Part Sixteen: One Size Smaller
Jake stood at the kitchen counter, sipping black coffee, staring at the laptop screen in front of him. A West Virginia State Police internal supply requisition form blinked back at him. One item was selected. His cursor hovered over the dropdown menu labeled “Hat Size.”
Matt leaned against the fridge, fresh from a shower, towel around his waist, watching.
“Seven Long Oval,” Matt said.
Jake looked up. “You sure?”
Matt nodded. “Your hat’s too big. Sits low on my ears. I need one that fits like it was issued to me.”
Jake looked back at the screen. “This means it's yours now.”
Matt smirked. “It already was.”
Jake submitted the form. New trooper hat, size 7 LO. It would arrive in four to six business days.
Matt crossed the room, bare chest glistening faintly in the morning light. He reached past Jake and picked up the original hat—Jake’s hat—off the kitchen counter. He ran his fingers along the brim, then placed it gently on the mantel above the fireplace.
“That one stays here,” Matt said softly. “It’s for when I let you wear the uniform again.”
Jake’s throat tightened.
Matt turned to face him. “You okay?”
Jake nodded once. “Yeah. Just… watching it all shift.”
Matt stepped in, hands curling around Jake’s hips. “You like watching it.”
Jake didn’t argue.
Later that morning, Matt drove the F-150 to the post office. Not Jake’s truck anymore—not really. Jake hadn’t driven it in a week. The insurance had quietly been transferred. The glove box now held Matt’s gloves. His cologne lingered in the seats. The keys rested on his nightstand, not Jake’s.
Jake rode passenger, wearing civilian clothes—khakis, a soft plaid button-up, and boots Matt had picked out for him. He no longer chose his own outfits. Not unless Matt instructed him to wear the uniform for the day.
Today, he hadn’t.
The trooper uniform belonged to Matt now.
Jake watched Matt drive like he’d always done it—one hand on the wheel, the other on the radio. He didn’t fumble. Didn’t ask questions. When they pulled into a small lot to eat lunch, Matt parked and slid his sunglasses on, glancing at his phone.
“Hey,” he said casually. “Need you to log into your online banking later. I’m gonna get my name added.”
Jake blinked. “You need access to my accounts?”
Matt shrugged. “You’ve given me the rest of your life. This is just one more drawer in your house.”
Jake paused. “And my ID?”
Matt smiled faintly. “We’ll get that switched too.”
Jake stared at him. “You’re really going to be me.”
Matt leaned in, unbuckled Jake’s seatbelt slowly, and kissed him. “I already am.”
—
The days blurred after that.
Jake still worked split shifts. Sometimes, Matt let him suit up and drive, especially for high-profile calls. But more often, Jake rode beside him, quiet, watchful, dressed down. Off-duty. Background noise.
The baseball cap became a fixture on his head. Sometimes Matt would flick the brim playfully and say, “You’re wearing it like you were born for second place.” Jake would flush but wouldn’t remove it.
The sex remained intense—sometimes frantic, sometimes reverent. Matt now gave the orders without asking. He would have Jake service him in uniform, on the couch, in the cruiser, or stripped naked in the shower while Matt stayed fully clothed. Jake stopped resisting.
But something gnawed at him in quieter moments.
One afternoon, Jake came home early from a short shift. Matt wasn’t home yet. The house felt different. Less like Jake’s. The closet had been rearranged. His socks and underwear were scattered between Matt’s things. The laundry smelled like Matt’s deodorant. Even the boots at the door were Matt’s usual pair.
He walked to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. Matt’s toothbrush. Matt’s contact case. Matt’s cologne.
Jake stared at his own reflection.
He didn’t recognize the man in the mirror.
That night, after they showered together, Jake sat at the foot of the bed in silence. Matt walked in, towel around his waist, and pulled the trooper hat off the nightstand.
Jake watched him put it on. It fit perfectly.
Jake’s voice was quiet. “Is there anything left of me that’s still mine?”
Matt looked at him calmly. “Does it matter?”
Jake flinched. “It does. To me.”
Matt stepped closer. “You gave me the uniform. The cruiser. The house. Your body. Your name. Your identity.”
