Hialmar

m/m The Orgone Accumulator : Part Six

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Hialmar

The Prologue is found here

The preceeding chapter is found here.

 

Preface

The song lyrics The times they are a-changin' were written by Bob Dylan in 1964, which is hereby acknowledged. The use of quotes thereof in this story is for non-profit literary purposes, in the belief that this is fair use. Please let me know, if anyone want these quotes to be removed.

 

The Orgone Accumulator: Part Six

"I really appreciate, how therapy dissolves the feelings of guilt and shame, Dr. Witt, but I don't think Reich was right, when he expected homosexual men to eventually become heterosexual."

"Perhaps he wasn't. Some German psychologists suggested already in the 1860s, that the homosexual condition is a permanent personality trait, even to such extent, that it is possible to talk about a third sex: Uranian men with female souls. Would you think, that that describes your personality?"

He felt slightly irritated. At some times Dr. Witt sounded very much as a man of an elder age. No, he wouldn't think, that that described his personality. He might have been shy and guilt-ridden when he was a teenager (and when he began his analysis by Dr. Witt), but he didn't feel like a female soul. Neither was he attracted to camp men -- he had encountered a few camp men of his own age in San Francisco recently, and, although many of them were fun and witty, he didn't fall in love with them. How would he describe this, without Dr. Witt beginning predictable tirades about repression?

"To be honest, I don't think it does. Aren't there any other possible explanations?

Dr. Witt fell silent, and it took some time before he continued:

"I've had the impression for some time now, that I don't know how to help you further, but Dr. Silberstein find some un-orthodox explanations useful. I am not trained in those methods. Would you dislike to begin analysis with Dr. Silberstein instead?"

Silberstein had arrived to The Foundation very recently, with a fresh degree and with diplomas from several different schools of psychology. He wasn't much older than The Young Man, preferred to wear suits of a very modern cut and with a hair-style resembling the Osmond family. Perhaps it was worth it to change.

"No, I would be very grateful if I was allowed to continue my self-exploration with Dr. Silberstein, but I am very grateful for the help you have given me these years."

When he returned home to his cottage, he switched his transistor radio on:

Quote

Come mothers and father throughout the land

And don't criticize what you can't understand

Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command

Your old roads are rapidly aging

Please get out of the new one if you can't lend a hand

For the times they are a-changin'

* * *

He had eventually found an athletic facility in a smaller town located between San Francisco and the countryside where The Foundation was located, and he went there three times a week. It had begun as a boxing-club, but in the recent years it had gradually changed more and more into the emerging new sort of "gym", as they were called. The use of dumbbells, barbells and cable stands had revolutionised his physical exercise. He was ever learning more about new exercises. Muscles he hadn't known existed had begun to form, grow and become visible all over his body. It had also increased his appetite. Those nights he chose to eat at The Foundation the kitchen staff were joking about his ability to eat unexpectedly large amounts of food. He assumed, that all other men at that athletic facility were hetero. It gave him some smug satisfaction, that he was able to lift heavier than some of them. Heavier than them. Stronger than them. Beginning to look more like the imaginary men in the beefcake drawings. The imaginary men had been ideals to lust for.

Be attracted to.

To be overwhelmed by.

But now something else was happening: He was becoming one of them. One of Tom's men.

It didn't take much time until he lost his patience with the rusty used car he had bought when he moved to The Foundation. Everyone owned a car. He wanted to be himself. He wanted a motorcycle. As soon as he could afford a motor cycle he bought one: A black shiny motor cycle: A symbol of liberty. A black shiny leather jacket was already a part of of his leisurewear, and rumour had it, that it had caused some gossip among middle-class and upper-class guests: Let them gossip! He was becoming himself.

It was evening and his day off. He returned home to his cottage after one of his usual trips. His muscles were still warm and filled with blood after his weight-training. He switched the radio on. Something about the Soviet troops in Czechoslovakia and President Johnson's reply to recent international developments.

He felt so alive. Earlier that day, he had found a retailer selling and repairing leatherwear. He liked the scent inside the shop. He had found trousers in his size, but he had a nagging thought in his head, that there was a risk, that they soon would become too small, if his thighs continued to grow in the same pace. He had also found a pair of shiny boots suitable for those who ride motorbikes. He had arrived at his athletic facility wearing his new biker wear. It gave him some satisfaction to take the gazes from the other men in the locker room in: Puzzlement, respect, perhaps some awe and some fear, too. He lapped it up. Something similar happened, when he returned to the locker room after his exercise and changed from his sweat-drenched training clothes back into his leathers. Then he ride home on his motorbike, and felt the wind rush around him. The enticing feeling of speed.

Then his thoughts wandered to the Orgone Accumulator.

The Orgone Accumulator was a part of Reichian treatment, but its usefulness was a matter of discussion among the guests as well as the staff. The first time The Young Man entered an Orgone Accumulator, it had been a slightly underwhelming experience. It looked like a wooden wardrobe with a seat inside. He was told, that it was constructed of alternating plates of wood and metal, which were supposed to accumulate his bodily Orgone, which was named after the human orgasm. He was supposed to sit inside wearing a thin layer of clothes of natural fibres, but some enthusiasts shocked the other guests by suggesting, that full nakedness would be more efficient. Did he feel anything? Well, yes. The inside of the box felt slightly warmer than the surrounding room, and he thought he felt some sort of pleasurable tickling feeling in his skin, but it could have been his imagination running wild.  Since he moved to his cottage at the Foundation premises, he had undergone Orgone treatment once a month, and although some treatments had been pleasant in some vaguely undefinable way, he wasn't sure if it really added anything substantial to the analysis sessions and the massage. He enjoyed the massage. The new masseur, Jack, was a man his own age, and they were slowly becoming friends. 

