The rental

by Cris Kane

Middle-aged Ned tries a new service where you can rent a vacation home – and its owner’s body.

Added: 2 May 2020 4,046 words 2,085 views 2.0 stars (2 votes)

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Ned woke up, clutching his head in agony, in the grips of the worst hangover of his life – only he hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol.

Ned’s fingers swept through his long straggly hair – a miracle for someone who had gone bald twenty years ago.

Ned’s hand slid down across a flat chest and rutted midsection – when just this morning he had weighed 300 pounds.

He had been highly skeptical when he heard about this new time-share concept, in which you could occupy not only a stunning beach house, but the stunning body of its owner as well. But here he was, lying on a sun deck, gazing out at the Pacific Ocean, his consciousness transported from his out-of-shape middle-aged body into the trim and toned physique of a 23-year-old blond surfer dude.

Ned had spent a substantial portion of his savings for this opportunity to walk a single day in another man’s shoes – or, in this case, flip-flops. He rationalized it as a once-in-a-lifetime experience, the way that some people were plunking down millions to ride into space for a few minutes just so they could brag to their golfing buddies that they’d been weightless for twenty seconds.

With his taut new muscles, Ned pushed himself to a standing position, amazed by the power and virility now at his command. He took in a breath of the ocean breezes, drawing air deep into lungs which had not been thickened into tar pits by decades of cigarette smoking but had merely been singed by ten years of weed. Ned had only tried marijuana once in college, but he could feel this body itching for a joint to get the day off to a mellow start.

He padded to the sliding glass door, long bare feet slapping against the wooden slats of the deck. He stepped inside the house, a two-story structure of glass and wood so gorgeous, it could be the centerfold in an issue of Architectural Digest, just so readers could whack off to it. From what Ned gathered, Jordan – the house’s owner whose body Ned was now inhabiting – had inherited the place after his wealthy parents died in a private plane crash. Jordan had blown through most of their fortune in less than a year and was now heavily in the red to some less than savory types. Under extreme duress, he had agreed to this mind-swapping scheme in order to work off his debt, the only other option given to the young man being a permanent vacation involving a cement surfboard. Right now, Jordan’s consciousness was cooped up in some blandly anonymous warehouse in Encino, enduring the next 24 hours trapped inside the solitary confinement that was Ned’s morbidly obese body. Tough luck, kid, thought Ned. I’ve been stuck there my whole life.

Ned delighted in the ease and grace with which Jordan’s body moved, compared to the unwieldy gallumphing he was used to. He glided toward the bathroom to check himself out thoroughly in the mirror. He had been given a virtual-reality tour to acclimate him to what he should expect, but it hadn’t come close to approximating the thrill of actually seeing – and being – Jordan in the flesh. A lanky six-two with pale blue eyes and a Tarzan mane, his evenly tanned chest and arms were sleek and hairless. The slender fingers of his left hand traced over the Incan sun tattoo adorning his right shoulder, then slid down to grip the enviable hardness of his biceps.

As he gazed at “himself”, Ned could feel pressure building inside the board shorts he was wearing. He lowered the waistband and, without his usual oversized gut hanging in the way, could clearly see the penis of which he had temporary custody. It was growing hard and thick with little provocation. It had been decades since his own cock was so responsive.

He let the shorts drop to the floor and strode naked into the bedroom, which offered a panoramic view of the ocean and a free peep show for anyone bothering to look in. Ned flopped onto the bed and began to jack off, unconcerned about prying eyes. Let ‘em stare, he thought, liberated by the knowledge that, for once, his body was ogle-worthy.