Jake’s voice cracked. “I know.”
Matt knelt in front of him. “You did it because you wanted to. Because you needed someone to carry it all. Didn’t you?”
Jake nodded slowly. “I did. I still do.”
Matt reached for Jake’s hand. “Then tell me where the line is.”
Jake whispered, “I don’t know anymore.”
Matt leaned in, kissed the inside of Jake’s wrist. “Good. That means we’re close.”
Jake looked up at him, eyes searching. “But I’m scared. There has to be something left that’s still mine.”
Matt touched his chest. “There is. Your trust. And I’m going to protect it better than you ever could.”
Jake trembled.
Matt stood and offered him a hand. “Come to bed.”
Jake took it.
He followed.
Part Seventeen: The Last Edge
The trooper hat was no longer Jake’s.
It lived on the dresser now, always centered, always pristine. Matt wore it out the door each morning without asking. The old one—Jake’s original—sat quietly on the nightstand, untouched unless Matt gave permission. Sometimes, when Jake was allowed to wear the uniform again, Matt would bring it to him, set it down gently, and say, “Put it on.” Like a master returning a borrowed crown.
But most days, Jake didn’t wear the uniform at all.
That morning, Jake woke up to the sound of the shower running. He blinked at the empty space beside him. The sheets smelled like Matt’s cologne. His own skin carried the fading warmth of being taken the night before—his thighs sore, his chest bruised from Matt’s grip.
He heard humming.
Matt’s voice. Confident. Off-key.
Jake rose, walked into the living room, and stopped in the doorway.
The uniform was already laid out on the back of the couch—shirt pressed, pants folded, belt coiled tight. Matt’s boots—Jake’s boots—sat by the door, polished to a mirror sheen.
Jake looked at the uniform the way someone might look at a lost friend.
Matt came out of the bathroom in a towel, steam trailing after him. He saw Jake and grinned.
“Morning,” Matt said, rubbing his hair dry.
Jake gave a nod. “You going in early?”
Matt shrugged. “Got a meeting. Have to go since I’m you.”
Jake’s throat tightened. “You are.”
Matt smiled and walked up to him. He rested one hand on Jake’s waist and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. “You don’t sound thrilled.”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
Jake’s jaw clenched. “You’ve got my badge, my uniform, my car, my name.”
Matt leaned back, arms folding. “Is that what’s bothering you? That it’s not pretend anymore?”
Jake looked at him. “It never was pretend.”
Matt studied him. “You gave it all willingly.”
Jake didn’t argue. “I did.”
“So why does it sound like regret?”
Jake moved to the window and stared out at the woods. “Because there’s nothing left to hand over. Because I’m scared that if I keep going, I’ll disappear.”
Matt was silent behind him.
Jake continued, voice tight. “When we’re in town, they don’t look at me anymore. They call you Jake. They wave at you. You’ve signed my checks. You’ve merged our accounts. You answer my phone.”
Matt stepped close, voice low. “Because you asked me to take care of you. Because you wanted this.”
Jake turned, eyes rimmed red. “I wanted to give you control. Not vanish.”
Matt touched his face gently. “Then we draw a new line. Together.”
Jake exhaled. “And where is that line?”
Matt paused. Then said, “Wherever you say it is.”
Jake stared at him.
Matt continued, “But I need to know something first. Do you want this to stop?”
Jake’s lips parted. He hesitated. Then slowly shook his head. “No.”
Matt’s fingers slid into his hair. “Then let’s make something clear.”
Jake waited.
“You’re still you,” Matt said. “You’re still Jake. But so am I. You handed me the name. The role. The responsibility. And I wear it because you trust me to.”
Jake’s voice was barely audible. “And what’s left of the original?”
Matt kissed his forehead. “The man I love. The one who kneels. The one who breathes when I tell him he’s allowed to.”
Jake closed his eyes, tears hot and silent.
Matt whispered, “Do you want to hear what I said at the DMV?”
Jake looked up, confused.
Matt grinned. “They asked me to confirm my name. I said, ‘Jake Bennett.’ No hesitation.”
Jake blinked. “And they believed you?”
