At first, Matthew wasn’t sure what was happening. There was a buzzing sensation in his head. Light and colour seemed to blur.

He smiled at Christian.

‘Does it feel good?’

Matthew nodded.

‘You have to do everything I say.’

Matthew nodded again.

Christian rolled over to his desk and pulled a pair of sunglasses out of them – no, two pairs. He had said he didn’t need the tablets, that he could do it without them, but Matthew had made him take them.

That had been half an hour ago.

‘What are they for?’ Matthew said.

‘Block out the light.’

Matthew put his hand out.

‘Hang on,’ Christian said. ‘If you put them on now, you’ll spin out. They’re black-out glasses.’

Matthew frowned, and looked at them as Christian handed him a pair. They had little pins in the arms and the lenses were totally black with leather around the edges of them, like aviation goggles.

‘What are these for?’ Matthew said, pointing at the little pins.

‘They’re acupuncture points.’

‘You’ve got to be joking.’

‘They’re for sleeping on the plane,’ Christian said.

Christian began to sway and blur.

‘It’ll start coming on stronger now,’ Christian said, getting up from the chair, and sliding and rolling somehow as he walked.

He walked over to the window. He closed the blind. And drew the curtain.

The room was dark. Almost black.

Christian had a strobe light on the shelf by the door. He walked back and turned it on, though his body seemed to be swaying and streaming as he did this. There was a sudden rhythmic flashing. A rhythmic ticking.

Matthew lay back on the bed.

‘Here,’ Christian said. ‘Put your head up on the pillow.’

Matthew worked his body around so his head was on the pillow, and then turned his head and looked at Christian as Christian lay down beside him in the bed.

Were they going to bed together?

‘You should have taken your shoes off.’

‘I can’t be fucked,’ Matthew managed, the words like jello in his mouth.

Christian sat up and undid Matthew’s laces, moving in staccato twitches with the ticking of the strobe. He peeled Matthew’s runners over his heels and tossed them onto the floor.

It felt good to have someone touch Matthew’s legs, his feet.

Christian lay back down beside him and Matthew felt himself getting hard. It felt so good to have someone lying there, beside him, someone who had touched his feet. He smiled and put his hand down into his jeans. He pulled his cock up, straightening it so that it was comfortable, not caring if Christian saw him.

He closed his eyes, felt himself falling, and opened them again.

Christian was propped on one elbow, looking down at him. He was touching Matthew’s cheek.

‘Here,’ he was saying, trying to wake Matthew. ‘Keep your eyes open. You need to watch the strobe.’

Matthew stared at the ceiling, at blackness and light, hearing nothing but the ticking of the strobe.

‘Which pair do you want?’ Christian said. He was holding something up. They were – what? Lukas’ jocks?

Matthew put his hand up and pushed them away.

‘Superman or baseball.’

‘Why the fuck…?’ Matthew started to say, turning his head to face Christian, and trying to focus on Christian’s eyes, which were flashing like mirrors with every ticking of the strobe.

‘You need to get his scent.’ A pause of ticking. Christian’s flashing eyes.

Not Superman. Too old for Superman. ‘The baseball ones,’ Matthew said, hearing his words slurred, like he was drunk.

‘Here. Lift your head up. I’m going to put them over your head.’

Matthew lifted his head up. It felt like a melon.

Christian put the jocks over his head, putting the groin of them over Matthew’s nose and mouth.

Matthew laughed, hearing the sound loud in his head, like it echoed, like it wasn’t his laugh at all. He had a pair of Lukas’ jocks on his head and they weren’t – no, they weren’t clean. There was a definite smell of groinage. And that smell of Lukas’ soap. Lemon.

He laughed again, smiling, and inhaling, and finding that it was making him harder, making him want to come.

He wanted to roll over and put his arms around Christian, put his arms around him and start rutting him like a dog.

‘Here, can you put these on?’ Christian said. He had the Superman jocks on his head.

What were they? The glasses?

Matthew nodded, taking them.

‘Hold my hand.’

‘What?’

‘Just do it.’

Christian gripped his hand and interlaced his fingers as Matthew pulled the glasses on to his head.

There was blackness.

He was falling.

#

Matthew didn’t know what he was or where he was, but he knew that Christian was beside him. Was there with him, though he was nothing and no one and nowhere.

