The Dollhouse

I hate being put in a box.  It happens a lot to those of us in the gay community.  Top or bottom?  Dom or sub?  Masc or femme?  For a group of people who know sexuality is a spectrum, we’re sure eager to trap each other in binary.

I’ve been on a couple dozen dates this year, and the instant that a guy asks where I fit into the gay community, I’m just fuckin’ done, y’now?  They all want me to fit some stupid gay stereotype.  What, I can’t like going to the gym and the library?  I can’t watch musicals and rugby?  I remember back in college when every gay guy I knew was proudly saying “I’m a twink”, “I’m an otter”, “I’m a sugar baby”.

I’m Sam.  I’m complicated.  There are a lot of us who don’t fit in.

I was staring at a notification on my phone, wondering if I should even bother.  I’d been texting with Michael for most of the last week, and now he was asking me out.

He was cute – tousled black hair, a sharp jawline, and an easy smile that made him look like he belonged in a toothpaste ad.  We’d met online – yawn – but Michael was the first guy in weeks who didn’t seem obsessed with posting gym selfies or listing “masc only” in his profile.

There was something off about him though.  Little details that didn’t add up.  He avoided questions about his job and kept deflecting whenever I tried to talk about family or hobbies. His responses were a little too quick, a little too polished. Maybe I was overthinking it.

Later that afternoon, I found myself venting to my coworker, Dale, over coffee in the office kitchenette. Dale raised an eyebrow when I mentioned the prospect of a date. “Man, I’m so jealous. You gay guys are always out there, partying and living it up.”

I snorted. “Yeah, not quite. I haven’t partied since 2015, and that was for my friend’s bachelor weekend. And it’s not like I fit into any of the gay ‘boxes,’ anyway. I’m not a twink. I’m not a power bottom. I’m definitely not a drag queen. And don’t get me started on the InstaGays.”

“InstaGays?” he asked.

“You know. The hot ones on Instagram with their perfect bodies and curated lives. They’re all hanging out in Mykonos or taking group shots at some beach house. None of them even wear shirts,” I said with a smirk. “Meanwhile, my married friends stopped inviting me to dinner parties, so it’s me and Netflix most nights.”

“Well, what about the apps?” Dale asked. “I hear Grindr is, like… dial a dick.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, Grindr’s fine if you’re looking for sex. But I’m looking for something more. Not that it matters—dating is basically a full-time exercise in disappointment.”

“Then you’d better try something new, man. Maybe you’re just stuck in a rut.”

Goddamn it.  I liked at Michael’s text again.

“Want to grab a drink tomorrow?”

“I’d love to," I texted back.  "Where do you like?”

-------

I stood outside the bar, warm light spilling out of its windows.  I was so glad he hadn’t suggested a gay bar – nobody needs a drag queen interrupting their date.  The place looked nice enough.  Unassuming and quiet.

Still, my feet refused to move. I glanced at my phone. I wasn’t late. Not yet. But I wondered if I could just text Michael and cancel—maybe something had come up, maybe I wasn’t feeling well. Who would question that?

A new season of Squid Game dropped last month, and I still hadn’t watched it. That sounded like a better way to spend the night than risking another mediocre date. And how many had there been? Too many ghostings, awkward silences, and polite excuses.

But of course, I didn’t want to be the guy who ghosts.  I sighed and told myself I’d just go in, have one drink, then head home and order a pizza. That wasn’t so bad, right?

It didn’t take long to spot Michael, sitting at a table near the back. He waved me over and gave that toothpaste-commercial smile.  I felt a flicker of optimism.

“Hey,” Michael said, standing to shake my hand. “You look even better in person.”

It was a line, but as lines go... not too bad.

“So do you,” I said, taking a seat across from him.  “Nice to meet you.  In person, I mean.”

The evening unfolded surprisingly well. Michael had a kind of nerdy charisma that didn't come through in his texts.  Far from being creepy, he put me at ease, and our conversation meandered from favourite travel spots to urban planning — a topic he seemed passionate about. I found myself losing track of time as we talked hobbies and drank wine.

Of course, you can’t expect any gay guy to avoid all the stereotypes.  After our fourth glass of wine, Michael leaned closer.  “Want to come back to my place?” he asked.  “I’ve got something I’d love to show you.”

“Oh, um... I don’t really do that,” I said, trying to not to sound like the biggest loser in the world. “I don’t go home on the first date.”

“Really?” Michael tilted his head, playfully. “Not ever? Not even once?”

I hesitated, feeling a little flustered. “It’s been a while,” I admitted, bashfully.

Dale's words kept floating through my mind.

“But I’m up to try something new.”

-----

The dollhouse dominated Michael’s living room.  It was enormous, a big old Victorian mansion with ornate details and tiny balconies, sitting proudly on a sturdy wooden table.