Matt nodded. “Had your ID. Your name on the uniform name plate. Your record. The voice. The stare. The hat.”
Jake’s stomach twisted. “Then that’s it. You’re me now.”
Matt stepped back. “Not unless you say so.”
Jake looked at him, vulnerable, stripped to the emotional bone. “What if I can’t take it back?”
Matt reached for the baseball cap from the hallway hook. He walked over and held it out.
Jake took it with shaking fingers.
Matt said, “Put it on.”
Jake did.
Matt nodded, satisfied. “There. That’s where you live now. Until I tell you otherwise.”
Jake swallowed. The cap felt soft. Familiar. Powerless.
Matt kissed him again. “We’re going to get through this. I’ll carry your name. Your life. Your burden. All of it.”
Jake whispered, “And what do I carry?”
Matt touched his chest. “Me.”
—
The days that followed blurred into something strange and intimate.
Matt took over full shifts. Introduced himself as Jake Bennett. Handled reports, patrols, even began teaching drills to younger officers.
Jake stayed home or rode along when invited. Sometimes in uniform. Often not. He cooked. Did laundry. Polished Matt’s boots. He was still strong, still proud—but in a different way. He no longer needed to be saluted. He needed to serve.
One night, Matt took both Jake’s trooper hat and his own as he left for patrol. Jake sighed seeing the last thing that was his going out the door with Matt. During the shift, Matt pulled the cruiser onto a secluded back road and parked. He picked up Jake’s hat and put it on. It was still too big and slid down on his ears. As he sat there reflecting on his success in being Jake, he had an evil thought. That trooper hat is Jake’s and he owns Jake. He needs to mark the hat as his own. The knowledge of dominance washed over Matt. He unzipped and pulled his hardening dick out of the uniform pants and stroked. He needed to show his control, his dominance and this hat needed his mark. He took Jake’s trooper hat and crushed the felt around his hard dick. The soft felt sent erotic shivers up his spine. He masturbated using the hat until has shot a massive load into the hat. He pulled the hat off and straighten out the felt where he had crushed it. He looked at the mess inside and laughed knowing he now had left his mark on that hat. He put it on the seat beside him, top down, so the cum could dry inside.
At night, Matt would crawl over him in bed and say, “Service your officer.” And Jake would. Without hesitation. With love.
And sometimes, when Matt allowed it, he’d place the trooper hat on Jake’s head again, just for a night. Just to remind him that trust didn’t mean erasure. Jake had noticed the cum stains inside his hat but said nothing.
But the truth was, Jake had reached the edge.
He had given everything.
And somehow, Matt had taken it all without a fight.
Part Eighteen: The Other Man
The envelope came on a Tuesday.
It was plain, issued by the DMV. Official. Sealed. The kind of government envelope that usually meant a fee or a warning. But not this one.
Jake—who wasn’t Jake anymore—sat at the kitchen table, the envelope resting unopened in front of him. His hands were clean, fingers drumming against the wood. He wore one of Matt’s old T-shirts. His hair was longer now, curling slightly at the nape. A faint line of facial hair had started to grow in—a trimmed mustache above the lip, stubble along the jaw. Just enough to distinguish himself from the trooper who now walked in his old boots.
Across the room, the new Jake—the real trooper—stood in uniform, sipping coffee, the trooper hat perched on the edge of the counter like a crown.
“You gonna open it?” he asked.
The man formerly known as Jake looked up. “Are you sure about this?”
Jake nodded. “This isn’t about names anymore. This is about truth.”
He opened the envelope.
Inside was a West Virginia driver’s license.
It read:
Name: Matthew Clay Kane
Address: 412 Sycamore Drive
Class: C
Sex: M
DOB: Same as before.
Photo: His. But different. Head slightly tilted. Confident eyes. Mustache and all.
He stared at it for a long time.
“Good picture,” Jake said softly.
Matt—the new Matt—laughed. “Feels like mine now.”
Jake walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder. “That’s because it is.”
They stood quietly for a moment, the air between them heavy with finality. No ceremony. No speeches. Just the sound of the fan spinning and a deep understanding that the change wasn’t just paper deep.