Lying on his back, he stroked himself, allowing his mind to drift through the time-worn fantasies that had served him adequately through countless wanking sessions. Being tied to a bedpost in Wonder Woman’s magic lasso had always seemed to do the trick, but today he was being bombarded with far different images and more vivid sensations from Jordan’s memory banks. The biting taste of salty skin. Cool breath on his neck. Sweat pouring down his back. His ass cheeks being pushed apart by strong manly hands. Hot blasts of jizz surging deep inside his…

Ned’s eyes flew open and his fingers froze in position, wrapped midway up his cock. Holy fuck, how had no one told him that Jordan was gay? This wasn’t what he agreed to. Or maybe he just hadn’t read the fine print on all those release forms he signed.

Ned had always been straight, although since his divorce, he’d only been on a handful of dates and hadn’t gotten laid in five years. A track record like that leads to desperation, which leads to crazy and impulsive things like squandering your retirement money on a one-day brain swap. But while Ned’s mind continued to fight against it, Jordan’s body had its own priorities which demanded to be satisfied. His cock was continuing to pulsate and lengthen whether Ned stroked it or not. Finally, Ned surrendered to the overwhelming bliss spreading through his system as a thick, white geyser spewed forth onto his torso, turning the crevices of Jordan’s abs into canals full of cum. He lay back on the mattress, spent yet craving more.

Maybe gay for a day was okay.

He rolled over, stretching his long arm toward the bedside table, tapping into the part of Jordan’s long-term memory which knew exactly where the pot was stashed and relaxing enough to let the body’s muscle-memory roll a textbook joint. He lit up and inhaled like a pro. Ned felt like the smoke was causing his brain to warp and expand, allowing him to see the world in more than three dimensions. Even stodgy old Ned could tell immediately that this was primo shit. If his real body had taken a puff of this stuff, Ned would have been knocked him into a coma, but Jordan’s system had built up such a high tolerance that it merely put Ned into a pleasant but functional daze.

Ned took a quick shower to scrub himself off, then decided to go surfing. Never mind that Ned had never surfed in his life; he was imbued with confidence that this body was built for it. He found Jordan’s board and waded into the ocean, paddling outward to where the waves were breaking. His first attempts to stand on the board were abysmal, hurling him under the surface and spitting him back onto the sand. With a little practice, he became reasonably steady, but he didn’t want to waste too much of his day soaked to the skin and risking bodily injury. He needed to focus on what was probably the primary, if not only, goal of everyone who took their turn in Jordan’s body: getting laid.

He spent more than an hour trying on different selections from Jordan’s closet, eventually settling on a casual, deliberately youthful ensemble of a white tank, black shorts and Keds. Assessing his reflection, he could feel another erection growing. Even Jordan’s own cock thought that Jordan was hot, and Ned was now wholeheartedly onboard with today’s gay agenda.

As he strolled along the beach, Ned wasn’t even tempted to glance at the many bikini-clad babes he passed, oblivious to the stares that many of them were directing his way. Instead, Ned found himself fixated on the guys who were parading by, admiring their muscle tone, evaluating how well-packed their swimsuits were. His system was awash with testosterone, but his mind failed him as he tried to think of how to initiate a conversation with one of these desirable gentlemen.

Thinking back, Ned never had much luck as the pursuer. His wife had actually been the one to propose to him, back in the days before his hair fled his scalp and his waistline ballooned. He was awkward at starting conversations and uncomfortable as the center of attention, and those attributes appeared to have followed him into Jordan’s body. He thought he would be taking a total break from his essential Ned-ness, but the old guy’s insecurities had hitched a ride anyway.

His stomach was growling as he reached a Mexican cantina along the shore. He stepped inside and took a seat at the bar where a young bartender asked for his ID. Ned chuckled, having long ago aged out of the ID-check demographic.

“You don’t hafta check him,” called out one of the waitresses with a smile. “We all know Señor Jordan here.”

Ned smiled back. On any other day, he’d have been delighted just to make eye contact with a woman as lovely as her. Her long black hair, smoky eyes and flawlessly tanned skin were the stuff of his dreams (particularly if she had a golden lasso). Intellectually, Ned still knew she was pretty, but she was getting no standing ovation below Jordan’s waist.