“Holy shit,” I said, gasping when I saw it.  “You never talked about your hobbies... I figured you were into video games or Warhammer or something.  This is incredible!  Where’d you buy this?!”

“I uh... didn’t,” Michael blushed.  It was hit turn to look embarrassed.  “I built it myself.  Every piece.”

“It belongs in a museum,” I said.  “This must have taken you forever!”

“Yeah, about a year,” he said, clearly enjoying my reaction. He walked over and opened the front of the house, revealing the intricately designed rooms inside. “I even made the furniture and hand-painted the wallpaper.”

It really was amazing. The rooms were filled with tiny, ornate furniture—a four-poster bed in one, a grand piano in another. There were chandeliers, tiny bookshelves, even miniature paintings hanging on the walls.

My illusion of Michael as a stereotype breaking gay guy fell apart the moment I saw the dolls.

There were four of them, each placed in a different room. One was a surfer, complete with board shorts and a tank top. Another was a bro, wearing a backward cap and a tight tee. Then there was a football jock, with broad shoulders packed into a letterman jacket. And finally, a leather boy, clad in a harness and pants with shiny boots.

“Really?” I groaned. “You put in all this work, but you just filled it with stereotypes?”

Michael shrugged, unbothered. “I like what I like. Besides, they’re stereotypes because they represent something real in the gay community. We all know guys like this.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, well, I’m just not the kind of gay who fits in a box.”

Michael’s grin widened, his eyes sparkling. “You’d be surprised. I think everyone fits in a box if you find the right box for them.”

“Whatever,” I said, brushing it off. Michael closed up the dollhouse, the latches clicking softly into place.

“I know it’s a weird thing to have,” he said, from behind me. “But hey, I’m hot enough to be eccentric, right?”

I snorted and turned away from the dollhouse.  Michael had stripped down to his boxer-briefs while I’d been staring at the dolls. My breath caught for a second. His body was lean and defined, a quiet confidence radiating from him.

“Wanna see upstairs?” he asked, a sly grin playing on his lips.

I hesitated before meeting his eyes. “Sure,” I said, trying not to sound too eager. “Why not?”

We climbed the stairs to Michael’s bedroom, the air between us charged with tension. I hesitated at the doorway, taking in the neatly made bed and the soft glow of a bedside lamp. My stomach fluttered with a mix of nerves and excitement.

Michael leaned against the doorframe, watching me. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and calm.

I nodded, though my heart raced. “Yeah, just… I don’t usually do this. Not this soon.”

“You don’t have to overthink it,” he said, stepping closer, his hands lightly resting on my hips. “Just be here. With me.”

We kissed, his touch confident yet gentle, and I let myself get lost in the moment. As his hands roamed, they found the hem of my shirt. He paused, looking at me for confirmation, and I nodded faintly. He tugged it over my head in one smooth motion, letting it fall to the floor.

His fingers brushed along my shoulders, tracing the lines of my collarbone before trailing down to the waistband of my jeans. “Let’s take these off,” he murmured, his tone somehow both gentle and commanding. I hesitated for a moment, something about his voice made it feel natural to comply. Slowly, he unbuttoned and unzipped them, sliding them down my legs, leaving me in my underwear. The cool air of the room prickled my skin.

He hooked his thumbs around the waistband of my briefs and lowered them slowly down.  My cock sprang free, half-hard from the attention.  I couldn’t believe I was going to... I’m not this kind of guy...

He took my cock in his mouth and sucked.  Fuck, he was a good cocksucker.  I was so hard, and every time he dove back onto my cock I trembled.

When he finally stood, he ran his hands up my bare arms, his touch deliberate, as though he was following a careful ritual. His kisses resumed, deeper and more insistent, until I found myself lying back on the bed, his weight pressing against me. But even then, he took his time, his hands brushing over my skin like an artist adding the final strokes to a masterpiece.

I hesitated again, pulling back slightly. “I… I’m not sure,” I stammered.

“Sometimes, you just have to let go,” he said, his voice almost soothing.  “Stop worrying about what’s right or wrong or what you’re used to. Just let yourself… belong.”

The word hung in the air. I wanted to argue, to retreat into my shell, but something in his tone made it impossible. “You’re safe with me,” he murmured. “Let me find you.”

Before I could second-guess myself, I was facedown on his bed.  I heard him squirt lube into his hand, warming it before he massaged it into my hole.  He was gentle.  Thoughtful.  I liked that.  His tenderness ignited something I hadn’t felt in years, a burning desire.  A surrender.  For the first time in a long time, I stopped thinking entirely and just let go.

"That's right doll," he whispered, pushing his cock inside of me.  Slowly but steadily, he inched inside of my hole, taking his time and making me feel so good.  "That's right," he moaned.  "Just relax.  Let go.  You're almost there."

