgil. "Give him credit for that, at least!"

Dipshit's hat and a torn plaid short was thrust onto him. He now matched his rookie farm hand exactly, save for their nickname labels and the color of their shirts. the two boys looked at each other and noticed for the first time that their waderalls, or whatever they were, also had been marked for DIPSHIT and DUMBFUCK, in big letters across the chests. Seeing he had been let go of at last, Dipshit went to see to his friend. Within two steps, he realized how big of a fix they were both in. His boots slipped badly on the wet grass. In booted feet, they should not have. Another step, another stumble, and Dipshit knew exactly what had been done. The thick-treaded lug soles of the wader boots had been sanded smooth. No treads, no traction. Both boys were meant to take one step into that mud and fall right on their asses. Dipshit sighed. No getting around it, now.

Dipshit went to Dumbfuck, who had now been released as well. He put an arm around Dumbfuck, who was sniffling back his tears. "I should be interning in a business office right now", he said softly.

"We'll get through this", Dipshit told him, with more confidence than he felt.

Zeke tossed the two boys each a large bucket. "Here ya go. Get to bailin'."

The duo started gingerly down one bank of the mud hole. Dumbfuck lost his footing first. As he went to brace himself in the thick mud, he stepped hard with his smooth-soled boot and went end over end down into the hole. Dipshit tried to rescue his friend, and knew the moment he reached out for his hand that it was a mistake. Missing Dumbfuck's hand completely, Dipshit wound up clutching the sleeve of his shirt, which in combination with the slippery slope and Dipshit's own lack of boot treads, was enough to yank him off his feet and send him tumbling after his new crush.

The two boys in rubber skidded and slammed into each other, landing ingloriously into the mud below with a ridiculous splash. The men laughed as the two farm mascots tried to collect themselves, spattered and covered in mud. Having a slick coating on the outside of their waderalls as well as within them made remaining standing almost impossible. Like cartoon deer on the ice, they slipped and slid and flopped right back onto their rubbered asses to splash and flounder.

Dumbfuck looked up to see the chorus of huge men laughing and jeering at him. Dipshit saw them as well, but for the first time, rather than finding some strange affection in the humiliation, he felt only anger for how they were hurting his friend.

"Get to balin' now", called Virgil. "We want this mud hole spruced up by sundown!" He pointed to the two buckets, which had been sent flying across the mud hole, to land in opposite directions, sitting atop the gooey sludge. Dumbfuck scramble desperately to reach his bucket, falling and splashing and sticking in the mud like a Vaudevillian tumbler. Everyone roared at his predicament. Dipshit half-sat, half-lay in the mud, watching with frustration and mounting rage at the men ridiculing his new potential boyfriend. Finally, when Virgil pointed to him and said, "You too, Dipshit", he also began to reach for his bailing bucket.

But he knew it was a task destined to fail. The more he reached, the more he slid backwards. The soft mud, the smooth soles of his boots, the freshly created pools and puddles all worked against him to send him skidding and kicking and eventually falling on his ass, deeper in the mud than before. Dipshit looked over to see Dumbfuck trying his level best to stand up, not faring very well, as he stretched his arm bit by bit to pick up his bucket, which was just out of reach. Inches from grabbing the handle, his boots sank a good half a foot underneath him and Dumbfuck went face-first into the muck. Everyone watching laughed harder. Dipshit's ire began to rise.

After much comical falling, splashing, and spattering, the boys managed to get their buckets in hand and started to bail the thick mud. Or tried to. They'd scoop up gobs of mud, which would make them heavier with the buckets full, making them sink deeper.

Tossing the mud toward the surface of the hole was nearly impossible, and it invariably came splashing back down upon their heads. More laughter. As Dipshit prepared to chuck his next full bucket at the men along with a string of profanities, Dumbfuck was doing something altogether different. Dumbfuck was lifting up one foot, then putting it down. Feeling the mud beneath him, himself sinking into it, any attempt at getting footing or traction failing miserably because it was meant to fail. His giant rubber outfit, so unfamiliar to him, so slippery on the inside, so slick and filthy on the outside, began to seem something new to him. It seemed funny. Dumbfuck started to smile.

Dipshit did not see any of that. He was forcing himself to stand in the thick mud, trying like hell to ignore the fierce erection in his waderalls, pressed tight against the firm rubber and lube solution, his feet sloshing around inside his boots, slipping on the mud beneath their smooth soles. Something about being so helpless, so humiliated, was turning him on like never before. But to do this to him was one thing, to do it to his friend was another. Covered in mud, the front of his hat with its legend of DIPSHIT still partially visible for the most part, Dipshit tried to look threateningly at the men.

"Alright, that's enough", he said. "You've had your fun. You know we can't do this. No one could. Least you can do is haul him out of here so's—"


A huge clump of mud smacked Dipshit right in the side of the face. He turned to see Dumbfuck, hands holding balls of the soft mud, a big smile on his face. He was beginning to enjoy himself.

Dipshit turned, as best he could, wobbling as his feet slipped and stuck. "Why, you...I was trying to help—" FWAP. This time, a huge wad of mud smacked Dipshit right in the chest. The mud saturated his waderalls and Dipshit felt some of the goop dribble down the top of the rubber suit and run in to mix with the lube inside of it.

Dipshit couldn't help but smile. "Oh, so that's how you wanna play it, huh?"

And the fight was on.

Both Dipshit and Dumbfuck were suddenly throwing handfuls of mud at each other. Dumbfuck caught on to the situation faster than anyone expected, and he began hurling huge scoopfuls of mud and goo at his pal Dipshit's legs. Quickly losing his balance as the thick mud impacted with his legs and boots, much of it sticking and clinging there, throwing him off-blanace, Dipshit wound up going down hard into the wet, gooey mud and pools of brownish water. Dipshit countered by splashing a massive puddle right up at Dumbfuck. As Dumbfuck used his hands to protect his eyes, Dipshit cast giant gobs of mud behind Dumbfuck's knees. The boy found his boots out in front of him, his rubbered butt going down and then sliding all over the slick-bottomed mud hole.

They were both laughing hysterically. So were the men who'd put them there.

"Looks like young Dumbfuck has finally figured it out, fellas!", came one shouted observation.

"We don't take ourselfs too seriously 'round here, college boy, now do we?"

Dumbfuck spat a mouthful of mud puddle and said, "No, sir!" as he chucked another fistful of much at his friend. He felt ridiculous and stupid, but for the first time since he had arrived, he was enjoying it.

"Whatcher name, boy?", called somebody.

"I'm Dumbfuck, mister!", he chimed back, laughing at his own expense.

Dipshit could not have been happier. He joined in the game of mud-chucking and felt a sense of joy as he never had watching his new buddy, his crush, finally having a ball and allowing himself to submerge into his role as farmboy imbecile. Mud flew, they wrestled and laughed, and a few times the men up above grabbed up a hose and sprayed the sides of the mud hole, showering the boys in a cascade of gunk and filth. They'd then hose of their charges and do it all again. For the first time, no one was laughing at anyone else. They were all laughing together.

The men knew that from this point on, they'd go easy on their new Dumbfuck. Oh, he'd still get the grunt jobs and be ridden harder than was probably necessary, but the hazing was over. He'd be called Dumbfuck for the rest of his stay there, but it'd be done in the way one would refer to a mascot or a hard-earned nickname leftover from some embarrassing incident.

Dipshit wasn't thinking of any of that. It would have registered later, no doubt, when he saw the subtle changes in everyone's attitude toward his friend, but now he was lost in the moment. He wrestled and played and made a fool of himself down in the mud. He saw in his friend's eyes the look of freedom that comes from surrender and the joy that can come from accepting humilaition. And for the first time in his life, young Dipshit knew what it meant to be in love.

Dipshit lunged forward, grabbing hold of Dumbfuck in a bear hug. Dumbfuck hugged back. There was a sudden match of push and pull to see who could force the other down into the thick mud first while remaining on top. Dumbfuck was all smiles, having a ball. The other workmen cheered the duo on, not caring who got the other down first, but simply enjoying the spectacle. Dipshit became acutely aware of his grip on Dumbfuck. The feel of the rubber suit, the spatter of the mud, the warmth of his friend's breath as he struggled to keep his footing in the slippery mire. The world seemed to reduce to slow motion and Dipshit looked deep into Dumbfuck's eyes, seeing all that he wanted to see there. There was fun, happiness, acceptance, friendship...and more.

The rowdy cries of the workmen faded thin and feint in Dipshit's ears. All except one of them. Dumbfuck had pushed his pal away and they were grappling each other at arm's length when one of them cried out those fateful words. "Lookit 'em rassle! Why don'tcha jest kiss your faggoty little backwards-ass bumpkin friend on the lips, Dipshit!"

And he did.

