From the rubbish bin and beyond, the tale of OPPAI carries on.
Disclaimer: This work contains adult materials including sexually explicit activities, strong language, and references to rape. This work is not suitable for minors. Reader discretion is advised.
When I released TSF Series #006: Office Party Panic – Amorous Indulgence, I mentioned that I was thinking of creating a sequel story that built off of what I was setting up near the end. I thought about just what this could be sporadically over the ensuing months, but I finally hunkered down and wrote out some ideas back in July… only to stop and realize that the story I wanted to tell was a bit… too out there for a proper sequel, and unless I wanted to have a 3 page prologue segment followed by a disorientingly dissonant and divorced story, I needed to make a sub-sequel.
Which is what I prepared here, a sequel with no recurring characters related to a revelation seen during the last page of TSF Series #006, set 10 days later, and in a different setting. Because while the best tier of sequels are those that directly build on the story, characters, and themes of the original, the second-best tier of sequels are ones that do something completely different.
TSF Series #006-2: Old Person Pandemonium – Anarchistic Incident
I sat back sullenly as I stared blankly at the screen before me. It was the news, same as it always was, keeping me informed about the world outside as I found myself confined in this building. Saint Verde’s. A ‘senior living community,’ and the place I have called my home for over a decade. A despondent dwelling where people arrived, stayed, and left, living out the twilight of their life before passing away either of illness or the simple passage of time and decay of the human body. It was a fate that all with the fortune to live into old age would need to face eventually, including myself.
My name is Jack Crowhurst, 94-years-old, black, and my days consisted of routine and solitude with nothing to distinguish one from the other. I had no visitors in this ‘community,’ no living relatives, and nothing much to do as I woke up, ate, walked around, and returned to my chair, where I sat and watched the television. My eyes were too far gone for me to read literature, my hearing was too shot to enjoy music or books on tape, my body had become too wrapped with arthritis and pain for me to get up and do things, despite my best efforts, and my brain has slowed to a crawl, unable to think with the clarity I once took for granted.
When I did think more complex thoughts, they always aired on the more morbid end of things. About how little meaning my life had at this moment. About whether it was right for me to continue to live, even after I had long since stopped contributing to society in any meaningful way. About the regrets I ignored over the years, as I had nothing but vacant time. And about the world around me, my view of it filtered through biased American news programs that aimed to push their own agendas and narratives on those who lack mental fortitude. However, even I needed to agree with the broadcasters as I saw the current story they were reporting on.
Seven days ago, on December 20th, 2015, a state of emergency was declared in Jenova, Wisconsin. A small city that has been home to hundreds of missing person reports, thousands of sexual assaults, and was supposedly home to a new sexually transmitted disease with almost parasitic properties. Something that took control of one’s libido and caused them to rape those around them, with no regard for sex or age. They made efforts to contain the epidemic, but they could only seal off the roads, and people escaped the town through other means, spreading into neighboring towns, and distributing this disease into new communities.
The entire state has since entered lockdown, and they have sent in armed guards to contain the situation, but that did little to stop the disease from gestating in this community. From people taking to the streets and fucking relentlessly, or from the disease spreading to the guards, whose numbers were decreasing at a rapid rate. While the blistering cold should have kept the situation contained, it did not. People still went out, and nobody in the state was safe due to the tenacity of those who carried the virus.
I tried to reassure myself that I was safe, as I lived in Serif, Virginia, nearly a thousand miles away from this epicenter, but the disease was not isolated to a single location. On the other side of the country, in California, a similar situation was supposedly underway. While it was being contained with a greater sense of emergency and danger, it was still spreading too quickly for the government to establish a proper quarantine. This wasn’t just America either. Similar things were happening in France, South Africa, India, China, Russia, Egypt, Italy, Australia, Japan, Austria, Brazil, Guatemala, Sweden— all over the world.
It was horrifying. It was inexplicable. And while I could plainly tell that I was being withheld information based on how they presented the footage, I still took this news in with dread. I did not want to die knowing that this is what the world became, yet as I looked at the fuzzy newsfeed on my screen, it seemed inevitable.
The broadcast ended with the familiar white anchorman and black anchorwoman advising people to stay inside, lock their doors, and avoid going out to large crowds during this festive season. It was not a problem for me, as I had no reason or cause to leave this place, yet I knew fully well that many people within this building left for Christmas with their families, and now, on December 27th, they still had yet to return. I wanted to somehow prevent this from happening, but I was just an old man. Somebody who could not hope to fight back any opposition any longer, and could barely walk more than a few steps without an aid.
I wrapped my shaky hand against the frail plastic remote of my television and fumbled until I pressed a finger down on the power button, causing its flashy light to give way to darkness. I stewed in a mixture of frustration and fear as I shut my eyes for a mere moment before I found myself thrust back into reality with the sound of a familiar chime that preceded an equally familiar recording of a young woman.
“Attention residents, it is 5 PM. Dinner is now being served in the dining hall.”
With a flare of my nostrils, I rose out of my chair and grabbed my nearby walker. While my hunger and appetite had become nonexistent in recent years, I knew the value of meals, of finding a reason to leave my room and do something, and would not let an opportunity like this pass me by. I shuffled my body towards the door out of my room, went through the small ordeal that opening and locking a door had become, and entered the hallway to begin my 150 meter trek to the dining hall. As I did so, I noted other residents exiting their room. Most were younger than me, a few older, and all of them in varying states of mobility. Some walked with no aids, others sported a cane, some used electric wheelchairs, but far more were like me, using their walkers to provide them with security as they moved onwards, their inflamed fingers wrapped around the handles.
I remember when I was younger and looked down at people like this. When I viewed these people as weak, as having gotten lazy, having lost the resolve and drive to better themselves and fight against their biological degeneration. I took pride in my strength, in my ability, and my body. I made it a duty to exercise and preserve what I had daily, and while I had become marred by age as I reached my 70s, I could still run with my own two feet, still had stamina and energy to spare, and still had the strength to do anything I came across in my daily life. But then I took a fall, both figuratively and literally.
One problem escalated into several. I was forced to get some rest, and as I did so, my muscles became weak. I tried to reclaim what I lost during this time of atrophy when I recovered, but I was not the same. It became hard enough to cling to what I retained after my injuries, and no matter how hard I tried, my body refused to improve itself, refused to heal itself properly. From there, it was a slow and steady decline. From my legs, to my cane, and now to my walker, which drifted across the floor of the halls. Now, I need to fight for my right to do basic things. Dressing myself, showering, and… well, that’s about it. I lacked the mobility to clean my unit in comfort, and I had long since given up on the ability to make and prepare my own food. I accepted that I would spend the rest of my life consuming the subpar slop that they served us, thankful for just having a meal in my stomach, regardless of its quality. Besides, it was never truly inedible.