On the other hand, he couldn’t keep his eyes off the cute bartender, with his sloppy brown bangs, green eyes and wide smile. “Sorry, Señor Jordan. I just started here. What can I get you?”

“Scotch. Glenlivet, if you’ve got it.” Ned realized that this was the first time he had spoken all morning. The words came out in a relaxed So-Cal cadence, with none of the Marlboro gruffness of Ned’s usual voice.

“Uh, let me check,” said the bartender, eyes scanning the back bar in desperation.

“Never mind. Any Scotch will do. Straight up,” Ned told him. The bartender grabbed a bottle of Scotch at random, poured a tumblerful and slid it across the bar. Ned tossed back a slug and nearly gagged. It felt like Jordan’s body was physically rejecting it. The technicians who performed the transfer procedure had warned Ned that some of his preferences could change, since he’d be experiencing food and drink via a different set of taste-buds. Funny how they had neglected to mention that he might also have a sudden appetite to suck cock.

“Problem, señor?”, asked the bartender eagerly.

Ned forced down his mouthful of alcohol and said, “No, just went down the wrong pipe.” Ned decided to practice flirting with the bartender. “So, what’s your name?”

“Sergio,” said the kid.

Ned nodded. “Sergio.” He nodded again. He eyed his glass and took another sip, although the Scotch tasted no more appealing on his second try. He glanced around the busy restaurant, stared out the windows, checked the time, shrugged his shoulders, and sighed. What good was having a sexy body if he had no charm or personality? He couldn’t imagine that the real Jordan had this much trouble starting a conversation. Ned felt like he’d been given a Ferrari without the keys.

A booming voice to Ned’s right asked, “This seat taken?”

Ned turned to see the source of the question, a muscular olive-skinned man in a sleeveless camo tee and tight blue jeans with a shaved head and heavy mustache. He was pointing to the stool beside Ned and smiling hopefully.

“Huh? Oh. No, go right ahead.”

Ned resumed staring at his drink. When the man sat down and ordered a Dos Equis, his arm brushed gently against Ned’s, and Jordan’s cock sprang to attention. Ned looked straight ahead, seeing the reflections of Jordan and Mr. Mustache in the mirror behind the bottles of booze. When he noticed that the man beside him was absolutely scoping him out, Ned felt Jordan’s heart flutter. He turned to introduce himself.

“My name’s Ned…” Whoops, probably a bad idea to use his real name, but suddenly the name of the guy whose body he was in flew out of his head too. He scrambled, glancing desperately at his glass of Scotch for guidance and strength. “Glen. Glen…Livet…ti. Glen Livetti. Nice to meet you.”

The man stared into Ned’s eyes curiously before eventually saying, “Nice meeting you too, Glen. I’m Garry.” He focused closely on Ned’s face as they shook hands. Garry asked, “I know it’s a trite opening line, but do you come here often?”

“Nope, first time,” Ned said, realizing too late that the waitress had already told him that everyone here knew Señor Jordan. The cute bartender returned with Garry’s beer, which Garry clinked against Ned’s Scotch tumbler. They each took a drink and sat in silence for thirty seconds or so. Then Garry’s left hand dropped below the bar, coming to rest on Ned’s right knee.

Was Ned unwittingly sending out gay vibes? He was definitely receiving them from Garry, who leaned close and whispered, “Your place?” Goddamn, Ned wondered, is it really that easy when you look like this?

Driven by adrenaline and lust, Ned sprinted down the beach, youthful legs propelling him into a formidable lead over Garry, who was nevertheless keeping up an incredible pace for someone of his bulk. Ned reached the beach house first, unlocked it, and had already kicked off his shoes and pulled off his tank top by the time Garry lumbered in, breathing heavily and wiping his forehead. Sweat clung to the plentiful body hair on his chest and limbs, and its scent was arousing fresh passions in Jordan’s body.

Garry stared out the windows at the ocean and said, “I do love this view.” As Ned unbuttoned his shorts and let them slide down his legs, Garry grinned. “I love that view too.” He walked over and kissed Ned rapturously, then guided them both down onto the bed.

