Chapter 1: Prologue

Synopsis: Theo works at a day job he hates and comes home to an empty apartment every night. His cat, Oliver, is his only true companion. After one drunken night on the internet, he gets a text the following day telling him to check out a particular club that, after one visit, will change his life forever.

This story contains elements of male-male fantasy and weight gain and is infused with a dosage of reality that could or might happen to you.

Chapter 1: Prologue

Have you ever had that sensation that, even after you wake up, that you're still dreaming? That everything in the dream was-and is-still real? It is THE reality? Your reality.
Well, that's how I feel like how my life is going, though it's kind of hard to explain. But I will try.
My name is Theseus. Yes, like the guy who killed the Minotaur. Everyone calls me 'Theo', except my parents, who were Greek-obsessed when they named me. Cool, huh?
I come from a single-family home with two doting parents. A father who works from the road, way too much and a mother who essentially raised me to become the soft, sensitive man that I am today. I'm a recent college grad. Well, who am I kidding, it's been 10 years. But I've got that face that looks young-ish, despite growing a beard, but everyone still thinks I just got my diploma in the mail last month.
I live alone in my apartment with my cat, Oliver and work as an accountant in a large firm. And I really don't like my job, but I don't have my future all mapped out, not that I should at my age. Right?
I don't know why I'm telling you all of this, but I am sure it's relevant somehow. I keep racking my brain about why I am even writing about myself. Here, even now as I type these words, why should you care about what I have to say? Am I really that narcissistic? Is this my soapbox?
I guess some people like to leave an imprint. Well, let me tell you about the imprint that was left on me. A mark that felt so real, that still feels so real, that I need to share it to make sense of it all.
It all started with a dream that I can't remember. Like catching smoke with your bare hands, the harder you try, the less essence remains. Still, there are ghosts, flashes of the dream that I cannot forget.