As I trudged to the dining hall, I said my passing hellos to these people, as I often did, but I did not stop to make small talk with them. A direness laid on the faces of many of them, fueled by budding unrest that was assuredly becoming commonplace across every corner of the world. For as safe as we may have been in a regulated building like this, most residents had people they cared about outside of these walls. People who were more vulnerable, and who could become targets of this growing virus.
As I grew tired of such tired empty concerns, I made it to the dining hall, a collection of tables and chairs, laid out to accommodate mobility aids, and adorned with the typical furnishings one would expect of any eatery. I made my way to my usual table, one near the back of the hall, and sat in my lonesome as I watched my fellow residents filter in one by one. Some of them I knew by name, others I regarded as simple strangers, and of the residents in this building, there was only one I knew, or cared to know, well enough to consider him my friend.
It was cold to view others like that, but after having lost so many people I was close with, I did not want to open up to somebody who, based on my track record over the past decade, would wind up dead in a matter of months. Nor did I want my passing to bring sorrow within anyone, like the sorrow I’d been subjected to throughout my life. There were friends I simply lost track of, friends I drifted from as we stopped contacting one another. However, most were like the friends I made at Saint Verde’s. People who passed away before me.
While most people my age had children or grandchildren who they could look at and love without fear of them dying before them, that was a luxury I did not have. My only child, my daughter, passed away in 1956, at the age of 14. She fought righteously and died young for her avarice, with semen in her stomach and a bullet in her brain. After her passing, my wife and I fell into sorrow and separated in 1958. We reconnected as friends 2 years later, but whatever new affection we were developing for one another shattered prematurely, as she passed away in 1963. When they left my life, I felt weak, vulnerable, like everything was taken from me, and all I had left was myself. I wanted to make myself strong enough to combat anything I ever came across, and as I did so, I drowned my despair with fatigue, exhaustion, and adrenaline.
It was like a military boot camp… on steroids. Every morning and every night, I would train my body. Every week, I would test my mettle and learn how to better my mind along with my body. By the end of the decade, I felt like a renewed person, a powerful man who could do anything he set out to, and had the confidence needed to succeed and I did… until I fell, and then I failed. I am proud of what I accomplished, but… it’s all gone now. My strength is gone, all the work I accomplished has assuredly been forgotten, and if I were to die, I doubt I would have anybody who would mourn my loss. That is, except for the man shuffling up to my table.
A man by the name of Gem Stone. He was a Guatemalan fellow, about a decade younger than me, and still had the fortitude and fortune needed to walk only with a cane. We knew each other for the bulk of our lives, having worked together as carpenters, handymen, people who renovated buildings, built new ones, and did a bit of everything. It was hard work, but work that came in regularly, paid well, and allowed me to support myself into old age without worry or concern for my finances.
Regardless, Gem was always an odd character. He followed the beat of his own drum, did not pay too much mind to implied etiquette, was always friendly and welcoming to those he met, and had moments of brilliance. I was convinced he could have done anything he set his mind to, but instead, he decided he wanted to work with his hands, to make lasting structures, and if he didn’t, he and I would have likely never met. While I have reasons to be jealous of him due to his aptitude with the new and unfamiliar, especially electronics, his thick curly hair, and his comparable youth, he and I still got along well, and were staples in each other’s lives.
“Evening, Gem,” I said, my voice hoarse and strained as per usual.
“And good evening to you too, Jack,” Gem replied as he sat himself down. “I take it that you spent much of your afternoon watching the news.”
“Yes, unfortunately. Things are getting worse by the hour.”
“And they are still calling it a disease, correct?”
“Are you implying that it isn’t?”
“Well, I’ve been going through Twitter and—”
“What’s Twitter again?” I said, accepting my ignorance.
“It’s a website where people write little comments about myriad happenings, share photos and videos, and get into petty arguments. However, it is also a platform for anybody to distribute news, causing it to be dramatically less limited than what you see on TV news.”
“Ah,” I began, “so people under quarantine are sharing what’s really going on, is that right?”
“That is right! A lot of the videos and photos were removed because users flagged them as ‘explicit’ but as things got out of hand, more and more of this socially distributed media has been coming through the cracks, and it’s quite something. Here, allow me to share a few examples with you.”
Gem leaned a hand into his jeans and pulled out his smartphone. A piece of space-grade technology that I barely understood. I learned how to use a computer at a public library in the 1990s, but never had much of a use for them, never owned one myself, and now, I probably couldn’t use one properly if I wanted to. Not with these hands.
Gem tapped his significantly straighter fingers onto the screen, poking away at the touch screen before turning it to look like one of those new TVs and pointing it in my direction. It was a video inside a repurposed shelter, maybe a community center, where people huddled together, wrapping themselves with blankets, and still wearing their coats. I could not make out their faces, but the vague shapes of their bodies made their forlorn state painfully clear. The footage then shifted over to the side abruptly and revealed a barricade broken by a group of figures, about a dozen of them, who dashed towards the huddled masses. They grabbed the first person they could, tore off their clothes, and immediately assaulted them.
“Turn this shit off!” I shouted at Gem, my voice louder than it ought to be.
“Please be patient, Jack. In nary a minute, you’ll—”
As Gem prepared his reply, he was cut off by the sound of the packed utility cart being parked right before our table. He put his phone back into his pants as this happened, and we both directed our attention as the person pushing the cart. A young college-aged Asian man who greeted us with a smile.
“Good evening, gentleman. Tonight we have spaghetti with meat sauce, cream of mushroom soup, and beef stew. Which would you prefer?”
“I’ll have the mushroom soup, thank you kindly!” Gem answered with enthusiasm.
“I’ll take the… beef stew, thank you,” I replied, choosing something at random.
“And would you like anything to drink, or just water?” The young man asked as he plucked bowls off our table and filled them with the contents of the large pots he pushed around on his cart.
“I would like a glass of apple juice, good sir!”
“Just water for me.”
After pouring Gem a glass, placing our bowls before us, and leaving a platter of pre-sliced bread on the table, the young man left us for another table. I thought about reminding Gem of the video he was showing me before this man’s arrival, but he was already giddily slurping up his soup. With a shrug, I did the same with my stew, poking away at it with my spoon while filling myself with a watery concoction of meat, potatoes, peas, and carrots. It tasted the same as every other time I tried it, so I still kept my pace and attempted to empty my bowl before leaving the dining hall. Or at least that was my plan.
