The Sad Fate of Wilbur Soddings Pt. 2

Joey shifted uncomfortably in his chair. It was too small--all chairs outside of his own house were too small for his 6’5”, 275 pound body--but something in the air made him uncomfortable. The room felt suddenly cold and dry, the fluorescent lights seeming to leech the color from the room.

“Are you okay?” Dr. Southern asked, leaning forward. “Joey, you’re not looking well…”

Joey Bosa patted down his big, muscular body. He felt a chill, and that sensation that something wasn’t right. His breathing got so shallow he couldn’t even respond. Dr. Southern rose to his feet and leaned into Joey’s face. The big lineman would have slapped the man away, shoved him through the wall if he could have, but he had no strength in his body.

Then it was over. Joey closed his eyes, then opened them, and the world looked and felt normal again. He felt comforted by his size, the feeling of gravity pulling on his heavy body; the density of his form, the way his muscles flexed and rippled with every movement; the feeling of power and strength, like he could sprint a mile before flipping a bus with ease.

That was what Joey Bosa felt. This was normal.

“What’s your name?” Dr. Southern said, leaning in and shining a light in Joey’s eyes.

Joey pushed the light aside. “I’m Joey,” he said. “Honestly, Dr. Southern, I’m fine.” He rose to his full height. The smaller psychologist backed away.

“Something happened,” Dr. Southern said. “You had some sort of episode… Yes? Or no? This is very serious, Joey.”

“I’m fine!” Joey insisted. He flexed his big arms. “Fucking look at me. Fine as FUCK. I could kool-aid man through that wall if I wanted to and it wouldn’t leave a scratch. 100%. Honest.”

Dr. Southern made a note and Joey leaned forward to see what he had written.

“Honestly, Joey, if you’re not honest about everything you’re experiencing--every minute aberration from 100% full health--it could put things at risk. In no way is your situation set in stone.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Joey said, turning to look at himself in the mirror. That was his body, the one he recognized instantly. It was his face.

“Joey, what was the name of your first pet?”

Joey smirked. “McMann,” he said with a chuckle. “A gerbil when I was 5. He died after two weeks.”

Dr. Southern nodded his head. “And your favorite movie?”

“Boondock Saints,” Joey said with a smile. “And I don’t fucking love these quizzes. I agreed to a checkup, but seriously, when I say I’m fine… I’m fine. You called me here to talk to me about my stalker, right? If you’re wondering, I found it creepy, but… no big deal. I’m in the NFL. People get fired up.”

“Wilbur Soddings was found dead,” Dr. Southern said.

Joey froze. He turned and glared at Dr. Southern with a grim expression. “Why the fuck are you telling me that?” He took a step toward the doctor. “Why the fuck are you bringing up that name at all?” He hadn’t planned to grab the Dr. by the shirt and hoist him into the air, slamming him against the wall. “Hunh? What the fuck does that nobody have to do with me?”

Dr. Southern looked shocked, the air knocked from his lungs. Joey looked down at himself, shocked at his sudden rage, and dropped the doctor to the ground. “Oh my god, I’m sorry,” he said, helping Dr. Southern to his feet. “I swear, I didn’t mean to… God, I’m so sorry.”

“That was… an extreme reaction,” Dr. Southern said as he straightened his bowtie. “That does not make me feel confident about this situation.”

Joey was now pacing around the office. “Am I… like, I’m not a suspect, am I? I mean, I went to that creep’s house. His neighbor spotted me going in. Fuck, I’m here talking to you! You were his doctor!”

Dr. Southern shook his head. “They haven’t found a cause of death. He was just… dead. He wasn’t healthy, after all. His father was found dead a week before, quite the same. They both just… died. It’s strange that you immediately worried about raising suspicion, though. You’re an NFL player with no connections to him beyond his infatuation. Why would the mention of his name disrupt you so badly?”

Joey stared at the doctor. “I’m shaking,” he said, staring at his hands. “Why the fuck am I shaking?”

Dr. Southern started pulling the shades as Joey tried to collect himself. “Answer me this, Joey. Who is Wilbur Soddings?”