Not even realizing what he was doing at first, Dipshit released his grip on Dumbfuck's arms, leaving the boy suddenly off-balance. That was when Dipshit grabbed his buddy by the front of his rubber suit and pulled him close. And kissed him.

Time released itself form the slow motion hold it had been in, but you would never know it from observing the scene. Everyone froze. Silence fell over the entire group. Dumbfuck pulled away from Dipshit, a look of astonishment in his eyes. Dipshit's mouth fell open in shock just as Dumbfuck's eyes took on an expression of sheer horror.

Dipshit reached out with one hand, saying only, "I-I'm sorry, I—"

Dumbfuck responded by thrusting his own palm in front of his former friend. He said nothing, but his meaning was clear. Stay away from me. The new boy turned and with skill he didn't realize he possessed, he climbed up the slick wall of the mud hole and clambered out to safety. Some of the workmen offered a hand to help lift Dumbfuck out, but the boy slapped their hands away. The large men stepped aside for the slight boy as he ran.

Dipshit called after him. "Dumbfuck, wait! Dumbfuck!!"

Dumbfuck never stopped running. His unfamiliar boots clomped heavily on the ground as he raced off, leaving scattered chunks of mud and panic in his wake. He didn't pause to look back, he didn't try to run over and collect his real clothes. He never came back for them.

Dipshit stood in the mud hole, silent and heartbroken. The men looked down at him and saw the hurt in his eyes, the defeat in his stance. No one could bring himself to make a joke or smartass remark. After several minutes, Zeke looked at the men and said gruffly, "Well, we'd best be gettin' back to work." Slowly, the group dispersed. Someone leaned down in offer to yank Dipshit up out of his hole. He acted like he didn't notice. They left him there. After about ten or fifteen minutes, Dipshit collapsed under the weight of his own sorrow and sat down hard in the mud. His rubber-covered ass hit with a pathetic splash. The men pretended not to hear the soft, choking sobs of the boy as they went about their daily tasks. Later in the day, Zeke returned to the mud hole to check on Dipshit. There he sat, spattered and broken, eyes vacant. Zeke had no words to offer him. After staring down in silence for a long while, he brought himself to say, "Clean up this mess when you get a chance, alright?"

Dipshit nodded dumbly. "Yessir", he whispered.

The rest of that summer, Dipshit was left alone. He did his work, often harder and longer than necessary, taking on extra tasks. No one bothered him or disrespected him. One newcomer to the farm was rumored of having asked if "thet goofy kid in all the stupid costumes was really a queer". He was gone the next day. Story was that Zeke punched him in the face without another word. Everyone still called their young worker Dipshit. The fact was, most of the men didn't even know his real name. They all just thought of him as Dipshit. It was no worse than what young Dipshit thought of himself.

The incident with Dumbfuck had burned into Dipshit's mind. He knew he would never forget it. He also knew that he would never let it happen again. He threw himself into his plans with a focus and fervor that even he did not realize he was capable of. He had made one small miscalculation, however, in regard to his success by age 25. Everyone on the farm was working for him by the time he was 22. He was referred to strictly as "Mr. Steadman" now, and quite often as "sir". Some of the farm hands complained about their bright new uniforms with the colorful rubber boots and the newfangled slicker getups he had designed and patented which he dubbed 'waderalls'. But the sizeable increase in their wages due to the expansion of the business soon silenced them. If their pay rate doubled within a year, along with additional benefits and paid holidays, the rough-and-tumble men would smile as they wore their giant rubber pants or knee high rubber boots of candy-apple red (or canary yellow, or turquoise blue, or lavender purple). Those who remembered their employer from when he was a boy of 16 whom they so gleefully tormented kept waiting for the axe to drop. It never did.

Mr. Steadman prospered and was no longer ever called Dipshit, for everyone knew that he wasn't, and never had been. But he missed that. Being the bumbling country boy with the insulting name, surrounded by strapping, handsome men and thrust together with a beautiful boy and left to kiss openly. That was long gone.

"Well", Mr. Steadman had decided one day, "I can fix that."

* * * * *

Mr. Steadman looked over the lab report for the dozenth time. He didn’t know what he expected to find on repeated viewing, as it told him what he had long expected the first time he read it. The special formulated wheat stalks had a limited effect each time they were used. The initial exposure was intensely pleasurable, but like any kind of plant of this nature, naturally-occurring or engineered, the body built up an immunity rather quickly. Sometimes within one or two doses. Who was it that brought him the report, anyway? He hadn’t even taken note of the boy when he’d delivered it. That was very untypical of the old man. He always knew everyone by name. He should, he picked each of them out specifically. It was the curly-headed lad, the one in the rust-colored boots who was always so polite. Jody? Jethro? Something with a ‘J’.

Mr. Steadman opened up his desk drawer and withdrew the brushed silver canister. He saw the blue warning sticker on its lid telling of the highly increased potency of what lay within. Peeling off the sticker and throwing it away in a bin beneath his desk, Mr. Steadman pressed a small buzzer. Immediately, the curly-headed lad in the overalls, rust-colored boots and matching tie rushed into the room.

“Yes, Mr. Steadman?”

“Where are Uriah and, um…”

“Cletus, sir.”

“Yes, Cletus. Where are they now?”

“They’re with Dipshit and Dumbfuck now, sir, as ordered. Mind you, I am a bit concerned for Dumbfuck. He’s pretty upset.”

“I’m aware of the situation. Would you see to it that this gets to Uriah right away?” He extended his hand with the canister to the boy. The boy nodded, taking it. “It is vitally important that you do not open it.”

The boy began to handle the canister with much greater care. “Nossir.”

As he turned to leave quickly, Mr. Steadman stopped him with a question. “It’s…Jethro, isn’t it?”, he asked of the boy’s name.

“Jedediah, sir”, he smiled.

“Jedediah, of course. Right you are. Off you go.”

The boy dashed off on his way and Mr. Steadman stared at the closed door a long while before returning to his seat. “I wasn’t even close”, he thought of the boy’s name aloud. That’s not good. No, that’s not good at all.”


Dumbfuck was pacing furiously in circles and swearing a blue streak. "God muther-fuckin’ dammitt!! This is bullshit! It's just fucking bullshit!" He kicked at the thick grass and stray bits of gravel beneath his huge bare feet and shook his fists impotently in the air. Dipshit, reclining nearby by an old stump, tried to calm him.

"Buddy, it's okay. I'm telling you, it's all going to be okay." His frantic friend paid him no mind. "Dumbfuck--!"

That got his attention. Whirling on his heels, DF confronted his best friend with wild eyes. "Don't CALL me that! That is not my name!!"

Dipshit leaned back tight against the stump, thrown by the intensity of his friend's outburst. "Of...of course it is, buddy. If not, what is your name?"

He remembered being in his waderalls, dancing with his best friend in a barn filled with mist, laughing. He shook the image away. "That's just it—I don't know! I know it was something else before I was called by an insult, before I wore these—these—", and he pawed at his bumpkin wardrobe. "These clothes—this costume! And everybody else who works here knows what my real name is, but it sure as hell is NOT Dumbfuck! I'd be a dumbfuck if I believed this was real!" And he started shouting out and upward, knowing and hoping his voice would carry. "THEY know what my name is! They know what my goddamn life was! You got it? You get me?! I am done here! Playtime for Dumbfuck is OVER!!!"


Dipshit's voice came so quietly, so calmly, that it caught Dumbfuck by surprise. "What? Why...why what?"

"Why does it have to be over?"

Dumbfuck walked over to his reclining friend and stood over him, clearly flabbergasted. "Tell me you didn't just ask me that."

Dipshit sat up. "I did. And I'm serious. Why does it have to be over? Aren't we having fun? Isn't this what we wanted---what you wanted?"

"Ohh, yeah. I really wanted to be stuck in a hick getup and forget my own friggin' name."

Dipshit stood up. "No, no. I mean, you always wanted me to loosen up, to have more fun. To let myself go, to enjoy life a little. Well, tell me this hasn't been the epitome of enjoying life. Of relishing it!"

"On someone else's terms", Dumbfuck frowned.

"Look, I know that I had another name before I came here, that I was someone else. But part of who I was is being your best friend. That hasn't changed! And hasn't this been great—just being silly, having a ridiculous fun time." And he moved closer to his friend. "Loving each other."

Dumbfuck did not step back but he answered very evenly. "What about our other lives, then? Our real lives? We've been gone how long, a couple weeks? Has it been a month?" He held up a bare wrist. "It's not like I have a watch. What happened to our bill payments? Our rent? If either of us have pets, are they even still alive? Do our friends and family wonder if we still are??"

"That's all been taken care of."

