The mask of change

by Randy Allarms

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Added: Nov 2002 4,252 words 12,042 views 5.0 stars (1 vote)


There reaches a point in one’s life when one outgrows the bars. And it sneaks up on you all of a sudden and without warning. One Friday night, as you are watching the Jerry Seinfeld “Jack Off” episode for the umpty-umpth time, you realize it’s been a long while since you’ve A.) been to the bars or B.) had the slightest desire to do so. I remember when I was an octotwink thinking “If I ever reach that point in my life I’m going to kill myself.” Well, it’s here and rather than swallowing a bottle of Sominex and washing it down with rotgut hooch I just slide “MULTIDICKED OCTOSLUTS 3” in the VCR and get out the Crisco.

But the other night I began to wax nostalgic and started thinking about the time when I couldn’t live if I felt I was beyond cruising. And the more I thought about it the more I got into the mood to put on some man trappin’’ duds and hit the local Taur Bar. It had been years since I’d put on my 6-armed leather jacket and I had to root around for it, but find it I did. It still fit….sort of. Not because I’ve gained weight but because I’ve buffed up a little in 20 years and each pair of shoulders has gotten a little beefier and fits more snugly into the armpits above.

I did get it on. It wasn’t very comfortable, but I DID get it on. The only way I could do it was to go shirtless underneath. I picked out the tightest jeans I could find and put one leather strap around all three cocks, pulling them to the front and packing them tightly in behind a button-down fly so that I had the basket of DEATH! Then I turned around to check out the ass. Ok, so my bubble butt days are over but it’s still a nice view from the rear. I would pat this yummy bobo ANY day! (In fact, I did!) I stood back in front of the mirror and cruised the hot octostud who was looking back at me. Yeah, buddy! Leather jacket, tight, torn jeans, HUGE bulge and no shirt; I was ready to bring home some ACTION! My only regret was that I wouldn’t be dancing to the old songs, like Taura Brannigan’s immortal disco classic “GLORY HOLE”! Oh, well; can’t have everything. So looking and feeling like a million dollars I stepped out into the Friday night social whirl.

Now, we only have one Taur bar in town. Which is odd, given that I live in a popular tourist destination and people from all walks of life gravitate here, particularly at Mardi Gras. It’s well hidden in a dark alley and you have to be a member (or know someone who is) in order to get in. This is to weed out curious normoids who just wanna catch a ride on the “freak train.” And mainly for their own protection because more than one normoid over the years has started pointing and using terms like “circus” and “side show” and when that happens they have, on occasion, disappeared and never been heard from again. Our bar has been around since the early 1970’s and has been owned by the same couple. The secret of their success is that every couple of years they change the name of the place and completely redecorate so that it’s like a new bar. In the early years it was simply called “The Chiron Lounge.” Later it had names like “The Taur Box” and “Sagittarius”. Then, when the politically correct years hit and Manipedes felt “marginalized” they called it StamPede for awhile. Then, finally, everyone chilled out and they went back to Taur names. Now, with techno-kitsch so popular, it’s called Taur-Tech.

The owners, Stephen (who is 4-armed, 2-dicked and 12-toed) and Jon-Jon (his 2-headed lover) are good friends of mine. In fact, we used to all trick together until Right Jon (R. J. for short) developed a jealous streak and whenever I came over he’d seize control of the body (whether it was his day or not) and poor Left Jon (or L. J., obviously) was yanked from the room and it got to the point that it just wasn’t worth it. R. J. and I still don’t get along but L. J.’s my buddy! Tonight I was hoping if Jon-Jon was watching the door that R. J. wasn’t in control because my membership card was so expired it still said, “MetroTaur” and that was, like, four names ago! R. J. is just 2-faced enough to kiss me hello, say “Hi, honey, how are ya?” and then charge me twenty-five bucks for a new membership and I just wasn’t in the mood for drama. As luck would have it Stephen was at the door.