But now his thoughts wandered to the Orgone Accumulator. No-one was scheduled for it this late in the night. Most guests and staff were probably asleep. With a sandwich in one hand and a glass of orange juice in his other hand, he decided to give the Orgone Accumulator another try. He finished his meal. He had removed his t-shirt, because it was damp of sweat, and he was too lazy to wear it. He took his leather jacket, wearing it without anything under, and walked over the grass to the main building in the moonlit night, dew causing his boots to become wet.

The Orgone Accumulator. There it was. The lights in the room switched off, and the treatment floor abandoned for the night. Moonshine entered the windows, and formed a pattern of silver-light on the floor. He left his jacket on a chair, and entered the Accumulator wearing his new leather trousers and boots.

With the door closed, the Orgone Accumulator was entirely dark. Sometimes he had noticed what looked like a dim light form around his body during treatment. It could have been his retina being exhausted. Or it could be a proof of the existence of Orgone. He didn't expect much.

He felt calm and relaxed sitting there in the darkness, his boots on the wooden floor, his leather-clad legs wide apart, and his upper body naked inside the moderately warm box. The hair on his arms were bristling. His skin began to tingle pleasantly. The scent of his new trousers and boots filled the Orgone Accumulator. He enjoyed that scent. He enjoyed the smooth and glossy surface of his leather trousers. Leather -- reminding him of primordial hunters triumphing over game, using its hide for clothes. His muscles were still warm, firm and blood-filled after the exercise. He clenched his right biceps with his left hand. Warm. Firm. And Blood-filled. He clenched his right pectoral muscle. Warm. Firm. And Blood-filled. It wasn't the only part of him becoming warm, firm and blood-filled. His dick throbbed inside his new trousers, rubbing itself against the leather. Glossy. Black. Rubbing itself. His now muscular legs enclosed by black, glossy leather. His now sexy bum enclosed by black, glossy leather. New boots hugging his feet. He remembered how the other men had watched him. Their gazes. He felt so present, so bodily present. Embodied. Relaxed in his body, in a way he wasn't in the past. Calm and relaxed. Skin tingling. Dick throbbing. Warm, firm muscles. So hard. Hard everywhere. Hard dick. Hard mind. Hard body. Hard muscles. Leg-muscles hugged by black, glossy leather. Manhood. He wanted other men to be attracted to him. Lust for him. Be overwhelmed by him. Him: The muscleman in leather, the unknown biker. Feeling so alive. So free. Alive. The memory of his colleague Jack, the masseur floated through his memory. Jack's kind eyes. Jack's powerful arms. The physical sensations of his body caused the mental image of Jack to fade. Strength flowing through his veins. Strength flowing through his muscles. Strength flowing through his dick. Manhood. Embodied. Present. Powerful. His power to change himself. Changing. Becoming his dreams. Becoming others' dreams. So big and hard now. The Strength. So alive. The Power. Skin tingling more now. Muscles buzzing more now. Of Strength. Of Power. Alive. His entire physical extension. Full of Strength. And Power. And Hardness. Tingling. Buzzing. The wave of energy inside his entire being. His veins afire of Pleasure. His mind connected to a cosmic grid of golden light and red mists inside his eyelids. Cosmic grid of Strength. Cosmic grid of Power. Buzzing. Wave. Uh! Yes! Himself so buzzing of Power, brimming of Power. The Wave intensifying. Throbbing. His entire body throbbing. His entire Self throbbing. Throbbing of the Powerwave. Powerwave. Even more! Yes! Powerwave. He is Muscle now. He is Strength now. He is Manhood now. He is Power now. He is ... Uh! The Wave! So good! Hadn't thought ... Never had experienced ... The Orgone? It's true! The Orgone! Filling himself with Orgone! More Orgone! Becoming Orgone! The Wave! The Wave! Uh! Oh God, it's ... It's ... Power. Becoming. It's ... It's ...

Wave ...

Uh ...

STRENGTH

STRENGTH

MANHOOD

STRENGTH

POWER

STRENGTH

WAVE

STRENGTH

WAVE

blissful

WAVE

blissful

WAVE

blissf ...

WAVE

WAVE

WA-

!!!

!!!

!!!

!!!

!!!

Edited by Hialmar
minor details, language
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Ozymandias

Thanks for Part 6! I enjoy how you’ve left much of the Young Man in shadow, as it were: does he have an end goal in mind? Or has he simply been caught up in the changes to his body? In other words - if he simply goal-driven, or more an addict?

And of course it’d take sex to activate the Accumulator!

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Hialmar

I will not write any spoilers.

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Ozymandias
51 minutes ago, Hialmar said:

I will not write any spoilers.

I wouldn’t dream of asking 😉

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Tobias

Just playing catch-up on the last couple of chapters...you do NOT disappoint! All kinds of questions running through my head...I look forward to the answers as they unfold.

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