In a nutshell, Brad’s dilemma is that he must gain assistance from someone, despite being, for all external appearances, nothing more than an ordinary housefly with bulging red, faceted eyes dominating a “face” that consisted of a pair of leathery pouches that functioned as rudimentary antennae and a hideous but effective proboscis excellent for siphoning nutrients from a variety of unsavory sources.
He also had access to his human thoughts, his impeccable intellect, though fat lot of good that did him for the moment.
His puny body was divided into three sections: head, thorax and abdomen, all covered in black hairs and spiky protuberances. Three pairs of spiky, segmented limbs extended from his body and a pair of truly amazing wings sprouted from his back. The feel of his wings buzzing away, carrying him to and fro, provided a definite rush.
In short, however, he had his work cut out for him if he was to persuade anyone to see him as anything other than a disgusting, filthy pest.
And, making matters worse, his husband’s uncle had brought a lethal flyswatter within easy reach should Brad dare to raise his profile too high.
Even under normal conditions, Brad had always found his spouse’s uncle an intimidating figure. The former Navy seal was the quintessential picture of masculinity and dominance. Brad easily imagined that his spouse’s uncle had taken a heavy hand in shaping his nephew, who was certainly no slouch in the categories of masculinity and domination. Given the fact that they were surprisingly close in age, they had grown up together more as brothers than uncle and nephew.
It was that bond that often left Brad feeling the odd man out when Mark and Brett got together. Now, as he discreetly kept the two titans under surveillance on his perch atop a blade of the living room ceiling fan, Brad’s feelings of inferiority were heavily magnified due to his transformation.
In casual shorts, T-shirt and sneakers, Brett presented Brad a study of carefree indifference. He was certainly not going to cut any slack for an insect. Brad soaked in Brett’s rugged build, his crewcut salt-and-pepper hairstyle and a handsome visage that now looked positively Rushmorean and more than enough to cause some tingling in Brad’s fly equivalent of a cock.
When it came right down to it, Brad didn’t trust his spouse to do anything to help him, not unless he could find a way to communicate to his spouse about how Mark’s unthinking but accidental actions with the Chronivac had trapped Brad in the body of a housefly. Either of the titans could dispense with him with nothing more than a casual swat.
Keeping that carefully in mind, Brad tried to formulate a plan. From above, he saw the device that Mark had placed on the coffee table. He needed Mark to take a closer look at the device and make the necessary connections. He’d have to worry later about how to convey his password to his big hubby to enable him to actually use the device to change him back.
As he thought out his next actions, the heady aroma of the contents of the two open beer bottles began to tantalize Brad’s housefly senses. The smell of the beer was intense and reminded the tiny insect that its body could use some nutrients. Brad was still unprepared to put his plan into action when the fly’s instincts took charge and got Brad’s puny body aloft and forced him to zoom across the room toward his spouse and the enormous bottle of beer now at rest on the table in front of him. The fly’s senses were able to follow an invisible trail from nothing more than the hint of the beer’s aroma.
Brad hovered as he tried to reason with his fly’s desires. The fly wanted to land on the towering bottle of brown glass encased with moisture condensation forming a thin layer over the chilled glass, but Brad insisted on landing atop the device that had caused his dilemma.
To his dismay, the fly won, and six clawed feet clutched at the rim around the opening of the bottle. His proboscis guzzled a few tiny drops of beer, diluted slightly by a droplet of water, but still potent enough to stimulate his insect senses.
A blur of color from the expanse of fabric covering Mark’s torso caused Brad’s reflexes to take him back into flight mode. When he realized his giant husband had merely stretched and not tried to swat him, he calmed himself and landed on his device. He scurried over the view screen and rotated himself to face Mark.
“Babe! Pay attention!” Brad buzzed in irritation as he saw Mark’s rapt attention monopolized by the television screen. “You messed with this and look what happened!”
He got no response, which was not really a surprise.
He was not prepared when Brett launched into a line of inquiry about his nephew’s sex life.
“Brad’s a good fuck, I’m sure,” Brett said. “But are things still in the newlywed zone?”
Mark looked askance and lowered his bottle to a coaster on the table. “We’re fine.”