“Well!” He said. “What brings you out tonight? Did Lifetime pre-empt THE GOLDEN GIRLS?”

“Ha, ha.” I said. “Where Jon-Jon?”

“He stayed home. L. J. has a head cold so R. J. grabbed the body and put him to bed and is playing ‘Nursie-Nurse-Nurse-Nurse’ by force feeding him chicken broth and vitamin C tablets.”

“Isn’t he afraid of catching L. J.’s cold?”

“Are you kidding? He’s practically wearing a gas mask!” Suddenly he put one hand on my butt, one inside my jacket on my pec and started playing with my navels with the third. “You’re looking pretty good tonight.”

“Careful. If word gets back to Jon-Jon that you were feeling me up you’ll get the silent treatment from half your partner.”

“You’re worth it. By the way,” he pulled me closer and spoke confidentially in my ear, “be sure to check out the stripper on the bar.”

“Oh, I’m over strippers. Most of them are pretty, but have all the sex appeal of a bean.”

“A lot of people like beans. Trust me.”


“Just check him out.” I gave him a patronizing look and told him I would. He kissed my cheek, put his hands on my butt and shoved me into the room. The music—or I should say The Drumbeat—was deafening! The room was full of octos and taurs and pedes and people who could have been normoids or were, perhaps, multigens. Out on the dance floor an 8-legged twinkipede had reared up and was supporting himself on his hind legs. How he did it without breaking an ankle was beyond me. He was dancing with a 24-ab (four 6-packs with a navel between each set) stacked boi who was almost as tall as the pede on his hind legs. They were sharing a little brown bottle of…um…aromatherapy which they passed from nose to nose. A couple of 2-headed guys had found true love and were sharing a 4 way kiss in the corner. Hundreds of arms and legs were flailing about on the dance floor and the whole thing looked like a snake pit gone out of control. Oh, to be young again.

I went over to the bar, on top of which a naked 6-armed octostripper was dancing, surrounded by a bevy of (mostly older) men of all types, all of whom waved dollar bills and clamored to get his attention. This was him? This was the guy I was supposed to check out? O.k., he was cute but, as I said, all the sex appeal of a bean. The bartender, a 4-legged boytaur, came up and said, “Stephen says it’s on him; you’re on his tab tonight. What’ll you have?” I ordered a manhattan and pulled up a barstool. The bartender put my drink down in front of me. “What do you think of the dancer?” He asked.

“He’s okay, I guess.”

“I think he’s HOT!” said the bartender. “Especially when he goes Taur.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” he nodded his head toward the dancer, “look at him.” I looked up and to my surprise he wasn’t 6-armed, he was 4-legged. I started. “I thought he had 6 arms.” I said.

“He did. He’s a shapeshifter.”

“Really!” I looked up and now he had 10 legs and his 5 butts were moving, rhythmically, in time to the loud, monotonous drum beat. And, as I watched, his five sets of legs all came together like a telescope closing and, simultaneously, his abs went from a 6-pack to an 8-pack to a 12-pack to a 20-pack until his head nearly hit the ceiling. He reached to where a normoid was waving a dollar. He accepted the dollar and let the normoid run his hand up and down his stacked abs. Then, with the same telescoping effect, he closed up and his exposed cock began to grow. He turned his back to the room and when he turned around again he had two dicks swinging. He took them into his hands and when he released them he had three. Then five. Then so many I couldn’t count. People were lining up with dollar bills to take a turn milking his udders. He took them, one by one, and gave each of them a cheap thrill. There was such a crowd at the bar that one guy towards the back was waving a dollar in the air but couldn’t reach past the throngs of people. The dancer stood up and all at once his cocks turned into fingers at the end of a hand which shot out from his crotch over the heads of the onlookers as a complete arm—elbow, shoulder and all—suddenly appeared where his cock would have been. Laughing teasingly, he reached across, took the guy’s dollar and put it in the tip jar. The cock-arm returned to the guy behind the crowd and he put his middle finger into his mouth, letting him suck on it. He pulled it out, reached up and started pinching his nipple as he continued dancing….