As I was about… a fourth of the way through my meal, I looked over to the other side of the room and saw a woman standing up, hacking, and convulsing. It was a sad, albeit common, sight, and a staff member rushed to help her. Then the same thing happened a table over… and a table over from there. I left my spoon in the bowl as I looked at Gem with concern, only for our suspicions to be ignited by a buzz from the speaker system.
“Attention all residents. Please return to your rooms in a calm and orderly fashion. I repeat. Please return to your rooms in a calm and orderly fashion.”
Both Gem and I wasted little time heeding this warning. We abandoned our meals as they were, and while the rest of the dining hall was erupting into a furor, we were moving out the door, splitting off to your respective rooms. As I moved one foot in front of the other, I felt something stir in my stomach and began to question what I ate, if it was tainted with something unfit for human consumption. Something dangerous. Something like the ‘disease’ that was spreading across the world.
As I arrived at my door, making far better time than I normally did, I put such thoughts aside, got out my key, and locked myself in as quickly as possible. I let the security of a light piece of wood waft through me for a moment as I stood there, my fingers still clenched to my walker and my breathing haggard. As I looked over my unit, noting where my water and pre-packaged snacks were, my stomach once again flared up with pressure.
Out of caution, and fear of shitting my pants, I moved over to my bathroom, wheeling myself there with the intention of sitting on the toilet until this foul feeling in my gut dissipated. Upon entering the room, I got my bearings, reminding myself of where my elevated toilet was, and casually looking over to the mirror above the sink… only to immediately do a double-take as I glimpsed at my reflection.
This morning, my face was tattered, strained, and sagged with age, coated with small imperfections, and lacking a single square centimeter without a wrinkle of some sort. Yet now… I looked like I did when I first attended this retirement home. My face was still that of an old man, one could easily grab a handful of loose skin from my neck, but all the extremity of my features had subsided. My head, while still shaved down to half a centimeter, had notably fewer gray hairs poking out from my scalp, and had mostly returned to its stark black color. I did not look young by anybody’s stretch of the imagination; I looked younger.
Curious, I looked over the rest of my body to see if there were any other changes. My body and stature were still shorter than they were during the prime of my life, and while I could not see much of my person beyond my torso, I felt different. The aches, the pains, and rigidness of my joints, it was all still there, but I felt as if I just received a shot of something more powerful than cortisone. I felt younger.
Based on these two observations, I was, somehow, at least biologically, younger. But before I could investigate any further, the pain in my stomach got worse, and I swerved my way over to the toilet, moving faster than I have in a good decade or two. I thrust my pants down, planted my ass onto the seat, and almost immediately voided my bowels. Searing hotness poured throughout my anus as solids, liquids, and gas all came rushing throughout this one hole, desperate to escape, while a burning sensation flowed through my penis and out my urethra, culminating in a cascade of piss that burst against the bowl. I lunged forward and groaned as I waited for my body to expel all it could, shocked at the sheer volume of rejected sustenance I was unleashing.
Thankfully, the process did not last long. I cleared my body of waste, and the scent of my own shit, farts, and piss was floating throughout the room, even after I flushed it away. I sighed as I laid back against the upright toilet seat, looking up at the ceiling as I let this calm wash over me. As I did so, my glasses eased down my nose, and while this should have left me blind to the world around me, my vision was only enhanced.
I could see the paint adorning the surface above me, the small cracks and chippings that developed over the years, and small traces of blackness around the corner where it intersected with the walls. I took off my glasses completely and began looking over the rest of my bathroom. The tiled floor had dust gunk up around the edges, the windowsill had not been dusted for weeks, and my shower curtain had seen far better days.
“What the hell am I paying the cleaning people for?” I murmured to myself as I noted the filth surrounding me.
However, before I could stand up or examine just how dirty the rest of my unit was with my renewed vision, I was drawn down to the rest of my body before, as I felt a stirring in a place that had been dormant for… God knows how many years. It was my penis, fully erect, pointing upright, and narrowly avoiding the rim of the toilet seat I planted myself on. I could feel it calling out to me, my non-functioning libido springing to life, and a sense of arousal urging me to do something I had not done in nearly half my life.
I found my left hand drifting to the appendage between my two legs, and my fingers soon latched around the shaft. My jutting and uneven bones rubbed against both each other and my dick. And while they had become ill-equipped to do oh so much, they could do this. My grip was tight, my technique was frantic, and as I embraced this intimate reunion with something I had long since discarded as a trait of the young and virile, I finished. I lasted no more than two minutes before a white liquid burst from my dick, leaping over the toilet seat and landing in my boxers, still wrapped around my ankles.
“Shit,” I said to myself as I realized I had sullied my underwear, but even after thrusting my dick down into the bowl, it did not stop cumming. It got faster, harder, and kept going, burst after burst, until my balls were sore and aching. Once I felt a moment of calm within my hot and pulsating dick, I let my hand go and began panting. The afterglow was a warm and embracing one. It felt as if two of my happy pills just kicked in.
Yet, it was not enough for me to ignore the fact that something strange was going on with my body, and once I felt this feeling of bliss finish its initial run through my system, I returned my vision towards my penis… which was a mere fourth of its former length. While the scrotum beneath it shrank to the point where it barely existed, being nothing more than a mesh of floppy skin that clung to the rest of my crotch.
I stared at my body in both shock and befuddlement as I tried to comprehend just what I was even looking at. I poked at my shifting form, clenched my penis as it shrunk into little more than a head, but my body moved regardless of what my hands did. My penis head shrunk into nothing more than a small nub, while the area below it began to… open up. From the soft fold of what was once my scrotum, a tuft of puffy skin formed, and between its two folds laid a new orifice.
“What the fuck is happening to me!?” I shouted as loudly as I could, my voice cracking on the final word.
I stood up and attempted to flee from this unprecedented transformation, only for my legs to immediately become tangled in the pants and cum-stained boxers wrapped around my legs. I narrowly avoided slamming onto the floor by grabbing onto one of the safety bars around my toilet, but as I attempted to lift myself upright, a sharp pain shot up my spine, causing my grip to falter.
A scream escaped my mouth as I tumbled onto the tiled floor. I tried to lift myself almost immediately, only for my body to be assaulted by three sensations simultaneously. A numbness perpetuated throughout my body, robbing me of my finer motor skills. My skin erupted in a prickling sensation, a potent form of paresthesia. While a warmth, a heat, coursed through my body, causing my pores to secrete sweat in a vain effort to cool myself down.
I shut my eyes as the pain settled in and convulsed my body in a panic. I kicked off my velcro shoes, wiggled my pants off of my feet, spat out my dentures, and tossed and turned my body around, clinging to the coolness of the floor below. I could not say how long this sensation lasted, only that I was immersed in relief once it was all over.
