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Brunette

Once More, With Feeling

This story contains sexual themes between adults and underage youth, so if that sort of thing is illegal wherever you reside, then you should stop reading.

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I got some great feedback from the Prologue. Thanks to all of you who took the time to write to me. I always appreciate your thoughts and comments about my story, the characters, or whatever else. Write to me at ail — I”d love to hear from you.

Summary of the Prologue: Greg Baker was a loser, as far as most people were concerned. With almost no friends, a family that didn”t care, and now being kicked out of USC for something he didn”t do, he was ready to risk it all.

Greg had found a secret ritual in the depths of the dark web, a secret that he had to collect over years. But now he had all the components and he was going to do everything he could to get a second chance. The ritual, called the amnia, would give him one.

And would you guess it? He was successful. The presence that visited him as his body lay dying still haunted him, but when he woke up as an incredibly attractive teenage boy, most of his worries were repalced by elation.

The problem is, his old body–the body of Greg Baker — was dead on the floor of his living room, and his dorm room was a mess from the ritual.

Now, as Mika, the blonde-haired blue-eyed teenage model, he”ll have to figure out how to get himself out of this mess and start living the life he”s always wanted.

Chapter One

It took me a while to come down from my high. I think I came another two times just looking at myself in the mirror, watching me stroke my own boyish dick. Watching the way the light muscles of my torso tightened as I bucked my hips into my waiting grip. I couldn”t keep my eyes off my ass, because it was to fucking die for.

Eventually, though, I came to my senses. I sat down hard on the shitty bathmat in front of the tub, my teenage jizz sprinkled across the aging linoleum to my right. I took deep breaths to slow my heart and absentmindedly stroked the smooth inside of my thigh. As I watched my boyish hands slide up and down, my dick twitched.

All of these feelings I was having, they were new to me. This hypersensitivity, where every little thing put a jolt of sexual energy right through my core, was something I don”t think I had ever experienced before. If I did, I don”t remember. But I imagined this is what a young, fit, attactive fourteen year old would feel like. And, I mean, there was no point in imagining it. Because it was me.

I leaned my back against the tub, feeling the cool metal against my skin, and I felt myself relax. Momentarily sated, my mind began to go over what had happened since last night. And as I did, I kept getting images of what I had seen out in the dorm. I only looked for a second at that thing out there, but it was burned into my memory. Now that I wasn”t so pent up with hormones, I kept thinking uncomfortably about what was just in the next room.

But I knew I couldn”t just leave. That was my first reaction. Why don”t I just get the fuck out? Leave this shit for someone else to deal with, start a new life as Mika Hyakuya or something. And I wanted to, so bad. Yet, the rational part of me knew I had to go out and face what was there. To come to terms with what had happened to me. With what I”d done with my old self.

So, ever slowly, I stood up off the bathmat. The cool air of the apartment brushed gently against my skin, and I shivered slightly. I glanced in the mirror briefly and saw the worried expression on my face. Despite myself, I couldn”t help but give a slight smile at the image.

I gingerly left the bathroom, taking care not to step in the tracks of dried blood I had made on my hasty exit to the bathroom.

Seeing my old body again in that state sent a wave of nausea through me that took nearly a minute to get a handle on.

There was blood everywhere. The upturned bowl, once filled with that crimson source of life, lay at the edge of the circle. Around it, and around my former self, the blood had caked into sizable mounds. It did not smell good.

It looked like a murder scene. And I suppose in a way, it was.

Images from every police procedural I had ever seen flooded my mind. There was no fucking way I could just leave this here. When this was discovered, because it was fucking going to be, the place was going to be a zoo. Cops, media. You name it. This”ll hit every paper and TV channel all across Southern California. Maybe even the US.

I mean just look at it. It was heinous. Grisly doesn”t even begin to describe it.

The talking heads will speculate about what sort of psychopath could do something like this. The school and everyone in it will freak right out, because who knows, they could be next.

The manhunt will be incredible.

And that”s what stopped me from just leaving. From just throwing open the door and running as far away as my naked pubescent legs would carry me.