Or was he?

There was a voice, distant, was he speaking?

And was that someone else?

‘Open your eyes,’ someone said. Christian? Yes, Christian. But where was he speaking from?

Matthew opened his eyes.

‘Are you alright?’

‘Yes,’ Matthew said, except he hadn’t meant to say that. And he was where? Who was that person?

Christian’s father.

Matthew was sitting in a chair.

‘I heard a voice,’ Matthew said.

No. He hadn’t said that.

Someone else had said it.

But it was his mouth.

No. It wasn’t.

This was Lukas’ mouth.

This was Lukas’ voice.

Matthew inhaled deeply, and was aware of himself in the bed.

He drifted.

‘It told me to open my eyes,’ Lukas was saying, and Matthew was saying this too.

‘It’s an auditory hallucination. We’ve spoken about this before.’

‘I know,’ Lukas was nodding, Matthew was nodding, Matthew had spoken the words, and was nodding, but it was Lukas. ‘It’s just…it sounds so clear.’

Matthew swallowed. Lukas swallowed. Had Matthew made Lukas swallow?

Lukas put his hand up to his throat, Matthew put his hand up to his throat, but this was Lukas’ hand, this was Lukas’ throat.

This was Lukas’ body.

The skin was smooth and soft.

Baby skin, a boy’s skin.

He was in Lukas’ body.

‘You know,’ Dr Mueller said, the words suddenly loud and clear in Matthew’s ears, though they were Lukas’ ears.

This was Lukas’ body.

‘When the brain experiences trauma, or when we stimulate the auditory centre, people hear sounds, they hear voices. There’s nothing supernatural about it.’

‘Do you think my brain is damaged,’ Matthew said, no Lukas said. Matthew hadn’t done that.

‘You experienced a severe trauma as a child. You can’t expect to survive the sort of accident you survived and not have trauma. It’s simply not possible.’

‘And you think that’s why I’m having these problems now?’

‘I’m sure it is. A lot of mental illness can be traced back to trauma. And you have to remember Lukas, you’ve had a large clot on your brain for years.’

Lukas nodded, and Matthew saw.

He was here. He was Lukas.

The room resolved itself, hard and bright. Dr Mueller’s face. The lines around his eyes. The bookcase behind him. Lukas felt safe, protected. He was breathing, his nostrils, Lukas’ nostrils, his breaths, Lukas’ mouth, his taste, sweet, clean, pure, his hair so light, like he was floating.

Oh!

Matthew felt divine.

He looked down at Lukas’ crotch, and Lukas turned his head down unwillingly, confused, resentful, annoyed that it was happening again. Lukas’ dick was there, his balls, they were Matthew’s, under the soft, cotton fabric of the cords, and there was what? a pair of jocks, he was wearing jocks, Lukas’ jocks, and they were what? white and blue striped, were they?

‘Make yourself small,’ Christian said.

‘I’m already small enough,’ Lukas said, thinking Christian had meant Lukas’ cock when he meant Matthew? yes of course.

‘Don’t move him. Don’t speak. Don’t make him do anything. You need to float.’

‘What was that?’ Dr Mueller said.

‘I was speaking to myself.’

‘Were you answering a voice?’

‘Yes.’ Lukas nodded. ‘It told me to make myself small.’

Dr Mueller frowned.

‘And then someone said, “Don’t move him. Don’t speak. Don’t make him do anything. You need to float.”’

‘Lukas.’

‘What?’

‘It’s really not helpful if you’re going to react to them. They’re ghosts, phantoms. You’re speaking to the firing of neurons.’

Lukas nodded. ‘Yes. I know,’ he said. But he wasn’t happy about it.

‘Do you want to speak about medication again?’

Lukas shrugged his shoulders.

‘Do you think it would help?’

‘Almost certainly.’

Lukas’ mouth opened. He was about to say okay. Wanted to say okay, but he said, ‘No thanks.’ Christian had made him say it. And then he was frozen, wanting to move, but not being able to.

Matthew struggled to help him.

‘Fuck off.’

Lukas heard the voice. It was Christian’s. He was speaking to Matthew. But Lukas didn’t understand this. Didn’t know they were there.

‘Are you sure?’

Lukas’ head nodded up and down against his will.