I was leaking precum all over his sheets.  He was thrusting into me over and over, setting off fireworks with every twitch of his incredible cock.

"Get ready," he gasped, quickening his rhythm.  "I'm almost there.  You're almost there!"

He slipped his hand under me and I raised my hips to allow it.  His fingers closed around my cock and he started jacking me off while he pounded me from behind.  As I gasped for air, a strange sensation washed over me. My body felt weightless.  Disconnected.  A tingling warmth spread through my chest, down my arms, and into my legs. It was overwhelming, unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

Michael grunted once more time and let out a long moan.  He was pulsing inside me, flooding my ass with his load.  At the same time he squeezed my cock just right and suddenly I was shooting too.  Oh god... oh god... it felt so good...

We collapsed, a pair of sweaty bodies, intertwined.  His weight settled on me and I felt so safe and warm.

As my world faded to black, I had my last free thought.

I hoped he'd want a second date.

------

I woke up groggy, my body feeling strange, like it wasn’t entirely my own. The last thing I remembered was lying in Michael’s bed, wrapped in a haze of pleasure. Now, as my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I realized something was very wrong.

The bed I was lying on was tiny, the kind you’d find in a dollhouse. I sat up, the satin sheets sliding off me, and froze when I caught sight of my reflection in a miniature mirror. Pink leather pants clung tightly to my legs, and a mesh t-shirt stretched over my chest. Not my style – I usually make fun of guys who dress like whores.

“What the…” I whispered, tugging at the mesh fabric as if peeling it off would wake me from this bizarre dream.

“Sorry, bruh,” a voice said, startling me. I turned to see a group of guys clustered around the tiny bed, their expressions a mix of pity and resignation.

“You’re stuck here with us,” said the one closest to me, a tanned, blond surfer type. He wore board shorts and a tank top, the archetypal beach bum.

I scrambled back, my head spinning. “Where the hell am I? Who are you?”

“We’re all in the same boat, man,” said another guy, a broad-shouldered jock in a football jersey. He flexed absentmindedly as he spoke. “Or, uh, dollhouse, I guess. Michael brought us here. Same as you.  I’m Tank, by the way.”

“Sunny,” the surfer said.  “That’s my name bruh.”

“Prisoners?” I asked, my voice cracking. “Or… wait... are you guys the dolls?”

“We all are dude,” the jock sighed.  “It’s cool though... just be cool and everything’ll be okay.”

The leather boy — how stereotypical could you get? — stepped forward, his boots clicking against the wood floor. “It’s hard to explain, sir. We all thought it was just a normal hookup. But Michael… he’s not normal. He’s… something else. And now we’re… this.”

I stared at them, my mind racing. “Which one of you dressed me like this?” I demanded, pulling at the mesh tee again. “I’d never wear this in a million years.”

“Dude, you think I’m actually like… a dumbass football player?” Tank said, rolling his eyes. “I’m an architect. I was so into it when Michael showed me the dollhouse, like… super cool, right? But then I wake up here and I’m dressed like this? Worst part is, bro, he plays with you and… you start to buy into it.”

“Wait, what?” I said, shrinking into myself.

“It’s true, sir,” the leather boy said. “I used to be a big-time lawyer, but one night with Master Michael and… well, sir… he kept tweaking my outfit until one day I looked in the mirror and… this is just who I am, sir! It feels so right!”

“That’s Mateo,” the jock said, pointing at the leather boy.  “And that bro over there is Ryan.  What’s your name dude?”

“I’m Sam,” I said, turning to the surfer and the bro, desperation creeping into my voice. “What about you two? Don’t tell me, you’re actually a CEO and you’re an accountant.”

Sunny looked sheepish. “Marine biologist, bruh. So at least I still got the water, y’know?”

Ryan chuckled, pulling off his backwards cap and running a hand through greasy hair. “I was getting my PhD in philosophy. Always envied the bros on campus, and… now I get to be one! It’s not all bad, right boys?”

“No, sir!” Mateo said quickly. “I mean… when I was a lawyer, I was always in control, but I was getting seriously burnt out. Now I do what I’m told… it’s a stress-free life, sir!”

“You can’t possibly be okay with this,” I insisted.  “You guys all had careers and ambitions and goals!”

“I dunno bruh,” Sunny said dreamily.  “It just sorta... fades, y’know?  Like... yeah, I know I used to love fish an’ shit, but I like... never think about it, you get that?  Hey – whaddaya do for work anyway.”

“I’m a graphic designer,” I said, relieved to say something normal for once in the conversation.  “Mostly advertising, but I do some book covers and posters too.”

“Kiss it goodbye bro,” Ryan laughed.  “Cuz you’re gonna be on the poster now.  Got that model vibe bro, you get that?”

