I stepped into the psychology building. It appeared empty and lifeless. Everyone was outside, enjoying one of the rare sunny days the campus had before we all left for summer break. As I walked down the empty hallways towards the elevator door, I took out my cell phone and reread the message that Zoe had sent me half an hour earlier.
"Meet me at Frisendahl Hall. It's important. I'll explain when you get here."
Even now, after having had some time to mull it over, I couldn't make sense of it. She usually wasn't so cryptic, but I suppose that everyone's entitled to a little craziness now and then. Besides, with finals coming up, she was sure to be under a lot of stress. I had just texted back a simple, "Okay, see you in an hour," and gotten myself ready without worrying much about it. Even if it turned out to be something dumb, we could at least get lunch together. I hadn't seen her in a few days, and I was already starting to miss my best friend's company.
The elevator shook to life and carried me up to the fifth floor. When was the last time I had visited Zoe at the lab? Not so long ago, it had felt that she had been asking me to visit every weekend for some study or survey, but ever since she had begun writing her thesis, the lab had become her retreat, where she went to be alone and write, living an almost monastic life. The elevator doors opened and I walked out into the hallway, turned right, and made my way to her lab.
I knocked and waited, but no one answered. I checked the handle: it was unlocked. I decided to just wait for her inside; she was probably in the bathroom or something. I slowly opened the door and made my way inside. I paused. What was that noise? It sounded almost like a ... slapping sound? It was coming from further within the lab. I slowly crept past tables and bookshelves, making my way towards the strange noise.
I rounded a corner and froze. My eyes widened in shock. Just ten feet away from me sat a man whom I had never seen before, completely naked. He was turned slightly away, his side to me, but nothing hid the source of the sound from my view. His right hand was furiously pumping away, stroking his hard cock. His eyes were closed, his lips parted, his chest heaving as he loudly groaned. My cheeks burned and a moist warmth spread through my panties as I watched, paralyzed in place, unable to look away. His hand was almost a blur, moving so vigorously that it sometimes slipped off the end of his dick. His thick, girthy cock gleamed, slick with the hand lotion that sat in a bottle on a nearby table, its head swollen and red. I felt guilty for spying on him, but he was in a public place. If he didn't want to be watched, he shouldn't be jacking off in a school room.
I studied the delicious sight before me. The man was well-muscled, his chest and shoulders broad, his calves firm, his abs readily visible through his tight, flat stomach. A light stubble highlighted his strong jaw and cheekbones. For a moment, I was tempted to join him, to step out from hiding and ask him whether he needed help with that. It worked all the time in porn, didn't it? But I didn't know this guy, and I doubted that the circles for "masturbates naked in public" and "trustworthy stranger" had a very large intersection in a Venn diagram. What if he were a sexual deviant? What if he were the kind of person who watched strangers masturbate?, I asked myself guiltily.
He quivered and moaned loudly. His eyes opened wide. I darted behind the bookshelf, worried I had been caught, but the sound of his masturbation didn't stop. Slowly, I peered back around the corner.
He panted loudly and quickened his hand's pace. His attention was focused only on the large, rigid shaft between his legs. He watched it even more attentively than I. Was he about to cum? I really shouldn't keep watching ... but I didn't make a move. I only stared, enraptured by his performance. My fingernails dug into the wood of the bookshelf.
He grunted loudly. His body shuddered. His cock spasmed. Thick, ivory cum gushed out of his massive manhood, onto the floor, onto his thighs, dripping onto his chair. With each ejaculation, he moaned, over and over, until his semen was finally spent. Slouched over, he panted heavily, trying to catch his breath.
I suddenly realized that I had been holding my breath and clenching my fists. I relaxed, and leaned against the bookshelf, vicariously exhausted. The bookshelf tilted slightly under my weight. I tried to keep it upright, panicking, but its date with the floor with unstoppable. It landed with a thunderous thud that echoed throughout the entire floor.
The mysterious man shrieked and turned towards me in shock. With one arm, he covered his crotch. With the other, he concealed his chest, hiding his nipples. "Who's there?! Oh, it's you..." he said, relaxing visibly once he saw me.
"What does that mean?! Who are you? Why were you masturbating? Why are you naked? ... And why were you masturbating?!"
