WingMan, ch. 2 (Patreon)

“What do you mean he quit?! That…that doesn’t make any sense,” Vince barked, certain he’d heard Captain Murphy wrong. “What exactly did Guillermo tell you?”

The older man ran a hand over his balding scalp and shrugged. “He didn’t tell me anything. All I know is that he quit and moved away.”

“That’s not like Guillermo at all,” Vince insisted. “We just hung out yesterday afternoon. There’s no world where he wouldn’t have given me some kind of heads up if he was planning on quitting. And to just up and leave like that with no notice? That’s not the guy I know.”

“Maybe you didn’t know him as well as you thought,” the captain sighed, his weathered chair creaking as he dropped into it. He motioned around the equally weathered office and to the scattered stacks of files and forms on his desk. “Look, Vince, you’ve been around long enough to know how this job goes. It gets under the skin. The shit we see day after day…some people just aren’t cut out for it. I’m honestly as surprised as you are, but it’s not the first time we’ve seen this happen and it won’t be the last.”

Vince wanted to keep arguing. He knew with absolute certainty that even if Guillermo had abandoned the job, he wouldn’t have abandoned him like that. They’d been friends for years, not just work friends, but a pair who had a very real, genuine connection that both of them had come to rely on. The stocky detective couldn’t accept that the other man had simply packed up and left without so much as a goodbye. Vince had already been worried when Guillermo hadn’t followed up with him about the WingMan event, and his concern grew when he’d arrived at work that morning to find his handsome friend absent. Knowing how much the other man enjoyed a good party, he’d given it some time to see if a hangover was the culprit, but when lunch came and went with no contact he’d talked to Captain Murphy and received the troubling news. It was too much of a coincidence. Losing his personal trainer after a WingMan event was one thing, but Guillermo’s sudden departure lit up all of Vince’s well-honed detective instincts. A single occurrence could be written off as an odd exception. Twice was the start of a pattern.

Vince spent the next month in between cases chasing down every lead he could find. Crime in the city kept him as busy as ever, so he didn’t have much in the way of free time, but that ultimately didn’t matter since all he seemed to find were dead-ends. Looking into the WingMan brand was like trying to look through a brick wall. They were incorporated in Delaware at an address that appeared to be nothing more than a nondescript brick building when Vince searched it online, and a brief in-person visit proved that the photo hadn’t been old or out of date. For such a flashy brand, the building was entirely unremarkable. Bland exterior, bland interior, and even the bored-looking young man behind the desk had nothing memorable about him. When asked, the man explained that all he, along with his half-dozen peers in the adjoining room, did was process bills and paperwork. None of them had ever actually met any of the higher-ups, nor had they attended any of the exclusive parties to know what really went on. Vince thought about flashing his badge, the kid seemed like the type to crumble under some pressure, but since he didn’t actually have a warrant and wasn’t there in any official capacity, he decided against it. There was an art to throwing his weight around, and it felt too early, too futile, to shoot his shot in that regard.

He did try, and failed, a week later when he visited the address of the party Guillermo had attended. Instead of another WingMan property he found himself at a sprawling gallery space that had been rented out for the private party. His frustration finally getting the better of him, he flashed his badge and demanded contact information, but the obstinate curator wouldn’t budge. The man had signed an airtight NDA, he said, and if Vince wanted answers he’d have to come back with official paperwork and talk to his lawyer. As far as the actual event went, the man explained that he wasn’t in attendance himself, making him unable to provide any specifics even if he’d wanted to. He only knew what everyone knew, that WingMen were more popular than ever and he wished he could afford one of the little studs. The company’s advertising had taken a more overtly sexual turn as of late, now touting the “intimate” benefits that one of the buff little boy-toys could provide. That aspect had always been present and implied, but WingMan’s social saturation had reached the point where the company could now use it as a marketing tool, making the pint-sized pretty-boys all the more sought after.

