Helena groaned as she extracted Ryan from the bag of clothing that Bob had deposited.
"Who donates a used jockstrap?" she shook her head and tossed the jockstrap into a bin filled with broken
items and torn garments. Twenty years ago, Good Will would have repaired the items to sell, but they no
longer did that.
Timmy was a gangly youth who worked part time lifting and cleaning the Good Will store. His eye caught sight
of the jockstrap. It looked horribly stretched out of shape, but Timmy didn't care. He made sure no one was
looking and he grabbed Ryan and shoved him into his carpenter's jeans' pocket.
It was a long day, Timmy ached. He had lifted, toted, and scrubbed until he ached all over. He might be part
time, but his boss Helena tried to get a full-timer's workload out of him all the same. He wouldn't have to
go back for three days. He was sweaty and tired.
He pulled off his shirt when he got off the bus, and walked home to the room he rented at the YMCA. Timmy put
stripped and used the shower. Only when he was clean with the towel around his waist did he notice the
jockstrap he had brought home. It had fallen out of his jeans. He picked it up, and inhaled deeply. Horst's
odor lingered. Timmy pulled the jockstrap on, and to his surprise it didn't fall off him when he let go. He
pulled his athletic shorts on over the jockstrap and climbed into bed. He was soon fast asleep.
Ryan woke up at 5 AM, he needed to piss. He didn't know where he was. It was a strange bed, and room.
Fortunately, there was a sign outside the bedroom door directing him to the restroom. He tucked his shorts and
jockstrap under his balls and pissed in the urinal trough. Then he turned around half asleep and yelped in
surprise when he saw the reflection. It wasn't him, it wasn't Horst, nor Vinnie nor Snake. He peeled down his
waistband. He saw a filthy jockstrap waistband. Horst had written his name there in laundry maker, and Bob
had added his name with an apostrophe s. Bob's Horst. Ryan shook Timmy's head. He didn't know whose body he
was controlling. Apparently, Timmy was in a deep sleep, and Ryan didn't seem to be able to connect with his
dreams or memories. He shrugged, and headed back to Timmy's room.
He saw the sign pointing to the gym, and looked down at his lithe body. He grinned. He soon was dressed in
Timmy's workout clothes, and headed down to the gym.
Timmy woke with a start and nearly did a header off the treadmill he was running on. He was dressed in a t-
shirt, socks and sneakers in addition to what he had worn to bed.
"You okay, Timmy?" asked Garth on the next treadmill.
"Huh? Oh, I think I was sleep walking," Timmy answered.
"Really? We were chatting about the NFL, and then suddenly, you shouted and jumped off the treadmill. You
mean you were talking in your sleep?"
"Well, I put in sixteen hours at work yesterday. Double shift, and last thing I remember before waking up on
the treadmill was lying down to sleep last night."
"Whoa, 16 hours, you've been working out with me for the last 3 hours. We lifted weights, spotting each
other, and then we did calisthenics, push ups, sit ups, and the like before getting on the treadmills about an
hour ago."
"Well, that explains why I'm soaking wet. You wanna join me in the steam room and fill me in on what I've
been doing and saying while I was asleep," he said with a yawn.
In the locker room, he was shocked to see that the jockstrap he was wearing was no longer filthy looking. In
fact it looked new, and it fit him perfectly. Most surprising was the words written on the strap now read Tim
Johnson. That was his name. He almost peeled off the jockstrap, but instead he decided to wear it in the
steam room under his towel.