Brett laughed and nodded. “Justin’s still in the picture,” he said, referring to the former exotic dancer that he’d had an on-again, off-again relationship with since meeting the much younger man at the bachelor’s party held ahead of the wedding of Mark and Brad. “I just don’t know that I’d ever want to settle down like you and Brad.”
Mark shrugged. “Well, it’s taken some getting used to…”
Brad listened in shock. Mark had never talked to him about getting “used” to being married.
Brett laughed again, but by that time the commercial break had ended and both men glued their attention back to the screen leaving Brad feeling even more unsettled as he was left to speculate about what Mark had meant.
He wasn’t going to be able to have that conversation if he did not do something to get Mark’s assistance.
He’d have to be more direct.
“You got me into this mess, big guy,” he buzzed. “You’ll have to get me out of it.”
Brad launched himself on his wings, buzzing toward Mark’s position on the sofa. He grew more nervous the closer he got. He hovered in front of his spouse’s huge face for a few seconds, long enough to draw Mark’s eyes away from the screen and to him. As soon as he knew he had Mark’s attention, he zipped back to the device, landing on the center of it, buzzing again, crawling over the device.
“Help me!” Brad pleaded, his wings whirring swiftly to produce a buzz that would be difficult to ignore.
He did get a response. Mark’s hand slapped at him, but Brad tracked the attempt as it hurtled toward him in absurd slow motion and he deftly evaded the swat.
However, as he flew away from Mark, he watched his husband’s uncle leaning forward and reaching for the flyswatter.
“Oh no!” Brad buzzed and flew faster as the titanic man lifted the flyswatter off the table.
He managed to fly across the room by the time Brett got to his feet, but that gave him only brief comfort.
“I’m taking care of that pest once and for all!” Brett declared.
Mark grunted and shifted his weight on the sofa. “Can’t it wait until after the game?”
Brett’s words still echoed in his frightened thoughts as Brad, reduced to an “it” in Brett’s eyes, fled to the kitchen as fast as his wings would take him, scanning for a hiding place among the massive building-sized appliances.
Brad was still seeking a hiding spot when Brett entered the room, the lethal flyswatter at the ready in his raised hand.
“Fuck!” Brad buzzed frantically, thinking his only option was to seek refuge with Mark. To that end, he zipped toward the giant, veering off to make a desperate bid to return to the living room sofa.
The flyswatter sliced through the air, but thanks to Brad’s decision to veer off, Brett’s anticipation of the insect’s movements was misjudged.
Still, every hair on Brad’s furry insect form stood at attention after he heard and felt the whoosh as the flyswatter encountered air resistance during the attempted swat. It has been a close call.
All he could think of was getting back to Mark.
A second later he came to a landing on the screen of the device and gazed up at his husband through faceted eyes. His entire body thrummed with energy and, as his husband’s rugged form loomed so impressively over him, he felt his tiny fly cock dribble fly semen all over the screen beneath his six feet.
The unexpected climax, triggered by the accumulation of an overload of sensory input, left him feeling wiped, his mind almost blank.
He was a moment realizing that the screen on the device had been activated. That Mark had activated the screen.
Some blank spaces in a menu box followed three letters that had been input. S-H-R-.
“My password!” Brad realized. Mark was figuring it out! “Yea!” He was practically laughing as his wings buzzed. “It’s SHRINK.”
He was going to be human again! And he was going to get some answers! What the hell did Mark mean with that “getting used to” crap?
Brad was glad he was openly transparent. What other password would he have ever used? Mark would know that. His wings buzzed excitedly as he waited for Mark to input the remaining letters.
Suddenly, on the illuminated screen below him, Brad saw a reflection forming, an image of his husband’s huge uncle, a smirk etched into his expression, hand raised to…
WHOMP!
The flyswatter slammed down atop Brad and the device, splattering insect remains in a messy smear across the viewer pane of smart glass.
Mark stared, disgusted, at the mess.
Brett spun the flyswatter in a flashy gesture and pretended to holster it.
“Took some practice, but I’m good,” Brett bragged. “They don’t get away from me.”
Mark laughed appreciably.
“What is that thing anyway?” Brett stared at the strange device, smeared with bug guts. “Another of Brad’s inventions?”
Mark shrugged. “Probably,” he said.
The commercial break had ended and the siren call of the game lured him back to the screen.