It was a distraction that Vince didn’t need. He was having a hard enough time trying to turn up any concrete information about the company, its finances, and what they had to do with his friend’s disappearance without adding a fog of lust to the proceedings. Even his contacts at the precinct failed to provide any substantial leads. Vince had sought out any information anyone could give him regarding Guillermo’s new location, calling in every owed favor he’d accumulated over the years. His friend had outstanding pay, a pension to be cashed out, and personal effects. Under normal circumstances, someone in the department would have known where to send it to, but the only information anyone had about Guillermo was that he’d “quit and moved away.” Captain Murphy repeated it like a mantra whenever the dark-haired detective brought it up, and even Vince found the words creeping into his thoughts with increasing frequency. Whenever he took a break from the search to work on an actual assignment, he had to fight with himself to pick it back up again. After all, Guillermo had simply “quit and moved away.” There wasn’t really anything for him to look for.

After weeks of searching, that intrusive thought proved itself true when, just as abruptly as the other man had disappeared, Vince found himself suddenly staring at his friend. As had become his habit while trying to wrap his head around the odd circumstances, the disappointed detective had gone back to the park where he and Guillermo had last been together. The setting helped cement the fact that something actually was wrong, to cut through the fuzzy insistence that his friend had simply quit and relocated, a fact that was driven home that afternoon. Standing by the courtside bench where they’d had their last conversation, Vince couldn’t believe his eyes as he stared across the park at a fit, younger man wearing an unassuming outfit of Yankee’s cap, t-shirt and joggers. Even from a distance, Vince immediately clocked the designer sunglasses and luxury watch, both of which made it clear that the man’s seemingly mundane outfit probably cost more than the detective made in a month. But it wasn’t the stranger’s wealth that caught his attention.

“Guillermo! Holy shit! Guillermo!” Vince was calling out and moving before he even realized it, his stocky frame bounding over to the WingMan park. The response was reflexive, the elation he felt momentarily masking the impossibility of what he saw. Standing next to the stranger, now barely three-feet tall, if that, was Guillermo. The short stud was clad only in a pair of bright little sneakers and a blue speedo with a “Y” logo on the back that matched the taller man’s hat, prominently displaying his bronze skin and well-muscled physique. The strapping proportions were far larger than the lean, tapering frame Guillermo had previously sported, but there was no mistaking the tiny hunk’s handsome features. Memorizing faces was a big part of the detective’s job, and he’d certainly looked at his friend long enough to have the sharp lines, bright eyes, and charming smile baked into his brain. Even the WingMan’s wavy hair matched the missing man’s style, and, as he drew closer, Vince spotted a familiar mole on the back of a broadened shoulder. “Guillermo! It’s…it’s me…” he said, trailing off as his head started to spin. Seeing his friend from a distance, and the skewed perspective it provided, was one thing, but looking down at a man who should have towered over him was another.

“Hi!” the scantily clad stud chirped, flashing an unmistakable smile as he beamed up at Vince. The squeaky-yet-familiar sound hit the detective like a fist in the gut, his mind reluctantly reimagining Guillermo’s once-deep voice pitched up several octaves. “What’s up, bro,” the smaller man asked, sounding perfectly casual as he stood nearly naked in public.

“Wha…what’s up?” Vince repeated, wide-eyed and sputtering. “Guillermo! It’s me! It’s Vince!”

At this point, the wealthy young man finally looked up from his phone, cocking his head to the side as he eyed the flustered detective. “Uh, hey man. You good? You’re kinda freaking my little dude out,” he said, reaching down to stroke the short stud’s wavy hair when the smaller man drew close. Vince’s stomach dropped when Guillermo’s brow furrowed and his friend looked confused, immediately reminding him of his first encounter with a WingMan. The tiny blonde had displayed a similar, hesitant expression after emerging from his pen, and it was a far cry from his friend’s normally confident demeanor. Thinking about Guillermo in such a state, of being kept in a pen and paraded around a party with a rigid cock on display, stirred emotions that Vince couldn’t process at the moment. He could barely keep his thoughts together as it was. The surreal nature of seeing his friend’s altered body up close made it all seem suddenly impossible, as if he must be mistaken. A part of himself hoped he was.

“Sorry,” Vince finally said, forcing a calm, casual tone into his voice. “Your…friend…reminded me of someone I haven’t seen in a long time. I guess I got carried away.”

“No worries,” the man said, displaying a smug smile as he nodded down at the shorter hunk. “Your friend must’ve been a real looker if you thought he was Rocky.”