“Didn’t I tell you?” Said a voice from behind me. I turned around and there was Stephen. “He’s really something, isn’t he!”

“Amazing. I’ve never seen a real shapeshifter before.”

“L.J. read a personals ad in the back of MEN OF MULTI Magazine. R. J. was the one who contacted him, offered him a job and brought him to town. He’s been here a couple of months now.” I turned to watch the dancer who now sported nipple dicks and was spinning them like a tassel-twirler from an old burlesque show. “Well, I’m going to leave you to enjoy.” Stephen said, “There’s a 6-legged boypede who wants to try to buck me off. I’ll see ya later.” He disappeared into the crowd. The dancer’s endurance was amazing. His body changed into a myriad of forms—multiple digits appearing and disappearing like a surreal kaleidoscope. I was totally fascinated. Finally his set ended and the bartender handed him a robe. He morphed to a normoid body, put on the robe and climbed off the bar. To my surprise he made his way over to me.


“Hello.” I said.

“You’re a friend of Stephen’s?”

“How did you guess?”

“I heard Tad tell you that you were on his bar tab and then I saw him come over to talk with you.”

“You must have morphed some eyes in the back of your head.”

“You learn to be observant in a place like this. Mind if I sit down?” Without waiting for an answer he slid a barstool over and sat. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“I’m on Stephen’s bar tab, remember?”

“That’s right, you are. Then Stephen can buy me one.” I called the bartender, Tad, over and ordered a round for the two of us. “My name’s Sean.” He said. “Yours?”

“Randy.” I replied, shaking his hand. “Sean? Sean the Stripping Shapeshifter?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He said, with a laugh. “Say it three times fast.” We played with the tongue twister a minute or two until a drunken, older mantaur staggered up.

“Y-you are fuckin’ gor…ORgeous!” He belched.

“Thank you.”

“I wanna know h…how much you would charge for an hour’s private sesh…(hic) …sesh…(hic) ….session?”

“Dude, you need to go sober up a little.”

“Naw, I ain’t dru….unk. I got money and I wanna pay.” He lifted a back leg and started riding Sean’s hip. I got up and put all six arms around him.

“My friend,” I said, “I think the young man told you to go sober up.”

“Who are you? His da…(belch)…ad?”

“No, but I’m a friend of….”

“Oh, I get it. H-how much are YOU payin’ him?”

“I’m a friend of the owner’s so maybe you better back off.”

“O.k., o.k.! Don’t get your tits outta joint. I’m goin’.” He leaned into Sean’s ear. “But if you change your mind I’ll be right over ther…(belch)…ere.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Sean watch the drunktaur stagger into the crowd. He smiled and shook his head.

“I guess you get that all the time.” I said.

Occupational hazard.” He noticed the silver octopus charm I wear on a chain around my neck. “Cool necklace.”

“Oh, thanks. An old lover gave that to me.”

“An octopus in honor of your arms. Very cool. I wish you’d take off that jacket and let me see more of those arms.”

“I’d like to, but it’s kinda hard to get on and off.”

“Then why not go where you can leave it off for awhile. Say….my place?” He looked down at his crotch and I followed his eyes; the bulge under his robe swelled to the size of a cantaloupe. He looked up and winked, waiting for an answer. I didn’t know what to say; I wasn’t sure what I wanted. A shapeshifter…who was he really? What did he look like before he started morphing into this and that? Would I be making love to HIM or to some fantasy body he changed into for my benefit? Or even his own benefit? Finally I said, “I’m not sure it would be a good idea.”

“Why? You got a partner?”

“It’s not that. It’s just that I’d want to have YOU—not some body you created to hide behind. I like people who are proud of who and what they are and don’t have to change their body to be something they’re not.”