“No, no, no, no, no…” I muttered, shaking my head. “I’m not going to fall for this… look at me, I’m dressed like I’m the backup dancer at a Beyoncé concert!”

“Uh… yeah, dude…” Tank said. He motioned for the group to step back. “Here, get up and… uh… take a look.”

I swung my legs off the bed and stood, feeling the tight leather cling uncomfortably to my legs. The jock pointed to a plaque posted above my door.

“Sam – The Circuit Queen,” it read in flowery lettering.

My stomach sank. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You’ll figure it out,” the surfer said with a shrug. “We all do.”

I bolted from the room, my feet slipping slightly on the smooth wooden floor. The others shouted after me, but I couldn’t stop. My chest heaved as I ran down the hallway, past rooms that felt like something out of a twisted fairytale. I didn’t care where I was going—I just needed to get out.

“Dude, wait!” Tank’s voice called from behind me, his heavy steps following closely. “You’re not gonna get anywhere!”

I ignored him, skidding to a stop at the front door. It was a perfect replica of a Victorian entryway, down to the ornate brass doorknob. I grabbed for the knob and missed.  I tried again... missed again.  No matter what I tried, I couldn't get a grip.

“Told you,” Tank said, leaning against the wall, his massive arms crossed.  “We all tried, man. Front door, back door, windows… it’s all fake. Just paint on the walls.”

“That’s impossible,” I muttered, moving to a nearby window. The curtains were drawn back, revealing a picturesque garden outside. I couldn't get a grip on the window to open it, so I pounded against the glass instead, doing my best to break it.  It felt solid, but wrong — rough and warm, instead of smooth and cool.

Desperate, I scratched at the window with my fingernails. The garden scene chipped slightly, revealing something underneath. Wood. More paint.

Tank sighed. “Told you. You’re here now dude, whether you want it or not.”

“No,” I snapped, turning to him. “There has to be a way out.”

I headed for the back door in the kitchen.  Sunny was at the counter mixing up a protein shake. He looked up as I burst in.

“Did Michael show you anything that might be a way out?” I demanded, looking between Sunny and Tank. “When he showed me the dollhouse, everything worked! It had real doors and windows. I thought it was a stupid detail, but now... where are they?”

Sunny shrugged and took a gulp of his shake. “Yeah, bruh.  I saw that shit too.  Once you’re inside, it’s different.”

Tank nodded solemnly. “We’ve all been there dude. You’ll try to fight it. We all did. But eventually, this place… it gets into your head. You’ll start to buy into it.”

“No,” I said, my voice trembling. “That’s not going to happen. I’m not like you. I’m not staying here.”

“Sure thing boss,” Sunny said with a small, sad smile. “Whatever you say.”

“Yeah, dude,” Tank said with a shrug.  "You'll become one of us if you’re lucky.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, my voice cracking. “If I’m lucky?”

Sunny put down the protein shake and sighed, running a hand through his sun-bleached hair. “It’s like… so not happy, bruh,” he moaned. “But yeah, I’ll show you.”

Before I could ask, Sunny headed to a door at the back of the kitchen. “Come on,” he said, motioning for me to follow.

I glanced at Tank, who just shrugged. “Might as well see for yourself, dude.”

Reluctantly, I followed Sunny to the door. He opened it to reveal a staircase leading down into darkness. Pulling a chain, he switched on a bare lightbulb, which cast a weak glow over a cluttered basement. The space smelled faintly of sawdust and paint.

On the far wall, dozens – maybe hundreds – of portraits were arranged in neat rows. Each one was encased in a glass frame and depicted a caricature of a man, stylized and exaggerated in the same way as the rest of us. Leather daddies, twinks, gym bros — all the gay archetypes you could think of were in their individual frames.

But most of the portraits had a red “X” painted over the face.

Sunny walked up to one of the portraits, tapping the glass with his finger. “That was Zach,” he said. “He was gonna be a himbo, but bruh just couldn’t accept the chill life.”

“Wait… what happened to him?” I asked, my heart pounding.  I knew there was no chance, but I had to ask. “If you don’t fit in… does Michael just... let you go?”

Sunny laughed, but there was a sad edge to it. “Nah, brah. No way. See… the four of us? We play the game, so we get to keep playing. You get me?”

My stomach turned. “Did Michael… uh… oh, fuck,” I stammered, staring at Zach’s portrait. “Is he dead?”

“Nah, bruh!” Sunny said, his laugh filled with relief. “He’s like… you know when a kid gets a toy and they get bored with it? He’s in the toy box with all the others.”

Sunny led me to an elaborate wooden chest in the corner of the room. It was covered in intricate carvings and looked like something out of a gothic novel. He opened the lid, revealing a chaotic pile of plastic dolls. Some were dressed as leather daddies, others as twinks, circuit queens, and jocks. Each one was impossibly detailed, with lifelike faces frozen in expressions of terror.