Jake—formerly Matt—kissed the side of Matt’s neck. “So now I’m Matt.”
“And I’m Jake.”
They stood like that, reversed but whole.
Or so it seemed.
—
The days passed differently now.
The new Matt let his facial hair grow, only shaving clean when Jake had him work a shift. On days off, he let the beard shadow in, rough and masculine. He looked like a man you’d follow into a fight—or run from in a dark alley.
The new Jake kept clean-shaven, always. That was regulation. He kept the hat perfect, the badge centered, the boots shined. He was the image of a trooper.
But the new Matt lived in the house, drove the second vehicle now registered under “Matthew Kane,” did the grocery shopping, fixed things around the house. In public, they were “Jake and Matt” and no one questioned it.
What had started as a fetish, a game, had become something real and irreversible.
But Jake—now Matt—could feel something shifting under the surface.
Late at night, the new Jake would walk through the house in full uniform. Not just to undress for bed—but pacing. Thinking.
Sometimes Jake would catch him standing in front of the mirror, staring.
Once, he heard him whisper: “I am Jake Bennett.”
Not “I’m like Jake.” Not “I’ve become Jake.” Just: “I am.”
He didn’t say it to Matt. He said it to himself.
That night, Matt woke up to find the trooper hat resting on the pillow beside him.
Jake was already gone—early patrol shift.
But something in the gesture felt more like a warning than a gift.
—
Matt started noticing little things.
The spare keys to the truck had been taken from the hook and not returned. A few older photos—original prints—of Jake from the Academy had been removed from the shared office wall. Jake never mentioned it. But he was editing history.
One morning, Matt found Jake’s notebook on the counter. The front cover was labeled:
Jake Bennett – Duty Log – Private
Inside, the pages weren’t about patrol stops or suspect details.
They were about him.
About the transformation. The submission. The swapping of names and lives. And a series of entries that felt more like strategy than memory.
Matt flipped to the last page. The most recent entry.
“He trusts me completely. And he should. But what happens when the real Jake Bennett no longer exists on paper—or in memory? When I become the only one anyone recognizes? Will I still need the original? Or will he become... excess? I have to decide soon.”
Matt closed the notebook. His hands were cold.
—
That night, he confronted Jake in the bedroom.
The uniform was folded neatly across the chair. Jake wore a soft undershirt and boxers, towel around his neck.
Matt held the notebook in one hand. “You planning something?”
Jake looked up. Calm. “No.”
“Then what is this?” Matt opened the notebook and read the line aloud. “‘Will I still need the original?’”
Jake stood slowly. “It’s a thought. Not a plan.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Jake crossed the room and sat down. “I’ve lived your life longer than you ever did. I’ve walked the beat. I’ve earned the respect. I’ve filled your skin.”
Matt’s voice cracked. “I gave it to you.”
Jake looked at him. “And now you want it back?”
Matt shook his head. “No. I want to know that I still matter.”
Jake’s voice softened. “You do. But you’re not Jake anymore.”
Matt stepped back, dizzy. “So what am I? Just… your origin story?”
Jake smiled faintly. “You’re my beginning. My awakening. You’re what I became.”
Silence.
Matt stared at the man who had become him.
The uniform. The voice. The name.
But something darker had moved in behind Jake’s eyes.
Something Matt hadn’t seen before.
—
Later that night, after the lights were out, Matt lay awake staring at the ceiling.
He knew now that Jake wasn’t just living out a fetish. He was replacing him.
And maybe, someday, he wouldn’t need Matt at all.
Unless…
Matt reached for his phone. Opened the voice recorder.
He whispered:
“If something happens to me, this is the truth. I am Jake Bennett. He was Matt. He took my name, my life. And I let him.”
He saved the file under a folder marked Legacy.
Then he slipped the phone under the floorboard, beneath the bed.
Because no matter how deep his surrender had been...
Matt had finally realized something.
There was still a line.
And Jake had crossed it.