Vince started to question the name, then thought better of it. He needed to play along if he was going to get any information. “He wa…he is,” Vince nodded. “Just like this handsome fella. How long have you had him?”

“About a month,” the man said, still stroking “Rocky’s” hair. “Best money I’ve ever spent. Wasn’t it, big guy?”

“Like, tooootally, bro,” the small stud chirped, letting out a giggle when the man reached down and scooped him up by the armpits.

“Have you ever held one of these guys,” the man asked, swinging the beaming “Rocky” from side-to-side. Vince watched the meaty, muscled legs sway like a pendulum, his brain increasingly refusing to accept that the brawny little beefcake actually was his friend. “It’s crazy how light they are. Here, give it a try.” Before the stunned detective could refuse, he found the squat stud thrust into his arms, once again reeling as he tried to process a world where a buff bodybuilder could feel almost weightless. With his face only inches away, Vince was more certain than ever that “Rocky” actually was Guillermo, but he was physically unable to question any of it. He wanted to ask the grinning hunk where he’d come from, what he did before meeting his current caretaker, anything that would’ve confirmed his true identity and denied Vince’s suspicions, but the words wouldn’t come. All he could do was stand and stroke the smaller man’s plump pecs like he was petting a dog, just as confused by his actions as the first time. “Wild, right? If you’re thinking about getting one, they’re worth every penny,” the man continued. “I hit the jackpot with a smokeshow like Rocky. They’re all lookers, but I mean, come on. How’re you going to top that?”

“I’m, like, super hot,” Rocky squeaked, flexing one of his inflated arms. “So’s Tommy, but he says we can’t leave the house if he doesn’t have his clothes on. I don’t get it! I don’t have to have MY clothes on…why does he? Why do you? You’d look, like, so hot without ‘em,” Rocky chirped, raising a bushy eyebrow as he pawed at Vince’s meaty chest. There was a flash of sudden recognition in the smaller man’s eyes that the detective wished he hadn’t seen. “I, like, know you would, bro! Tommy’s not a hairy wrestler like you…he doesn’t have, like, all your muscle…but his dick is, like, massive! You should see it! Show it to him, Tommy,” Rocky said, seemingly oblivious to the way he’d gone hard in his speedo. Vince couldn’t help but look at the rigid outline, wondering how Guillermo would have felt to have his thick seven-and-a-half inches reduced to finger length. He wondered about all of it, how his friend would have felt to be held in his arms, to be chirping and squeaking with no filter, to be talking like the less intelligent cousin of a dumb jock. Vince didn’t ask because he wouldn’t let himself accept that it really was his friend he held, despite the sudden details the smaller stud knew. Maybe the secret behind WingMen was advanced robotics? Maybe they used brain scans and biometric tech to copy looks and personalities? Maybe they paid people to disappear so the public wouldn’t see the real molds from which the miniature mimics had sprung? There were gaping holes in all of those theories, but Vince grasped for anything other than the obvious impossibility in his arms.

“Sorry about that,” Tom said, his face crimson behind his sunglasses as he plucked Rocky and set him down. “They’re absolutely not lying about what horny little buggers these dudes are.”

Rocky’s brows furrowed again, but his giddy grin never faded. “What’d I do wrong? Your dick is great! I’m, like, so hard right now just thinkin’ about it. Look!” he squeaked, pulling open the front of his speedo to expose his aching organ.

“Dude! We talked about this! We can’t just do that in public,” Tom said, quickly bending down and pulling Rocky’s hands out of his skimpy swimwear. “Sorry,” he apologized again, looking sheepish when he stood back up. “We’re still working on some basic training. Whole lotta body, not a lotta brains,” he chuckled.

Vince felt an instinctive rush of anger at the way Rocky beamed, not realizing he’d just been insulted. Along with the familiar sight of a now-shrunken cock he’d seen countless times in the showers, it was enough of a jolt to jar his frozen thoughts into motion, and the detective managed to reframe a single question. “You’re right…that’s a lot of body in one package. Imagine how it would look if he was ‘regular’ height. You ever wish you could be bigger, Rocky?”

The smaller man blinked, his smile faltering for only a moment before he shook his head. “Nope! I’ve always been this size,” he said, the words having the same automatic ring as someone quitting and moving away.