“A stalker,” Joey said. “He was a psycho obsessed with me. A sad, handicapped, pathetic old…”

Dr. Southern switched off the lights in the room and started a metronome. A light trickled left to right on an LED display. Joey found himself transfixed by the light. Why couldn’t he look away? That light and the solid, rhythmic thunk of the metronome... 

He felt a haze lift--a veil he wasn’t aware of until that moment.

“Who’s Wilbur Soddings?” Dr. Southern asked.

“I’m Wilbur Soddings,” Joey said. He had known it all the time, of course. Why had he forgotten it so suddenly? “I switched bodies with Joey Bosa and… then swapped Joey into my dad’s body. I thought he would just die right then, but he held on…”

“Wilbur, I want you to envision a room,” Dr. Southern said with a calm, monotone voice. “You’re going into the room to rest. You need rest so badly… You’re going to lock the door and swallow the key. Understood? And you’re going to pull the shades, lie down in bed, and you’re going to go sleep. The best sleep of your life. So deep, dark and comforting you’ll never want it to end. Understood? Wilbur, your time is over. Go to sleep, Wilbur.”

Joey shook his head and smirked. “No. Fuck you,” he said.

“Wilbur, you’re gone now. You’ve passed, remember? Your body is dead. Your time is over. It’s time for you to drift away.”

Joey’s eyes widened and a maniacal grin spread across his face. “Fuck you! I’m Joey fucking Bosa.”

“But you just told me you were Wilbur Soddings. Don’t you see how that can’t be? You can’t be both. Look down at yourself! Look at your body and tell me who you are.”

Joey stared down at himself, examining his huge, muscular frame as if he was seeing it for the first time. Then he puffed out his chest and threw his shoulders back. “I’m whoever the fuck I want to be, Doc. And if you’re not careful I’ll be you too.”

The doctor turned off the metronome and the flickering light. He raised the shades with a sigh. “How do you feel?”

Joey looked around, confused. He had blinked and his mind had wandered. What had just happened? “I feel good,” he said. “Did I just black out or something?”

“I’d like to start weekly therapy sessions,” Dr. Southern said. “A little hypno-therapy until I’m sure you’re fine, and then--”

“Look,” Joey said, shrugging his shoulders and backing away. “Team psych says I’m good. I came here mostly as a courtesy, but seriously… no hypno-therapy. No therapy period. I’m good. Later, doc.”

Joey strode out of the buildling so fast he was already pulling out of the parking lot when Dr. Southern finally raced outside. His phone lit up--the doctor was calling--and he ignored it. He had way too much going on to worry about a creepy doctor.

*

Joey took a swig of his whiskey before continuing the story. “And then he chased me into the parking lot like a fucking freak. Couldn’t believe it.”

Joey’s brother Nick sat across the table from him. The bar was mostly empty--that’s why they chose it, rather than being mobbed by football fans--but the bartender, a small, feminine man, seemed a little taken by the two hunky muscleheads straining the weight capacity of the bar’s stools as they sipped their drinks with their legs spread wide. Joey’s hand had slid down the front of his pants, a move of pure relaxation.

“You should never have gone to see that guy,” Nick said, shaking his head. “I don’t mean the weird therapist. I mean that crippled dude! For real. You’re lucky he didn’t cut your face off and wear it as a mask!”

Something about that image made Joey shiver. He sat up immediately, finishing his drink. He shook his glass. The little bartender practically sprinted over to refill it.

“Weird that there’s no one else here,” Joey said.

The bartender grinned and shrugged, putting another whiskey on the table. “I guess you guys lucked out,” he said with a wink. “You get me all to yourself!”

Nick hopped to his feet and hustled to the bathroom, giving Joey a slap on the shoulder. The big lineman considered his beverage, clinking the cubes of ice around the glass, before he was surprised by a shot slapped down in front of him. He looked up at the bartender who looked proud of himself for bringing the big hunk more booze.

“On the house!” announced the little man. He gave Joey a pat on his big arm. The hand stayed just a little too long. Joey looked in the shotglass. Whatever the mixture was, it was purple.

