Stealing Berrie

by Unknown

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I still can’t believe how handsome I am. Being the man you have admired for the past 6 years has to be one of the most powerful aphrodisiacs in the world. I find myself still getting aroused just by glancing at myself in the mirror—I still can’t believe the reflection (his reflection). It is all mine now. I feel like I can have whomever I want—and that is not all based on looks. Berrie was a nasty man, probably always was. Growing up handsome, enlisting in the service, developing a beautifully sculpted body adorned with tattoos probably has that effect on a man. I think (no, I know) I will be a better Berrie than he ever was. But I guess I am ahead of myself, let me go back…..

It all started 6 years ago when I move into my new home, that is where I first spotted Berrie. He was out walking his dog, wearing tight spandex shorts and a muscle tank. He looked good—really good, and he knew it. Who could blame him, at 6” and 200 pounds of muscle, his whole body showed just what years at the gym could do. His well-defined legs, beautifully shaped bubble butt, 32” waist, well ripped abs, wide shoulders and large biceps just oozed sex appeal. It wasn’t just his hard work that made him what he was either. Nature had been very good to him (physically). With a beautiful complexion, bright smile, adorable button nose, and a full head of hair cut short sporting the military influence in his life—he was indeed a man many would want to be.

It wasn’t until one day, through the usual neighborhood gossip, did I find out that Berrie had another side of him—one that wasn’t quite so beautiful. I didn’t believe it at first. Not Berrie “not the beautiful guy I had fantasized about all those nights lying in bed. In my mind, Berrie was not only beautiful outside, he was an all-around good guy. The kind of guy you would want to be friends with. Then his neighbors began telling stories of how nasty he was to all of them, fighting with his girlfriend at all hours of the night, drinking too much, getting stoned every night. Stoned—that perfect specimen of man smoked pot too? That got me thinking….

I had been feeling that my reflection in the mirror no longer matched how I felt—both physically and mentally. Being your typical all American guy next door—5’8”, 165 pounds, 32” waist, short brown hair and blue eyes—was boring. I was boring. I was bored with what nature had given me and bored with my “clean” lifestyle. I have always wanted to be a kind of punk. The kind that hung around late at night because he didn’t have to work, didn’t give a flying F*** what people thought of, adorned with tattoos depicting how carefree I really was, smoking pot all hours of the day—you know—just be different than what you really are. Berrie fit that description—but even better—he was beautiful. The idea……

Berrie didn’t deserve to be him. I did. From all I had been reading about astral projection and peyote, I decided I could make it happen. I could trick him—take his body—take his life—right out from beneath him. For those of you unfamiliar with peyote—it is mushroom used in ancient Indian rituals. It supposedly allows those who take it to leave their physical body to experience a higher plane—a spiritual plane. Astral projection also allows one to leave their physical body and travel great distances—when done right. I was going to combine the two and put my plan into action—I was going to steal Berrie. The plan…

It was set. I had followed Berrie for weeks now and found out where he purchased his pot from. It was almost too easy. I too began purchasing pot from the same guy, just to befriend him. I needed to make sure Berrie would use my very special pot—one that would allow my plan to take shape. I had bought two bags last week, one for me, and one for my future. I needed to make sure Berrie would be vulnerable and confused, he had to be susceptible to the changes that would occur—and soon. I baked the peyote for hours breaking it down into a syrupy type substance. I added a load of my DNA—one that I saved while pleasing myself thinking about him last night. Somehow it just seemed appropriate. Once cooled, the liquid was poured onto and absorbed by the pot—I add my DNA just to make sure his soul would accept the new vessel he would soon occupy. Once dry—I headed out to the pot dealer a few hours before I know he would be making his run. I convinced our friend—by giving him 50 bucks—to sell Berrie the bag I was now holding—that it was pure profit to him. He accepted—after I told him Berrie would never come back mad. Actually I promised him Berrie would give him another $50 next week—a promise I know I could keep and would gladly do. The night…