Both country boys turned around to see Uriah approaching nearby. Cletus was not too far behind him. He was holding something, but neither boy could make out exactly what. Uriah stepped toward the best friends, continuing what he was saying, "As part of your payment for taking part in the store's ad campaign (An ad campaign? The boys exchanged looks. Yes, they vaguely remembered something like that.). Along with the sizeable cashier's checks that are waiting for you, all your utility bills and rent have been paid for the duration of your stay here. Your families know that your work with the store's campaign has brought you to a remote location shoot where cell phone signals don't reach easily." Uriah stuffed his hands into his overall pockets, which only emphasized how massive his muscular arms were. "And if it helps any, neither of you has any pets."

Dumbfuck crossed his arms defiantly, hoping the gesture his how intimidated he was by the large farm hand. "What, so everyone thinks a photo shoot is gonna take a month or more?"

"They were informed of how you two were lucky enough to have won a vacation getaway in the scenic countryside, as you walked in the door at just the right moment for the prize to be awarded."

"And we never even called home to tell anybody??"

"They knew you had to take advantage of the offer immediately in order to use it. All part of the promotion. Oh, and you did call home", Uriah nodded toward Dipshit as well, "both of you." Then he shrugged. "You just don't remember it."

Dumbfuck looked at Dipshit, who seemed as surprised as he was. Then he turned back to face Uriah, his expression set like stone. "Okay, whatever. Let's say I believe you. But that doesn't change the fact that I am all through playing around and being a stupid hick country bumpkin. I want to go home now. Nothing you can explain to me is going to change that."

Uriah let out a slow breath. "No, Dumbfuck, I can see that." Uriah snapped his fingers and Cletus tossed him what he'd been holding. Uriah caught it easily. "But this will." It was the slender cylinder of brushed silver. Uriah unscrewed the cap and there was a soft hissing sound as a cloud of frigid air misted out past the brim.

"What is that?", Dumbfuck asked, a tinge of fear in his voice. Dipshit sat up straighter too, curious as to what could be within the metal container.

Uriah withdrew two slender wheat stalks from the container, of the kind seen in just about every stereotypical painting dangling between the lips of the farm boy on the fields. Dumbfuck felt himself relax a bit at the sight of the apparently harmless plant stems. Only Dipshit's eyes grew more intense in their focus. Why would so simple a thing need so formidable a container? Uriah moved toward Dumbfuck.

"Open your mouth."


"Because you're going to suck on this", Uriah answered, holding up one of the stalks between two fingers. Dipshit saw that Uriah had slipped a small slip of plastic wrap around his fingers where he held the wheat stalk. He clearly wanted no skin contact for himself. Dumbfuck didn't notice.

"I don't want to suck on some stupid weed like a hick", Dumbfuck snarled. "I told you, I'm done playing!"

In a heartbeat (less), Uriah was at Dumbfuck's side and had a powerful arm around his shoulders. "I know", he said calmly, not even slightly winded for the speed with which he moved across the distance that had separated them. "I'm sorry, but I didn't ask if you wanted to open your mouth. Just do it."

Dumbfuck started to shout "No!", but his word was strangled in his throat as Uriah's deft arm reached around and his hand gripped the much smaller college boy's face and twisted it around to the wheat stalk, which still had a few wisps of cold air wafting from it. Dumbfuck made a valiant effort to pull away, but Uriah's far superior strength never wavered. Dumbfuck's bare feet found little to no purchase against the moist grass, while the larger farm hand's boots dug in with plenty of traction. Dumbfuck realized that his struggling was useless, so instead he clamped his mouth shut tight and clenched his teeth. He breathed raggedly out the corner of his mouth, so if Uriah clamped his meaty fingers over Dumbfuck's nose, the slender country boy would still be able to breathe. Uriah only shook his head.

"Dumbfuck, it's not as if I haven't done this before."

The larger man grasped Dumbfuck's jaw and simply squeezed. Dumbfuck's mouth popped open like a mayonnaise jar and Uriah easily slipped the wheat stalk in place. His powerful hands then simply closed Dumbfuck's lips around the stalk. Then the large man let him go.

Uriah sidestepped almost lazily as Dumbfuck jerked away, his eyes wild and his expression furious. "I'm just gonna spit this stupid fucking thing out and stamp it into the mud!", he declared.

"Yeah, good luck with that", Uriah said flatly.

Dumbfuck started to yank the stalk out of his mouth only to find it stuck fast to his lower lip. What the hell was on this thing? Was it glued there? Was that what this is all about? To fasten a weed to his mouth to make him look even stupider, so he'd be hesitant to leave? Well, that wouldn't work. He'd walk out of this backwoods place with a tree trunk sticking out of his face if it meant he was done with their stupid hillbilly games.

Dumbfuck felt something sticky on his hand and looked at his fingers where he'd grasped the wheat stalk. There was a gooey film there, like tree sap or raw honey. Only it was evaporating fast. No, not evaporating. Dumbfuck could feel by the tingling in his fingers that the goo wasn't evaporating. His body was absorbing it through the skin. He reached up fast with his other hand to remove the stalk, but only managed to make his others fingers sticky, too. Then they were also tingling. The process, whatever it was, continued, and Dumbfuck could feel a pasty and sweet substance spreading over his tongue, coating the inside of his mouth. His head grew light and he found it difficult to keep his feet. He began to stagger.

"Whuh-what'd y'all do ta me??", Dumbfuck drawled.

"Don't fight it, Dumbfuck", Cletus told him, still keeping a safe distance. "It's easier that way."

"What's happening to him?", Dipshit asked. "Is he okay? Is he going to be alright?"

Uriah held up a palm to Dipshit, but said nothing. His message was clear. Just wait. The drugged hillbilly’s best friend watched attentively.

Dumbfuck began to trip over his own feet, his movements, combined with his costume, making him look all the more ridiculous. His mouth was full of that strange, sticky sweetness, like a heaping spoonful of maple syrup. He swallowed by reflex to clear his breathing, and a large clump of the gooey substance slid easily down his gullet. Dumbfuck's belly filled with a tingling warmth and that strange numbness began to spread more rapidly throughout his body. His feet seemed too big to maneuver, his hands too large, his limbs too lanky and awkward. He was now sucking on the wheat stalk without even realizing it. Using his tongue, he twirled it between his teeth, sucking and swallowing, sucking and swallowing.

"Don'...ah don' wanna be's a stoopid hick no mores...", he slurred, his words coming unwanted and unfamiliar to him.

Dumbfuck stumbled toward Uriah, but could only make it so far. Eventually he stumbled backwards, arms pin-wheeling slightly, and he plopped right down on his denim-covered ass in the soft grass. As his head bobbed and weaved, his thoughts coming more fuzzy and indistinct, he said only two things, which could hardly be classified as words.


Uriah walked easily over to Dipshit, who eyed his friend with a mixture of amazement and deep trepidation. Uriah extended the remaining wheat stalk to Diphsit. "You too, son."

Dipshit swallowed hard. "But-but I don't want to leave. I like it here, I want to stay. I like being Dipshit. I don't need that." He stared at the mysterious wheat stalk nervously.

"I know, Dipshit", Uriah said. "But you two come as a pair. Go ahead and suck on this. It'll be better for both of you this way."

Dipshit looked at his friend sitting there in the grass, his expression growing happier, more contented, and increasingly stupid. Dumbfuck truly was a dumbfuck now. "Is he alright? Is he going to be okay?"

"He's fine. He's just happier, that's all." Uriah extended the stalk another inch. "Go ahead, now."

Dipshit paused only another moment, then opened his mouth wide, as if preparing for a doctor's tongue depressor. Uriah set the stalk lightly upon Dipshit's tongue and said only, "Close." Dipshit did and as he began to suck on the sticky plant, Uriah walked back to Cletus, talking to him about something in an almost casual manner. The sweetness filled Dipshit's mouth and the tingling numbness washed through his bumpkin body. Dipshit listened to the conversation between Uriah and Cleat... Cleave... Whatshisname...until their words became too complex, too large and confusing for Dipshit to understand. Dipshit began to feel very, very happy. He had no idea why he felt so blissful and contented, nor did he care for very long. As the mists clouded his brain, Dipshit glanced over at Dumbfuck, who was now weaving back and forth where he sat, beginning to drop off, sinking slowly down to the grass, the nub of the wheat stalk all that was still visible protruding between his lips.

Dipshit smiled. "Heh....muh friend", he uttered. "Duuuhhh...Hyuk!"

And then he too sank down into the soft grass, one arm groping out to his best buddy's hand. Their fingers barely touched as they both drifted off to a very deep sleep.

* * * * *

Travis was assigned some menial chores to attend to on the other side of the large farm, well away from Dipshit and Dumbfuck. Malachi had been assigned to work with him. Not that it was a two-man job, but it was deemed necessary that Malachi keep an eye on his friend.

“It’s not going to work, you know”, Travis said, busying himself with his task.