“Is that glitter on top?” Joey said as he sniffed it. The bartender nodded. “Thanks,” he said. The bartender lingered, probably wanting to witness Joey enjoying the gift, but the big lineman just pushed the shot away.

When Nick returned, he pointed at the shot and raised an eyebrow. “Looks like you’ve got another admirer, big man!”

Joey shrugged. “Yeah, whatever,” he said. He downed the shot. It was chalky and tasted like grape. He coughed and shook his head as Nick laughed at him. Joey swallowed hard, trying to collect himself.

His hands tingled. The edges of his vision greyed. He tried to move but his whole body was unresponsive! He felt himself floating--no, he really was floating! He flapped his arms uselessly as he rose up into the air.

“Nick, what the fuck!” he said but his brother kept staring ahead--why wasn’t he looking at him? Joey looked down in shock to see he was still sitting at the table. He looked at his hands and screamed when he found them transparent and vaporous. “Nick! Help me!” he screamed as a force pulled him away from the table. He reached down for his brother but his hands passed right through.

He tumbled through the air to the bar where he hovered for a moment. The bartender was focused on the two football players at the table, but at one point Nick was sure the little fag looked up at him and winked.

“Do you see me?” Joey screamed. His voice had an echo.

The bartender lifted a purple crystal bottle to the bar and removed the cork. Joey could feel its vacuous pull drawing him toward it. “What the fuck!” he said, trying to swim through the air to get away. His gaseous body began to discorporate, suddenly drawn to the mouth of the botlle like a genie in reverse. Joey screamed as he felt himself painlessly dissolved. His big, hunky body was just an amorphous cloud getting slurped up by that purple bottle.

When it was over, Joey felt himself fall hard against a glass floor. He was happy to feel solid again, but shocked when he realized the walls around him were purple glass. He looked up to see a hole above him, and a massive hand suddenly sliding a cork into the bottle.

“No!” Joey screamed, his voice echoing in the glass prison.

The bartender’s face--massive, to Joey’s perspective--lowered to the side of the bottle and peered in. He poked the glass several times. “You stay put, now,” he said, putting the bottle behind the bar. Joey screamed for his brother but he knew it was to no avail. The bartender started walking away. “Are you guys okay? Should I call 911?” he said.

Joey ran against the side of the bottle. Somehow, within its confines, he seemed solid. The bottle wobbled as he hit the side full force. He ran to the edge and rammed it full speed, nudging it further off the shelf.

“Joey? Bro, you okay?” It was Nick’s voice. It sounded so far away.

Joey hit the edge of the bottle one more time and it tilted. He screamed as the whole thing toppled over, tumbling to the ground. But instead of being cut to shreds when the bottle shattered, Joey felt himself pulled apart into vapor again. He floated through the air freely now, willing himself back toward his body. With great effort, he forced himself back inside.

*

“Fuck!” Joey screamed as he sat up. He shivered, covered in cold sweat.

He was on the couch at Nick’s house. Had he dreamt the bar? It felt like it had happened just moments ago.

“You okay buddy?” Nick said, hustling into the room.

“I’m… fine…” Joey said. He was too nervous to ask what had happened--scared to hear that the scene at the bar had been real, but also frightened to hear that he’d somehow hallucinated it.

“Jesus, christ,” Nick said, approaching Joey with a steamy mug. “You had me scared shitless! How fucking drunk were you?”

“I wasn’t drunk,” Joey said, looking around Joey’s place. They seemed to be alone. He stared at the cup of tea on the table. “What happened? How did I get here?”

“I had to carry you out of there,” Nick said. He put a thick hand on Joey’s shoulder. The big lineman was shirtless, wearing only his boxers on the couch. Joey hoped the dampness in his undies was just sweat, and that he hadn’t actually pissed on his brother’s furniture. “And if you weren’t drunk then we gotta get you to the hospital or something. That was like stroke level shit.”

Joey hopped to his feed, wobbling unsteadily when his full weight hit his week knees. “Fuck man, I just need a shower… need to clear my head. Too much weird shit has been happening!”

“Help yourself,” Nick said. Joey knew where the bathroom was. “Seriously though, promise me you’ll see your doctor. That was too freaky.”