Matthew struggled against Christian, struggled to let Lukas free, so Lukas could say what? that he needed medication.

Does he need medication?

Christian’s thought.

Lukas’ arm flung out wildly. His body writhed spasmodically in the chair.

Does he need medication? Christian thought again.

No.

No?

Of course not.

Of course not.

Lukas decided he didn’t need medication.

Matthew let go.

‘Are you alright?’

‘You see?’ Lukas said, in control of himself now. ‘I didn’t do that. I wasn’t moving my body.’

‘Yes, Lukas, I understand. It’s a motor control problem. Your body’s moving without your intention.’

Lukas closed his eyes, annoyed at Dr Mueller. He felt like he was going to cry. ‘No, it’s more than that,’ he said. ‘Something’s moving me. Making me do things. I do things I don’t even remember. I’m possessed.’

And Lukas was thinking about what? putting the padlock on his balls, and wondering when he did it, wondering what he did with the spare key, wondering why he had done that, why he had given Matthew a key.

Feeling ashamed.

A whole morning he couldn’t remember.

‘There are blanks in my memory.’

‘Lukas.’

‘Yes.’

‘I think we need to get back to what we were speaking about.’

Lukas swallowed.

‘I’ve offered you medication. You’ve refused it. You’re not psychotic. I can’t section you. All I can offer you is counselling.’

Lukas nodded, looking at the floor.

‘I think what we were speaking about was important.’

Lukas’ felt his face growing hot, and Matthew fell with a thud, solidly into Lukas’ body.

He was Lukas, and he was calm, and the only thing to do was wait here.

Every prickle on every pore of Lukas’ skin was his, and it was puckering into gooseflesh.

Lukas shivered.

Someone had passed over his grave.

Two people.

‘Can we speak about it?’

Lukas nodded, ashamed.

‘You said you’ve been harming yourself.’

‘Not harming myself,’ Lukas said.

‘Cutting yourself?’

‘No.’ Lukas flustered. ‘I haven’t.’

‘Can you tell me what you’ve been doing then?’

Even Lukas’ hands were hot.

‘Something sexual?’

Lukas said nothing. Saw a flash of images: hitting himself in the nuts with his fist, holding them in one hand and punching himself and, hitting his nuts with a bottle and, tying a cord around them and, putting a what? a cake tester down into the eye of his penis.

Thinking about being on the vice and Matthew turning the…

No, Matthew thought.

What was that? Christian was thinking.

Lukas looked down at the ground.

‘It’s not unheard of, Lukas, if that’s what you’ve been doing.’

Lukas nodded.

‘Do you want to speak about it?’

Lukas was silent.

Dr Mueller said nothing.

Lukas decided to speak about it.

‘It’s just…I don’t know…Sometimes it’s like I want to…wreck everything.’

Dr Mueller nodded. ‘Do you think you’re in danger of doing that?’

Lukas stopped. ‘Sometimes,’ he said. ‘Sometimes I think I could maybe go too far, further than I want to. I feel like I could lose control.’

‘Are you getting pleasure out of hurting yourself?’

Lukas nodded and made himself look at Dr Mueller. It wasn’t so bad, he decided. Dr Mueller didn’t seem to care. And it wasn’t like he could tell anyone.

‘There’s a fine line between pleasure and pain.’

‘Yes,’ Lukas said. ‘That’s it exactly.’

‘So you have a castration fantasy.’

‘Is that what it is?’

Dr Mueller nodded.

There was silence for a moment. ‘But it’s not just…Sometimes I think about cutting everything, my…’

‘You think about cutting your penis off.’

Lukas nodded. And then quickly said, ‘I really don’t want to…’ shaking his head. ‘I mean, I really don’t want that to happen. I’m afraid of it.’

‘But you’d be happy about being castrated.’

Lukas thought about what it would be like, and was imaging a free feeling between his legs, a light feeling, as though everything was soft and empty down there. He wanted to squeeze his legs together and feel nothing between them, to feel his sack there, but his balls like mush inside of them.

Like cream.

Matthew liked the feeling.

And knew Christian was smiling.

And then Matthew felt his little cock getting hard in his cords – Lukas’ little cock, he told himself. It was so small and hard, and yes, that was Christian feeling it also, as though they shared the same groin, sharing Lukas’ groin, his sensations.