“Whoa, hold on. I’m proud of who and what I am. VERY proud. Otherwise I wouldn’t do what I do. I change my body the way you change your clothes, to fit the mood. What about you? Is that all you are—a leather jacket and torn blue jeans?” I didn’t respond, but I saw his point. “I’m here because I think you’re hot. If you think I’m hot too, let’s go.”

“What time do you get off?”

“Whenever I want. I just work for tips. Let me go change clothes.” He stood up, morphed into a Taur and walked away with his sexy butts swaggering. As he walked away, Stephen rode up on the back of his boypede.

“Decided you like beans after all, huh?”

“Shut up.” I turned to the pede. “I guess you couldn’t buck him off?”

“The hell I couldn’t.” He said. “TWICE!”

“Isn’t he YUMMY!” Said Stephen and licked the pede’s ear.

“I swear,” I said, “when Daddy’s down with a head cold…”

“HALF a head cold, thank you very much.”

“I’m going home with him. Your stripper friend, that is.”

“Slut.” He reached over and kissed me before turning back to the boypede. “Giddyup!” They rode off into the haze. A moment later Sean came up. “Ready?” And we left the bar. I live within walking distance of the Tech and he had taken the streetcar so I offered to pay for a cab. We sat in the back seat holding hands and playing kneesies while the cab driver stole nervous glances at his fares in the rearview mirror. We reached Sean’s house and went inside. It was very modest; not much in the way of furniture but enough to be comfortable. We didn’t venture too far into the room before he took me by the shoulders and helped me off with my jacket. He looked at my arms and massaged them, moaning softly. “Very, very nice.” he said, “So, what kind of a body gets you off?”

“I like you to be you.”

“No, think of it this way—what if I said ‘ what should I wear? Leather? Cock ring? Ball stretcher? Lipstick?’ We’re only as limited as our desire.”

“Like me. 6 arms, 3 dicks.” He took off his shirt and, with his two hands, pulled my face toward him. He began to kiss me deeply, running his hands through my hair. He was such a good kisser and i responded in kind. Then I became conscious of a second pair of arms coming around my waist. I started to pull my head back so I could see but he held it tight and kissed deeper. 2 hands running through my hair, 2 around my waist and then 2 more began scratching my thighs. I sighed and put my six arms around him. We kissed hard and with passion, our tongues playing against each other enclosed by our moist lips. Finally he pulled away and whispered “Cut or uncut?”

“I’m cut.”

“I mean me. Cut or uncut?”

“Oh. How about uncut?”

“Done.” he undid his pants and let them fall to his ankles revealing 3 huge uncut dongs hanging side by side. They were gorgeous! I couldn’t take my eyes off them. I wanted to drop to my knees and take them, one by one, into my mouth. He read my thoughts and pushed me down. I put them in my hands and ran my tongue around the heads like a revolver in rapid fire. He moaned. “Is that enough foreskin for you?” He asked.

“Maybe a little more.” The hoods on his serpents now covered the heads completely and I docked them over my tongue. I took one into my mouth and sucked while I jacked the other two. I reached up with a third hand and stroked his rock-hard abs. Within seconds I became conscious of a 10-pack and sent a 4th hand up to play. He put his hands on my head and began to thrust his hips. I reached up between his legs and massaged his balls which grew in my hand, almost like a reflex. I pulled on them and they complied, stretching down, easily, until I could lift them and put them to my mouth without bending my head. I licked and tasted while he moaned. I let them drop and began to pull on his cocks. They, too, began to stretch like taffy until they were fully 12—15 inches long. I stood up and, dropping my jeans, turn my butt toward him.

He took the hint. “Let me lube it up.” He said. He grabbed his middle cock which suddenly began to leak out more precum than I have ever seen coming out of one cock. More and more, which he spread over it until it glistened with slickness. He squeezed out a stream of precum onto his fingers and wet my hole. It throbbed at his touch, anxious for his uncut 15-incher to make its entrance. he touched it to my butt and pushed in. I screamed; he pulled back.

“Am I hurting you?”