In the shower, Joey breathed deeply, inhaling the steam. All of this happened when that weird therapist told him about his dead stalker. He didn’t dare think of his name--what the hell was it again? The letters started to form in the shadowy parts of his mind but Joey grabbed his temples. His head felt like it was going to burst. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“Hey big guy,” Nick said, poking his head in the humid air of the bathroom. “When you’re done in there, maybe drink this tea? It’ll make you feel better, I guarantee.” Nick set it on the bathroom counter and ducked out of the bathroom.

For a moment as Joey showered, he felt like he was feeling up someone else’s body. He was incredibly aroused feeling his big muscles, his massive cock, as if he was exploring the body of another man. He blinked and it was over. He chuckled at his hard-on. Maybe he did need to see his doctor. Maybe all those concussions were starting to add up.

As he toweled himself off, he swiped across the foggy mirror. For one moment he saw his reflection--a short, balding, tubby man standing with a cane. He was old--late forties, at least--and every inch of him ached. For a moment, that reflection felt right.

“Fuck!” Joey yelled as he hurled the mug of tea at the mirror. Both shattered. He looked down at himself--it was still him, he was a big muscular athlete like he always had been. It took him a moment to gather the courage to look into the shattered mirror, through the spiderweb of cracks to see what he looked like in hte mirror.

He saw his chiseled jaw, his goatee, his handsome face, his muscles. He was Joey Bosa.

“For chrissakes!” Nick said as he burst into the bathroom. “You trashing my bathroom now?”

“I slipped,” Joey lied. “I grabbed the tea and it was too hot, burnt my hand. I’m sorry, man. I’ll pay for it.”

“Jesus, man,” Nick said, shaking his head. “You break one more thing at my house and I’m banning you, got it? You have your own condo you can trash anytime you want.”

Nick guided Joey down the hallway like the big athlete was a sick kid. “Seriously, buddy, get some rest,” he said.

“Where are my clothes?” Joey asked as he adjusted the towel around his waist.

“The wash,” Nick said. “I tossed you a pair of my boxer briefs.”

“I’m not wearing your dirty underwear you douche,” Joey said, jerking away from Nick to stand under his own power.

“They’re brand new, never worn,” Nick assured him. “And I don’t ever want them back, for the record. Not after your nasty dick has been in them.”

Joey gave Nick a brotherly shove and got one in return.

In Nick’s guest bedroom, Joey tossed the towel aside and slipped the boxers onto his body. Nick was a little thicker than Joey, his legs a little bulkier, so they weren’t exactly a tight fit. “They’re just so I don’t hop into his bed butt naked,” Joey said, pulling back the sheets and climbing in weakly. He felt exhausted. That fucking doctor must have done something to him. He had mentioned hypnotherapy and for some reason it felt… familiar. Had he been to see him before?

“I’m fucking losing it,” Joey said as he buried his head in his pillow. But as he started to drift off to sleep, he felt a tickle in his ass crack.

He reached down and patted his ass--what the fuck was that? He shifted uncomfortably, pulled back the waistband of the boxers and peeked inside. Just his regular ass. He flexed the glutes, ran his own hand over them to be sure, then climbed back into bed again. The tickle returned: this time both in his ass crack and on the front, like something was slowly massaging his dick.

“The fuck?” Joey said, turning on the light. He looked down at the boxers. Rather than the somewhat baggy pair he had put on before, the boxers looked like they were tightly hugging his body.

Then, as he watched, the fabric moved on its own, gently sliding up and down his dick, squeezing it more tightly as it started to rise. Meanwhile from behind, he felt the boxers slowly side into his ass crack, tickling the whole like it had tiny little fabric fingers.

“What the fuck is happening!” Joey exclaimed as he hopped out of bed. He reached down to pull the boxers off but they held tightly against his body. “Fuck,” he said as the sensations grew stronger. Fuck, the boxer-job it was giving him actually felt good! “Why can’t I… take these off…” He said, tugging at the waistband to no avail. To his horror, he watched as the fabric seemed to form a face that pushed out--no way, he thought--he had to be dreaming--then dissolved back into the underwear squeezing against his muscular groin.