Lukas put his wrist into his groin to hide what was happening. And he felt sick at the thought of his balls as mush. At the thought of it becoming reality.

‘I know I’d really hate it if it happened,’ Lukas said. ‘I mean. If I did that, if that happened, I’d feel ashamed. I don’t think I could see people. I don’t think I could even go outside.’

‘So it’s a fantasy? Yes?’

‘Yes,’ Lukas nodded, deciding that that’s what it was, and then he imagined himself at the mall with his balls as mush in his jeans and no one knowing, and didn’t hate the idea.

‘You don’t want to make it reality.’

‘No,’ Lukas said, but he was less certain now.

‘People do it. There are a lot of men who make that choice.’

Lukas’ mouth opened.

‘You really want to talk to me about it before you take that step.’

‘I wouldn’t.’

‘You can assure me of that.’

Lukas nodded.

The session ended and Lukas said goodbye. He walked into the waiting room and made an appointment for the same time next week. He gave his Visa card to the receptionist. A fat man was waiting, a fat man with a bald head, wearing a plaid shirt. Dr Mueller opened the door and called him in, calling him Grainger, and as he walked past Lukas, Lukas was aware of the strong scent of his cologne, which he recognised, or thought he recognised, as Arpege for men.

He asked the receptionist to call him a cab and then he walked outside where it was cold and windy, though the day had been warmer than this, hadn’t it? Matthew thought.

He thrust his hands in his pockets and walked along the front of the house to the path, wondering whether Matthew was still there and whether Matthew could see him walking away from the house. He wanted to turn around and could feel Matthew’s eyes on him, but he was afraid of Christian, was always afraid of Christian when he came here, and glad he never saw him.

He opened the gate and let it close behind him, knowing that he was standing awkwardly, and thinking he looked stupid, thinking Matthew was watching him.

If only the taxi would come.

The wind blew and Lukas folded his arms across his chest. The satchel on his shoulder was heavy. It contained books. He had been to the library on the way here and would be glad to get home.

He felt better now, he thought, better for seeing Dr Mueller. Better for talking to him about…How had he said that to him, that stuff about…? God, what a fool he’d made of himself. What must Dr Mueller think of him, that he wanted to castrate himself? No wonder he didn’t belief him about the possession thing, though there had to be something to it. He had read that thing on line about the girl who was possessed by a spirit for months back in the eighteen hundreds. She had even gone to live with her former family, the spirit’s former family, claiming that she was their lost daughter, though she had never known the girl. And she knew all about her, all about her life, and her things.

Could spirits really be possessing him?

He had some books anyway, and he would look into it himself. If he had to, he could even perform an exorcism, or get a priest to perform one. Though it was hard to imagine.

The taxi came.

Lukas climbed into the backseat and gave the driver the address.

You want to see what he does?

What?

Christian was thinking at Matthew.

Lukas was wondering what he was going to do all afternoon.

You could have a wank.

He could have a wank?

Lukas thought that he could maybe have a wank.

The taxi pulled onto the highway and crossed the long bridge over the lake.

No, Lukas thought. I’ll read the red book, the one that looked the best, about spirits and possession and exorcisms. He didn’t really want to do any of that stuff to himself, not after talking to Dr Mueller.

He decided he wouldn’t do it anymore.

But it’d be good, Christian thought. It feels so good. Don’t you love busting your balls?

Busting his balls?

It’s only ballbusting.

Ballbusting?

Well of course he knew what it was, and it was only ballbusting anyway, but whoever came up with that name was pretty stupid. It sounded like you were going to bust your balls if you did it even once. He hated the name. It was stupid.

It’s not like you’re going to hurt them, not permanently.

It wasn’t like he was going to hurt them permanently.

No, Matthew thought.

And anyway, he wasn’t going to do that anymore.

But it feels so good.

Does it?

Yes, Lukas thought, looking out over the lake at the city on the far side, where mirrored towers glittered in the sunshine.

Lukas’ hand fell into his lap, and he wasn’t quite sure whether he was moving it himself. It edged toward his groin, and he knew what he was going to do, though he wasn’t quite in control of himself, wasn’t quite doing it, or was he?

He must be, of course.

He grabbed his balls and squeezed, gently at first, but increasing the pressure.

When he got home he would pull himself off.