There were cameras everywhere. They”ll see me leave. And they”ll be looking for me. They”ll post my picture everywhere — there was no way in hell I could hide from something like that.

I had to clean up somehow.

Fuck me.

I tiptoed around the mess, trying not to gag at the sight and the smell, and found my laptop where I had left it near the couch. It was time to see how I could even do this.

* * *

The irony is, that whole scenario I had concocted in my head about what would happen if a stranger were to stumble on the aftermath of all of this, it would have been the only way Greg Baker would ever have been paid any attention to. Would the media have dug into my life to talk about how I lived? Would anonymous strangers on the internet play supersleuths to find my killer? Would anyone give two shits about Greg Baker and his shitty good-for-nothing life?

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It took me that long to care.

Something was happening to me. It was subtle and it was hard to pin down, but this body or whatever, it was changing me. How I felt. I discarded Greg Baker like the used kleenex he was and I didn”t even feel bad about it. He was a loser anyway. Is this how everyone had felt about me?

The revelation raised a discontent in me that I had trouble pushing away.

But I had to force myself to stop thinking about it. I actually was pretty fucking short on time. Greg Baker was supposed to be off campus in a matter of days, and the RAs had keys to the room. If I didn”t get on this shit quickly, who knows when someone would walk in the door.

Finding out how to deal with this problem was actually a bit easier than I had expected. I suppose if you know where to look on the dark web, this is something people talk about without irony. I suppressed a slight chill at the thought of the murderers whose posts I was reading (supposedly) and set to work.

Thankfully, I was always a bit of a clean freak. My roommate was very not, so I did all of it. The asshole never thanked me for it, unless you could call getting me kicked out of USC a thank you gift. Maybe for him it was, that fucker. Anyway, the point is I had all the stuff you ostensibly needed for taking care of this sort of mess. Which was good, because I had no clothes, and I couldn”t leave the dorm buck-naked to go shopping. That was something else I was going to have to deal with, but one thing at a time, shall we?

It took a long while to get started. I skirted the mess for minutes at a time. At first it was mainly to just get used to it. I mean, this was now my fucking problem to deal with, and it wasn”t going to get any more pleasant, so I may as well just stare at it until I takes on a familiar flavour and I don”t start gagging every time I look at the torn tissue on my old body”s torso.

Heave.

Okay, maybe stop thinking about it so much.

First I had to take care of my body. And let me tell you, this was a royal flush of misery that I couldn”t even begin to describe. I don”t think you quite know what it”s like to stare at yourself as a third party but it”s eerie as fuck. It”s like when you see yourself in a home movie or something, watching how fucking awkward you are interacting with everyone, cringing at the dumb jokes you make to your cousin or whatever while your mom films you and narrates the damn scene to the audience. Here”s Billy — that”s you in this scenario — all of sixteen years old today. Hi Billy! She”d wave to you. You”d turn awkwardly towards the lens and wave back half-heartedly. Oh he”s so grown up! My little boy. And so on. Except in this case it”s an assload worse because you”re dead and it”s not a video but real life.

The only thing I had going for me (I can”t even believe I”m saying this) was the fact that, whatever had happened to my body, it had, I don”t know, like dried it out or something. The skin was like hard leather, and my insides seemed like they were baked. Like it was a husk.

I know, gross. I didn”t spend a whole lot of time trying to figure it out, but my point is, it made the body a lot lighter. I was formerly like 230 pounds, so there was no way I would have been able to heft something like that as a fourteen year old. But in whatever state my old body was, it was a lot lighter. Like, by a significant amount.

I managed to wrap it up in a bunch of bedsheets and a sleeping bag but like, fuck, it was hard and took a long time. I”ll spare you the details but there was a lot of fucked up sounds from the thing and more than enough dry heaving from me.

Cleanup took most of the rest of the day.

As night fell, the blood was all scraped up and cleaned with bleach (thank linoleum and cheap apartment flooring!). The ritual paraphanelia was all put away. The carpet that I had kicked aside the night before was settled back to where the circle used to be, and I had moved the table back into place.