Part Nineteen: The Line Between
The rain started just before midnight—slow at first, then heavy, soaking the pine trees and slapping against the windows in thick sheets. The house was quiet except for the hiss of weather and the low hum of the HVAC system kicking on. Outside, the cruiser sat in the drive like a monument, gleaming with wet reflection under the security light. The trooper hat was still on the dashboard, turned slightly toward the driver’s seat.
Inside the bedroom, Matt sat at the edge of the bed in silence.
He wasn’t wearing anything. He hadn’t moved in twenty minutes.
The man behind him—now Jake in every official way—stood near the mirror, pulling his uniform shirt tight across his chest, buttoning it with methodical ease. The nameplate gleamed. The badge was straight. The creases perfect. He looked like a trooper born, raised, and shaped by the mountain state.
He turned slightly to glance at Matt.
“You’re quiet again,” he said.
Matt nodded. “Yeah.”
“You didn’t eat.”
Matt shook his head. “Wasn’t hungry.”
Jake sat beside him, fully dressed. The contrast between them—the clothed, authoritative man and the bare, silent one beside him—was familiar. Intimate. And tonight, fragile.
“You’re worried,” Jake said.
Matt didn’t answer.
Jake leaned closer. “About me?”
Matt finally looked at him. “About what happens when I’m no longer useful.”
Jake’s face didn’t flinch, but the room shifted.
“I read the logbook again,” Matt said quietly. “You wrote, ‘He was the beginning. Not the destination.’”
Jake exhaled through his nose. “You weren’t supposed to read that.”
“But I did.”
Jake stood and walked to the dresser. He picked up the original trooper hat—Matt’s old one, the one that never fit quite right—and set it carefully back on its hook. The action was gentle, almost reverent.
“I wrote that in a moment of confusion,” Jake said. “I was sorting myself out.”
Matt stood, naked but steady. “Sorting me out, too.”
Jake turned. “You think I’ve replaced you.”
Matt’s jaw was tight. “Haven’t you?”
Silence.
Rain beat against the roof like distant boots.
Jake walked toward him, slow. Measured. “You wanted to surrender everything.”
“I did.”
“You gave me your body. Your name. Your life.”
“I did.”
Jake reached up and touched Matt’s face. “And I never forced it.”
Matt pulled back slightly. “But you didn’t stop.”
“No,” Jake said. “Because neither did you.”
He kissed Matt then—firm, unapologetic.
And Matt let him.
Their bodies collided again, warm and slick from the rising tension. They fell into each other’s arms like muscle memory. Like ritual.
Jake pressed Matt against the wall, one hand gripping his thigh, the other tangling in his hair.
Matt moaned, not in pain, but in a surrender laced with something almost mournful.
They collapsed onto the bed, tangled limbs and breathless mouths, fingers exploring each familiar inch like they were relearning each other.
Matt gasped as Jake pressed inside him, slow and deep, the authority in his hips undeniable. Jake had learned from him. Taken everything and refined it.
Matt clutched at Jake’s shoulders, tears mixing with sweat.
Jake whispered, “You still belong to me.”
Matt nodded. “Always.”
They moved together in silence, until the pressure, the hunger, the grief all broke open at once—Matt crying out as Jake pushed him over the edge, filling him, holding him as if to keep the world from shattering.
When it ended, they lay in silence. Breathing. Recovering.
The storm outside calmed.
Matt rolled onto his side, chest still heaving. “What happens now?”
Jake lay still beside him. “Now you disappear.”
Matt froze.
Jake turned to look at him, and for the first time, Matt didn’t see his old self. He saw someone colder. Someone finished.
“Wait—what are you talking about?”
Jake reached under the bed and pulled out Matt’s hidden recorder.
Matt’s heart stopped.
Jake pressed play.
“If something happens to me, this is the truth. I am Jake Bennett. He was Matt. He took my name, my life. And I let him.”
Jake let it play to the end, then hit delete.
Matt lunged forward, but Jake was faster.
“I knew you’d record something,” Jake said calmly. “I searched every inch of this house until I found it.”
Matt’s breath came shallow. “Why?”
Jake stood, still in uniform, the picture of command. “Because there can’t be two of us anymore. You asked if I replaced you. Now I am confirming it.”