When that happened, once the pain left my body, I was splayed over the floor haphazardly, my sweater was off, and I was staring at the ceiling. I sat myself up and learned that my body was still wrapped by numbness, making me unable to piece together more than a fuzzy outline of my person. Still, I sat myself up from the floor and reached out to the bathroom counter before me, lunging myself up using a single hand… with alarming ease.
I would have paused to acknowledge this revelation in more detail, but I was immediately met with the sight of a young black woman staring back at me. Her hair was covered only by a thin layer of hair, her body was tall and thriving with muscles, and her face… made me nostalgic for something I have tried to forget for most of my life.
The woman before me was dressed only in an undershirt that hung limply from her notable, but manageable breasts, and beneath that, she was wearing nothing at all. I jumped reflexively as I saw her, but as she did the same, and I recalled where I was in the bathroom, I realized that this woman… was me.
“How is this—” I began, stopping as I heard an unfamiliar and unmistakably female voice escape from my lips. I spoke easily, clearly, without the same hoarseness I had adopted over the years. I sounded young. I looked young. And as I moved my hand up to the mirror, splaying my fingers across it with ease, every one of my digits perfectly straight, feeling strength resonating between my muscular arms, I felt young. I reclaimed my youth… but became a woman in the process.
My mind then began to aimlessly pontificate how such a transformation was possible given my limited scientific and technical knowhow, while my eyes looked down and my body moved about in ways it hadn’t for a disparagingly long time. I could lift my arms above my head with ease, I could squat down and lift myself up from the floor using only my legs, and I was even able to spread them apart far further than ever before, performing a split with ease.
“I have everything I desired for these past few decades, and all it cost me was my sex,” I said to myself, still stunned by my new voice. “I’d say it was well worth it, but still… can I do this?”
I came from an era of rigid gender roles, where sexism was more accepted, and while I had faced enough hardships to know that I should accept others for who they were, I was a proponent of norms that women have been fending off for decades. I went to war under the pretense of protecting my wife and our unborn child. I worked hard for them and expected them to be ready to greet me as I came home from a hard day’s work. Once they were gone, the women in my life dwindled in numbers, and due to my profession, I spent the bulk of my days around other men.
My sheltered existence in this retirement home had limited my understanding of the world, as there is only so much that one can absorb and impart from news broadcasts. I had few references for what young people were truly like nowadays, and even fewer about young women. But that’s what I was now. And I would only learn more about the world, and my new role in it, by entering it. By leaving this home and building a new life for myself. I can start my life fresh, anew, and try to learn from my many mistakes going forward. I was given a second chance, and I should be embracing it rather than sulking away at how much my new face reminded me of my daughter before she was murdered.
“And what better way to embrace my body than to explore it on the most intimate level possible?” I said out loud, leaning towards the mirrors as I took a deep look at the clean smooth visage I had been gifted by forced unknown.
Spurred by my last burst of male bliss, I looked down at myself, tore my undershirt away to reveal my breasts and the musculature that covered my torso, and brought a hand to my reshaped genitalia. It was warm, soft, and filled me with memories of halcyon days that had been distorted through time. Of being with my wife. Of being with other women before and after her. I had to ask myself how long it was since I had known a woman’s touch on an intimate level, and the answer I came to was half my life.
“Well then, I really need to make up for lost time, now don’t I?” I said to myself as I looked back at my mirror. It, along with my sink, were positioned lower than most to accommodate for my reduced height, another sorrowful part of the aging process. But now that my stature had been restored, if not exceeded, it was well below my torso, and my crotch. A smirk danced across my face as a deviant idea crossed my mind, and I resumed my exploration while standing, both looking down at myself and at the reflection in the mirror.
I shook my head as I found myself distracted by the foreplay and just decided to ‘stick it in’ as quickly as possible, ramming my right index finger into my new hole. I did so flippantly, thrusting the entirety of the digit past the protective folds and into the tender flesh that laid beneath. A spark gyrated throughout my spine and to the entirety of my person, leaving me momentarily paralyzed as my reformed teeth ground together. I recoiled my finger reflexively and brought it up to my face. It was slightly damp, but otherwise completely unremarkable.
A straight slender mesh of skin, muscles, joints, and bones, no more than 7 centimeters in length, and it was enough to overwhelm my body with just a touch. It was, at least in a sense, terrifying. But in another, more primal, sense, it was invigorating. Wasting little time, I decided to try again, pairing two fingers together as I returned to my vagina, bringing them in slowly as I brushed my skin into what laid within me.
My body shook as I made this internal voyage and in the mirror my face wore a look of wary pleasure, with my mouth agape, cheeks reddening, and eyes wide. I took slow breaths as I continued, steadily building out a familiar area within my vaginal canal as I moved my fingers around it, finding spots that were more or less sensitive. I shut my eyes as I fixated on the sensation, baffled by the vastness that laid within me and how even a single touch could fill me with such pleasure.
My legs wobbled as I continued, but I tensed my muscles in response. I was strong. I was able. I could do anything I wanted, and I did not need to take no for an answer. I opened my eyes to remind myself of who I physically was now. I had the body of an athlete. I was likely as strong as I ever was. And while I wished dearly to enjoy this body, I would do so while acknowledging its strength. I stood valiantly as I picked up the pace, moving my fingers in and out of my person, and taking my unused left hand to my breasts.
I pressed my fingers against the soft and malleable tissue, letting out a gasp as I did so, before diverting my attention to the nipples. What were once odd flaps of charcoal-colored skin had become clusters of stimuli, where even a slight touch could breed a strong reaction. From the sudden unpleasant jolt I felt when I first yanked off my undershirt, to the sensation of wrapping my fingers around them, pinching the skin as it hardened.
My breath fastened as my hands explored my more intimate regions and I became increasingly aware of just how different my body now was. My eyes narrowed, I wore an open grin, and I saw sweat develop across my forehead. I looked like a woman in erotic bliss and… I was. But as I neared a resolution, as I could feel my body reach a climax, I took note of a neglected part of my person that I was only reminded of as I looked back at myself in the mirror. The part that used to be the head of my penis, but was now a small nub that stood above my attended hole. My hands occupied, I reached an unused thumb upwards to this part and began to exert pressure on it with a slight flick.
I tensed my legs and rear into a squatting position as I felt my body lose the resolve to fight against gravity, only to then straighten myself as I continued to stimulate this new part of me, my clitoris, with greater care. My mind became foggy as I felt pleasure from three avenues, my breathing only grew faster, and as I settled into my groove, I reached an apex. My right hand became drenched in a clear fluid, and my body became washed with relief, the absolvement of building tension. My experience dictated that this sensation would be followed with calm and clarity, but my body remained willing to continue, ready for a “round 2” as it were. However, it also pleaded with me to stop standing. My jutting and large hips were sore, and my legs quivered in the aftermath. I brought them closer as I removed my hands from my person, and with my breath slowed, I looked at the mirror, shooting my reflection a smile.
