Consciousness hacking, hexed underpants, and the divine erection

By Jesiah 
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• Latest update: 21 September. Next update: 5 October. (Submissions welcome.)

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Paul liked to think of himself as a hacker. He went by the alias ‘Brian’ on the dark Net. Paul got a thrill from attempting to extort modest sums of money from your ordinary, every-day, mostly-law-abiding Internet citizens.

At the very least, Paul’s illegal Internet activities enabled him to live a life filled with ‘things’. The absurdly large TV, carbon-fuming blinged-up monster truck for doing loud, obnoxious doughnuts outside the window of his neighbour’s sleepy baby, the stash of serious party drugs and the ‘MacMansion’ in the ‘burbs’—Paul had it all. All the consumerist garbage that is, and middle-class luxury for your typical, flip-flop wearing Aussie bogan tosspot.

Twenty-three, with jet black hair, a moustache, Paul was a little on the stocky side. Old Mrs Cartwright from number twenty-one thought he looked a little shady, and made sure to always give him a scowl as he drove his gas-guzzler past her house. (He would shout profanities at her in return.)

Paul didn’t have a girl friend at the time, but his raucous mates would often descend upon the otherwise relatively peaceful cul-de-sac during the week after work. Nobody complained anymore, though it was almost routine for a beer bottle to go flying over the neighbour’s fence.

One evening, as Paul was up to his usual antics, copying and pasting a demand letter threatening to release slutty photos and video of one of his victims, he made a critical error. Though he didn’t know it at the time. His soon-to-be ‘victim’ was himself handy with the keyboard—though, unlike Paul, he was an actual engineer and, most unfortunately of all, he wasn’t your ordinary guy.


Josh had recently picked up work in an employment agency. It was a back-office administrative role, but he was content. It had been many years since he had stable employment, and trying to live for so long on impoverished unemployment benefits had taken their toll—and not just on his bank balance. Like everyone, Josh had his fair share of dramas. His father was unstable and prone to unparalleled fits of hideous rage. His mother was frequently in the firing line. Josh himself had a patchy work history in recent years. Anxiety had got the best of him in certain situations. All that was turning around now, though. Finally, this human life, such as it was, was making sense.

After a swim on the way home from work, he quickly showered and headed home. It was a balmy summer evening, his favourite kind of evening. The air was still. Lines of cars, headlights gleaming streamed by on the arterial in the fading mauve twilight. Pink fluffy clouds peppered the horizon.

Josh liked to walk. Initially he had no choice. Money had been so tight he had no means to afford a vehicle, or even public transport. Given a choice, however, it was good to get out and move after a day sitting fixated upon the fancy modern-day equivalent of a typewriter.

Thirty-five, blonde, modest in height and with a sinewy, taught build, like that of a marathon runner, Josh was usually clean shaven at present. Some people thought he was aloof. Though he was often empathetic, he seldom got outwardly dramatic and emotive like some people do.

Shortly after dinner, Josh sat down to check his email. Mostly it was marketing garbage. Somehow, despite frequently unsubscribing, he still ended up on at least half a dozen mailing lists. And they seemed to spew forth a continual trickle of marketing copy and pointless drivel. Tonight, however, there was an addition to his mailbox that caught his eye. ‘**SPAM** Your account has been hacked!’ was the subject line. Actually, there were a bunch of them. (They all had the same subject, and interestingly in this instance, the spam filter had correctly classified the intrusion.)

Opening the first, Josh gazed lazily upon the words within. It was a threatening demand for almost one-thousand dollars, in bitcoin. According to the ‘hacker’, who used the name ‘Brian’, his router had been compromised and so had his privacy, and his social media accounts. In a rather bizarre twist, presumably intended to provide the attacker added leverage over his victims, the email seemed to make rather general insinuations about Josh’s private sexual habits and related Internet interests. The bit that made Josh laugh though, was Brian’s use of the word ‘pervert’. Given the alleged privacy intrusion, and specific references to a camera, Josh wondered whether the adjective might be better suited to the author of this voyeuristic, opportunistic pap. Though he felt sorry for those that would fall for it too.