“You don’t know that”, Malachi said with zero amount of confidence.

“We do know that, we’ve seen it. Dumbfuck is going to snap out of it and cause who knows how much damage”, Travis threw a hay bale into the back of a small truck. “To himself and who knows who else.”

“You mean to Dipshit, don’t you?”

Travis threw another bale onto the back of the truck, angrily. “I don’t know what I mean.”

Malachi could see that he did. “You’ve really taken a shine to him, haven’t you?”

Travis didn’t answer. He just went about his business, avoiding eye contact, putting his frustration into his labor. Eventually, he muttered under his breath, “Wouldn’t matter if I have, apparently.”

Malachi started hefting more bales to keep up with his friend. “Come on, there’s probably a solution to all this, we’re just not seeing it.”

Travis looked at him with surprise. “You’re not going to tell me to just stop thinking out him? About it, I mean?”

“I’ve known you long enough to be able to tell when you won’t stop thinking about something. When you can’t.” he chucked a bale to Travis, who caught it and sent it on to the truck. They immediately liked the rhythm of that and kept doing it. “We’re smart guys. We can figure this out.”

“Mr. Steadman’s never going to let him go. He says he’s got to have both of them.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty set on there being two, a couple. But if we can offer him a strong alternative, he might hear us out.”


Malachi smiled. “You.” Shaking his head, he grabbed up another bale, tossing it along. “I don’t know what kind of pitch you can make, but you’re creative when you have to be. It’s not like you’re some kind of dumb—“

The two workers stopped and looked at each other. Their eyes met and the message that passed between them was clear. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

They both set upon the remaining bales and worked with newfound energy. “Load these up fast”, Malachi said. “Then we can take the truck around the fence line and we’ll probably run into them on the way.”

“Shortcut?”, Travis said, knowing it would be anything but.

“We can call it that, sure”, Malachi grinned. Two at a time, the heavy bales thudded into the truck, which filled up fast.

* * * * *

Dipshit and Dumbfuck, barefoot, shirtless country boys, ran and danced and played among an open field of hay and straw. They laughed like brainless idiots, having no idea why they were laughing, why they felt so happy, utterly uncaring. They wrestled, tickled, and kissed. It was clear to anyone who could see them that they were having the time of their lives. Loose, giddy, and carefree, like an old-time country print brought to life.

Well, at least one of them was.

Dipshit laughed and smiled. He hugged his friend before hefting him up off his gigantic shoeless feet and chucking him into a hay pile. He skipped and jumped, did cartwheels, and kept laughing so hard he nearly peed himself. Not that he would have cared had he done so. A stupid gay hick, he was content.

Not so for his friend.

Dumbfuck smiled and laughed too, but his smile was a bit too wide, his laughter harsh and forced. As he skipped and played, he moved like a human marionette, or the bad student who had been forced to take a part in the school play as penance for his misdeeds and bad behavior. He was acting out a role, compelled to do so not by some strict academic authority, but by some unseen force inside him. He hated it. His eyes burned with fury and frustrated impotence even as he kissed his friends and doubled over as he felt his bare ribs tickled by loving fingers.

They found themselves on an old back porch where an ancient radio played corny old country love ballads. The two held each other close and began to slow dance. Dipshit laid his head on his best friend's shoulder, arms draped around his waist, sighing peacefully as they swayed. Dumbfuck's chin was set upon his buddy's other shoulder, but his jaw was taut with clenched teeth. His hands reached around Dipshit's waist, but connected there with clasped hands, fingers white at the knuckles. Dipshit smiled stupidly, thinking he had never felt so romantic. Dipshit's eyes burned with the start of tears as he realized he had never felt so helpless.

A picnic under the shade of a towering willow featured a spread of down-home goodies laid out upon a checkered tablecloth. Dipshit ate his fill, giggling at the bubbles in the sparkling grape juice, licking his fingers happily to get all the spices from the fried chicken. Dumbfuck did not eat much, although he moved in unison with his companion, reaching around each other's arms like newlyweds, feeding one another cornbread still soft and warm from the oven. Even with the melting butter, it stuck going down.

By late afternoon, Dipshit and Dumbfuck were at the edge of the wood on the far side of the farm's acres. Mountainous piles of grass, fresh and old, a mixture of brilliant spring green and autumn gold, provided them with both sufficient seclusion from prying eyes and a soft bed in which to roll. They started out kissing more passionately, then grasped each other with abandon. Dipshit planned to throw his friends into the huge grass pile behind them, but soon found himself caught in Dumbfuck's clutches. The thinner boy's long fingers clenched the other boy's arms, cutting off circulation and leaving harsh red marks. Before Dipshit could protest, he was lifted up like a rag doll and thrown to the ground. Had there not been a thick covering of grass there, his shoulder could well have been broken where it struck. As it was, it sent waves of numbing pain down his arm to tingle his fingers with cruel prickles. Dipshit's hand went to his shoulder and his jaw fell open. What had just happened? Wasn't he just starting to make love with his best buddy?

He had not time to contemplate it. Dumbfuck was on him in an instant, straddling his waist, not allowing him to get up. Dipshit began to speak, to warn his friend off of him, to tell him he was hurt. He never got the chance. Dumbfuck grabbed his friend roughly by the straps of his bibs and pulled him close, kissing him angrily on the lips. He forced his tongue into Dipshit's mouth, suddenly, unexpected, cutting off the other boy's breath. When Dumbfuck pulled back, Dipshit was gasping for breath. It made it all the easier for Dumbfuck to grab him by the shoulder and turn him over onto his stomach with one quick movement.

Dipshit's chest hit the ground, the buckles of his bibs pressing into his bare skin. Dipshit tried to reach around and wave his friend off, but the pain in his shoulder came alive twofold, sending sharp stabs down his arm and rendering it useless. Dumbfuck pushed Dipshit down by his shoulder blades, forcing his chin into the ground cover and sending stray blades of grass up his nose and into his mouth. Dipshit was frightened. What was going on? How had he gotten to this point? Did Dumbfuck even know what he was doing to him?

As if in answer, Dumbfuck hopped down from his straddling point across Dipshit's waist and grabbed the drop seat of his overalls. With a harsh yank, he ripped the flap open, sending two brass buttons flying in the process. As Dumbfuck began to spread his pal's cheeks, spitting meanly into his crack and shoving fingers into his hole, Dipshit realized with a frightening clarity that Dumbfuck knew exactly what he was doing, and he didn't care. He was angry, and he needed to take it out on someone.

Dumbfuck spat some more into his friend's hole and kneaded his butt, pulling at his cheeks. Dipshit tried to turn himself over but he got a flat palm smacked into his back for his trouble, slamming him back down onto his belly. Dumbfuck shot a look at him with blazing eyes. Stay down. Dipshit was horrified as Dumbfuck licked and tongued his hole. Unwanted arousal washed through the prone farm boy. Never had such a tender action felt so unnerving and wrong.

Dipshit's eyes were wide and his fingers clawed the earth as Dumbfuck mounted him. It had never been like this before. This was not lovemaking. It was not even crude meaningless sex. This was not fun, this was not playful. This was not ridiculous costumed abandon or character role-play encouraged by hypnosis. If Dumbfuck continued, this was rape. As the slender boy started to push his stiff, engorged member into his victim's hole, Dipshit found his voice, high-pitched and panicked as the head of Dumbfuck's cock began to penetrate.

"N-no! Wait, don't do this--! Dumbfuck! Dumbfuck, let me go! You're hurting me! DUMBFUCK!"


Dumbfuck broke. He braced himself on Dipshit's waist as he felt himself crumble. He sobbed and shook as tears flowed freely down his face. His dick went limp and he slumped forward, his forehead almost coming to rest on the small of his best friend's back as his foolish straw hat fell off and rolled a few inches away.

"That's not my name...don't call me that...please don't call me that...I'm not Dumbfuck, I'm not, I'm not...I'm not a dumb's not my name...uh-hugh, uhh-hugkk...Huuuhhhahh!"

Dumbfuck fell over onto his side and wept like a baby. He cried and cried, knowing with an incredible compulsion that he should be happy and carefree and playing and laughing and screwing, but also knowing that it was all wrong. Like a nasty boy with a penchant for disrupting others' fun, his reason stood behind the beautifully-painted canopy of pastoral lies poking it with a sharp stick until it tore at odd angles and fell away in shreds.

Dumbfuck sat up, pulling his knees to his chest and clutching his arms around them. He sobbed incoherently and trembled at the thought of what he had almost just done to the most important person in his life. He tried to say he was sorry, over and over, that he didn't mean to, he was just so angry and helpless. But all that came out was blubbering and unintelligible gibberish.

