And now a story about a friend of our good Dr's who had another very good project going on.........)
I can hardly sleep, I’m so excited. The specimen is packed and ready for shipment to a village in central Iran tomorrow morning. No mean feat considering that he was a blond-haired English teen just three months ago.
My name’s Dr Karzai, and I’m a high school waterpolo coach (and somewhat of a mad scientist on the side) in London although I’m originally from Tehran. I wanted to make the perfect Iranian boy to spread seed. I prepared a lab in my country house in Kent to carry out the stages of my idea.
I’d invited an escort back to my flat in the Docklands one wet Wednesday evening. He was sociable enough, but he knew exactly what he was being paid for and soon stripped off everything but his shirt.
Now I’m a bit of a bear but in excellent shape, with dark hair covering most of my body. I believe a hairy body to be natural in grown men. But these English boys shave off what little hair they’ve got and it just makes them look like overgrown kids. Nevertheless, the stubbly feel of his chest and legs made me realize what an early bloomer he was. And his low-hanging balls really swung it for me. This boy would be the one.
And that’s how it started. Sending the lad to sleep did not take long. Once he was unconscious I checked out his wallet. From his driving licence it turned out that he was called Michael Peterson and he was 18 years old. A student card from a local college told me what he did with his time when he wasn’t being screwed for money.
It would be too risky to keep him at the flat, even if I had the room. So soon after midnight, I carried the sleeping boy down the deserted lift to the car park in the basement. With him asleep in the back seat, I drove out and was at my house in Kent before 1am.
I’d been preparing a lab in Kent for ages. Michael was installed in a man-sized plastic container in the center of the room. I attached a feeding tube to his mouth, air supply to his nose and waste disposal pipes to both exits. Then I placed headphones over his ears. The top of the container fitted over exactly. With the tubes and air supply connected, and a Turkish language tape on continuous loop, Michael was ready to be kept out of circulation for a few weeks.
His body had become even more adorable when I next saw him three weeks later. The Rogaine had added to normal growth to give him curly brown hair and something more than designer stubble. Hair had spread from the prim little patch above his dick well up his abs and towards the center of his strong chest, where it fanned out across his nipples. His ball sac and legs had become quite furry and his forearms were now covered in silky thick dark hairs down onto the tops of his hands, so very nice for a teenage boy of 18.
I disconnected the food and waste tubes and woke him up. Groggily he lifted his head and looked around him. I was delighted when he greeted me in fluent Turkish. I toyed with the idea of restoring his consciousness as Michael, but went against it when I saw what he was doing. So zonked had he become that every bit of his sleep teaching had been effective. Excited but by now a bit scared, I realised that it was definitely time for the next stage.
This time I tailored the sleep-teaching to his new life as a hairy Iranian boy. I decided to rename him Abdullah Karzai and set about creating new memories for him. He was to be an aggressive stud of 21, a traveling bricklayer who went from town to town looking for new work and other manly Iranian boys to be with and with barely a thought in his head. A man who would be the polar opposite of the shy, smart lad that Michael had been. He would also visit me when I desired by use of his old name, Michael Peterson, which would put him into a mindless trance.
Also he needed the muscles for the part. I’d concentrated the protein content of his food and taken out most of the fibre but there was a danger that it would all turn to fat. So I strapped belts around his abs, thighs and biceps and applied an electric current. The stretching and toning would go on as long as the treatment lasted.
Finally the day of reckoning arrived, two months after I’d strapped Michael/Abdul into the sterile room. I could hardly wait to see what he had become.
My first view was of a mass of black hair covering up his face. When I lifted up the lid I saw that Abdul had grown a mane of hair on his head and quite a thick and dense beard. Heavy black eyebrows set off his handsome brown face. Thick boy fur spread out across his chest and powerful new washboard abs to his arms and legs, covering them in thick curly and straight hairs, down onto his feet and up past his elbows on his forearms. Lower down, his pubic bush was incredibly thick, almost concealing his below average sized penis.
There was not a moment to lose. I buzzed Abdul’s head with clippers tightly to the head and took a cut-throat razor to his beard. The younger-looking Abdul was ready to fly out to his new life in Iran the next day.