Tyson walked in the sunshine with a loping, casual elegance and grace. He was bare-chested and the sun reflected off his ebony skin, his shaved head and his magnificent musculature. One arm was round the shoulders of the shorter blond jock, Mark, who he reckoned was his best mate. They both loved playing and winning at football, and often tried to make a foursome with a couple of girls for a fuck. None of this had happened, although it was vivid in Tyson’s recently modified memory.
Tyson was speaking with great passion of strategy for a forthcoming football match, taking considerable account of each player’s strengths and weaknesses. When he paused for a moment to say “Fuck, G, I just love football,” Mark was pleased to notice Tyson had completely taken in Mark’s reconditioning – the old Simon hated games – but he realized he had forgotten to dumb down Simon’s intelligence. Tyson’s sole interests were now sport and sex and he spoke as a parody of ghetto speak, nonetheless he had far more analytical intelligence and ability to articulate than any jock would consider decent.
Indeed, Tyson not only thought about football all the time; he brought to it the same subtlety that he had applied to computer games when he was Simon. Mark felt left behind by much of Tyson’s talk. He knew football was important; he didn’t know there was all this to be said about it.
And slowly Mark’s memory was modifying also. He knew he had done a total mind fuck on that geek, Simon, but he was beginning to believe that he had known Tyson, the champion player and fucker, for years. He did not think of Tyson as his best friend at all. If anything he resented this outsider who was so much better at games of all sorts, and yet was not interested in doing down those outside the clique of jocks.
Yet, the strength of Tyson;’s arm on Mark’s shoulders reminded Mark how much stronger he was. All the same when Tyson lifted his arm for a moment to adjust his waist band, Mark felt disappointed. He noticed how he loved Tyson’s deep laugh, and the rumble of his voice, energetic and friendly, the brilliant shine of his skin in the sun and the manly musk of his naked torso. And this man called him, Mark, his homey and Mark vaguely sensed that at some point he had done something wrong to him.
Whenever they met anyone who had known Simon, they only remembered meeting Tyson, and although they remembered Tyson’s general personality, they could never remember any specific exchanges. As Simon had never had sex with anyone at all, no girl could remember getting laid by Tyson. Although he was quite clear in his memory that he had hit with a lot of girls, he could not remember which ones in particular. Indeed as his sex career advanced in reality, this was still the case and he had difficulty remembering who he had had from day to day. He was quite sure that being fucked by him was the nicest thing that could possibly happen to a girl (and indeed many of them were to agree totally), and being a kind hearted guy he wanted to give as many of them the experience as he could in the time available.
Tyson and his partna turned the corner of the gym….