Ned’s first gay kiss sent a barrage of hormones on a roller-coaster ride through his borrowed body. Ned felt one step removed from what was happening, surrendering to Jordan’s instinctive behavior and enjoying its benefits. He helped Garry wriggle out of his jeans and his mouth dropped open when Garry whipped out his stiff eight-incher. Garry grabbed Ned roughly and flipped him face down on the bed, then lowered his bulk atop Ned and began to work his way inside.

Ned was braced for it to be painful, but this was clearly not the maiden voyage of Jordan’s body in these waters. Garry started gently, but quickly grew more aggressive and forceful, grabbing a fistful of Jordan’s golden locks and yanking them with each successive thrust. Ned closed his eyes and gripped the edge of the mattress as Garry’s rhythm accelerated. Just as he felt a liquid warmth spreading inside of him, he became breathless as he shot his own wad of semen, creating a lake of cum between his abs and the bedsheet. Ned collapsed from exhaustion, Garry still inside.

Waking up from a blissful nap, Ned shielded his eyes from the glare of the setting sun flooding through the windows that surrounded him. His brain was dulled from dope and Scotch, and his cock and balls felt sore and empty. In other words, he felt fantastic.

He was face down on the bed, unaccustomed to lying on a mattress which didn’t sag and creak as its way of griping about his weight. He slid his left foot gently up and down his lightly hairy right leg and gradually realized that Garry wasn’t lying beside him. He stood up drowsily and explored the house, eventually finding Garry in the kitchen, seated naked on a stool and flipping through a wallet.

“Well, if it isn’t sleepyhead Glen. Or is it Ned? Or is it…” He removed Jordan’s driver’s license from the wallet and showed it to Ned. “…Jordan?”

Ned panicked, unsure how to respond. “Listen, about that. I can explain…”

Garry laughed and tossed him the wallet. “Don’t sweat it. You don’t think my name is really Garry, do you? But I am a little insulted.”

“What do you mean?” Ned asked.

“Am I really that forgettable?”

Ned was desperately scanning Jordan’s memory bank, but was coming up blank. “I’m sorry, but I honestly don’t know what you mean.”

Garry (or whatever) stood up and walked slowly toward Ned, his demeanor shifting to a more serious tone. “We’ve met in that same bar four times in the past six months, but every time, you act like you have no clue who I am. I suppose a guy like you attracts so many men, it’s hard to keep track of them all.”

“No, that’s not true,” Ned replied. “I would definitely remember you.”

“That’s the same thing you said last time. That time, you told me your name was Sam. Before that, it was Oliver. The time before that, I think you said you were named Becky, which seemed kinda bizarre. I swear, it’s like every time I meet you, you’re a different person.”

Ned realized maybe that was why Jordan had no stored memories of Garry; each time Garry had met him, Jordan’s mind was in storage while someone else took command. Ned swung his legs off the bed and stared at Garry. “I apologize. Maybe I’ve just been too stressed out lately.”

“You, stressed out?” Garry let out a barrel-chested laugh. “You’re the most laid-back guy I’ve ever met. It’s like you’re on permanent vacation.”

Ned liked the sound of that. He reached over and grabbed Garry’s penis, gently tugging on it to draw him closer. Ned felt Jordan’s body kick into automatic as he knelt on the floor, but Ned’s mind took charge as he began to lick around the head of Gerry’s cock. He didn’t want to forget a second of this day.

Ned had never felt so simultaneously exhausted and exhilarated. Ned and Garry ordered a delivery of Chinese food, had sex several more times that night, and dozed off in each other’s arms. They fucked once more as the first rays of dawn crept through the windows, then headed to a diner for breakfast.

“So, what are we going to do today?” Garry asked, seated across from Ned in a booth.

Ned looked sad. “I’m sorry, Garry, but I got business I have to attend to.”