Dipshit understood it all the same. He slowly sat up, swallowing and collecting himself as he watched his friend's breakdown. Slowly, cautiously, Dipshit moved forward and rested a caring hand on his buddy's bare shoulder. Instantly, the weeping boy's hand snapped up and held his friend's. Dipshit started a bit, jumped back an inch, but when he saw that all that was needed was comfort, he moved in closer. He rested his other hand on Dumbfuck's other shoulder and in seconds, the boy let himself fall into his best friend's arms. There they sat for quite some time. Dipshit, bare-assed and confused, and Dumbfuck, overwhelmed and shattered. His limp dick still hung out of his open button-fly, but neither boy noticed or made any attempt to tuck it back away if they did.

Eventually, Dumbfuck was able to form words in between his crying. He cried out for something he had lost. He begged for its return over and over again.

"What's my name? Why can't I remember by own name? Why did they have to take my name? Why...WHY? What it is? What's my name??"

Just out of sight of the duo, Travis saw what was happening. He and Malachi had arrived in the hay truck only moments before, but soon enough to understand what was happening. Travis wanted so badly to rush to the side of the boys and help them. How, he had no idea. He just had to try. But he couldn't. Malachi held him back. Travis looked to Malachi, who simply shook his head. In short order, Uriah and Cletus were on hand to collect the two hypnotized farm lads. Travis stared, wondering where they had come from so quickly. Malachi put a tender arm around his friend and coworker.

"Come on", he told him. "You know what we have to do."

* * * * *

"Absolutely not!", Mr. Steadman raged.

"Sir, I really don't see what choice we have", Malachi insisted.

"They have been here too long. Longer than any of our other subjects, and you know it", Steadman emphasized. "They have seen too much, done too much. What happens if we release them now? What will it lead to? Legal action? Court proceedings? What would this do to the stores? To all of you??" Everyone present knew that it wouldn't matter a tinker's damn if the entire store chain of Country Boy Corners collapsed. It never made enough profit to justify its existence in the first place, and hadn't since its inception. It's was simply one of Mr. Steadman's little projects, one of his fantasies. No, he was more worried about losing his dream, the first one that had seemed to come so close to working out. "No, no, it will not do!", he stressed.

Uriah stepped forward. "Sir, if I may, you had us watching the entire situation as soon as you starting worrying about Travis's relationship with the first boy."

Travis shot an accusing look at Uriah. "You what?" Then at his employer. "They have? Seriously?"

Cletus made a gesture to wave his friend's outrage away. Not now, buddy.

Uriah continued. "And I'm telling you, as an impartial observer, there is no way that this other kid, whatshisname—"

"Kevin", Malachi offered.

"Kevin", Uriah remembered, "is going to be able to stay here. If he is forced to continue as Dumbfuck, he's going to go nuts. I mean, stark raving out of his mind bonkers. Worse, he's going to hurt someone."

"He almost hurt Dipshit", Travis said accusingly, eyes glaring at Steadman. Cletus waved that down, too. Easy there, fella.

Uriah began to speak again, but Steadman began before he had the opportunity. "The other boys had only been here for a few days, four at most, a long weekend. They could always return home with the implanted memories that they'd had an amazing vacation while modeling for my catalogs and stores. They had free clothes and a few promotional postcards with their photos on them as souvenirs of their adventures. But this...we're talking about kidnapping, brainwashing, some would even say molestation charges. We can't just ...turn them loose." His voice was softer now. The reality of what he'd done, of what he'd been doing, was finally beginning to sink in.

"Sir, you're not stupid", Cletus said. "You must have considered all these possibilities well before you started this undertaking."

"Yes, of course. Precautions were taken. But when the right couple was found, they were to STAY here. Forever. They move, they inform their loved ones, they live here, on the farm. Happily. Together."

"You don't have to let them both go, you know", Malachi offered.

"Dipshit loves it here", Travis said quickly.

"Just let the one go. Figure out how to fix it so that Kevin—"

"Dumbfuck", Steadman snapped.

"—that Dumbfuck doesn't do anything rash. That he doesn't sue, or contact the authorities."

"No!" Mr. Steadman pounded a fist on his desk. "No, it must be both of them! That's the whole point! They were meant to be a pair. A couple!"

"Which one to you is more important?", Malachi asked gently. "The boy who represents you, or your first crush?"

Steadman looked at them with wide eyes. "How-how did you know? How did you guess?"

Uriah shrugged. "Some of us who've been here longer kind of figured things out. One of the more industrious of us did a little research." Travis held up a hand. Guilty.

"So what's it going to be? We lose both or one?", Travis asked.

Mr. Steadman sat in silence for a while, a wrinkled finger to his lips, thinking. "Where are the boys now?"

"Just outside", Uriah said, nodding his head toward the door.

"Very well. Bring them in, we shall let them decide and let the pieces fall where they may."

Travis moved rapidly to the go to the door, but Cletus held him back with a gentle hand to his chest. Let someone else do it, man. Uriah opened the door and leaned out, softly inviting the waiting duo with, "You can come in now."

In they came, Dipshit and the boy who knew his name was not Dumbfuck but had no other names to speak of. Dipshit was still dressed in his worn bib overalls and straw hat. He was barefoot and shirtless and didn't seem to mind. Someone had reattached the buttons to his drop seat and closed that up, too. had that cloth back door been loose and still flapping in the breeze, he wouldn't have minded that, either. Dumbfuck was back in the same street clothes he wore when he first arrived at the store in the mall.

"What is he doing out of uniform—in those clothes, rather?!", Steadman blurted out. Dumbfuck gave him a dirty look.

Malachi leaned in from behind his employer and whispered, "It really helped to calm him down, sir. Let's just leave it for now." Steadman said nothing other than offering a curt grunt. He reluctantly agreed.

"Fellas", Uriah began, "this is the man responsible for everything you've seen and done so far. He created Country Boy Corners, and all of its—"

"Really?", Disphit interrupted. "Sir, your stores are AWEsome!!"

Dumbfuck looked askance at his friend, who appeared not to notice. "This farm is pretty amazing too. I am really having a good time here—the BEST time."

Uriah cleared his throat in attempt to get Dipshit to reign himself in. Mr. Steadman merely nodded and grinned. "Thank-you, son."

"Dipshit. My name's Dipshit, sir", he pointed out.

Mr. Steadman smiled brightly and a twinkle returned to his eyes. "Yes, my boy. Yes it is." He turned to Dumbfuck, "And you—"

"Want me real name back", Dumbfuck said harshly. "This little game of yours, whatever the fuck it's all about, and I don't really give two shits s far as that goes, has gone on long enough. Too long. I want out. NOW."

Dipshit took a step toward his friend. "Hey, let's at least hear what he has to say first."

"I don't care what he has to say!" Dumbfuck turned on Steadman. "Where do you get off messing with other people's lives? Taking away their own identities and turning them into...into some kind of stupid redneck backwoods dumbass hickoid...I don't know what!"

The workers gathered around cringed, waiting for the retaliation, but Steadman looked well and duly chastised. "I only wanted to bring to some young gay couple the joy of the farmboy fantasy I never got to have."

"Without our permission! And we're not a couple, we're just friends, you old goat!"

"Best friends", Dipshit suggested, although right now he wasn't so sure.

"Friends with benefits", Dumbfuck allowed. "Fuck buddies at the most! But Dipshi—HE'S not the one I'm going to spend the rest of my life with!" He looked to his friend with apologetic eyes. "Sorry. No offense, buddy."

Dipshit shrugged. "None taken. Me neither."

Then back to Steadman, Dumbfuck pressed, "When did you finally make it in business, anyway? When did you become self-sufficient and all that? How old were you?"

Steadman was taken aback by the question. "I...I was 22 when I first took over the farm. I was a man of means, what you'd call independently wealthy by age 25."

"And you never just went out and lived out your fantasy by yourself? On your own? You can't tell me there wasn't some hot young gay guy out there back then who'd be willing to dude up like a brainless yokel jackass", back to Dipshit, "again, no offense." Dipshit nodded. Back to Steadman, "and be your boyfriend! At the very least some hot twink muscleboy who'd love to have you as a sugar daddy. I mean, come ON!"

Steadman lowered his head. "It was a different time back then. It was not so easy to be open about one's identity."

Dumbfuck threw his arms wide in frustration. "Who's gonna SEE you out here?!!"

Uriah stepped in. "Okay, this is getting us nowhere. What's done is done. The question is what do we do now?"

"I want to go home", Dumbfuck said. "That's it. I don't give a rat's ass what all the rest of you want to do out here on your land of rustic make-believe. But I'm out. Just give me back my name and memories and my best friend and just point me to the fucking exit."


Everyone turned. It was Dipshit who had spoken. Dumbfuck was flabbergasted.

"Wait...Dipshit...I mean, um, you...what do you mean no?"

