Rocky
patreon
Mission Pretty Possible 1st Video
🕑 Added 2025-05-18 15:39:33 +0000 UTCJust a little experiment on videos—here’s one from Mission Pretty Possible.
Sharing the initial part again along with the video so you can better enjoy the experience.
📌 Note: The content below is already included in the PDF of Chapter 1, posted on 17 May 2025.
Chapter 1
Present Day,
The hospital hallway stretched before Ethan like a runway—sterile, endless, fluorescent. He could have walked normally. Should have. But the pageant was in seven days, and Claire had been relentless. "Hips forward, shoulders back. Glide, don’t stomp. Walk like you own the ground under your heels. He exhaled slowly and imagined the corridor as his runway, each step a practiced stride toward something bigger than this moment."
He didn’t know when her guidance had started sounding more like commandments. And worse, he was listening.
So, he straightened his spine, the sway in his hips subtle but unmistakable. What Ethan hadn’t yet realized was that the sway remained even without the heels—it had crept into his gait over time, now second nature as he advanced down the hospital corridor.
Each step clipped sharply against the tiles—sharp, feminine, alien.
The high-heeled shoes strapped tightly around his ankles pressed unfamiliar angles into his calves, making his legs feel elongated, tense, and exposed.
Though he had changed into denim jeans in the car before entering the hospital, in his mind, he still pictured himself in the same denim shorts he’d worn that morning on their shopping trip—absurdly short, hugging his thighs with defiant tightness. All day, he’d felt the fabric whispering against his freshly shaved legs, leaving behind a trail of sensation that was electric... and strangely disorienting.
Even now, clad in jeans and heels, he could still feel it—the teasing coolness of air brushing against smooth skin, the electric tickle, the intoxicating slickness of moisturized skin gliding past itself as he moved.
He swallowed hard.
Ethan blinked rapidly, trying to shake the invasive images: himself on this same corridor but in those short, snug denim cutoffs, a white tee and the gleam of polished heels tapping a daring rhythm into the ground.
Maximilian Graye, the big-shot director’s piercing gaze flashed through his thoughts, searing with the promise of opportunity.
You're an actor, Ethan reminded himself fiercely. You’re practicing. As Claire always says, that's all this is.
His imagination hit him like a static shock—Claire’s bare legs brushing against his, smooth and warm, skin to skin like silk on silk. He imagined their next night out would be wild. He couldn’t wait for the Womanless Pageant to be over so they could have a proper date—followed by an adventurous night. And of course, he wanted to see what his freshly shaven legs would feel like against Claire’s smooth skin. The friction, the hum of it. His breath hitched.
The memory of her scent—coconut and something faintly sugary—ghosted across his senses, mixing with the floral trace of lotion on his own skin. He pictured them together, lights low, laughter curling between kisses, her body arching against his in playful challenge. He longed for that next night out. Just her, straddling his lap, whispering praise into his ear as she guided his hands, her breath hot and damp against his collarbone.
And God, he needed to feel it—his freshly shaven legs sliding against hers in the dark, the unfamiliar friction lighting up his nerves like a live wire. The hum of skin on skin.
No. This wasn’t the right time for such thoughts—his father was in the ICU.
A man in his late thirties—probably a visitor—rounded the corner. Ethan stiffened, shoulders snapping straight—masculine, instinctive. But the heels tilted his balance, his hips swaying to compensate. The man glanced at him from head to heels. Just a flicker. Enough.
Shame coiled hot in his gut. This is ridiculous. He forced a longer stride, but the shoes fought him—arches straining, toes crammed into a space too narrow. A whiff of his own scent—something floral, Claire’s goddamn lotion—clung to him. Intoxicating. Wrong.
Ethan swallowed hard. One week. Then he’d never wear a stitch of this stuff again.
A rush of relief poured through Ethan’s chest.
At least he had managed to ditch the shorts.
Facing his father—like that—legs bare, hairless, clad in something better suited for a flirtatious college girl than a son paying a solemn visit... it would have been unbearable. And damn it, the straps still wouldn’t come off.
The dark denim jeans clinging to him now felt safer, sturdier. A barrier.
But not enough.
The denim clung to his thighs, tighter than usual, the coarse fabric dragging against skin that felt too smooth, too exposed. His usual jeans, once comforting, now felt alien—abrasive against legs freshly treated with electrolysis.
The memory of the procedure that morning sent a prickle up his spine. Claire had whispered with certainty, “The hair will disappear after today, but it would grow back in a few weeks—unless we keep going.” She wanted this. Badly. “It’ll make your legs shine and set you apart from the other participants,” she’d said.
And now they did—smooth, hairless, unnervingly sensitive. Every brush of fabric lit up his nerves like static, as if his body had been rewired to feel too much… in places it never used to.
Ethan’s heels clicked sharply against the sterile tile floor with every step—a staccato rhythm that echoed off the walls and made him flinch.
The sound was impossibly loud in the hush of the hospital wing, like a spotlight announcing him to the world.
The hallway stretched on—white, blinding, clinical—and the dissonance between his environment and the sensual hum threading up his spine made reality tilt dangerously.....
Check PDF, posted on 17 May 2025 for complete Chapter 1.
