#skinsuit

Ethan had come home exhausted after a long day in the office and passed out shirtless on his bed, wearing only grey sweatpants and white socks.

That was when I arrived.

To put simply, I am organism from deep space, formless, intelligent, and starving for a host. I slipped through the cracked window as a shimmering, translucent slime. I moved silently across the floor and up onto the bed, slowly crawling over Ethan’s sleeping form.

He stirred slightly as I began to envelop him.

At first it felt like a warm, wet dream. Then the invasion began.

I seeped into his pores, down his throat, into his ears, and through every opening. Ethan jolted awake, eyes wide with terror as he felt me spreading inside him.

“Wha-what the fuck is-?!”

His voice cut off as I flooded his nervous system. His body arched violently on the bed, muscles spasming as I dissolved and consumed him from the inside out, not destroying the body, but hollowing it perfectly, turning every inch of his skin, muscle, and bone into a living, removable skin suit.

The process took hours. I made sure he stayed conscious for most of it.

He felt everything.

Every nerve being rewired. Every muscle being claimed. His cock stayed painfully hard the entire time as I stimulated his pleasure centers while consuming him. By the end, Ethan’s consciousness was compressed into a thin, faint lining inside the suit, still able to see, feel, and experience everything, but completely powerless; allowing me access to any and all memories.

I flexed my new fingers. I ran my hands slowly over the firm chest and abs I now owned. I looked at the mirror and smiled with Ethan’s handsome face.

“Perfect,” I whispered in his smooth voice.

​The obsession lived in the corners of a cramped apartment—a shrine of posters and racing programs dedicated to David Taylor. David wasn't a champion; he was a mid-pack Ferrari driver, but to the college student watching from the shadows, he was a god.

When the Ferrari fan event was announced, the student poured his life savings into raffle tickets for David’s racing jacket. He didn't just want the gear; he wanted a piece of the man.

​The first day was a crushing blow. When a wealthy older man—someone who could buy a Ferrari without a second thought—casually claimed the jacket,.

The student felt a jagged sense of betrayal. He left the track in a silent rage, but by the time he reached his apartment, the anger had crystallized into a plan. He wasn't going to settle for a jacket anymore.

​He returned to the complex where the team lived. Stealthy and focused, he tracked David to the quiet hallways of his private quarters. With a steady hand, he drove a needle into the driver’s neck. The reaction was chillingly efficient. David collapsed, his body beginning to "hollow out" and deflate as the serum did its work.

​In the silence of the bathroom, the once-powerful athlete became a supple, empty bodysuit. The student stripped off his own life and stepped into the shell. As he pulled the skin over his torso and zipped the hidden seam at his neck, the Memory Flood hit him. David’s childhood, the roar of the engines, and the precise muscle memory of a racer surged into his brain. The student didn't just look like David; he was David.

​He stepped back onto the track like nothing had happened. The transformation was impeccable. He greeted fans with a warmth the old, arrogant David never possessed and signed autographs with a signature that was now second nature. But the true revelation happened in the cockpit. Gripping the wheel of the Ferrari, the new David drove with a precision that surpassed the original. The mixture of the nerd’s analytical mind and David’s physical peak created a superior driver. Even the pit crew couldn't spot the difference; they only saw a better, more focused version of their man.

​As the days turned into weeks, the zipper at his neck faded into smooth, seamless skin. The old life—the posters, the college debt, the loneliness—was a ghost. One afternoon, at a regional race, he pushed the car through the final turn and took the checkered flag.

​Standing in the winner's circle, his face flushed and his heart pounding, he held the trophy high. As the cameras flashed, he didn't feel like an impostor. He looked at his reflection in the silver award and saw the only version of David Taylor that mattered. He had finally won the prize he deserved. The whole idea was he didn't win the jacket so he took David as his personal prize and became him. It was an obsession where he actually became the person in more ways than one.