“Nick, I think I need to call the doc--” Joey’s voice was cut-off mid-sentence. He felt cold again, like he had after taking the shot at the bar. He was sweating again. His breathing slowed. He had to get to the door--had to call out to Nick--but he had no voice. He was helpless in his own body.

Again he felt he was floating, and turned around in horror to see he was staring himself in the face. He touched the dopey-eyed automaton that was his body but his hands passed through again. Then the pulling, like with the bottle--but this time it was drawing him toward his hulking body’s groin.

The underwear! He could feel the boxer briefs pulling him in despite his efforts to escape. As he flowed in--his body now just a purple cloud--another entity, this one made of blue gas, seemed to be flowing out.

A moment later, Joey felt like he had gauze wrapped around his head. He was warm--rather, something inside him was keeping him warm--and felt tight. He couldn’t see or move, but he could hear and feel, and taste… what the fuck was that taste?

“How’s my sweat taste down there?” said a voice. Joey felt a hand reach down and give him a few pats. “Man, it sure was hard to get you out of that body,” said the voice--holy shit, Joey WAS the boxer briefs--”but your time as Joey Bosa is all over, Wilbur.”

The mention of that name made Joey shriek. He felt his rage soaring--he wasn’t a pair of underwear! He was a fucking person--HE WAS JOEY BOSA! He burst from his boxer-briefs prison and flowed toward the warm flesh beneath him.

It was a struggle, like wrestling underwater, but what seemed like an eternity later, he found himself holding shredded fabric in his hands.

He was naked now, still as big and muscular as he’d ever been--but he had torn the boxer briefs in two.

“Fuck this, I need to get out of here,” Joey said as he noticed a trickle of blood beneath his nose. He was really losing it. He stomped on the remains of the underwear as he passed--what the fuck was wrong with him? It was just UNDERWEAR!

With the towel around his waist, he grabbed his keys and his phone and jogged for the door.

“Joey, where are you going?” Nick called after him. “Joey!”

The big athlete sprinted from the house at full speed. He had no idea why, but he needed to be away--and alone.

*

The Lyft driver was confused when he picked up the nearly-nude athlete, barefoot on a corner, but he recognized him. “Wow, buddy, you NFL players have crazy fucking lives, eh?”

“Yeah,” Joey said. “Just get me home.” He continued to dismiss his brother’s calls.

Inside his own house, a moment of panic overcame him--where the fuck was he? Whose apartment was this? His heart raced until he realized it was his house. He put his hand on his big chest and tried to slow his pulse. “I’m losing it,” he said. “I’m fucking losing it.”

Maybe he would go to the hospital. He picked up his phone and considered it when he heard a knock at the door.

“Fuck!” Joey said. He threw the door open. An Italian guy, who looked like he had a steady diet of roids and the gym, stood there with a box in his hands. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Jesus, Christ!” the Italian guy said. “I’m Dominic! I’m your neighbor. UPS dropped this off at my place by mistake.”

Joey eyed the guy suspiciously. He had always resented those gym douches--never played a down of football in their lives, but juiced themselves into bulky freaks with muscles they never used. He had never seen the guy before, although he’d never been close to his neighbors before.

“Fine,” Joey said, grabbing the box out of the guy’s hands. “Beat it.” He slammed the box on the counter and slammed the door in the guy’s face.

“Wow, what a prick!” Joey heard the guy on the other side say.

“Fuck you!” Joey said. He headed for his bedroom, his heart racing. What was his plan? He wasn’t going to sleep. He pulled on some sweatpants first. He had some painkillers in the bathroom and a bottle of vodka in the fridge. He popped the percocets and guzzled them down with vodka. He needed a nice numbness to escape this nightmare of a day. Tomorrow, he thought, I can get a damned ct scan and figure out what’s wrong with me, but tonight I just need to sleep.

He took another slug from the bottle and then examined the box. He shook it; it seemed light. There was no return address on it. Fuck, there was no postage?

He peered out the door for a moment--his “neighbor” was long gone--and then tore the box open.

Inside was a little Joey Bosa action figure sealed in a plastic clamshell container. He leaned in and examined the detail on the figure’s face. It was really realistic!