Sunny reached in and pulled out a doll with exaggerated muscles and a neon costume. “There he is,” he said, holding up the figurine. “Sorry, Zach. Shoulda played the game.”

He tossed the doll back into the chest without a second thought and closed the lid. “But like… don’t worry about it, bruh,” Sunny said, flashing me a grin. “Just play along, and you’ll fit right in!”

My skin crawled as we climbed the stairs. I couldn’t shake the image of Zach’s face, frozen in plastic horror.  I couldn’t stop thinking about the endless rows of portraits.  Was I already on that wall?  Would I get out of this without being sent to the toybox?

Halfway up, I stopped and turned to Sunny. “I’m not going to let this happen to me,” I said, my voice trembling.

Sunny just shrugged. “That’s what they all say, bruh. But this place? It changes you. It even makes you like it... you’ll see!”

I opened my mouth to argue, but before I could get a word out, everything blurred. A wave of dizziness hit me, and the next thing I knew, I was back in my dollhouse bed, staring up at the pink satin canopy, my heart pounding in my chest.

----

The door burst open, and Sunny and Tank rushed in, their faces a mix of relief and worry. Moments later, Ryan and Mateo followed, Ryan’s voice booming through the room. “Oh, thank fucking fuck, bro,” Ryan exclaimed, his expression brightening. “I thought maybe you were headed for the toybox, but you’re still all good, bro!”

I groaned, sitting up slowly. “What the hell is going on?” I muttered, rubbing my head. That’s when I noticed it: I wasn’t wearing the mesh outfit anymore. Instead, I was now dressed in a glittery harness, dayglo booty shorts, and a matching dayglo cowboy hat.

“What…” I reached up to yank off the ridiculous cowboy hat, but the moment I did, another one dropped onto my head, identical to the first. “What the hell?” I shouted, panic creeping into my voice.

“Costume change, sir,” Mateo said, his tone almost eager to please. “Master Michael tries out different looks until he finds one that… uh… fits.”

“He’s gonna find one you like,” Tank added simply, leaning against the wall. “My first look was just, like, gym shorts and a workout tank. I was all, ‘that’s so not me,’ but the ripped up jeans and  the letterman jacket…?” He gestured at himself.  “It’s my vibe.”

“He’ll find your vibe too, bro,” Ryan said with a nod. “He tried jerseys and shit on me—not my style. But trackies and a dope cap? Dude, you look in the mirror, and you’re just like, yeah, that’s right.”

Sunny grinned and nudged me lightly. “And then you’re one of us. You like this vibe?  It’s giving total circuit queen!”

I stood up, the dayglo shorts riding uncomfortably as I crossed the room to a mirror. Staring at my reflection, I felt a surge of anger and humiliation. “No,” I spat. “This is definitely NOT my vibe.”

“That’s cool, bruh,” Sunny said with an easy shrug. “Mikey’ll figure you out eventually.”

I turned back to them, my fists clenched. “I’m not going to be one of you,” I snapped. “I’m not playing this… game. And I’m definitely not wearing this.”

Sunny shrugged again, his grin unshaken. “You don’t have to like it, bruh. You just gotta let it happen. That’s how it works.”

Ryan gave me a thumbs up. “For real, bro. Once you’re chill with it, everything’s way easier.”

I stared at them, my chest tight with a mix of fear and frustration. “Easier for who?” I asked, but none of them answered. Sunny just patted my shoulder as they started to leave the room, as though my resistance was nothing more than a phase.

When the door closed behind them, I stood in front of the mirror, the dayglo cowboy hat glinting mockingly under the room’s soft light. “This isn’t me,” I whispered to my reflection. “This is NOT me.”

-----

Luckily, the cowboy hat and harness outfit didn’t last long. About an hour later, halfway through tearing apart the room—checking behind furniture, peeking into every crack and crevice for some way out—and BOOM. I was back in the tiny bed.

Of course I checked myself out.

This time, it was glow-in-the-dark shorts and matching suspenders. Reflective body paint had been traced onto my chest and arms, glowing faintly in the low light, and my feet were snugly encased in white high-top sneakers that looked fresh out of a futuristic streetwear ad.

“Fuck,” I muttered, staring at myself in the mirror. The glowing patterns shifted slightly as I moved. I hated to admit it, but the look… wasn’t awful. If I’d seen an Instagay wearing it, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought.

It just wasn’t me. It wasn’t my vibe.

A small radio on the dresser crackled to life. EDM blasted out, pounding through the tiny room like it was a nightclub. My body betrayed me before my brain could catch up—I started moving to the music, my foot tapping, my shoulders swaying. I had to admit the rhythm was infectious.

I glanced back at the mirror and froze. With the glow-in-the-dark outfit, the thumping music, and my hesitant movements, I almost looked like I belonged. Almost.