Other than the cocoon of bedsheets and sleeping bag in the corner, oddly-shaped as it leaned against the wall, you could be forgiven for thinking nothing ever happened here. I had opened the window once the sun went down to air out the smell as much as I could. It would take a while.

It wasn”t a perfect clean-up. If you looked close enough, you could see signs. But if all went well, no one would notice for long enough, and by the time someone did notice, it”d probably be written off as just a poorly-maintained dorm room. I mean, the first thing people thought of when they saw weird stains on the floor wasn”t murder.

I had taken another long shower to rinse off all the disgusting bits of blood and whatever else that clung to me and I was just getting out of the bathroom with a towel tied around my waist when I heard a knock at the door.

For a moment, my heart skipped two beats, but then I remembered. Earlier in the day, I placed an order on Amazon and had it shipped same day. I looked through the peep hole of the door and saw some guy holding a couple of boxes.

He knocked again.

“Yeah?” I said through the closed door. I tried to make my voice deeper, but I just sounded like a kid who was trying to make his voice deeper. I felt my cheeks turn red. Hopefully he didn”t notice or care.

“Amazon delivery,” he called back through.

I was half naked. I mean, sure, I could open the door anyway but it would certainly raise some eyebrows to see a nearly-bare fourteen year old at a college dorm. I decided to play it safe. No need to draw attention to anything right now. “Just leave it in front of the door. I”ll pick it up in a bit.”

A pause. “Um, okay.” Crazy college students, right? I saw him lay the boxes down expressionlessly, tap a few things on his portable device, and walk away.

I waited for a few minutes before I opened the door to retrieve my packages.

I immediately went to my bed and ripped them open. Inside was a selection of fashionable clothing, a pair of shoes, erzurum escort and a backpack. I had spent a decent chunk of time selecting what I thought would be clothes a teenage boy of my persuasion would wear.

First thing first. Underwear.

Tight, low-rise trunks. I licked my lips absentmindedly and slipped them on, then I turned to the full-length mirror across the way.

Holy fuck I looked so goddamn hot in them. I felt my cock start to come alive as I looked at my boyish body and bubble butt in those form-fitting trunks. I smiled mischievously at my reflection. Oh this was going to be good. I was going to have fun.

Next, the pants. Tight-hugging jeans caressed my shapely thighs and plump ass as they hung low on my hips. A cute graphic tee topped it off, hugging the form of my sides just perfectly.

I looked ready to pose in a Hollister or Abercrombie Kids photoshoot. The blue colour of my t-shirt matched well with the deep shade of my eyes, and the thread felt great on my skin.

I supposed this was the first time my body had put on any clothes. After spending the whole day — and I suppose objectively, my body”s entire existence — naked, it almost felt constricting.

I reached into the box and pulled out the last thing: a cool pair of sneakers. I slipped them on my feet and tied them.

With the ensemble completed, I sat down on my bed and stared at my reflection for a long time.

* * *

It may sound like it was easy for me to come to terms with who I had become. And part of me — like, a huge part of me — from the first second, had been incredibly elated and turned on by what had happened to me. But I”d be lying if I told you there wasn”t a bit of apprehension, confusion, and downright strange feelings every time I caught sight of myself in a mirror.

As I sat on my bed and stared at myself, now fully dressed, completely different than I had ever known before, I was having some difficulty with what I was seeing. I wasn”t Greg Baker anymore. Greg Baker was dead, wrapped in a sleeping bag and some bedsheets on the opposite side of the dorm. An undefined anxiety lapped at me as I thought about that.

I was a teenage boy now. Fourteen years old.

My rational mind started to churn. As far as anyone was concerned, I didn”t exist. Like, I had no birth certificate, no identity papers. No school history. No parents, no relatives, no friends. I had no money to call my own, and no job to get it with. I was a kid living on borrowed time in this dorm room. In a few days, I had to be out. Where would I go? Where would I live? What would I do?

Well, first and foremost, I needed to goddamn eat. I suddenly realized I was starving. I hadn”t eaten all day, and honestly cleaning up all that mess had my thoughts as far away from food as possible. But the pangs had suddenly broken through whatever barrier had kept my hunger away for so long.

