The shop keeper chuckles to himself as he watches the boy-turned-jock leave his store. He walks back to the dressing room the boy had been using and gathers all the clothes the boy had left in his haste. He takes it to the back of his shop and returns to the mirror the boy had been admiring himself in. He stands in front of the mirror. He knows it is ready; it is only reflecting the store now and not his image, as if it’s a photograph. The man reaches in to the mirror, like it is a vertical pool, creating ripples along the surface of the mirror. He is unable to see where his hands are beyond the mirror's surface, but finally, a look of triumph shows on his face; he feels something in his hands. He struggles away from the mirror, its reflective surface clinging to him as he moves away. His hands are beginning to emerge from the mirror, and with a final great pull, he comes free, along with a new skin suit.
He takes it to the back of the store and lies it down next to the boy's forgotten clothes on a metal table. He reaches under the table and finds the light switch, and turns it on. The back of the store is bathed in light. It is strange workshop. It looks as if this area was shared by an artist, a blacksmith, and a dry cleaner. On the left there was a large, high conveyor belt with hooks in them that lead up and into the back wall. Next to that was an industrial strength steamer and what looked like an ancient washing machine, with a washboard and the crank and rollers needed to squeeze excess water from clothes. To the right of the room were a forge and anvil, and all the tools a blacksmith could use. There are also the finer tools of a metallurgist stowed away beneath the anvil. Needles, thread, brushes, and paints all lined the walls. Sequestered away in corner were about a dozen bricks of new clay, still unopened.
He lifts up and shakes the new skin, the way someone would shake a bed sheet. He lays it flat on the metal table and smoothes out the skin as much as he can. He shakes his head, thinking about the boy who had left his store just minutes ago. They never understand, they always want something better, something more, the old man thinks to himself, each one is beautiful already. If they are so unhappy with their bodies, why don’t they do something about it? Alas, if they’re going to make the mistake, I might as well make a profit, and maybe if we’re all lucky, they might learn something in the process. The skin suit in front of him is typical of a teenage boy. It is lanky, around 5’8, but the face looks young. It has always been hard to tell how old these teenagers are, with the faces of children but the bodies and the height of men he thinks to himself. The suit has light brown hair, with some strands turning nearly blond. The boy was thin and smooth in most places. He had fine hairs on his arms and ones slightly more course around his legs. He only had fine, short hairs along his arm pits and between his legs. He examines the limp piece of material between the suit’s legs and understands why the boy chose the jock. The tube of skin is a little smaller than he sees on most of his suits, but not by much. He knows that even if he feels these suits are fine as is, his customers will want fantasy, not reality. He reaches above the table, into the mess of strange mechanical arms and devices suspended above, and pull down an instrument without ever looking up. The device is long and cylindrical and has two parts at the end; a ring and a clamp. He fits the ring around the base of the suit’s flat penis and puts the end of the suit’s penis into the padded teeth of the clamp. He reaches up and flips a switch. The clamp tugs just barely, and then moves back to its original position, as the ring holds the suit down. It continues this way, the clamp pulling just a bit more each time, no more than a centimeter each time. The man leaves the machine on, to slowly accomplish its task, and moves on to examine the rest of the suit. As usual, he decides only to make minor alterations, or ones most people wouldn’t be surprised at. He reaches up and pulls down another instrument, this one seems to have a hose attached to it. He twists the nozzle, and moves a dial to a notch with a strange symbol above it. He sprays the suit’s arms and legs, and watches as the hair there lessens, and turns lighter. He does the same to the suit’s arm pits and crotch. Only half of the hair remains on the suit now, and it has lightened to a more blond color. Again, without even looking, he turns the dial again to another setting. He stops the ring and clamp machine, and places a piece of plastic, in the shape of a speedo or briefs over the suit’s crotch. He sprays the suit on the new setting, first the front, then flipping it over and replacing the plastic shield with one a larger one, sprays again. He holds up the suit and hangs it on the “dry cleaning” rack. There is a nice even tan all over the suit, except for the place where the shields were. He takes the suit down and begins working it back and forth on the washboard. After a few minutes, he takes the suit and runs it through the wringer, but backwards. He loads in the suit’s feet first, and lets the suit drape over the machine and onto the floor in front of him. He begins cranking the wringer and the feet are squeezed and fold into his lap. He goes on with the whole body like this. As he comes to the head finally, he watches as a thick yellowish substance comes oozing from the mouth, ears and nose. It slides down the washboard and into the basin below. He lays the suit back on the table, noting how much more the tiny underdeveloped muscles stick out now that he removed what little fat the boy had been carrying around. He puts the clamp and ring device back in place and turns it back on. The man walks to the back of his workshop and comes back with a block of clay. He pulls down another instrument and inserts it into the suits mouth. He turns it on and two poles begin stretching the mouth wider and wider, until the mouth is about a foot wide. The man takes a few lumps of clay and begins working them in his hands, until they’re balls or ovals. He makes many such shapes. He bunches up the suit. He reaches into the mouth, holding a ball of clay and places it inside the left calf; he does the same thing to the right one. He goes, placing long flattened pieces of clay in the suit’s thighs and two large round pieces in his ass. He takes two small balls and places them inside the suit’s sack. The man places more clay inside the suit, augmenting the suit’s physique to toned and slightly muscular, but nothing you’d really be able to notice under clothes. He keeps to his rules. He takes the clamp and rind device off, and sees that the tube of flesh is now about four inches long, but very thin. He reaches into the mouth again, and lines the inside of the tube with more clay, to thicken it out.
He places the suit back on the dry cleaning rack and critique’s his work. The suit is different now, yes, but not too much, not enough to attract any suspicion. The muscle will attract attention, but not too much, and the man knows almost no one has ever seen this suit’s penis before, so that change will not be noticed. The suit now has a nice tan, and along with the lightened and lessened body hair, it’ll give a healthy and athletic feel to it. He walks over to one of the walls and brings a large pair of fabric scissors and casually cuts off the head. He takes the suit out to the front of the store and places it on the rack with other high school suits. The head he keeps with the clothes left behind. He fishes into the jeans’ pockets and finds his wallet and ID. He records all the information he can find on the boy on a legal pad and places the pad near a computer.
He wonders how long the boy will be out before he decides to try and have his body back, and for that matter, if it will still be here waiting for him. He thinks about the real owner of the jock suit he took. The jock should be coming back tomorrow morning for his body. Won’t he be surprised that he’ll have to wait an extra day, and if the boy decides to buy the jock suit, he’ll never get it back. The man knows why people pick the suits they do, and wasn’t at all surprised when the jock had not chosen an even larger, more muscular body, but instead chose a small young body. He tried on a suit that had belonged to a 9 year old boy. He knew the mind of this jock, that behind the physical strength and rampant craving for sex, he was a scared little boy, and his mind was drawn to a suit that would allow his mind to match his body. He remembered watching the jock-turned child leave the store with the mother of that suit, and how the jock-turned child had hugged her so. Well, when he comes back, he might be stuck with that body, if he comes back, that is. The jock might want to live out that life. The man knew some people would try to run off with a suit without ever paying. That was fine, he normally had information on the suit they left with and could find them in their new lives, if he needed to. Most people could pay, and those that couldn’t, were either left in their new bodies, or if they wished to keep their new lives, owed the old man some very large favors.
A red light flashes above him, signaling to him that there is a new customer in the store. He walks outside and sees…