“Shit,” I muttered as the lights flickered out. The room plunged into darkness, and the glow from my shorts, suspenders, and the reflective paint on my skin lit up the space. Then, with an audible click, the UV lights above the mirror turned on by themselves, bathing the room in an eerie neon glow. The paint and my sneakers blazed like a neon sign. For a fleeting moment, I caught myself thinking… I look kinda…

I slammed my fist down on the radio, shattering the cheap plastic speaker. The music cut off with a final, pathetic squeal, leaving the room in stunned silence. The UV lights buzzed softly overhead until I found a switch and flicked them off. I found the overhead light switch too, illuminating my reflection in harsh clarity.

“Shit,” I whispered, backing away. My knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the bed, burying my face in my hands. “Shit. Shit. No.”

“Felt good, didn’t it, bro?”

I jerked my head up to see Ryan standing in the doorway, his cocky grin plastered across his face.

“Felt like… it wasn’t you, but it’s the right direction, ain’t it?”

“Shut up,” I snapped, shoving past him and storming out of the room. My heart pounded as I stomped down the hallway, determined to find a way out before this place swallowed me whole.

I stormed down the hallway, my pulse pounding in my ears, and found myself in the living room. The scene that greeted me almost stopped me in my tracks. Tank was sprawled out on a recliner, lazily watching a football game on the oversized flat-screen TV. Mateo was kneeling in front of him, his head bobbing up and down on the jock’s cock, looking happier than I’d ever seen a man look.

“Hey, bruh,” Sunny drawled from the couch, his legs stretched out and his body radiating that surfer chill. He raised a hand in a lazy wave. “You doin’ okay? Sounds like shit went down.”

I gritted my teeth. “I’m fine,” I said, my voice tight. “Just fine.” My eyes darted between the ridiculousness of Tank’s detached expression and Mateo’s disturbingly enthusiastic work. “I just don’t understand why all of you are so… okay with this! Sure, I get it, play the game and you get to stay, but… for what? How is this better than the toybox?”

Mateo’s head snapped up, Tank’s cock slipping from his mouth with a wet pop. He turned to me, his voice barely above a whisper. “Sir… you need to shut the fuck up. Please, sir. There’s only one empty room after yours. Maybe once we’re full… maybe Master Michael will stop adding guys to the dollhouse.”

“Yeah,” Tank rumbled, his voice low and serious. “It’s too late for us, dude, but… maybe we can save everyone else.”

I threw up my hands. “So you just gave up? That’s your plan? Let the house fill up, and maybe Michael will stop trapping guys in here? How do you know he won’t just build another dollhouse? Bigger, better… worse?”

“You got a better idea?” Tank said with a shrug, his eyes never leaving the game. “‘Cause, dude, we’re hella smart, and we got nothin’.”

“Maybe you were,” I admitted, my voice rising, “but —”

I woke up in my bed again, groaning into the satin pillow. My first instinct was to keep my eyes shut, to stay in denial for just a few more seconds. But curiosity got the better of me, as it always seemed to, and I cracked one eye open to catch a glimpse of the mirror across my room.

Another costume change.

This time, I was wearing leather joggers that clung to my legs like a second skin. A skintight cropped t-shirt with a black and white pattern revealed a sliver of my midsection, and a loose short-sleeved button-down with a shimmering holographic print hung over it. The waistband of a neon pink jockstrap peeked out just above the joggers, and colorful bracelets adorned both wrists. A necklace with a sapphire stone glinted at my neck, catching the faint light from the bedside lamp. To top it all off, I had on a pair of oversized plastic sunglasses. At least my shoes hadn’t changed—still the same white high-tops from before.

“Good,” I muttered under my breath. “I liked those.”

The thought hit me like a slap. My stomach sank. “No, no, no,” I whispered. I couldn’t be falling for these ridiculous costumes. I couldn’t let myself start… liking this.

I forced myself to stand, walking to the mirror for a closer look. I wanted to hate it, to feel like this was the dumbest thing I’d ever been forced to wear. But as I took in the outfit’s details, the way the holographic print shimmered with each slight movement, the way the cropped shirt showed off my flat stomach, I couldn’t help but… admire it.

“Fuck,” I muttered, dragging a hand through my perfectly styled hair. “I look… kinda hot.”

I grimaced at my reflection, but the truth was undeniable. If I were designing a poster for a circuit party, I’d have no trouble making myself the centerpiece. It wasn’t *too* over-the-top, but it was attention-grabbing in all the right ways. Against my better judgment, I felt a pang of regret for breaking the radio earlier.

As if reading my thoughts, I spotted it on the dresser—the radio, perfectly intact, as though it had never been smashed. My fingers hovered over the dial, tempted to turn it on. I shook my head, trying to snap myself out of it.

