Jacob unknowingly drinks a ‘magic potion’ and through the looking glass he goes.
'You look the part, Jacob, but let's call you Jayden. Jayden Conner, not Jacob Ellis. That's a more, shall we say, appropriate name, don't you think? Fits the streets, the grit, the estates?’
I shifted my weight in the trainers, the cap's brim casting a shadow over my eyes. The mirror's reflection still jarred, but Dr. Zim's words pulled at something deeper.
'Er, yes… Jayden Conner.’
‘A more appropriate drink for you then Jayden?’ Not waiting for an answer Zim retrieved a can of Red Bull from the cabinet and opened it. But as he turned his back he must have somehow slipped something into the freshly opened can. My best guess, based on how it hit me that evening, it was about 200mg of mephedrone. The off-white powder would have dissolved swiftly into the fizzy liquid. Invisible, odourless, the bitterness masked by the sugar, a failsafe accelerant to the night's descent. Zim later told me that, ‘because you said you’d never had anything like that before, I knew it would hit you pretty hard!” He was right about that. The come up from an oral dose is often very gradual, gentle even, then suddenly and all at once - BANG!
'And does an underclass scum like you, Jayden Conner, want a glass?' Dr. Zim handed over the can with a casual flick, his tone contemptuous.'Take this.’
I took it, the cool metal can, and took a long swig, the tangy sweetness hitting my throat. Bubbles danced on my tongue as I gulped half in one go, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, a gesture that felt instinctively right for the outfit. There was definitely no return at that point.
‘Thanks!’
Dr. Zim resumed his seat, watching intently as we settled into small talk. I remained standing. He discreetly checked his watch. He later told me he’d timed everything. ‘About 30 minutes from the moment you drank it Jayden.’ I stood and spoke haltingly about my day at the bank, the outfit making every word feel performative, but soon a warmth bloomed in my blood, subtle at first. My heart rate picking up with a restless energy. And I felt horny, very horny. I realised my cock was leaking pre-cum.
‘We had a meeting late afternoon, for a client, I had to speak to several presentation slides, it went, er, sort of, then, the..’
‘Go on Jayden, tell me how your presentation went.’
‘Well, we considered the value our structured products could deliver for their business and there was, erm this guy, this hot guy..’
‘Hot Jayden, your client was hot?’
‘He was fucking hot, big guy..and, er, his arse in his trousers, rugby player maybe, fucking hot..’
‘Sounds like an interesting presentation Jayden.’
The conversation was soon drifting back to my fantasies: the pull of being owned, stripped of status, belonging to a different world. My words tumbled ever faster, my usual introversion cracking open. I kept losing my train of thought. ‘Yeah, he played rugby ok, probably had a big cock too, dunno..’ Sweat was beading at my temples, muscles twitching faintly, thighs flexing in the tracksuit bottoms, a sudden urge to move came over me, the need to pace, surging through me. Euphoria edging in. My thoughts, ‘This incredible horniness, I’m so fucking horny! I wanna get fucked!’
'You feel it, don't you, Jayden, that shift. Tell me what's stirring inside you now?’
I blinked, pulse racing. The room itself feeling weirdly horny, colours brighter, the doctor's presence magnetic. Is this when I consented? Said yes?
'Yeah... it's like... everything's buzzing. Hot. I feel... loose. Horny, but not I’m not hard..’
The Metropolitan Police pay a visit to Dr Zim and Jacob Ellis is now officially Jayden Conner.
Suddenly I seemed to come to my senses, one of those odd points in a mephedrone high when the head clears, just for a second or two. I realised Dr Zim was completely silent, staring at me intently, with focus, just listening to whatever words I was spouting. He must have noticed my pupils, now almost blacking out my irises, because the room suddenly seemed so very bright. My hand moved up to touch the sweat on my brow, I felt the agitation surge, the damp patch at my crotch growing, my cock twitching but not getting hard.
An intercom's buzz cut through the moment. The mephedrone surged at that point, getting even higher now. I remember my skin felt so in need of touch, every nerve ending alive, turned on and insistent. I had never been so horny, ever. My cock moist but not hard against the fabric, me rubbing it unselfconsciously; rubbing my cock in public, certainly a thing I would never do in company.
Dr. Zim straightened in his chair, a flicker of irritation crossing his composed features. ‘The buzzer, I will have to see who that is. I'm so sorry, Jayden. I won't be a moment.'
Alone, the apartment seemed very strange, the high ceilings, the golden hour light and calm river views contrasting with my unraveling state. Everything pulsing with an erotic charge, even the furniture! I paced about, the trainers scuffing softly on the polished floor. Hands flexed at my sides, fingers twitching on my damp crotch, breath coming in shallow bursts. The second wave of the high amplifying everything.
‘Horny as fuck, I’m so fucking horny,’ the thought kept looping in my head. Agitation! Why couldn't I sit still? Mind racing, fragments of the talk replaying, surrender, de-classing, ownership, no return. Something in the drink? What’s happening to me? ‘Fuck.Fuck.FUCK!!' I circled the coffee table, fixated on the half-empty Red Bull can. Sweat slicked my underarms, the cap's brim digging into my forehead.