I waited until 11:00 p.m. as I light a joint. I specifically waited until the time I had heard he usually gets stoned. He had told a neighbor he wanted to sleep with (a cute little blond) that he liked to get stoned before bed and he asked her to join him. Little did he know he was going to get company tonight. As I took a hit and held the smoke in, I began to concentrate. After about the 7 or 8 hits—I was beginning to feel the effects. I was totally relaxed and focused on the task at hand. It was time…

I took off all my clothes and laid quietly down on the bed. The only light was from a flickering candle that I lit to make sure Berrie would find his way to his new home. As I concentrated, I began to feel as though I was dropping in and out of consciousness. My heart was beating so fast anyone entering the room could of heard it instantly. The room was black—I began moving around but could not see. In the confusion, I kept moving forward trying to get back to reality. I sensed something was wrong, but not quite sure what. Then—in a sudden flash—it was clear. I was hovering over a bed—with someone in it. As I concentrated on the image—he became clear. There was Berrie—lying nude and stoned on his bed—a magnificent sight. Something only cute little blondes, and the occasional brunette was able to see. I was so close now, I knew I had to do it. I concentrated with all my mind to lower my soul down—down—down into the vessel below. As I slowly descended, I tried to reposition myself so that I descended into his form the way he was lying—as I figured that was the path of least resistance. As my soul began to merge into his flesh—I felt tight. There was not room enough for the both of us. Immediately I began to push my mind into his—pushing the soul within the vessel out. It was working—as I began to merge, I could feel Berries presence—he was confused and did not know what was happening around him. The DNA in the pot—my DNA made his body susceptible—was he the true occupant—or was the new presence forcing its way in. Berrie tried to wake up—but I knew I was winning the battle. The rush of sound going through me was incredible. His body was accepting me—pulling me into it—making the body complete—fusing my soul into it to give it life. With one last push—I could sense Berrie no more. He was wondering off to where the DNA he inhaled called him—he was wondering back to Dan—yes—his new name—in his new body. With all of my might—I open my eyes—as I did—the rush of sound instantaneously stopped. It was over—the soul is now fused to its new home. The beginning…

I struggle to get up—I have to see what is being reflected back at me in the mirror. The new muscle man that I now possess will take some getting used to, but it is a challenge I have longed for all my life. As I move closer to the mirror—Berrie’s heart—my heart beats ever so fast. As I glance into the mirror all I see is Berrie—the man I always knew I wanted to be. He looks at me with eyes that have expressed anger to so many. Eyes that will now express a sense of completion—a sense of joy—a sense of compassion for others.

It has been a week, and I still can’t believe how handsome I am. Being the man you have admired for the past 6 years has to be one of the most powerful aphrodisiacs in the world. I still find myself getting aroused just by glancing at myself in the mirror—I can’t believe the reflection (his reflection) IS all mine now. I feel like I can have whomever I want—and that is not all based on looks. Berrie WAS a nasty man, probably always was. Growing up handsome, enlisting in the service, developing a beautifully sculpted body adorned with tattoos probably has that effect on a man. I think (no, I do know now) I am a better Berrie than he ever was.

I am off the make good on Dan’s word. He told my dealer I would give him $50 bucks this week—something I am glad to do. Oh, by the way, Dan has really gone off the deep end. He keeps coming by his house (my house now) and screaming things like “Give me back my life you Fucking bastard—” … “What the fuck have you done to me” … “I don’t know how you did this, please stop it—I want my body back, I want my life!” Well, I hated to call the police and have him arrested, but he really left me no other choice—I already filed a restraining order against him, and he knew it. After the other night—right after he found out Berrie was selling his home and moving to Miami to strip for a while—he flipped again. He came by my house screaming “There ain’t no way I am stripping for no guys” and “I kill you before you do this to me”. Meanwhile the gossip around the neighborhood now is “I don’t know what has got into Dan lately—he just doesn’t seem like himself anymore.”

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