It was a sad reality that in a world full of human beings, most of them had not even begun to plumb the depths of their most intimate nature—not in recent centuries, anyway. The mind-fiction that was mundane reality for most could only lead inexorably to one thing: an abundance of delusional, greedy, anxious and obnoxious individuals, as mere cogs in at best a semi-dysfunctional society. Josh morned the passing of the age of innocence for the Internet. Nowadays, it was as much hate-filled, junk-ridden, commercial pap as it was creative, communal and constructive.

Though Josh had left his technology days behind, he felt sufficiently bemused by this alleged intrusion to find plotting his revenge most entertaining.

Most people have some kind of sexual kink. For Josh, it was always underwear—specifically, red underwear, and made of that stretchy, slinky fabric used for swimsuits in particular. He had no idea why and had long since stopped caring. Over time, his fetish, if you could call it that, had gradually mutated and taken on differing hues. What was once the object of naive schoolboy dreams had traversed many a troubled relationship, to settle in mature adulthood as a common lead-in to a kind of pleasurable personal entertainment. Sexuality, however, was only the tip of the iceberg. It was, he had discovered, the outward, visible manifestation of something far more profound.

No doubt tantra, yogic breathing, journeying through the dimensions of consciousness, and other such esoteric interests were not for everyone. Not everyone was interested in truth. Not everyone discovered an explicit connection between sexuality and genuine self-knowledge. Each to his own though. Once upon a time, many a friend would have said he thought too much. Indeed, he had thought too much during one period of his life. It had got in the way, as thinking does in such matters—matters of the heart and particularly of sexuality. But that was past.

For Josh, his kink not only continued to intermingle with his deeper explorations of consciousness, but it provided a welcome element of whimsy to an area of human endeavour that was often taken far too seriously. An ordinary object that was for some an item quite vulgar, embarrassing, or simply quite mundane, had a super-ordinary and divine character for Josh. It was the spice of life. It was a delightfully humorous injunction in the mindset of the orthodox religious prude, and equally the man engaged in a game of spiritual ‘one-upmanship’. Above all, it was a personally profound representation of truth—of real power and potency—and an enjoyable one at that.

Josh sat in quiet meditation for several hours. His intention was clear. He would await the inspiration, the plot for that which was soon to unfold.


Arising within his own stillness, he was at once inspired. Images of voodoo-like incantations, skulls, candles, chanting, pentagrams and weird bubbling liquid stormed his consciousness. He went to work.

I won’t bore you with the details, dear reader, for I know you are hanging out for something a little unusual. This is indeed where things get interesting.

The product of Josh’s serene cookery was not dessert, but a late-night potion. It was dark green, smelt of algae and had small lumps of a sacrificial spider that had wandered a little too long upon the kitchen ceiling. Mixed within the potion, were a couple of small strands of red spandex fibre. Josh pondered the efficacy of this for a moment, before slipping once more into abundant peace.

Alighting to the upstairs bedroom, he promptly removed all his clothes, with the exception of the red brief-style swimmers he’d been wearing at the pool. Tight in all the right places, custom fitted and cut for aesthetics and comfort, the small garment had long since dried. It was shiny and somewhat full-looking, in a manor pleasing to many an eye. Harmless, yet somehow virile and perhaps concealing something more?

Plopping down upon the end of his bed, Josh imbibed the lumpy green concoction—the efforts of his earlier kitchen shenanigans and meditation time. He swallowed it all, in one gulp, and lay back upon the pillow to gaze mindlessly at the ceiling for a while.


Paul had retired to his own bedroom, around the same time. He yanked his pants off, leaving on only a white vest and a pair of loose cotton boxers. Feeling a little agitated down-under, Paul flicked the remote through the channels for his favourite ‘entertainment’ website. He lay back to interfere with himself, transfixed by the sensations in his rather average cock, and the melon-like protrusions that kept bouncing on the actor on his TV screen.