Was it worth the risk leaving this place for a little while? What about those security cameras? What if someone came in the room while I was gone? What if someone saw a kid walking all by himself on a college campus and called the cops?

Don”t be fucking ridiculous. I was a teenager, not nine. It was only 7:30. Perfectly acceptable for someone my age to be out. And no one was going to come in the room. My roommate was gone for who knows how long, and I — or, rather, Greg — still had a few days left.

My stomach growled. Fuck it. I grabbed some cash from my drawer, where I kept some in case of emergencies in an envelope, and headed for the door.

* * *

Outside, the late fall air made things slightly chilly. I had bought a hoodie, too, but I didn”t think to put it on before I left. That felt like a dumb decision now, but I shrugged to myself as I pressed my hands deeper in the pockets of my jeans to keep them warm.

It was weird being shorter. I don”t think you realize how used to things you get at your height. It”s probably like wearing platform shoes or something, except the opposite. Everyone seemed to tower over me as I wended my way through the campus grounds towards the closest fast food restaurant.

In an effort to look as inconspicuous as possible, I opted to stay away from spots on campus. I didn”t want security or campus police to see me, not that it was so unusual to see a kid on campus. I”m sure many little brothers visited their siblings over the course of the school year, and I could just as easily live close by and simply be passing through the place. Plenty of plausible explanations. But something in the back of my mind said I should go eat somewhere off campus, so that”s where I was headed. There was a McDonald”s just across the street. That should do just fine.

The dining room was sparsely populated as I opened the door and headed for the counter. A few people looked up at me when I entered and then immediately looked away. I scarecly noticed, as my goal was to eat the first thing that appeared in front of me.

I gave my order at the counter and waited for my food. The girl who took it kept stealing glances at me. She was young, probably in high school. Cute, if you”re into that sort of thing. I had to suppress a giggle at the thought that she was staring at me. It made me feel fucking great.

Finally, after what seemed like an inordinate amount of time for a McDonald”s, I picked up my tray of food and plopped myself down at a table to dig in.

I didn”t even notice the guy a few tables away staring at me until I had polished off my burger and fries. I glanced up as a wiped my face with a napkin and we locked eyes for a moment.

I intended to just stare right back at him, but instead I smiled sheepishly and looked away as my heart bounced in my chest. What was that about? I scolded myself. It seemed like such a kiddish reaction. Where did that come from?

I forced myself to look back. This time he was looking away, but you could tell he wanted to look back at me so bad.

He wasn”t terrible looking. Mid thirties, blue collar type. But he had a kind look to him. I have no idea what made me esat escort think that, but I remember thinking he didn”t look like someone I should be afraid of. Not that I had a great street sense or anything.

I got up to clean up my tray, then headed for the bathroom to take care of my bladder.

I had just gotten up to the urinal and unzipped when I heard the door open. A few seconds later, Mr. Blue Collar was at the urinal next to me.

I looked over at him and he looked away quickly.

My heart started to flutter. I kept peeing, but my mind kept wandering and my cock started to stiffen in my hand. The idea that this guy was like, lusting after me was somehow incredibly hot.

I had never had these thoughts before in my life, but here I was, in the body of a fucking fourteen year old, suddely hard at the thought that this guy standing next to me was having a pedo fantasy.

I stopped peeing. I still had to go but my erect cock had made that impossible.

“Having some trouble?”

I looked up at him and felt myself blush. “I guess so,” I mumbled. My voice sounded so young. I was still getting used to it. I felt embarrassed about being caught with a hard-on by a stranger, which again was such a boyish thing to give a shit about, but for whatever reason my body decided it did give a shit even though my mind could only think about reaching over and grabbing this guy”s tool.

I guess he must have seen me look over at dick, because when I looked up he had almost a hunger in his eyes. “Want some help?”

Yes, fucking yes I need some help. I stepped away from the urinal and turned to him. “Lock the door?”

“Probably a good idea.” He leaned over and thumbed the latch closed. He looked me over, and I saw a distant look flicker across his face. “Jesus Christ, kid, you are beautiful.”

