This group is more diabolical then that. They mount the women.No, No, No. Not stand on them. They physically pour themselves insidethe hapless victims... They then are able to posses them. They make thewomen have lots of sex and party.How do I know all of this? Because I am one of them. Hahahahahah.Chapter 2 Zack's story.There are some rules to being a hopper. First off no one can tell youare in a mount, unless you pass a mirror or a picture is taken of you.Another hopper can tell when you are in. ....................................SON-OF-A-BITCH, the damn groin area is all wet and slick. My worst nightmare has been confirmed. This ain't ME!!! I can just barely feel " lips" touching the back of my heel, but the shudder that goes through my body tells me more about what is there now, and it ain't Willie and the poor boys! My dick and balls are gone - gone - gone - missing and presumed dead. I feel wooosy...Welcome to the other side - uhhhhh. My manhood is gone - and uhhhhh -. They advertised it as a bar owned by friends of the family catering to the Community in New Pittsburgh. The only thing missing was one of those little pink triangles the Nazis put on homosexuals before packing them into boxcars bound for the death camps along with the Jews and Gypsies. Ever since that time, homosexuals adopted the pink triangle as their symbol. After all, over 100,000 of them bought and paid for it with their lives.If it was not a community bar, David would be very surprised.. Lynn smiled back. It was an old joke – how short she was, how tall he was. How much he could reach that she couldn’t. Soft swishes of rags across wood lulled Lynn into a meditative state. The muted sunlight of February glowed on the warm brown and tan grain. ‘Lynn?’ ‘Yes?’ ‘Would you take you shirt off?’ Lynn jerked up from her rubbing. ‘My shirt?’ she repeated dumbly. She stared at her husband’s face. Open, vulnerable. A little boy who had asked for the cherry lollipop. Asked for his favorite.