’Shit! Fuck!!’ I said out loud as my pacing quickened; I grabbed the can and finished it, in one go, and wiped my mouth on my sleeve.
The door clicked open again. Dr. Zim re-entered, but not alone, behind him were two policemen. One was broad-shouldered, beard, cap still on, pulled down over his eyes, mid-forties with a stern jaw; the other younger, wiry, eyes scanning the room with practised suspicion.
Dr. Zim's expression had now shifted to one of grave concern. ’There he is, officers. Jayden Conner. As I explained, he’s one of my patients from Havering House. He's been stalking me again. Persistent calls, showing up uninvited. It's escalated tonight. If you could put him in custody, I'll make the arrangements to have him taken to a place of safety. I do apologise for the inconvenience, officers. Charing Cross police station?'
I suddenly focussed everything on those two guys, the mephedrone euphoria bringing everything into a single point around the two policemen. It was like a vortex, a whirlpool of erotic energy. “ I’m so fucking horny!” All I could think about at that moment was how hot those guys were, in their uniforms, both of them, big muscular men with big glutes in tight dark uniform pants; big cocks, big hands, fuck I wanted some of that! My mouth went dry, eyes darting between the men, the cops advancing with handcuffs glinting.
'What... wait, no, that's not..’, but me not backing away, just looking at them. The high made my words come out too quickly. The policemen closed in, one grabbing an arm, the other snapping the cuffs around the wrists. My cock pulsed, still not hard but still obvious in the tracksuit bottoms where a small wet patch bloomed.
Jacob is taken away but under a completely different identity.
‘I am very sorry to say that he's under the influence of a substance, officers. Jayden has a long history of mephedrone usage, so my best guess is that’s what it is. Once again, I do apologise, but I'll make arrangements straight away to have him taken back to care where he'll be no trouble to you.'
'That's fine, thank you sir. We understand.' The senior one reached into his uniform pocket and pulled out a card, ‘these are the contact details, sir. I’m Constable Beckett, my colleague here, is Constable Harris.’
'Much appreciated officers. I'll follow up promptly. Sorry once again, to have troubled you. I am sure you have more important things to do.’
The officer acknowledged Dr Zim with a small tilt of his head and then turned, his stance more assertive as he fixed his gaze on me. 'Now let's get you processed,' he growled, his tone dropping low and edged with contempt, grabbing my upper arm.
The younger cop flanked us, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as they marched me out into the corridor. The door clicked shut behind them and the three of us crammed into the waiting lift. As the doors slid closed the officers’ attitude shifted with the doors. They both had their caps on now, pulled low, looking down at me with half shaded eyes.
'Fucking time-wasting scum like you!' the senior spat. The younger one chuckled, leaning in close enough that I could feel the heat of his breath on my neck. 'Haha, cute little cunt though, isn't he? What do you think? Rent boy? Drug dealer?'
'Both, if you ask me, fucking street scum.’ I opened my mouth to protest, words a slurred rush, ’no, wait, this isn’t, Dr. Zim, he…’ but the senior's hand cracked across the back of my head, a sharp slap.
'Shut the fuck up!!'
I can imagine how Dr. Zim watched from his lobby window, watching me, handcuffed, pushed roughly into the back seat of the patrol car, it pulling away, its blue lights flickering briefly before vanishing. Zim then moving into the room where my discarded clothes lay, my smart jacket, shirt, chinos, polished shoes, folding each item with care. Gathering my phone, keys, and wallet from the side table, sliding all of it into a clear bag. The bag going into somewhere safe and well out of anybody’s reach.
Zim must have pulled his phone from his pocket, a familiar number. ’Yes, Dr. Zim here, Greenford House? Could you send transport to collect a patient of mine, Jayden Conner? Yes, he's at Charing Cross police station. Constable Beckett is the contact, tell him it's Dr. Zim's patient. I’ve given you access to the files on Jayden. Bring the usual restraints: straightjacket, spit hood, and so on. Jayden is experiencing a very severe identity delusion crisis, and he's under the influence of a substance. Yes, just physical restraints for now. You should know, he’s also highly manipulative. He’ll try to talk his way out. That’s how he absconded from Havering House. The spit hood should help you with that. I’ll see him later on at Greenford House.'
I can imagine him, Dr Zim, settling into the leather chair at his desk, opening his laptop, the screen's glow casting sharp shadows across his face. Finalising the electronic National Health Service (NHS) records for my new identity, Jayden Conner: his history of behavioural issues, substance abuse, delusional episodes, most recently claiming to be a 'banker' named Jacob Ellis. The assessment describing ‘Jacob’ as a fabricated persona to cope with challenging life circumstances.
Zim also will have been uploading a raft of supporting documents: forged intake forms, a doctored photo of the young man in his tracksuit, notes on his 'stalking' tendencies toward staff at Havering House. His high intelligence, his manipulative nature. It details the body, the scars, markings, hair, piercings. A seamless, airtight, electronic re-writing of history, the digital chains binding tighter than any cuffs.
And his thoughts? ’Well, Mr. Jacob Ellis,'you're going to get more declassing than you bargained for. And, I hope, a cure for your discontent with life. No-one is coming to help you, except me and, of course, your authentic self.’
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