“Y’know, I think I’m going to get on with this body just fine,” I said to myself, gripping the counter for support. “But I made a bit of a mess, now didn’t I?”
I looked across the bathroom floor and spied my clothing still scattered about, my dentures sitting right next to the door, my walker unattended, and a small puddle of viscous goo resting between my feet. It would have been an ordeal, if not impossible, for me to safely clean all of this just an hour ago. But now, it only took a matter of seconds for me to gather everything into a pile, wash and place my dentures into a case, not that I would ever have a use for them going forward, and take a damp and soapy washcloth over the area of impact and the dust-riddled corners. I looked over my work with a degree of pride, but then spied a stray drop of liquid drip onto the floor from my crotch, and brushed a finger against my chest, where I felt the remnants of sweat.
“If I am going to clean this place up, I may as well clean myself too,” I said as I peered into my bath. It, like all showers and bathtubs in Saint Verde’s, was customized for safety, equipped with a tub seat and an attachment for the showerhead redirecting the water. They were aids I once needed and appreciated… but I wasted little time ripping them away, chucking them into the bathroom corner, and effortlessly stepping into the tub, standing proudly as the water sprayed down onto me… and my boobs, but not my head, as this shower was presumably built for gnomes.
I grumbled slightly as I crouched myself down, allowing the lukewarm water to coat my buzzed head before trickling down my body, dampening every contour as I gracefully turned around. Like everything else I’d done since I underwent my transformation, it granted me a riveting sense of autonomy, paired with the thrill of stimulating something palpably new and different, reframing a familiar act I had done countless times as a novel experience. One that brought me joy, understanding, and a more simple form of satisfaction as I moved my limber hands across my new form.
The process of dousing, lathering, and rinsing my person only lasted a matter of minutes before I emerged from the shower, wetting the floor below me as I lunged for a towel and dried myself off while gazing into the mirror.
“I guess this really is me from now on,” I said to my reflection. “After 94 years, this is who Jack Crowhurst became. A young woman. The sooner I just accept that, the better, and after what I just did, I can’t in good consciousness claim that I truly dislike what happened to me. But what about my name? I suppose that Jack can be a unisex name, as an abbreviation for something like Jacquelynne, but even then it was more commonly shortened to Jackie. …Actually, I have no reason to make a final decision like that now. However, I should get out of my unit sooner than later. If this happened to me, it assuredly happened to dozens of other people, and at least one of them is surely trying to establish order… but before I go out, I need to get dressed, now don’t I?”
I let out a sigh as I made this revelation, finished drying myself, and raided my limited closet. I was at least 15 centimeters taller than I was before my transformation, had an ass and hips that were so big that I couldn’t hoist a pair of trousers past them, and while my feet had gotten smaller, I needed nothing more than a pair of socks. It took a good plundering before I found an outfit that could at least cover me up, and what I settled on was… unflattering. I wound up wearing a short tank top that limited any chaffing, a dress shirt that failed to cover my midriff and stopped partway down my forearms, and a pair of sweatpants that clung against my butt while failing to cover any part of my legs beyond my calves.
“Well, I look like a ripe piece of shit, now don’t I?” I said as I looked into my reflection in the bathroom mirror, raising a leg upwards with relative ease. “I look like I pillaged one of those clothing donation boxes you see outside of supermarkets… but I doubt I’m alone on that front.”
Upon uttering a disgruntled sigh over my garbage fashion choice, I grabbed my key and swung the door to my unit open with a resounding thud, casting me into the hallway, where I was greeted with the sort of sights I should have expected. Young people, or at least young-looking people, wandering about the halls, shoddily dressed, and wandering in various directions. Some were pounding on doors, others were talking, and a few… were just fucking each other right in the middle of the hallway.
I knew that they were all people I saw on a daily basis, but as I looked at them, 50 to 80 years younger, and as members of the opposite sex, I only saw a sea of strangers. It was disconcerting. Being in a familiar place but with nothing else familiar for me to grasp onto, not even myself. However, I had to find some answers, see some order restored, and as I asked myself where somebody would go to re-establish order, I assumed it would be the head of Saint Verde’s and home to its intercom. The administrator’s office.
I paid little mind to those littering the halls as I walked forward, and they paid little mind to me, far too absorbed in their own circumstances to complicate their lives by requesting a stranger’s aid. By retaining this focus, and by moving at a pace greater than the 4 kilometer per hour, I made it to my destination within a minute, where I underestimated my own strength and slammed the door open in an echoing thud. I was greeted with the familiar furnishings and chachkies I had become acquainted with from my frequent visits to his office to complain about this and that. Yet as I turned my head towards where he usually sat, I was instead met with the sight of a young Latina woman with short curly black hair. Her naked body splayed amidst disheveled papers and office supplies, an elated look on her face, and a wad of cum sprayed across her tits.
Shock adorned my face as I took in this sight, only for it to subside once I reminded myself that a display such as this was relatively normal. Instead, I looked beyond her, where I was met with the first familiar face I’d seen since I transformed. It was a young Asian man, the same one who served me dinner, standing before this woman, naked, with his semi-erect penis pointing in her general direction. A startled look was painted on his face as he looked directly at me, but it soon culled away into a toothy grin.
“Didn’t your parents ever tell you to knock? Honestly, I would think that people of my generation would have a touch more respect for the little things. Oh well. At least you interrupted me after I finished.”
“Are you the one responsible for this?”
“Oh, absolutely. And assuming you keep your head cool for just a few minutes, I shall regale you with the story of how things turned out this way. Think of it as a… rehearsal for when I speak to the rest of the residents of Saint Verde’s.”
“…Why do I have the feeling that you’re the type of person who’s fucked a piece of fruit before, or at least shoved a fistful of berries up their ass?”
“Well, I did masturbate with a cucumber once during my adolescence, but—”
“Just… go on and try to justify your actions, you strange little man. Do it before I punch you in the dick.”
“Hmph. Very well,” the man said as he began his speech. “Now, I do not recognize you, so I doubt you will recognize me, but I am another resident of Saint Verde’s, and my name is, or I suppose was, Ji-Hyun Xing. On Christmas day, my nephew and his family picked me up and brought me to their home to celebrate this secular holiday in our own preferred way. It was a pedantic affair beyond the joy vicariously experienced by all as we looked upon the chickadees while they cast their presents open and emitted sounds of pure unfettered bliss.