"I mean I want to stay." Steadman smiled. So did Travis.

"No way. It's this mind control hypnosis bullshit", Dumbfuck insisted. "Let's have them put you back to normal; you'll change your mind."

"No, see, I am normal right now."

Dumbfuck pointed out the ridiculous hillbilly outfit his friend had on. "This is normal?!"

"I mean, I've known something was going on from early on here. I know I had another name, I don't know what it is, but I don't care. I love it here. And I'm Dipshit now. Dipshit Ignorant Hick. Happy gay country boy. And I'm serious, I want to stay."

"Think about what you're saying. You have a life back home, you're going to college—"

"Junior college! And let's be honest, I had no clue what I was doing there. I have no idea what I was going to do once I got out, where I would go, what I would do with my life."

"So you're just gonna give up looking?"

"I don't need to keep looking", Dipshit smiled honestly. "I've found myself. Right here."

Dumbfuck sighed but realized from the expression in his eyes and the sincerity in his voice that his friend was under no one's influence now. He truly wanted to stay, to become Dipshit once and for all.

"I can't stay", Dumbfuck said quietly.

"I know."

"I'll go crazy here."

"I know."

"I have to get out of here."

"You do. I know."

Dumbfuck sniffled back a tear and Dipshit rested a caring hand upon his shoulder. The silence in the room was finally broken by Steadman's voice, once again stern.

"But there needs to be two", he said.

"Sir?", prompted Uriah.

"There needs to be two", Steadman said. "That's the whole point. There needs to be a Dipshit and a Dumbfuck. The two go together. Am I to just continue searching, to expect to find someone else to fill the role—and just hope the two develop some kind of connection, of rapport?"

"Sir", Cletus said plainly, "we can't just keep him against his will. Not if he's not happy here."

"Then what do you suggest?!", the old man snarled.

"Take me."

They stopped to look at Travis. He repeated himself. "Take me. Let me be the one. I'll be with Dipshit. I want to be."

Dumbfuck let out a long breath. "Well, not to say that was the most obvious choice, but it's about time somebody said it. I mean, I was gonna suggest it beforehand, but didn't know if I'd just be volunteering someone else to go through what I just went through. But if he's willing and all, I say let him—"

"Buddy, shut the hell up", Dipshit said. Then, to Travis, he asked, "You sure about this? You really want to?"

"I have fallen for you so hard, Dipshit."

"That is so cool! Because I am totally into you!" Dipshit threw his arms around Travis's shoulders in a hug and kissed him on the side of the head. Everyone looked to Mr. Steadman expectantly. After a very pregnant pause, he spoke.

"It's one thing to say you're willing to play this role for a while, Travis. You've always been an excellent employee, and I appreciate that, but to step in like this just to assist me—"

"Mr. Steadman, sir", Travis broke in, "not to be insubordinate, but when it comes to this, I couldn't give a fuck about you." The older man shut up, gobsmacked. Travis looked fondly at Dipshit, draping a loving arm around his shoulders. "I want to be with him."

Uriah, Cletus, and Malachi all looked at Steadman. Well?

Steadman considered it. Then he looked at the how Travis and Dipshit, formerly Keith, looked together. What was there to consider? “So be it.”

Travis looked relieved, as did Malachi. Dipshit looked ecstatic. Dumbfuck still looked uncertain.


Less than ten minutes later, Travis was in the booth. Yes, there was a booth, there in Mr. Steadman’s office. It was a prototype dressing room for those used in the Country Boy Corners ad campaign recruitment drive. Travis stripped off all of his clothing. He ate the cookie and drank the punch. Then he sat in a chair which locked in around him, securing his ankles and his wrists. The prototype dressing room had a significantly different, and far more potent, setup than those used at the mall. As the lights increased in brightness and then turned an intense orange, the temperature rose considerably. Travis tried not to squirm in his seat, but surrendered to it.

The chemicals in the punch and the cookie were beginning to come alive within him, giving him a happy, giddy feeling bordering on euphoria. He let his body go limp as the effect took hold. A metal dish with an array of wires and plugs attached to it extended from the back of the chair, rose up on a pivot, and settled down onto Travis’s head like a skull cap. A small strap fastened itself under his chin, holding it in place. Travis could feel his heart beat faster.

Electricity crackled along the outside of the skull cap while a powerful buzzing pulsated through his brain. Every part of his body felt wonderfully alive. His muscles twitched, his breath came in deep and full gasps, and his eyelid fluttered as he felt himself drifting off into something between sleep and input overload.

The sound of the crackling skull cap intensified and as sparks shot out around his head, Travis felt irresistibly aroused. His penis, limp and exposed as he sat naked in the bizarre chair, sprang to attention in a throbbing erection. Without being able to touch it, his dick began bobbing and pumping on its own. He had never felt so good.

“What is your name, please, country boy?”

The voice had come from nowhere. It took a moment for Travis to even understand what it was saying. “Wh-what?”

“What is your name, please, country boy?”

It was that same warm, pleasant voice used in the store dressing rooms. Only this time it sounded less like the announcer at a carnival ride than it did a confidant asking you to share a secret. Travis wasn’t sure what it was asking of him, really. He was too overwhelmed by pleasure and arousal to think about it too deeply.

“What is your name, please, country boy?”

“M-my name?” He had to think about it. What was his name? He had it when he came in here. Oh, he felt so good, so turned on, so hot. His balls were buzzing as much as his head. His name couldn’t have been a very good name, could it? It seemed that he had wanted to change it, didn’t he? Ohhh, holy shit he was so close, so very, very close…

The energy increased and the colors in the room went red. The energy exuding from the skullcap peaked, sending lances of electricity off the walls and around the room. The wonderful feelings flushed through his entire body, from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head and he couldn’t hold back any longer. It was something that started with ‘T’, wasn’t it? Travers… Trav… Tra… T.

His body was pushed to climax and he shot a thick stream of cum that fired high into the air and came down to splash against his legs and chest. That was the last thing he remembered. When next he opened his eyes, he felt wonderful, better than he ever had in his entire life. His head was a bit foggy, but that was clearing rapidly. The bonds on the chair opened up and the skull cap retracted and folded back into its place in the back of the chair. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He didn’t even know it was possible to feel this good. The fog lifted from his mind and he knew with crystal-clear certainty how to answer that question.

“My name’s Dumbfuck”, he smiled brightly. Then he laughed.

Dumbfuck got up from the chair to find a drawer open nearby. He looked in and beamed at what he saw. “Hey, my clothes!” He was ready to rejoin his boyfriend.


The previous Dumbfuck was back in his street clothes, which had been brought in from the mall store. He felt immensely more comfortable, but could not stop himself from fidgeting restlessly. He was still uneasy seeing his friend dressed up like Huckleberry Finn and grinning like an idiot. What’s more, he still couldn’t recall his own name. There was the sound of a door opening at the end of the room and everyone looked toward it. In entered the handsome young man who had once been Travis. Now he stood tall, dressed in only faded bib overalls and a bird’s nest straw hat. He was barefoot and shirtless, and it was very easy to see now that he had a remarkable physique. He smiled when he saw the country boy he had fallen for. “Hiya, Dipshit.”

“Travis!” Dipshit ran up and hugged him happily.

The taller boy hugged him back, his embrace just as loving, but when they parted, he looked at his boyfriend oddly and asked, “You okay though, buddy? My name’s Dumbfuck.”

Dipshit smiled joyfully and said, “Of course it is! Don’t know what I was thinkin’.” They hugged again, then stood arm in arm before the group. Two people had never looked so happy. The boy who had been Dumbfuck was not convinced.

“I still don’t like it.” He turned to the farm workers with the bumpkin names and said, “What, so now that somebody else has been drafted to take my place as a brainwashed idiot, that’s supposed to be alright? I can go merrily on my way now, knowing that at least I’m in the clear? Huh-uhn. No way.”

Dipshit frowned. “So you think I’m a brainwashed idiot?”

Dumbfuck scowled. “I wasn’t drafted, I volunteered.”

“Let us not forget”, Mr. Steadman said from behind his desk, “that I could have easily tampered with your memories, young man. I could have led you to believe that you and your friend parted ways for whatever reason and we could have left you at the side of the road somewhere to live out your life in sweet oblivion to the real circumstances.”

Dipshit’s college chum looked horrified. Malachi leaned over his master’s desk. “That’s not exactly helping, sir.”

“Let me take this”, Dipshit said. “Buddy, we’ve been over this. I am having the time of my life here. I don’t want it to least not anytime soon. So now it won’t.”

“But…but is this how you want to spend your life? As a kept man? As a stupid hick?”

