A Treatise 2

There’s a giddy feeling in me after I read the supposed power words from the scrap of paper. I take a deep breath, feeling a slight shudder. There’s a tingling in my feet that forces me back onto the bed. I place the book on the nightstand, the scrap of paper holding the page like a bookmark.

“That’s pretty weird,” I say, leaning back on the headboard. As soon as the strange feeling is there, though, it’s gone again. I look suspiciously at the book before my eyes are drawn back to the closet.

The door is nearly closed, but I know the supernatural-looking light is just the moonglow again, the beams of focusing through the well-placed convex lens in the circular window. This house does have a bizarre energy about it, but the quirks are kind of charming.

As I settle into the bed again, I turn over and close my eyes--until I hear the closet door creaking…

When I open my eyes, I start sliding myself up to the head of the bed. What I’m seeing can’t be real.

It’s one of my white dress shirts, floating out of the closet and dancing into the room. It goes in a loop, flying around the outside near the ceiling as a bat would. When it flies over the bed, I duck like a frightened animal, my mind desperately seeking to comprehend what’s going on.

When I look back to the closet, I see a pair of pants slump off their hanger--and now something clicks in my mind: the moonlight. The dress shirt came from the same location in the closet--the focal point of the moonlight.

I slide off the bed, watching as the shirt hovers over to my dresser. It starts pulling out the top drawer with its sleeves, and I can only watch in awed horror. My eyes jump back to my errant dress pants, which are walking out of the closet on their own, somewhat more metered than the flying dress shirt in their movements. While I’m momentarily distracted, the ghostly dress shirt floats with the top drawer in its sleeves, placing it on the floor beneath the window.

It’s only just in front of me, but I don’t understand the situation. The drawer of socks and underwear is sitting in the light from the window, but my eyes dart back to the closet.

I can’t began to reason out what’s going on as I watch my dress pants take shape in the moonlight. The waist seems to be fitting itself around invisible hips. The fear in me is growing as I search for an explanation but keep coming up empty handed.

I watch my dress shirt pick up a silly novelty disco ball atop the shelf. I chuckle at the absurdity, relaxing a bit as the shirt drifts away from me with the mirrored thing, but my critical mind comes back for just long enough to illustrate the obvious.

...focal point of the moonlight.

...sitting in the light from the window.

...novelty mirror ball.

I leap forward in absolute desperation, but the white dress shirt sails easily beyond my grip and back toward the closet. I try to follow, but the dress pants jump in my way, sufficiently close enough to surprise me at a hard stop.

I’m looking right into the impossible: my dress pants are poised like a cat, waiting to strike. The legs are slightly bent, and I can see the stiff fabric at the seat of the pants, tightening in a crouch. It’s like the invisible man is wearing my pants.

Behind this spectre, one of my white dress shirts holds a disco ball (why do I still have that tacky nonsense?) in the moonlight, cutting the focused beam into dozens of rays and dazzling the interior of the closet with pale, blue-white light.

Moonlight. Magical moonlight, apparently.

I have to suspend what’s left of my sanity to do it, but I wave my arms over the dress pants blocking me from the closet, and I meet with nothing at all. When I realize I’m not fighting a whole body, I get bolder and reach down into the seat of the pants. I’m met with no resistance as I sink my arm elbow-deep into one of the legs.

I’m holding a deep breath, treating the pants like a living animal. In the background, the shattered moonbeam is soaking every corner of the closet--and I have no doubts about what’s next.

By now, the dress pants have lost their ready-stance and seem to be wiggling. The motion creeps me out, and I pull away from the pants, wondering what effect I was having.

I watch the possessed shirt continuing to dangle the mirrored ball in the focused moonlight. The dress pants stand up tall and seem to flare, stretching their material a bit. There’s rustling behind me as I step back, and when I turn around, I want to cry out.

I’m stopped from doing so by a pair of balled up white socks, which leap into my mouth. My eyes go cross as they watch the cloth invader, but after being gagged, my focus is drawn in front of me.

My underwear drawer on the floor is empty, but its contents are either hovering in the air or dancing around the room. I shudder when I realize exactly what this means: whatever I’d read from that book--it has nothing to do with the focused beam of the circular window. It has to do with all of the moonlight in the room!

Every pair of underwear from the drawer is filled to my shape, flowing through the air with all the effort of fabric balloons. I can only dodge and retreat, watching briefs and  boxers bob around me. I can’t get away from all the pairs of socks running around the room and jumping over the bed, filled with ghostly hollow feet.

I move toward the door as the white shirt flies back out of the closet, preceded by the disco ball. The thing is hovering through the room on its own, and when the moonlight from the window hits the mirrored ball, my bedroom door slams shut. I watch the dancing streaks of light painting everything in the room. I hear my dresser drawers squeak open, as the rest of my wardrobe is exposed to the magically charged light.