At least until it came time for dinner. I know not if it was the duck, the rice, or even the sauce, but as we ate, a rumbling developed across the table, and before our very eyes, the people before us began to change. The children dashed through puberty, the seniors shed years, men became women, and women became men. Furor led to fervor, and fervor led to fucking.”
“By sundown, the entire family had lost themselves in erotic bliss, delighted by their transformation, and dismissing the shame they had for their incestuous ways, lest we all become wrapped with disdain for one another. I considered myself to be the most fortunate of all, freed from the forlorn chains of my decaying body, and granted the ability to start anew. I wanted everyone to experience such elation, and so I made a plan. To impersonate my grand nephew, Zhou Xing, a 19-year-old who worked part-time at Saint Verde’s, and whom I bore an uncanny resemblance to after my transformation.”
“A transformation caused by a virus of many names, and spread by the simple exchange of bodily fluids. Blood, urine, but most potently, sexual fluids. And so I decided the best way to spread the bliss of this transformation was to ejaculate into your entrees as they were being made for dinner this evening, where the virus would permeate and spread upon consumption. Consuming such a small quantity diluted and delayed the process, which is most expedient when transferred through genital coitus, but the results should be obvious to all involved. And for those who forwent dinner, or were delayed on their way to the hall… I doubt they will remain the same come midnight.”
“You see, in addition to regaining your youth, I am sure you will come to notice many other things about your new body. Your thoughts shall become clearer, your learning capabilities will greatly improve, your body shall thrive with strength, agility, and dexterity, and your libido will be as virile as a man in the prime of his life. Though most of all, your identity will begin to steadily shift, learning to accept your new body within time. I ask that you do not view this transformation and its aftershocks with fear, but with excitement. You have reclaimed something invaluable, have the opportunity to be better than before, and I urge you to learn to love what you have become. Much like how I have learned to adore myself all over again after shedding my past away and metamorphosing from a frail old lady into a strong young man by the name of Ji-Hoon.”
As Ji-Hyun finished their speech, I looked at them dumbfounded as I collected my thoughts and formulated my response.
“Okay… Ji-Hoon, I have three comments about that speech of yours. One, that was pedantic as hell. I get that you love your new voice, but nobody cares what your Christmas was like. Two, thank you for spurring on this transformation. You have given me, and presumably everybody at Saint Verde’s something we lost and have been craving for years. Something truly invaluable. Three, fuck you for cumming in our food and doing this without our consent, you piece of shit!”
“Heh. I cannot say that response was unexpected, but I must ask you, how would you rather I introduce the concept of this virus to you? Should I have—”
As Ji-Hoon began his response, his voice just as quickly squeaked into silence, before his body crumbled down to the floor a moment later. The cause? A calf being kicked square into his crotch, smacking against his loins, slamming his newly formed balls inwards. The person responsible for this? None other than the Latina woman with cum on her tits, who became mere set dressing during my conversation with Ji-Hoon.
“That’s for raping me, you motherfucker!” The woman screamed as she lifted herself upright.
She then spat onto Ji-Hoon as he crunched up into a fetal position, cupping his nards as his face twisted in a pain that every man ought to know.
“Y’know, I was planning on doing that myself, but you just saved me the trouble, Miss… or Mister—”
“Jack, do you truly not recognize me?”
As the woman before me said that, I looked her over, starting with her short curly black hair, and immediately felt like a dumbass.
“Gem, is that really you? I gotta say, I never thought you’d look quite like… this as a woman,” I said, staring at Gem’s huge floppy tits
“Yes, I am indeed Gem Stone. I experienced a transformation shortly after returning to my unit, and almost immediately left to report it, when I ran into this unsavory individual—”
“You know, I can still hear you two!” Ji-Hoon shouted in a strained voice.
“You raped me. There are dozens of worse derogatory terms I could call you beyond ‘unsavory.’ I simply chose that term as I did ultimately enjoy myself.”
“Well, maybe I am a rapist,” Ji-Hoon said as he rose up from the floor. “Perhaps I was being a bit rash and brash, blinded by my reclaimed vigor, and for that, I apologize to all of you. But I trust you shall thank me in the long run, especially after you gain a more intimate appreciation of your bodies as you embark on the grand voyage that is your rejuvenated and remixed lives. If you will excuse me, I shall dress myself, and go about establishing order. In the meantime, you might want to find an outfit befitting Miss Stone’s new stature.”
With that, Ji-Hoon left the administrator’s office, limping slightly from the kick to the balls he received minutes ago. I turned to look at Gem, who returned to me with a smile, and I wasted little time grabbing their hand and leaving this room, bringing the two of us out into the unrest and confusion that filled the halls before making it to Gem’s unit. A room adorned with framed pop art and eccentric belongings from all corners of the world, all meticulously organized, avoiding the clutter that often befell upon avid collectors of dust collectors.
“Jack, you are aware that I could have made it back to my room on my own, correct? I am fully able now, after all.”
“So, you wanted me to leave a naked rape victim to roam the halls of a place where people are casually fucking on the couches?”
“Oh, I had not considered that. In that case, thank you for your consideration, good sir— or perhaps you prefer to go by ma’am now.”
“I— look, I just Jilled off in front of a mirror an hour ago, so I really am in no place to defend my masculinity. Just call me whatever you want for the time being, I guess.”
“Well, just remember that your identity should not be limited to what your body now is. I’m sure that as this virus spreads that the world’s views on gender will revolutionize, so do not feel you need to stick to anything right now. Oh, how exciting!”
“Um, sure…” I said, not sure how to interpret Gem’s enthusiasm, or even what they were going on about. “Anyway, you might want to shower off some of the… cum on your chest, as well as any sweat and the like. You do that, I’ll head back to my room to see if I have anything that will fit you, and then we can raid your closet. How does that sound?”
“That is a most splendiferous idea, my friend! I shall shower expediently… but if the urge to explore comes to me, I may need to extend the process.”
“Sure thing, Gem,” I said as I ventured out into the halls of Saint Verde’s once more.
I grabbed what I could from my disheveled closet of old man clothes, which is to say not much, and returned to Gem’s room, where the water was still running, implying that Gem got a little frisky in the cleaning process. I smiled as I realized this, and bided my time by watching Gem’s television and checking the local news, mostly out of curiosity over whether news of Saint Verde’s had reached the outside world. However, I almost immediately realized that what was happening here was far from the most pressing story in the world, or even in this quaint town.