“I dunno, maybe. But if I want to move on, I will. Maybe I’ll stay here anyway. This whole agricultural business stuff is pretty fascinating, anyway. I like it. It’s interesting. I may have found my calling, dressed up as a country boy clown or not.” He placed a tender hand upon his friend’s shoulder. “Either way, it’s up to me to find out. If you drag me out of here ‘for my own good’ you’d be no better than…” Dipshit paused.

“Than them?” He pointed to the rest of the group.

“Than anybody who won’t let me make my own decisions”, Dipshit said.

“So what happens now?”, the college friend asked, looking squarely at Steadman. I get a weed stuck in my mouth or I get gassed and then wake up someplace else with no clue of what’s going on? You said you were gonna do that.”

“I said that I could”, Mr. Steadman corrected him. “But that doesn’t mean I will.” He paused, drumming his bony fingers on the desktop, then said, “No. You have trusted us, so we shall trust you. You are free to leave this office, this facility, this farm. You will be given a ride back to your home, fully awake and aware of where you are and where you have been. We are entrusting you with that knowledge.”

“Provided I never return, right?”, he added skeptically.

“You will be provided with all the information you need to return anytime you wish, including contact phone numbers and e-mail addresses so that you may check in on your friend anytime you wish.” Steadman looked at him levelly. “So you can see, at this point we are in your hands. Should you choose to return here with a squad of policemen, we cannot stop you.”

There was something in his tone, the look in his eyes, that conveyed he was not bluffing, this was not a trick. The information would be real, the phone numbers and e-mails genuine. He was offering his trust. It was only fair to do the same in return, regardless what had come before.

“What about who I am? My memory’s still foggy. Or what about who he is, for that matter? How messed up is he, now?” He pointed to the new Dumbfuck.

“I remember everything”, the new Dumbfuck smiled.

Dipshit looked at him in surprise. “You do?”

“All the important stuff, anyway. Watching over you on the farm, falling for you, my job at the store before all this. I even remember our little rendezvous before your pictures were taken.”

Mr. Steadman looked scandalized. “You fraternized with a candidate in one of my stores??”

Dumbfuck smirked. “Kind of late for recriminations now, isn’t it, sir?” Steadman deflated a bit. He had a point.

“So you really know who you are, what you’re doing?”, the college chum challenged.

“Don’t ask me what my name was”, Dumbfuck smiled. “Couldn’t tell you. I don’t know, I don’t need to know. I don’t care. I’m Dumbfuck now. That’s all that matters.” He gave his boyfriend an affectionate squeeze.

The college friend nodded. Okay, fair enough. Then he looked back to Mr. Steadman. “What about my name? I still don’t know even that much. I know Dipshit and I went to college together, but don’t ask me what college or where. There are gaping holes and I am not happy about tha—“

Steadman held up a small slip of paper. “Take this. It will give you all the answers you need.”

Malachi took the slip of paper from the old man and passed it to the college boy. It was small, and it was sealed with white tape to keep it folded closed. The college man looked at it doubtfully. “This is supposed to have all my missing history on it? You must print pretty small.”

“All you need is a strong enough trigger to bring everything back to you. That will suffice.” Again, his words had a strong air of truth. He nodded back at the old mastermind.

Cletus opened the door and cleared a path for Dipshit’s longtime friend. Slowly, cautiously, he made his way across the room and found that no one made any move to impede him. The former Dumbfuck walked out the door, holding the small slip of paper in his hands. Because of its seal, he couldn't just unfold it and take a peek at what was written there before he departed. He stopped in the doorway, holding one hand out so the door could not be slammed on him prematurely. He looked at his friend, standing there looking like an absolute idiot in his bizarre farmer/fetish costume. Looking adorable. "You sure you're going to be alright?"

Dipshit put his arm around the waist of the former Travis, his new Dumbfuck, who stood beside him in matching attire. Dumbfuck placed his own arm affectionately around his boyfriend. They both smiled happily, and it was clear to everyone that their shared joy was not the result of any kind of hypnotic trance.

"Sure. I'll be fine." He smiled at Dumbfuck, who smiled back. "Better than fine. Go live your life, buddy."

His buddy nodded, forcing a grin that said he understood when he did not. He stepped through the door, which closed behind him and locked in place. He knew he would not be going back through it. He walked away, out of the offices, out into the open lot that separated the master’s offices from the main workings of the farm, where a car awaited to take him away. Once outside, he made it about twenty paces, then he stopped to tear open the slip of paper. He looked at it and felt a rush of peace wash through him. There was one word written there.


Just like that, he knew who he was. Every memory, every thought, every connection from his previous life came flooding back into his mind. He was whole again, he was himself. He could still recall what it felt like to be hypnotized, to be Dumbfuck, but it was no longer who he was, just something he had done. He could leave at last.

Kevin went to put the slip of paper into his pocket, then paused. He crumpled it up and threw it over his shoulder. He no longer needed it. He knew who he was and where he was going. He was going home.

Back inside, the young man who had been Keith felt as if he had come home. He took the former Travis by the hand and did not want to let go. They made their way out of the office by way of a different route. They skipped down some stairs and out into an open lobby decorated with life-sized paintings of rustic scenes. Their two caretakers followed along behind them.

Cletus eyed them both with a trace of lingering suspicion. He turned to Uriah. "Do you think we should have them hypnotized again? Or drugged?"

Uriah stared at the new duo for a while and then shook his head. "Naw, I don't think that'll be necessary. Hey, guys." They turned to look at him. "You guys know your names?"

Keith smiled. "Dipshit."

Travis grinned. "Dumbfuck."

Uriah said, "You guys remember your old names? You had other names before you came here, right?"

Keith, or rather Dipshit, just shrugged. Travis beamed at him. "Doesn't matter."

Dipshit grabbed hold of Dumbfuck and yanked him over to one of the large photos on the wall nearby. It showed a rustic porch, with a view of a field, a wagon wheel, and a small stack of hay bales lit by the gold-streaked sky of a country sunrise. "Hey, I want our picture taken—right here. To commemorate the moment."

Dumbfuck went with him, smiling, and said, "You mean you want our picture took", he corrected him, laughing good-naturedly.

"What-ever, you smartass hick. Just kiss me, Dumbfuck." He did.

Uriah and Cletus looked at them askance, but Dipshit would have none of it. “Don’t act like you don’t have a camera with you.” The two shrugged and Cletus pulled a particularly sophisticated digital camera from his bib pocket. The camera clicked away at the two boys in their silly costumes, with their embarrassing new names, capturing the beginning of their new life together as manufactured country boys.

Uriah moved to stand directly before the watching security camera and gave a thumbs-up to be seen on the other end. It was.


Kevin unlocked the door to the tiny cracker box apartment that he and Keith had been sharing. Inside, he found the room spotlessly clean (cleaner than they'd left it), with bills marked as paid neatly stacked in a wire basket by the cell phone charger. Evidently, while imprisoning the two friends in their hick identities, the folks at Country Boy Corners did not allow their civilian identities to go to pot. Kevin flipped through the stack of bills. They were all paid through the end of the next month. He gave a soft grunt of approval. "Huh." After walking through the entryway to the small living room, he stopped short. This was not at all how he had left it.

The room was filled to the brim with clothes. All kinds of clothes, all from the Country Boy Corners store in the mall. Jeans of various styles, overalls, khaki pants, shirts, short-sleeved and long-sleeve plaid shirts, work shirts, warm flannels with large check and plaid patterns, sweatshirts bearing the logos from farm suppliers and work clothing manufacturers, T-shirts declaring the wearer as a "Real-Live Country Boy" and a host of other slogans, logos, and icons. There were even plastic-wrapped sets of long underwear and socks for colder weather, union suits and thermals. There were boxes of boots, too. Knee boots, work boots, rubber boots, expensive designer boots, hi-top canvas tennis shoes, and even some very expensive-looking athletic shoes branded with odd logos like cow's heads and horseshoes. Cowboy hats and ball caps were stacked in the corner. With only a cursory glance, Kevin could tell that everything here would fit him perfectly. They certainly had his size down. He would not need to buy new clothes for at least two years.

Kevin saw an envelope resting atop one of the stacks of sweatshirts and flannels which read, "Your free clothes". Kevin opened the envelope to find a picture postcard inside. It was a photograph of the front entrance to Country Boy Corners in the mall. Displayed proudly beside the door was a huge life-size poster showing both Kevin and Keith standing together smiling brightly, one arm clasped around the other's shoulder, the other arm extended exuberantly. They were clad in flannel shirts, crisp denim bib overalls, new work boots, and straw cowboy hats. The company's logo was emblazoned in the lower right corner of the poster. It made for a very snappy ad.

Kevin turned the card over. Scrawled neatly on the back of the card was, "Thank-you for coming in to Country Boy Corners! We hope you enjoyed your experience."

Kevin shook his head and smiled in spite of himself. "Yeah, I guess I did."