And now the parade from my closet begins. Dress pants and khakis march out first, accompanied by a line of dress shirts in short and long sleeves. When I try to get out of the way, I run into the white dress shirt, which wraps its sleeves around my arms and grabs hold of me.

I’m mumbling through my sock gag, held by my hovering dress shirt as more and more clothes join the room. A pair of red briefs dance against my face, and when I try to get out of the way, I find myself bounced against the butt of my own plaid boxers.

The dress shirt throws me toward the bed and slips away, letting my underwear swarm around me. In a split second, a pair of navy blue CK bikini briefs are bouncing against my hips, bent over and tightening the soft cotton covering the invisible butt.

When a pair of blue Papi boy shorts dance against my face, I see it for the first time--the clear outline of a very particular part of anatomy...and I’ve never seen it quite like this.

I try to avoid it, but I can’t--I’m held against the bed and trapped by the weight of my own collection. Boxer-briefs are swelling up and bouncing tight cottony butts and thighs against my lower legs--holding me in place; my designer briefs are grinding against my crotch and face, steadily showing off their packages…

I can feel it--rolling through me and making my body respond to things my mind can’t reconcile. I shouldn’t be turned on by my own clothing, but--maybe it’s a power thing. I reach for the underwear grinding against my hips and grab the waistband, trying to pull them away. They only bounce against me harder, inspiring my own manhood to assert itself.

I watch the bedroom door open as one of my half-assembled work outfits slides out into the hall. More of my clothes follow, and I wonder how I’m going to explain any of this to Vanessa and Sean. My undershirts rise up out of a light-splashed drawer, inflating to a more cut version of my body. A couple of them slip out the door into the hall along with a few of my more daring pairs of underwear in mesh and wetlook. I watch a pair of my leather shoes walk out as well, and I wonder where they’re all going.

“We’re not enough for you, Matt?” Says a smooth voice coming from my underwear. It’s a pair of black Perry Ellis boxer briefs, ghostly and semi-see-through. They hover in front of me, putting their package right against my nose. “You worked hard yesterday, Matt. Can’t you smell it?”

I try to back away, but I’m invaded by the scent of my own musk. I’d worn these underwear yesterday while we moved everything. Sean and I--10 hours of lifting, coordinating--burning energy.

“Mmm...that’s right, Matthew. Think happy thoughts,” a voice says from under me. It was my own pouch briefs, shifting on my hips as my cock turns upright. The navy blue CK briefs tighten again, bouncing against my living underwear once more. My pouch briefs are starting to stroke me off even as the Calvin Klein underwear rock their ass against my growing shaft.

Suddenly, my gag leaps from my mouth and inflates, joining the other pairs.

“Wha--who are you? And what the hell are you doing to me?” I manage to get out before my Perry Ellis boxer briefs mash against my face, forcing their semi-glossy package against my lips.

“We’re the first wave of a revolution,” the strong, well-hung midsection said. “We’re going to show you things your inhibitions and physical laws wouldn’t otherwise allow…” The voice is silky and deep, and I feel my own cock jump when the package swells against my lips once more.

Whatever these things are, they’re showing intelligence and libido--and my body is...feeling whatever it’s feeling. My own underwear are stroking me, teasing me and grinding against me...I’d be mortified if anyone were to see it happening, but…

Hovering over me is one of my form-fitting tees, showing every point of definition well beyond my actual body.

“Inhibitions?” I cry. “What are you talking about? You’re my clothes!” I hear mocking laughter from all around my room as the clothes lean back and pantomime the action.

“And that’s why we’re going to play ‘exchange program’ first, cutie.” It’s the t-shirt talking now, flexing its short sleeves as the chest beneath the fabric bulges. “Some of your things are going downstairs to see Sean...and some of his things are coming up to see you.

"Wh-what?” I ask, trying to get up again. The Perry Ellis boxer-briefs sit on my face, bouncing against me and flattening me into the bed. Now the other underwear redouble their efforts, and soon my erection is standing at full attention, spurred on by the enchanted underwear stroking my cock and teasing my asshole. The fabric pulses a wedgie into my ass on purpose--the more stimulation they get from me, the more potent the moonlight becomes.

What I still didn’t realize were the limits of the spell, though. I assumed that only moonlight focused through the strange window would be enchanted. I was wrong. I assumed that only the moonlight in my room was enchanted. I was wrong.

* * *

On the other side of the house, A box bathed in the moonlight of Sean’s room popped open. While he was still sound asleep, a strange spandex form--then a second one with it--both lifted themselves out of the box like strange fabric wraiths.

When they began to inflate, the moonlight danced on the smooth, matte fabric, shining through it just slightly. The spandex began to take the form of an almost classically shaped man--ludicrous in its perfection and perfect in its grace. The otherworldly male form hovered into the air, then over Sean’s bed as he slept.

To be continued...