“No,” I said aloud, backing away from the mirror. “Not this time.” But even as I retreated, I couldn’t shake the lingering thought: If someone else were wearing this, I’d probably think they looked incredible. And maybe… just maybe… so did I.

My hand hovered over the radio, the silence in the room practically daring me to give in. I glanced at the mirror, at the ridiculous-but-kinda-hot outfit, and before I could second-guess myself, I flipped the switch.

The room filled with music instantly—an EDM beat that thudded in my chest and made my toes tap involuntarily. My head bobbed to the rhythm as I reached for another switch on the wall. When I flicked it, the overhead light turned off, plunging the room into a dark haze. I hesitated for a moment before spotting one more switch near the dresser. With a deep breath, I flipped it.

UV lights blazed to life, bathing the room in neon glow. Coloured spotlights mounted in unseen corners began flashing in sync with the music, the holographic shirt catching and scattering the light. My skin seemed to shimmer in the glow, the bracelets on my wrists casting dancing reflections across the walls.

“Okay,” I muttered under my breath, a reluctant grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. “The vibe’s pretty sweet.”

I wasn’t a circuit queen. I didn’t want to be a circuit queen. But if I was stuck in this dollhouse, maybe… just maybe… I could enjoy a moment here and there. For the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself move to the music. It started small: a sway of the hips, a tap of the foot. But as the beat intensified, so did I. My movements grew bolder, more fluid. I twisted and turned, shaking my ass and throwing my arms in the air.

The mirror caught my eye again, and I watched myself dance. There was something different. My body… was changing. My pecs swelled beneath the cropped t-shirt, the fabric stretching slightly to accommodate their new size.  I could see my nipples, hard under the fabric. My waist pulled tighter, my abs sharpening into a defined eight-pack that gleamed under the colourful lights. I ran a hand over my midsection, stunned by the hard ridges beneath my fingertips.

As I turned, my ass caught my attention in the mirror. The leather joggers creaked audibly as my glutes filled out, rounding into a perfect bubble shape that stretched the material taut. The reflection was mesmerizing, almost hypnotic. My hands ran over the joggers, feeling the firmness of the muscle beneath.

The music pulsed louder, its rhythm vibrating through me and drowning out my thoughts. For a moment, I let go entirely, moving without reservation, enjoying the way my body looked and felt under the lights.

Then reality hit me like a slap. I stopped dead, panting, my heart racing as I stared at my reflection. The music still thumped in the background, but I couldn’t hear it over the pounding in my chest.

“No,” I whispered, backing away from the mirror. “No, no, no.” My fingers gripped the edges of the dresser, knuckles white. This wasn’t me. It couldn’t be me.

But as I looked at the person in the mirror—confident, ripped, glowing—I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe it *was*.

The door creaked open, and Tank’s bulky frame filled the doorway. His arms were crossed, a knowing grin spread across his face. “Looks like someone’s found his vibe,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the pounding bass of the music.

I spun around, the beat driving my every movement. Without hesitation, I danced toward him, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the room. Tank chuckled, his resistance minimal as I dragged him close to me. He moved to the rhythm effortlessly, his broad shoulders swaying, his hips rolling with surprising grace.

The UV lights and coloured spotlights illuminated his face, casting sharp shadows over his chiseled jaw. His grin widened as he stepped closer to me, our bodies moving in sync to the music. His hands found their way to my hips, tugging me until our bodies were pressed up against each other. I felt a heat rising in me, and my inhibitions seemed to melt away under the pulse of the music and Tank’s commanding presence.

We danced together, bold and intimate. His fingers skimmed the hem of my shirt, then slipped underneath. Before I could process what was happening, he tugged the cropped t-shirt over my head, tossing it aside. The cool air hit my skin, and I couldn’t stop myself from laughing—a breathless, vapid giggle that didn’t feel entirely like me.

But it also wasn’t... unlike me.  Not unlike the new me...

“Wait,” I said, my words tripping over themselves. “I’m not… I don’t…”

“Relax, bro,” Tank murmured, his voice low and soothing. “We couldn’t stop it if we wanted. He's playing with us now, out in the real world.  You never made a couple Ken dolls fuck?”

The absurdity of the statement sent another giggle bubbling up from my chest, but before I could respond, Tank’s hands moved to my waistband. With a swift motion, he slammed down my joggers, leaving me standing there in nothing but the neon pink jockstrap, my bracelets, and the glow of the lights.

The music surged. My cock sprang free, hard and eager. Tank’s hand wrapped around it with a confident grip. “See?” he said with a smirk. “You’re feeling it now.”

I couldn’t deny it. I didn’t want to. My breath hitched as Tank pushed me gently backward until my legs hit the bed. I collapsed onto the satin sheets, staring up at him as he pulled his own clothes off, revealing a body that was every bit as perfect as our dance had hinted.