“God, NO!” I cried, and pushed my ass into his groin. I don’t know if he changed the size or if I was actually able to accommodate all 15 inches, but in a moment his pubes were against my cheeks and he had sent three hands around to jack my cocks while he fucked me. I reached behind and grabbed his two free cocks. The way he moved it was almost as if the drumbeat in the bar was still pounding in his soul and he fucked in perfect rhythm. All at once he morphed into a 10 legged pede and he brought his hind legs around my body so that his back butt was within rimming distance. I screamed in ecstasy as my left cock exploded into his hand.

“Yeah!” He cried. He kept fucking as I released his cocks and bent down to shove my tongue into his back hole.


He began to fuck harder. His ass tasted so sweet and the hole opened to receive my tongue. I reached under to see if he had dicks between his pede legs. He did. I jacked as many as I could reach while I jammed my tongue into his hole.

“Oh, fuck!” He shouted. I jacked. I licked. He jacked. He fucked. My right cock popped! Spew went everywhere. He grabbed my hips and fucked like mad. Suddenly he cried out and I felt his cock throbbing as it unloaded its cream deep into my hole. One by one his cocks shot off and when he pulled out of my ass I spun around and pushed his head down on my middle cock which promptly came down his hungry throat.

We spent the rest of the night fucking in every way imaginable. He became a taur, a pede, an octo, a normoid—he became part animal, growing (at intervals) bull’s horns, a dog’s tail, cat paws. He turned into a greek centaur and a merman. He even turned into stone, which was unbelievably hot—caressing his rock-solid musculature, feeling the cold, smooth marble and then it magically began to soften to my touch. Finally, when we’d shot so much cum we were in danger of dehydrating, we collapsed into a deep, restful sleep. After we woke up the next morning we lay in bed, stroking each other and talking.

“Well?” He said. “Now you’re had a shapeshifter. What did you think?”

“Very interesting.” I replied. “Very hot. But I still don’t know who you really are.”

“As intimate as we were and you don’t know who I am.”

“You know what I mean. I don’t think I ever saw the real—real you.”

“Let’s leave it that way.” He looked away and sighed. “What’s life without a few mysteries?” A sad, faraway look came over his face. I wondered maybe he didn’t even know who he really was. Perhaps he’d shifted so often that he’d forgotten the “He” that was deep inside somewhere. And suddenly I saw the tragedy that was Sean; he who could be whoever he wanted to be and didn’t know who he was. I pulled him to me, kissed him and we made love again. Later, I wrote down my address and phone number and got dressed. And, as I did, I felt my neck. “Oh my God.” I said.

“What’s wrong?”

“My necklace—my octopus—it’s gone.” A look of panic swept across his face.

“I didn’t—I mean I don’t know—I hope you don’t think I….”

“No, it’s okay. The clasp is loose. It probably came off. If you find it will you let me know?”

“Sure.” We kissed goodbye and I went home.

All day long I thought of Sean, the Stripper Shapeshifter. He made me horny and sad and happy and depressed all at the same time. He was on my mind all day as I went about my Saturday stuff. Then, after dinner, I settled in to watch Seinfeld for the umpty-umpth time when the door bell rang. I got up and went to the door and found a old man on the other side. He was very, very old and had the wizened looked that accompanies extreme old-age. Stooped shouldered and bent over. he looked up at me through elderly steely blue-gray eyes.

“Hello, may I help you?” I asked.

“I believe I have something that belongs to you.” He held out a trembling hand and I saw a glimmer of silver nestled in his palm. It was my necklace. He took my hand and placed the necklace in it. “How did you…I mean, are you a friend of Sean’s?”

“What’s life,” he replied with a sly wink, “without a few mysteries?” He turned away and started down the street. As he walked his body began to change. His stature became erect. his stooped shoulders broadened, his trembling gait took on a youthful saunter and just before he disappeared around the corner his grey hair went dark.

And, shutting the door, I understood.

Flashback posts:
Saturday Flashback: Get Your Dance On

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