The familiar hosts of the news were replaced with those of the opposite sex, that of a white woman with short hair and a black man with billowing long hair. Both dressed in ill-fitting suits, both no older looking than myself or Gem, and both looked at the camera and spoke with hesitation. While I could not recollect the minute details of either anchor’s appearance, it was clear what was going on as I looked down to the lower third and saw a headline reading ‘sex change virus sweeps Serif, VA’.
Every second from there only provided further reassurance that what happened at Saint Verde’s was no isolated incident. That this entire town had been affected, that details about the virus had been withheld for bullshit reasons, and that this was becoming a pandemic far too large for anyone to ignore any longer. Confusion, fear, and uncertainty were plainly on the minds of those who doled out and wrote this information, and I could not help but share their uncertainty.
This was an issue well beyond me. Well beyond Saint Verde’s. Well beyond this town, this state, this nation, and even this continent. This affected everyone, and assuming this continued to spread at this rate, I could barely even fathom what the world would look like a few days or weeks from now. Would humanity languish into chaos, or prosper through these catastrophic life-improving transformations of ridiculously insane spectacle, or would it be the beginning of the end? Only time would tell.
Six Months Later
June 23rd, 2016
The pestering electronic chirping was the first thing to wake me up most mornings, and this was no different. It spurred me through what had become my routine for the past few weeks, since Saint Verde’s was repurposed, and my living situation changed. From a retirement home to a cramped 3 bedroom apartment with 5 other people, including Gem, who laid beside me. I gingerly pried away her flailed arm from off my abs as I got out of the bed, silenced the infernal racket, and began making my way out of the bedroom.
I groggily made my way through the common area of our dwelling, illuminated only by sunlight, as I set about the steps I needed to get ready for the day and get out of here within an hour. Making coffee, cutting up a pear, toasting some bread, and throwing three eggs into a pan to fry them up, all while listening to the news on my wireless earbuds. Because while the news was always important, things have been in a constant state of flux ever since it made its rounds across the entire world.
On December 17th, 2015, 69 people across the world woke up with the genitalia of the opposite sex. 17 immediately went to a medical facility to examine this sudden transformation, but the rest carried out their days, only to find that with new sexual organs, they gained an insatiable libido and could go no more than a few hours without masturbating. Every time they did so, their bodies transformed, gaining more traits of a young adult of the opposite sex. Middle-aged women became men at the prime of their life, small boys became fully grown women, and it all happened rapidly within a few hours.
These 69 individuals were separated by thousands of miles, had no connections, and had no knowledge of each other’s existence until they were informed and introduced to others as time went on. They were random individuals selected by some unidentifiable force that infected them with something originally dubbed the Provectus Pathogen. A microbe transferred via bodily fluids that rapidly spreads throughout the human body and alters it on a genetic level, into something so dramatically different from that of a Homo Sapien that those with the Provectus Pathogen have been given the classification of Homo Provectus. A moniker that is now synonymous with humanity after 99% of the population became carriers of this microbe.
From the original 69 carriers, the Provectus Pathogen spread wildly. Sexual assault riots became common across populated areas, food processing facilities and eateries were targets for those who wished to accelerate the spread of the virus, and by mid-January, all attempts at containing the virus were discarded. Now, the only remaining Homo Sapiens exist within contained quarantined communities made up of people who fear infection or wish to be the basis for scientific studies comparing the difference between Homo Sapiens and Homo Provectus. Differences that are becoming increasingly numerous as studies are conducted and people are being put to the test.
Those infected with the Provectus Pathogen undergo a transformation of their sex, with males becoming females, females becoming males, those in between falling into one of those binaries, and all undergoing a transformation of physical age, becoming young adults. This transformation happens over the span of a minute to an hour, depending on the dosage and means of exchanging bodily fluids, with the virus spreading most effectively through sexual intercourse. That seemed ‘simple’ enough, but as the months have gone on, it became clear that this was not just a sex change and rejuvenation virus like initial reports stated.
Homo Provectus scored dramatically better on standardized tests, had a greater capacity to retain information, solved mathematical and technical problems faster and with fewer errors, showed increased reading speeds, and were ultimately seen to be more productive in intellectual fields. They could spur muscle growth and development in a fraction of the time, and with greater ease, than Homo Sapiens. And they healed dramatically faster, had stronger immune systems, and had the ability to regrow body parts that were lost. From eyes, to fingers, to entire limbs.
There certainly were no shortage of quantifiable improvements one could highlight, but none were as extreme as the biological immortality. While the long-form effects of this transformation were still being examined, it was clear that Homo Provectus did not age like Homo Sapiens did, and it was most likely that our bodies would not deteriorate. It was an elating discovery… but it also represented an issue that was already becoming a problem. If people were healthier, if they stopped aging, then populations would balloon, and resources would become scarce. But that is not the only reason why, 6 months after the introduction of the Provectus Pathogen into the world, the population has increased to 8 billion, over the 7.4 billion recorded at year’s end.
Homo Provectus have a sex drive beyond that of any healthy Homo Sapien, and all mature members of the species need to sexually satisfy themselves every 24 hours to keep their sex drives satisfied, to prevent them from becoming consumed by lust and raping those around them. This effect is most prominent immediately after a Homo Sapien is transformed into a Homo Provectus and is the reason why pregnancy rates have skyrocketed in these past few months.
One would posit that this ordinarily would not be an immediate problem, as it takes 9 months for a Homo Sapien child to gestate in the womb. Yet that is not true for Homo Provectus, who give birth to their offspring within a tenth of the time. And when said offspring are born, they grow up at an accelerated rate of ten. Those born in late January are currently displaying the appearance and learning capabilities of gifted four-year-olds, and it is believed they will reach full adulthood within their first two years of life.
This has put humanity into a bind. Everything is moving at a rapid rate, and we will enter a crisis if we are not careful. Because of this, politicians around the world have been in panic mode, and legislation meant to better the world, to find a new sustainable normal, has been under way. The current US president was always more of a progressive sort, and since she accepted the gravity of this situation, she has been leaning into socialist policies, causing turmoil and infighting amidst the capitol. This persisted throughout the first few weeks until all but the most stringent and blind conservatives began supporting her policies. Because it ceased to be an issue of ideologies, and became a matter of simple practicality, logistics, and preventing widespread turmoil.
Now, everybody is scrambling to establish a new normal, to create a world that can support this new wave of humanity, this impending and inevitable population boom. We need more food, more essentials, more housing, superior infrastructure, a revised approach to education, jobs for those who are able to work once again, and new careers for those who worked with seniors, children, and the disabled.
Me, personally? I took what remained of my savings, fell back on my skills as a carpenter, and have since been employed by a construction company tasked with re-developing this town’s infrastructure and building new residential property. It was hard work, or at least it should have been. When the Provectus Pathogen altered my body, it gave me ample musculature, and I’ve only grown stronger as time went on. If anything, I was stronger now more than ever before, and now that I had something to devote my days to, I was filled with a sense of contentment I had gone most of my life without.