I grinned broadly. “I know.”

He pulled his eyes back to me and guffawed. “Well aren”t you modest. What”s your name?”

“Mika.” Because surely, Greg Baker was no more.

“Pretty name. I”m David.”

“Nice to meet you, David, now are you going to help me with this or what?” I was fucking cheeky, wasn”t I? That weird kiddish feeling of embarrassment and timidness seemed to have gone away.

The hunger on his face was palpable. He reached over and grabbed my dick. Immediately, I felt jolts of electricity jump through my groin and up my spine. I must have moaned because he sushed me.

“Jesus, kid. You make sounds like that, you”re gonna have the whole restaurant pounding on the door.” He stroked me gently. I tried to be quieter.

I was bucking my hips with the motion of his hands. The surge of endorphines that ran through me every time his fingers reached the base of my dick and back up again was indescribable. This body was so fucking sensitive.

He kept going, a bit harder and faster. His other hand was on his own cock, stroking it judiciously in rhythm.

I was getting warm all over, hormones surging within me, building, like the tide. I pulled my shirt over my head, and I heard him gasp.

“Fuck,” he moaned, taking his hand off my cock and sliding it up my torso. “You have got to be — ungh — the most beatiful kid I”ve ever seen.”

I grabbed his hand from my smooth belly and directed it back to my cock. Pay attention, I scolded him in my head. I slid one of my hands under his shirt.

He felt decently built, probably from whatever work he did.

“Shit yeah, Mika,” he panted, picking up the pace. “Touch me.”

So I did. I grabbed his dick from his hand and started pumping him, sliding my teenage fingers up and down his shaft. I felt him shudder under me.

“Faster,” he said breathlessly, as he sped up his own movements on my cock while his other hand was now free to explore my body.

His fingers reached my nipples and it was my turn to gasp. It felt like lightning. It radiated through my abdomen and right through the tip of my cock. I felt a pressure building, like a dam, and it was reaching critical mass.

I felt him speed up even more. I, too, was panting now as he stood there, my cock in one hand and his index finger massaging my nipple with the other.

Beads of sweat rolled down my back as I moaned once more. I felt like a steam valve, over stressed. The fire was in my belly and this guy was stoking it with every movement of his fist. I pressed my hips into his hands as I felt the insides of me boil over.

I exploded. Cum flew out of my cock in large spurts, and momentarily I felt dizzy.

Next thing I knew, David”s meat twitched in my hand, too, and spurted stickily all over my hands and the bathroom floor. He grunted as I felt shot after shot come out of his cock.

My own dick pulsed as it pushed out the last of my seed, and I felt the heat begin to subside from the tip of my head. I closed my eyes and felt the aftermath of the climax wash over me.

I took a deep breath and looked up at him.

In the come-down of his orgasm, he looked like he wanted to run away. “Ah shit,” he mumbled. “What the fuck did I do?”

I shrugged. “Gave a hand job to a fourteen year old.”

“Fourteen? Jesus Christ, Mika, I could swear you were like, way older.” His came out shaky. He started to zip up.

“Please,” I said, walking around him to the sink to wash my hands. “I know what I look like.”

He said nothing. I shut off the taps, grabed a towel and turned towards him. He was staring at my ass.

“Oy,” I waved at him as I pulled my underwear and pants up. “My eyes are up here.” I was smirking.

His eyes met mine momentarily and he finally seemed to be able to make his voice work. “If I knew you were packing that…” He trailed off.

I kept smiling crookedly. “Then what?”

He seemed to pull himself back and shook his head. “I– I should go.”

“See you later, David.” I saw him wince as I said his name. He started walking towards the door, but I heard him stop as I looked down to do up my zipper.

“Look, um,” he paused.

I finished zipping up and turned my head to him. He looked uncomfortable. Without looking at me, he pulled out his wallet, took out a hundred dollar bill, and set it on the sink next to him. Then he unlatched the door and left.

* * *

This concludes Chapter 1. I hope you enjoyed it! Drop me a line with your thoughts: ail.

* * *

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