There was something else inside the envelope. Kevin reached in with slender fingers and pulled it out. It was check. When Kevin saw the figure printed there, he had to steady himself lest he fall over. With this, he would not only have to worry about the rent for a while, but he would not have to worry about tuition either. Not only at the junior college, but anywhere. He could write his own ticket. In the memo portion of the check was written: Use this wisely. Prove that you’re not a Dumbfuck. Kevin had no doubt that he would.

* * * * *

Dipshit and Dumbfuck ran hand in hand across an open field. Laughing, they played like kids, engaging in a bit of hide-and-seek among some trees before collapsing together behind some haystacks. They cuddled and hugged, and before long they kissing passionately. They had found each other, and in so doing, they had found themselves. The reached over and undid the other’s bib straps, tossing aside buckles and buttons as the loose-fitting denim outfits were stripped off. Soon they lay naked in the sunshine, keeping on only their silly straw hats as they made love with abandon.

Mr. Steadman turned off his surveillance camera and left the duo to each other. The old man was crying. Hi eyes welled with joy and he sobbed to know that his task was at long last complete. Years of work and effort finally brought him to what he had been seeking since he was a boy on that original farm of long ago, that dipshit. He had finally brought Dipshit and Dumbfuck together in love and friendship. All that was left was the final protocols.

Malachi had already been sent out to deactivate most of the cameras around the farm, save those actually needed for security purposes. With his long sought-after Dipshit and Dumbfuck happily on the farm, Mr. Steadman needed very little else among the numerous measures that had brought them there. There was already a luxurious lodge on the edge of the back 40 where the two country lovers could live. It was packed with every luxury and extensive wardrobes of all the embarrassing bumpkin attire they could want, from waderalls to overalls and even a handful of “normal” clothing should they decide to hit the town. All that was left at this point was to release the rest of the recruitment staff.

“I would like everyone together for a company meeting in fifteen minutes”, Mr. Steadman announced. It came through on every worker’s phone or walkie-talkie or handheld or whatever devices they happened to be assigned. In the relevant Country Boy Corners stores, the announcement came on the overhead speakers. “No exceptions.” In short order, every worker was gathered in whatever area had been assigned for employee meetings. In the outlet stores, ‘closed’ signs were posted in the front windows and the door were locked as staffers headed to their respective back rooms.

Mr. Steadman entered codes that only he knew, bringing out control panels and small consoles from within his desk, connected to his main computer. His heart beat fast and he had to pause to catch his breath in anticipation of what he was about to do. He held himself up against the edge of his desk, taking long measured breaths. So much excitement. Then he opened up the chat system that connected him with all of his workers simultaneously. “Greetings, my friends. I trust you are wondering what the purpose is behind this unscheduled employee meeting.” Steadman looked terrible. His skin had grown pale and his eyes were weary. But for all that, for the light sprinkling of perspiration on his forehead, from the quiver in his lower lip, he actually looked very happy. “I have here a prerecorded message that will explain everything. Let’s see here…file folder…it’s here someplace. Ah!” There was a flicker on the screen as a file uploaded and the old Mr. Steadman was replaced by the image of himself from several years earlier, looking no less old but a great deal healthier. His image on the file playback began to speak.

“My friends, if you are seeing this message, it can be for only one reason. I am pleased to announce that one of the main goals of this company has been accomplished, and due in no small part to you help. Now, there are many goals of this company, so rather than go into all of those, I’d much rather address my appreciation to all of you. Without all your hard work and dedication, nothing could have gotten done, so I’d like to take a moment to express just how grateful I am.”

The Country Boy Corners workers everywhere on the farm, in the shops, watched and listened in rapt attention. Mr. Steadman was not known for going out of his way for mushy speeches or sentimentality. This had to be a big deal.

“Since I am not one for demonstrative talks about affection”, he went on, anticipating what his worker’s were thinking, “I would much rather extend to you something tangible. Some of you may already know that over the years, the Country Boy Corners Company and its many farms have earned me very close to a billion dollars.”

Some of the employees gaped in shock at that. They did not know.

“As such, since I have no family to leave the funding to, and because I am so grateful for your time and heartfelt honest effort, each of you has been given one million dollars as gratitude for your time given to my company and helping me achieve my goals. You will find the amount included in your direct deposit payment for the week. Congratulations.”

Workers everywhere began cheering, hugging each other, or even falling over backwards in shock. They couldn’t believe it.

“What’s more than that, I have something of even greater value to share with you. Please listen closely.” Everyone went silent and leaned in close to their employer’s recorded message. A sharp tone rang through the file, piercing everyone’s ears and clearing their heads. In a few moments, everyone was looking around at each other and at themselves.

In the Country Boy Corners store at the mall, employees looked at each other in shocked surprise. “Holy shit”, said one boy in aquamarine knee boots and matching necktie. “I’m supposed to be interning at a law firm. How the hell did I wind up working here?”

Another store employee in shiny forest green boots and tie looked at his name tag. “Rufus? What the hell--? My name’s Preston!”

All around the company, young men were waking up and returning to themselves, recovering their true identities. Many of the staffers had come to Mr. Steadman’s employ with all their faculties intact, but many more had not.

Uriah and Cletus looked at each other. “Bobby?”, Cletus said of his friend.

Uriah looked back at him and blinked. “Jason?” The two hugged each other and then shook their heads, a flood of memories rushing back.

“We were just out of college”, Bobby said. “We were on a road trip.”

“We stopped into that goofy farm store to get camping equipment”, Jason recalled. “Fuck me!” The two hugged again enthusiastically, like best friends who had not seen each other in months. Indeed, that was true.

“As you begin to collect yourselves”, the recorded Steadman went on, “you will recall lockers I have set up for you with your clothes and belongings, along with your individual back-stories that account for your whereabouts and what you have told your families and loved ones. In addition to that, please experience the joy at having worked for this fine company.”

A second pulse rang from the monitors and a feeling of complete happiness and satisfaction washed over all the employees who had just discovered their lives had been hijacked.

“This was the coolest job I ever had”, said the boy in the aquamarine boots, all thoughts of lawsuits gone from his mind.

“I wonder if he’ll let us stay on if we want to”, said a worker in plaid waderalls.

Another boy in tall willies and coveralls, spattered with mud and fertilizer, looked himself over and wondered aloud, “I wonder if we get to keep the clothes.”

Malachi had to sit down. He looked at himself and felt the smoothness of his face, the clean touch of his trimmed hair. His name had been Todd, and he had been a junkie before he wandered into a Country Boy Corners store two states over. He remembered feeling sick all the time, the desperate groping for the next fix. And he remembered being here, working hard for fair pay, helping others and the joy of being not only clean-cut, but clean period. He wept openly for all that had been given him. He would never leave.

“And now, dear friends, as this recording ends, I will send out one final pulse trigger from my personal office to make your regained memories permanent. Should you choose to stay, your job here is secure. Should you choose to go, you have my blessing to do so. I thank-you once again for your exemplary service and dedication.”

Everyone waited for the final pulse. It never came.

After a few more minutes of wondering, minds began to fog over again. Todd became Malachi again. Jason and Bobby were Uriah and Cletus once more. Store clerks retained their bumpkin names and positions of employment.

“That was pretty darn cool getting that million bucks, wasn’t it, Uriah?”

“Yeah, I’d say so, Cletus. What do you suppose we’re supposed to spend it on?”

“Hell if I know. What would a farmboy spend it on?”

Everyone went back to work. They had their money and they all felt wonderful. Country Boy Corners continued its ad campaign drive for years. They became renowned for inviting in potential models to dress up in their clothing and pose for their ads and commercials. They were given an advertising award for the unique way in which they came to reward their one-time models by giving them a country vacation where they could frolic for a few days as caricatures of dumb hillbillies before returning home with an armload of new clothes.

The morning of that grand announcement when their kind employer showed such generosity, Mr. Steadman had stayed at his desk. His head rested upon his computer keyboard, a big smile on his face. His eyes stared out at nothing, having suffered a massive, fatal stroke while his recorded message played for his family of employees. His finger lay on the desktop, mere inches from a large red button that would send out a final pulse to free those who wished to be freed. It would never be pressed. Mr. Steadman would be found days later and taken away for a very solemn and respectful burial.

Dipshit and Dumbfuck were left in charge of the company. As soon as the recorded playback began, all necessary steps had been put into place to see to it that they held the reins from then on, right after having their names legally changed to Dipshit Ignorant Hick and Dumbfuck Country Bumpkin. They were smart boys; they’d be able to handle it. And no doubt one day, they’d figure out what had gone awry and would set things right for those lads who were acting out lives as cheerful country boys under sophisticated mind control. Yes, it was entirely possible that the happy, enraptured, adoring hillbillies who made love in the hay and spent their days in giant rubber pants at play in the fields would set everyone free.


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