Garry nodded understandingly, then asked, “Will you at least call me this time?”

Ned wasn’t sure how that would work, since he’d be giving up this body – and these vocal cords – in another hour. “I don’t have your number.”

That upset Garry. “I’ve given it to you three times! Will you give me your number, so I can call you?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Ned said.

“That’s your answer every time. What’s the matter? Don’t we have a good time together? Wasn’t last night fun?”

“Last night was amazing,” said Ned, with no hyperbole.

“Am I not attractive enough for you?”

“That’s definitely not it,” Ned said emphatically.

“Then what are you so scared of? I’m not asking for a commitment. I’m just asking to get your phone number.”

Ned briefly considered giving him his real phone number. Maybe they could keep in touch with texts. Maybe someday, eventually, he could let Garry meet him in his real body and find out whether someone who looked like Garry could be attracted to someone who looked like Ned. But Ned feared that he already knew that answer. Besides, once he got back into his old body, he probably wouldn’t be attracted to guys any more. With regret, Ned said, “I can’t.”

Garry shook his head and stood up from their booth. “Then I can’t do this anymore. I put up with your flaky bullshit this long because I think you’re so goddamn cute. But I need more than a cute lay. See ya, Jordan. Glen. Ned. Sam. Oliver. Becky.”

Ned watched Garry walk away, admiring Garry’s firm tush and realizing that might be the last male ass he viewed with such fondness. Soon, he would be himself again, pointlessly lusting after women who were out of his league.

Ned had specifically chosen this diner for breakfast because it was the designated pickup spot to take him to the lab for the transfer back into his own body. As he picked at a cold waffle, Ned noticed the mastermind behind the whole enterprise entering the restaurant. A loan shark who Ned only knew as Harry, he was flanked by two slabs of beef in black tanks and camo fatigues. Thin and scrappy, Harry was probably in his seventies, with a New Joisey accent that had never diminished despite decades of living in Los Angeles. Even at his age, you didn’t dare fuck with him. Harry slid into the seat across from Ned and asked, “So, Neddy-boy, d’you enjoy your day?”

“Fuckin’-a right I did,” he said, finding Jordan’s dude-speak falling more naturally from his tongue the longer he was in this body. “It was the most amazing day of my life.”

Harry smiled. “I’m happy to hear that. Ya know, we may wanna use you as a spokesperson someday. The whole ‘listen to this satisfied customer’ bit. Until then, of course, you’re bound by the confidentiality clause, so I just need to remind you not mention this experience to anyone at the risk of…” (pause for effect) “…serious penalties.”

Ned nodded rapidly. “You bet, absolutely. In fact, I wanted to run an idea past you. Something that maybe would make me an even better spokesperson.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Ned leaned across the table, desperation in his eyes as he whispered, “Leave me in this body!”

Harry shook his head gravely. “No can do.”

“Please, Harry, I can’t go back to being me,” Ned begged, disgust in his voice as he expelled the word “me” from his mouth.

Harry put on a kindly front, hoping to calm Ned. “I’m glad you enjoyed the experience so much, but we got a waiting list. You’re not the only person signed up to use this body, Neddy.”

“So, put ‘em in another body. I know, put ‘em in my body!”

Harry stared, cold-eyed. “You really think your body has the makin’s of a top tourist destination?”

Ned started to weep. “I’ll give you everything I’ve got. I’ll liquidate everything and give the money to you. Anything you want. Just name it.”

With a barely perceptible jerk of the head, Harry indicated that it was time for the goons to step in. They grabbed Ned, his legs dangling, feet barely brushing the floor. As they carried him outside, Ned squirmed and flailed his arms, screaming “No” repeatedly.

Harry tossed a fifty onto the table to cover Ned’s breakfast, then looked around the restaurant. All the other patrons were staring outside as Harry’s thugs loaded Ned into a black SUV with tinted windows.

Harry paused at the front door and turned to address the customers with a shrug and a weary shake of his head.


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