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.