“When the hell did I agree to have a doll made of me?” he said, turning the package around. There was no branding on the label, just a photo of him and his name. He tore the plastic apart with his big hands and examined the little figure.

The booze-percocet combo was starting to dull his mind and blur his vision. He had to squint to see the figure’s face--god, it was like looking into a tiny mirror! Was the little thing smiling?

“Gotcha!”

It was the figure. Fuck, that wasn’t possible--but that thing had definitely talked in a little chirrupy voice! Joey tossed the doll, still twist-tied to its cardboard backing, across the room, but something had happened. Joey’s whole body was throbbing now. He moaned as he felt--something--happening. The sweatpants started to slide down his thighs. He quickly yanked them up, shocked at how big they seemed.

Across the room, he heard a loud grunt and a moan. From where the doll had fallen, he watched a muscular little man stand--perfectly proportioned, but only three foot tall. But he was slowly growing!

Joey looked up in horror as he saw the kitchen counters rising above him. A moment later he found the sweatpants to heavy to hold on to. He tossed them aside and looked up in horror as another body stared down at him.

It was him.

“There you are, you little shit,” the other Joey said, reaching out and plucking him from the ground. Joey’s legs kicked as the big fingers grasped him and held him aloft. Joey stared down at the LONG drop to the floor, then up at the HUGE man who looked exactly like him.

Joey opened his mouth to scream but no sound came out.

A moment later he noticed he couldn’t blink. He wasn’t breathing. He was motionless in the giant Joey’s hands.

“You look a little confused, little fella!” the huge man who looked exactly like him said. Joey bounced in the big man’s hand as he was carried into the bathroom. The big man held him up to the mirror and he stared in to see his face--frozen and plastic. He was the little doll now!

“Man, it feels good to be me again!” the big man said, patting down his body, flexing his big muscles and smiling. He reached down and pumped his big dick a few times, jostling his balls with a chuckle. “Fuck, god, I feel fucking… amazing!” He pulled on the discarded sweatpants and set the little action figure on the counter.

The little inanimate man stared up at the ceiling as the giant imposter opened the door and welcomed others in. It was that Dominic guy--and Nick!

“Help me!” Joey screamed silently. “Nick, this guy stole my life!”

Nick and the new Joey embraced for several minutes, both of them wiping away tears when it was over.

“God damn,” the new Joey said, “I never thought I’d see you again.”

Nick picked up the little action figure and poked at it. “Does he remember who he was?” Nick said.

“The doc had him pretty deeply mindfucked,” Dominic said, leering at the shrunken toy. “Just like he did with his dad, who was in my body before. They believed they had always been Joey and me.”

“Where’s his dad?” Nick asked Dominic.

“I crammed his spirit in a gecko,” Dominic said. “He was about sixty seconds from dying in his old body, but now he gets to live a few more years sitting on a hotplate in an aquarium at my place, eating flies and hopefully feeling pretty damned lucky I don’t drop him into my toilet and flush.”

Something clicked in the little action figure. He wanted to scream as memories came pouring back--memories of Wilbur Soddings, of swapping bodies with Joey Bosa, of a lifetime of misery in a body he hated. It was agony, remembering it all while locked in that little plastic body, his face frozen in a slight smile.

Wilbur--he remembered his name now, and who he was--never got the satisfaction of a scream.

Joey picked up the action figure and poked a big finger in its face. “You want to be Joey Bosa? Now you get to be--I mean, you’re plastic and all, but you can’t have everything, can you?”

“I can’t believe you were in a pair of my underwear!” Nick said, shaking his head. “This is all still a little too trippy for me.”

“Wasn’t as weird as being liquid,” Joey said. “That bartender was holding me in his mouth the whole time, tucked under his tongue. I kept worrying he was going to swallow me. I think he really wanted to!”

Wilbur suddenly realized, with horror, that he was never getting out of this plastic body. Would he age? Would he one day die? What would happen if Joey threw him away?

“I’m tired of looking at you,” Joey said, pulling open a drawer and tossing Wilbur in. The little plastic man found himself alone in the dark, unable to speak and wondering if Joey would ever take him out again.