Matt’s mouth parted. “You said—”
“I said a lot of things,” Jake cut in. “But somewhere along the way, I realized this isn’t a game. This isn’t just roleplay. It’s survival. You wanted to be used. Now you are.”
Matt stood, defiant even as his legs trembled. “You’d erase me?”
Jake walked toward him. “You erased yourself. I just filled the void.”
Matt backed toward the door. “You’re serious.”
Jake didn’t flinch. “You have one option. Take the name. Live quietly. No phone. No ID. No digital trace. Just be Matt.”
Matt swallowed. “And if I say no?”
Jake’s voice was level. “Then you leave. Tonight. If you call in a stolen identity report. You’ll be hunted as a fraud. A ghost wearing stolen skin.”
Matt was shaking. “You said you loved me.”
Jake nodded once. “I do.”
Matt's breath cracked. “Then why this?”
Jake touched his face. “Because love isn’t always safe. Sometimes it’s total. You said you wanted to disappear into me. You got what you asked for.”
Matt stepped back. “And if I walk?”
Jake shrugged. “Then walk. You’ll always be Matt. No one will stop you.”
Matt stared at him, unsure if he was bluffing.
But Jake’s eyes held no tremble.
Only clarity.
—
At dawn, Matt stood by the window in an old T-shirt and jeans. A bag was packed at his feet.
Jake stood by the cruiser, in full uniform.
They didn’t speak.
Jake nodded once.
Matt nodded back.
Then he turned and walked down the road—no wallet, no keys, no name.
Just the body he once gave away.
Jake stood in the gravel drive, the trooper hat shadowing his eyes.
He didn’t smile.
He didn’t wave.
He just watched as the last piece of the man he once was disappeared into the mist.
EPILOGUE
The Man Who Was Jake Bennett
The name on the ID said Matthew Kane now.
Jake Bennett stared at it in the dull yellow light of the motel’s kitchenette, his coffee gone cold hours ago. He turned the card over slowly, like maybe if he flipped it enough times, the name would change back.
It didn’t.
The plastic edges were sharp in his fingers, freshly cut and newly laminated. Like it belonged to someone real.
He’d taken the name when he walked away—just like Matthew Kane had asked. Just like he’d let him.
Outside, the rain whispered against the windows, soft and steady. The world hadn’t noticed. Not when the uniform changed hands. Not when the cruiser stopped bearing his weight. Not when the man who now wore his name—Matthew Kane, now “Jake Bennett”—took it all.
Uniform. Badge. House. Truck. Identity. Even his heart.
Jake had given it willingly.
At least, at first.
But not forever.
He stood up feeling the motel floor cold under bare feet. His body was leaner now, roughened by days spent drifting. A short beard had grown in around his jaw. His eyes were sunken but clear—no longer fogged by arousal or submission. Only loss.
And memory.
He walked to the table, picked up the old State Police baseball cap he hadn’t worn in weeks. The patch on the front—still intact, slightly frayed—caught the edge of the lamp light.
This had been the first thing Kane had ever taken from him.
No.
The first thing he gave.
Jake clenched the bill between his fingers, then slowly set it down on the dresser.
He didn’t need it anymore.
He moved to the mirror and looked at himself—really looked.
The man staring back wasn’t a trooper now. But he had been. And maybe—somewhere deep down—he still was. Not in uniform. Not on patrol. But in spirit. In truth.
The lie had lived long enough.
Kane might be wearing his badge, his title, his reflection. But Jake still had something the new “Jake” didn’t:
The past.
And the right to return. His original fingerprints were still on file with the State of West Virginia. They were the only hope for a way to reveal the impersonation.
Jake picked up a pen from the nightstand and scrawled across a motel notepad:
"Jake Bennett. Badge 3496. WVSP."
Then beneath it:
"He didn’t steal it. I gave it to him. But I’m taking it back."
He tore the sheet loose, folded it, and slid it into the duffel by the door. He didn’t know when. He didn’t know how.
But Matthew Kane wasn’t the only man who knew how to wear the uniform.
And he sure as hell wasn’t the only one who knew how to command a room.
Jake Bennett was still alive.
And he was coming home.
END.