He climbed on top of me, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his hands trailing fire across my skin. When he entered me, it was like a dam broke. The pleasure was overwhelming, a rush that surged through me like nothing I’d ever felt before. My head fell back against the pillows, my fingers clutching at his arms as I moaned uncontrollably.

“Oh fuck,” I gasped, my body arching beneath his. The lights, the music, Tank’s hands on me—it was too much and just enough all at once.

By the time it was over, I was a trembling, breathless mess, collapsing back into the pillows. Tank smirked down at me, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Told you,” he said softly. “Sometimes you just gotta find the real you.”

The afterglow lingered, and I waited for it to fade. But it didn’t. Instead, the warmth in my chest spread further, a euphoric buzz coursing through my veins. It felt like I’d taken molly and forgotten about it, every inch of me tingling, alive. The world seemed sharper, brighter, as if it were all perfectly calibrated to keep me here, in this moment.

Tank propped himself up on an elbow, watching me with a lazy, satisfied grin. “Still feeling it, huh?” he asked, his voice low and amused. “You should get up. Take a look in the mirror.”

“Why?” I asked, though my body moved before my mind caught up. Something about his tone was impossible to resist.

When I reached the mirror, I froze. The reflection staring back at me was… perfect. My body gleamed under the UV lights, my abs sharper, my chest fuller. The bracelets on my wrists caught the colored spotlights, sending flashes of light across the room. Even the neon pink waistband of the jockstrap felt like it belonged, like it added to the whole effect. I radiated confidence, sex, power.

A whole new me.

I couldn’t help it. My hips swayed as I admired myself in the mirror. The way my ass moved, the smooth curve of it… it was mesmerizing. My grin spread wider, my reflection staring back at me with vacant, gleaming eyes. The world felt distant, my head swimming in a haze of warmth and satisfaction.

“You’re a graphic designer, right?” Tank asked from the bed, his voice breaking through the fog. He was stretched out, completely at ease, one hand idly stroking his cock as he watched me.  "Lotsa late nights on the computer..."

“At the club,” I corrected, giggling as I struck a pose in front of the mirror. My fingers trailed over the waistband of my jockstrap, running along the line where the jock met my skin.

“Working on important projects…” Tank suggested, his tone teasing.

“Dancing my ass off,” I insisted, spinning around to give him a better view. Another laugh bubbled out of me, vapid and carefree. “I’ve always been more about… making connections, you know?”

I grabbed my phone from the dresser and pulled up my socials. The feed was packed. Photo after photo of me surrounded by the other Instagays. At every party. On every continent. Neon lights, tropical beaches, high-rise rooftops—it was all there. I swiped through, each image more curated and perfect than the last. I looked good. Damn good.

“Look at this,” I said, holding the screen toward Tank. He barely glanced up, too engrossed in his own rhythm. “There I am in Mykonos, and that’s Fire Island. Oh, and this one… Ibiza. God, I was on fire that night. Literally, I think there were pyrotechnics.”

“So that's who you really are” Tank murmured, half to himself.  "Shallow, sexy, and short-term."

I didn’t argue. He wasn’t wrong. But as I scrolled through my feed, a strange sense of pride welled up in me. Sure, it wasn’t deep or meaningful, but it was… fun. Exciting. Beautiful.

I pulled my croptop back on, the black and white pattern glowing in the UV lights. Then the joggers. They clung to me perfectly. Everything fit. Everything worked.

Tank’s breathing grew heavier behind me, but I didn’t turn around. I just kept swiping through my photos, my reflection grinning back at me in the glass.

I turned to glance back at Tank, sprawled on the bed with his chest heaving. His hand moved faster now, his breathing ragged, the muscles in his arms flexing as he jacked himself off. My reflection caught my eye again, and I couldn’t stop the breathy giggle that bubbled out of me.

I danced for him, stealing glances in the mirror at my amazing new look.  My hips swayed without effort, my body moving like it was designed for this moment.

Tank groaned, his head tipping back against the pillows as he came, thick bursts splashing across his chest and abs. His hand slowed, the aftershocks of his orgasm making his body jerk slightly. He looked up at me, his lips curving into a lazy smirk.

Without thinking, I leaned down, my tongue flicking out to catch a drop. The taste was warm, salty, electric—it sent a thrill through me I couldn’t deny. I licked a line up his chest, savoring the texture, the heat. Tank’s hand rested on the back of my head, not pushing, just there, steady and firm.

When I straightened up, his smirk had deepened. “Told you,” he drawled. “You’re feeling it now, huh?”

I just smiled, wiping my lips with the back of my hand, and turned back toward the mirror. My reflection was still there, radiant, glowing, perfect.

Yeah, I was definitely feeling it.

"It’s so like… totally my vibe."