I was happy with myself physically, no longer felt like I was chasing the ghosts of what once was and what time had taken from me. I had clear reasons to wake up each day. To do my part for society, to be with the woman who has been by my side for so long, and to see where the narrative of the Homo Provectus goes from here. If this worldwide transformation will beget salvation or devastation.
As I finished ruminating on such matters, so too did I finish my breakfast and my news radio— erm, podcast, urging me to carry on with my morning routine as my phone read 6:04. I packed my leftovers from yesterday’s dinner into my lunchbox, grabbed both my clothes and backpack from my bedroom, where Gem slept soundly, still tuckered out from a programming job that kept her busy until midnight, and finally made my way to the bathroom. Seeing as how I don’t shower most mornings, as I am just going to get sweaty as the day goes on anyway, my hygiene process is pretty light now. I washed up, brushed my teeth— if only for the minty fresh flavor and clean feeling that came with it— and took a moment to fix my hair and moisturize my face.
Over the past few months, I have grown used to and comfortable seeing this feminine visage look back to me in the mirror, and all reflective surfaces. However, whatever awe factor it once held had largely dissipated as I knew my transformation was not special. Everybody became an attractive young person of the opposite sex, and that caused me to look at myself with a sense of familiarity, and sometimes I almost forgot that this wasn’t always me. That I wasn’t always a woman, that I didn’t always need to deal with having such relentless coiled hair, that I didn’t always have such youthful vigor, and that I wasn’t always this beautiful.
I gave myself a smile before I stripped out of my sleep clothes and into a sports bra and shorts, as I planned on jogging over to work today, like most days. Public transit was being reworked, and I had not driven a car in 19 years, and had not owned one in 17. Besides, with my thick slender legs, damn-fine ass, and rock-hard abs, I got a bit of a kick out of running through the neighborhood most mornings on my way to work. I know it is a tad vain, but it makes me happy, and I never got any complaints.
Anyhow, with my morning routine all taken care of, I double checked that my work clothes were still in my backpack, threw my sleep clothes into the household laundry hamper, placed my lunchbox into my backpack, grabbed my reusable water bottle out of the fridge, and trailed down the stairs of my apartment into the outside world. It was a radiant and tepid morning, without a cloud in the sky, and with sidewalks lightly populated by people going on their morning walks. All looking spry and with smiles on their faces.
That’s the thing about this whole Provectus fiasco. Even though things seem bad with the booming population and such, people are freed from the immediate concerns of mortality. They are more confident and comfortable with themselves physically, and happiness is at an all-time high. It helped reassure me that humanity had a chance, that the future would be all right, and only went to kindle the flames of determination that kept me going as I ran, not stopping for anything other than a traffic light… and the sound of a small child calling out to me.
“Good morning, Miss Jack!”
I turned my head to be met with the sight of a familiar home and a young boy who, while technically no more than 5 months in age, already looked and acted like a 4-year-old. He was an Arabic child by the name of Kdin, a bright and cheery soul with floppy black hair and a precious smile who came rushing up to me, as he often did.
“Good morning yourself, Kdin! I can hardly believe how big you’ve gotten!” I said as I crouched down to look the child in his eyes.
“Hehe. It’s not that special or nothing. I’m still shorter than your legs.”
“Well, give it two years and I’m sure you’ll just whoosh on above me.”
As I said that, I plucked this child by their sides and pushed them up in the air, holding him well above my head. He chuckled and squirmed as he looked down at me with a beautiful smile, and I looked at him with the same.
“I’d love to play with you, but Miss Jack needs to go build a house for some nice people like your folks. But I’ll try to stop by on my way home.”
“Aw, can you at least stay and play a little while?”
“We’ll see, Kdin. And be sure to keep practicing your reading and writing.”
As Kdin let out a jovial affirmation before heading back inside his home, I resumed my run. Kdin and his parents were people I met through sure happenstance a few months ago at a grocery store, and one thing led to another. Now, he considers me to be an aunt of sorts, and is giddy to spend time with me.
After living a life devoid of children for so many decades, I was eager and willing to open myself up to the boy, and all too happy to have him become a part of my life as well. He was the future, somebody nearly a century removed from me and my life, and the first generation to be born as a Homo Provectus. It’s people like him, more than any other, that I wanted the world to be ready for, and drive me to do my part for society.
I just hope that through hard work, smart planning, and determination that this world can still be mended into something sustainable for Kdin and all future generations of this new breed of humanity.
From the goal of creating an indirect sequel, I pretty much immediately gravitated towards the setting of a retirement home and the protagonist of an old black man. Partially because after publishing TSF Series #010: The Island of Doctor Bitz in July 2020, I was interested in writing another story that followed seniors gaining the bodies of young people. And partially because I went on an accidental white protagonist streak for a few months.
From there, I began to spitball a lot of ideas that fell by the wayside, such as making Jack a military veteran with a storied career. Or the inclusion of Sue Steticks, the biological mother of TSF Series #006-1 protagonist Cain Steticks. Both of which I tried, did not like, and discarded before rolling up whatever was strewn throughout the landscape that is my mind into the katamari of ideas you see today.
Which is to say, a mostly self-contained story laced with set-up for TSF Series #006-3: Our Planet’s Population Apocalypse – Impotence is Salvation, while representing a logical continuation of TSF Series #006-1. A worldwide transformation pandemic that involves a lot of sexual assault, cumming in food, and takes a few inspirations from the currently ongoing COVID-19 pandemic, because this was a story involving a pandemic written during a pandemic. So, of course, I took some cues from the headlines and used some topical jargon to make the story sound more realistic and grounded.
I also should talk briefly about the names, as the three central characters, Jack Crowhurst, Gem Stone, and Ji-Hoon Xing are all based on reimagined versions of characters I previously used in other novels and novellas. Jack Crowhurst’s name, but nothing else, comes from Jack Crowbar from Psycho Bullet Festival: The Odyssey of Abigale Quinlan. I could have given them an original name, but I didn’t feel like it.
Gem Stone is the character Gem Stone from Verde’s Doohickey reimagined as a quirky old man, because I enjoy writing that character and their unusual speech patterns. While Ji-Hoon Xing is based on Ji-Hyun Xing from my delisted novella My Life as Abigale Quinlan, where she was the president of the United States. Why did I dredge this character up to serve as an antagonist in this story? Mostly because I wanted to include an Asian character as part of the trio of main characters, and I like the name Ji-Hyun Xing.