Meanwhile, unseen and unheard by Paul, who was too busy now furiously pulling himself, a strange dark smoke-like haze travelled from an open window to his right, to his underwear drawer, and also, toward Paul’s boxers, which he had not removed.

Paul felt a sudden chill in the air, and thought he heard whispers. He paused only a moment, muted the TV and once he was certain he must have imagined it, he resumed. It was less than a minute and he came. A wad of tissues on stand-by to cleanup the mess. He belched, changed channel and lay back, engrossed in the screen. His member, slowly deflated, still out in the open.


Josh suddenly felt a sudden surge of energy, beginning in his crotch and travelling upwards through his core to his heart, before travelling outwards and engulfing his torso and limbs with a warm tingling. His dick twitched and the pleasant, elegantly defined mound of his red underwear slowly became more prominent. Though it felt pleasant to the body-mind, his attention was diffuse.

As he became steadily more engorged, his package made a rather peculiar sound. It was not dissimilar to the sound the stretched rubber makes on an inflating balloon. It was a pleasurable sound. Somehow, he felt a little chunkier tonight, below the belt. Though it was no surprise.

Josh slipped into a deep and relaxing slumber.


Paul was taking a piss, the following morning. He whipped out his schlong and was slightly taken aback. Must have been cooler this morning he mused, absent-mindedly, though with a twinge of anxiety that would not be dispelled. His dick seemed more taught and… no. It couldn’t be. Was it not a tad shorter? That was impossible. He shook his head as-if to shake out the disturbing thought.

Much later that day, after his usual antics, Paul settled down once more and decided to have a marathon ‘wank session’. Still wearing his cotton boxers, he was hornier than usual and had since forgotten all about his morning anxiety. Again, it was less than a minute before Paul dirtied another wad of tissues. Around the same time, his hairs stood on end with a sudden chill—though he was too enthralled in the otherwise fairly ordinary orgasm to notice. Half an hour passed, and he went for round two, before belching and feeling suddenly overcome by an unusual fatigue, and an odd tugging sensation in his balls. He was too tired to follow the thought though, and passed out, snoring loudly.


Josh was gazing out at the full moon when he felt it. A sudden rush from his crotch. Again, the pulse of energy surged through his core and a spreading warmth filled his body. And again, roughly half-an-hour later, it happened once more. Like the previous night, there was a rather odd rubber stretching sound too, and a strange shuffling feeling in his jocks. And yes, you guessed it, he was wearing his usual—leaving nothing to the imagination as his not unimpressive member seemed to be inflating a significant amount more than usual.

Josh had been an honest, respectable, six-and-a-half inches. Knowing full well what was happening, he retrieved his member from its form-fitting, eye-pleasing red pouch and chuckled as he held alongside a steel ruler of the measuring kind. He was now a solid eight in length and as thick as ever.

Well, there was no way to fit this monster back in his jocks at the present moment. Interestingly, everything had still been a perfectly comfortable fit though. He lay back, and took his time. Letting his hand guide itself. A neutral expression on his face, his pouchm still snug around his sack, twitched and throbbed, remaining a little larger than ought naturally to have been possible. (Such things didn’t ordinarily happen to the ordinary man.) Had you been watching, you would easily have missed the unexpected twinkle in the otherwise dark, fathomless abyss of his eyes.

Veins twitched, hardness felt, and tissues in hand, for a moment, the entire universe disappeared—sucked into a singularity in the heart of an otherwise ordinary, unassuming mystic, a man, on an unremarkable rock in an unremarkable, though equally spectacular spiral galaxy. It was a man who just happened to be wearing a sleek red garment that accentuated the male form to perfection, and somehow drew the unconscious human male gaze to a sacred place, beyond time and space, in a realm of ideas. It was the divine masculine in the guise of a mystic, in the guise of a comedian.

Just as soon as it had all vanished, it all reappeared and ropes of seed spewed forth into waiting tissues.

Just another ordinary night in a super-mundane universe.

Josh intoned quite spontaneously, a deep, resonant laugh that lasted almost a minute. He smiled.


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