"It's me! Zoe!" he explained, gesturing towards his face with both hands. My eyes dropped downwards to the obvious contradiction.
"Zoe does not have a cock!" At least, I don't think she does... "Who are you? Tell me now or I ... I'll mace you! I swear I'll do it!"
"Put that away! Just ... just let me show you..."
"You've shown more than enough already, mister. Is this how you get your kicks? Breaking into buildings and masturbating until someone catches you and watches? Huh? Are you into that?" I had to admit, I had enjoyed it myself, but he didn't need to know that.
"No! Just watch. I'll prove it's me with one very simple demonstration." I kept my pepper spray aimed at him as he slowly reached behind his neck. His eyes flashed an electric blue and dulled into lifelessness, becoming glassy marbles. A wet, visceral schlick came from behind him, the sound of two raw steaks slapping together.
He slumped forward, and from out of his spine emerged a person, rising from out of the dead skin like a butterfly from a cocoon. I watched with a detached, scientific curiosity.
"Holy fucking fuck! What the fuck!"
I tried to retreat, but I tripped over my shoe and fell onto the ground. My tailbone struck the cold, linoleum floor, knocking the wind out of me. As I watched, the man's dead flesh sloughed off the inner creature's frame, revealing...
"Um, hi..." Her cheeks burned pink. Her golden peach skin glowed slightly, as though she had just been, well, as though had just been inside a skin-tight suit. Her hair was tangled and mussed, almost entirely hiding her dark chocolate eyes. My eyes slowly slid down from her face to her waist. From the waist up, she was female ... obviously female. Evidently, she hadn't worn anything underneath that suit, and now her petite breasts lay bare and exposed before me. I quickly looked elsewhere, my cheeks beginning to heat up again. The torso of the ... the man-suit she had been wearing lay flaccid on her lap, a mass of empty skin. From the waist down, she still appeared to be male in every way. She looked like a lazily-designed mythological monster turned in at 4:59 on a Friday night by the Mythology Department: the mantaur, a human woman, but a man below the waist.
"Wh—what ... What ... What's happening?" I asked weakly.
"This is what I wanted to show you. I just ... didn't expect you to be here so soon ... Hold on..." She stood up and pushed the rest of the suit off of her, stepping out of it gingerly. She picked it up and placed it into a large, open box on the table. She sat back down across from me. "Let me start from the beginning."
"Can you put some clothes on first, Zoe? I mean, we're close and all, but I'd be more comfortable if I couldn't see your vag..." I requested, averting my eyes away from her.
"What... ? Oh geez! Sorry! I forgot I was—never mind." Her limbs short-circuited as she tried to decide whether to cover up or stand up first, her arms and legs moving at cross-purposes. Finally, she settled on standing up and scampered behind a row of lockers, emerging a few moments later, hastily dressed. "Okay, so where was I?" she asked, placing her glasses onto her face.
"You were going to explain why everything stopped making sense five minutes ago ... please..."
"Ah, right!" she cheered, pounding her fist into her palm. "Well, when I showed up today, there was a package waiting for me. When I opened it up, the suit was inside of it, and a small card: 'Try it on.'"
"Who sent it to you?"
She shrugged. "No idea. All it says is 'From: The Omarim.' I've never heard of it before."
"So you came into the lab and found a mysterious package, from someone you don't know, that contained what appears to be a suit made out of, and I want to stress this part, human skin, and your first instinct was to wear it?"
She coughed politely. "Well, I was curious. Besides, feel it. It's almost metallic, like tin foil. It's definitely not skin. And besides, what else am I going to do with it? Ignore it forever? You can't learn without experimentation! I'd just die of curiosity if I let it sit in a box. And besides, it's incredible!"
"Okay, so you tried on the Mystery Serial Killer Human Skin Suit. Then what?"
"Uh-uh, I've designated it the Tiresias Suit. Well, once I put it on, it sealed around me, and suddenly it was like I was a guy. It felt like a real body. It went from foil to flesh: I can only begin to imagine what it's made of ... I was able to see and smell and hear and taste just like it was my own body. I actually became a guy. My body was fully functional in every way!"
"Yeah, I, uh, I kinda noticed..."
.... There is more of this story ...