I love the fat ones best. Gretchen rubbed her ass against Tommy, some kind of electrician. He smelled a little like Doritos and a lot like sweat. Thanks to the space he occupied Gretch’s nose kept a safe distance. She loved the fat ones because their stomachs hung over their cocks, shielding her from errant erections. A lot of the girls got off from random dicks jammed into their asses, the same girls who gave blow jobs after their shift for extra cash. The “working their way through college” girls talked about how cheap it made them feel. “Oh my god, the guy in section two wouldn’t keep his hands off of me. The bouncers need to kick him out.” There were fewer of these types. they were the post-modern-feminists-exploiting-men-for-their-money-is-liberating types.
Tommy’s meaty fingers gripped Gretchen’s hips. She made waves with her body to obnoxious music spun by the club owner’s asshole brother, Gary. He danced in the DJ booth, raising his hand as some track from a 90s dance mix CD hit its apex. In his mind he probably thought he was headlining a major club in Vegas; not a dump in southern Florida called “Peekaboo Lounge.” Gretch felt a hum in her stomach, and, at the time, she thought it was just typical repulsion birthed from observing the meth-addicted asshole with a mustache.
“Damn, baby. How much for you to go home with me tonight?” Tommy asked mock spanking Gretchen while his friends laughed, flashing an assortment of yellowing jagged teeth.
Spinning around to straddle one of Tommy’s fat knees, she responded, “I don’t know, Tommy. Why don’t you treat yourself to another dance and we can talk about it?”
After high-fiving his nearest friend, Tommy shifted his considerable weight and dislodged a wallet from underneath. He pulled out a twenty and stuffed it down the front of Gretchen’s panties, his fingers lingering much longer than necessary. One of the bouncers, David, who had been scanning the room with a methodical swivel of his head, zeroed in on that action. He charged forward but Gretch glared at him frozen in place. She pinched Tommy’s fat wrist with her thumb and middle fingers as if picking up a dirty diaper. “What’er you doing, big boy? Using me for a hand warmer?”
David returned to his station. He always offered to walk Gretch to her car. He even gave her a couch to sleep on after a guy followed her home from the club and kept coming by her place. Guys were always like that, wanting to do things for her. Maybe she wasn’t special in that way or maybe that was what every guy did for a girl who made their cock move.
When Gretchen was sixteen, she couldn’t stand listening to the way fair-haired little princesses around her talked about boys. In hushed tones, just loud enough to make sure everyone heard, “I thought it would be bigger and then I touched it.” “Oh my god! You touched it!” “Shhh, you want the whole school to know?” “Yeah, when I touched it almost right away it started to get hard.”
It didn’t seem like a big thing to Gretch when she was naked from the waist down in a reclined seat, looking up at the ceiling of a Honda civic. A seatbelt catch dug into her hip while the devirginator on top rode Gretchen like a coin-operated horse. The memories that stood out about that experience were: how gross the floor felt on her bare feet, the smell of mildew (a result of a passenger window that couldn’t close all the way), and the realization she only had seven minutes to get dressed and make it to first period. She had never before cared about getting to class on time.
From there on out she approached sex like a scientist, trying to figure out why everyone wanted it. She went after a junior who was tall and thin; teeth straight like he was the son of a dentist. The whole time he kept asking, “Is this ok?” “Are you alright?” Picking up speed it seemed like he was developing a rhythm, but stopped again to ask, “Am I hurting you?” The books on his bookshelf were set neatly in alphabetical order, and not a speck of dust anywhere, even on the family photo on the nightstand (a family of perfect teeth). He talked about his plans for college and how his dad was going to buy him a new car because he was taking all AP classes next year. Her pussy didn’t tingle. Her heart rate remained constant. Gretchen became convinced that her blonde hair, thin slender body, cute b-cup tits with tiny little nipples, and her blue eyes were a misdirection cloaking the scaled alien below the surface.
A chubby boy Gretch tried out, he constantly wrote her poetry and handed it to her during class. He wasn’t the only one. Two football players scribbled her notes daily, but when they found out about one another it ended with them bloodying each other’s faces. The devirginator had one of those racing mufflers on his car that sounded like a high octane Weed Wacker. Almost nightly, Gretch heard him driving by, stopping, and a few moments later peeling out. Straight Teeth let his grades slip and never got that new car.
Next, she fucked the gym and English teacher who were both in their late 20s. Coach wanted Gretchen to move into his studio apartment, and Shakespeare wanted to leave his wife. Two teachers in their 40s, one early and one late were on deck. The early 40s one quit his job in the middle of the semester because it brought him to tears every time he found out a new guy was plowing Gretch. The late 40s one ate a bunch of pills and had to be rushed to the hospital. In a twelve-page hand-written letter that Gretch only read the first paragraph of, he said, “I thought if you knew how much I really wanted you, you’d want me, too.”
Finally, there was this history teacher who refused to retire. He won a court case a few years earlier, and now, even in his 70s, the school couldn’t force him to quit. When Gretchen tried to fuck him he jerked his wrinkled gray-haired cock for twenty minutes. It flopped over his hand like a flag on a light-breezed day. Gretchen shuffled around the room, touching an unfinished knitted quilt on the backrest of a Victorian-style chair, and looked at the photos on the wall as he kept saying, “Any minute, now. I’ll be ready in just a minute.”
Some photos were in black and white of a young handsome man and a dark-haired woman with a 40s Curly Bob hairstyle. There were grainy photos from the 60s and 70s, a framed collage containing matted Polaroid pictures from the 80s and 90s, and then, nothing. “I’m really sorry. It’s been a while,” he said, rubbing his tired wrist. Gretchen plopped down on the bed and spread her legs and soon the old man’s face was pressed against her pussy. About the time she ran out of things in the room to hold her interest the history teacher shook his head back and forth, making smacking noises with his mouth. “Oh… Oh… cool,” she moaned. “That was great. Thanks, Walter. Can you go get me a soda or something?”
Gretchen always let her mind wander when she gave lap dances. It made everything else fade away, but on this night, something kept bringing her back. What is that in my stomach? She rubbed herself against a new nameless electrician. The sensation in her stomach wasn’t hunger; she ate an energy bar a while ago and those things always filled her up; she never got upset or nervous, and the idea of her being pregnant was laughable since she gave up sex a while ago. Maybe the glasses behind the bar she used to drink her vodka cranberry (hold the vodka) made her sick. It wouldn’t be the first time that shit-hole violated health code regulations.
Feeling calloused fingers on her hips, Gretchen pushed her mind back to when she was young. Fucking girls from school was out of the question. Most of them spent their free time posting on social media, discussing ways to kill the whore marauding through school, screwing all the boys. They weren’t about to spread their legs for a rookie carpet-muncher, and even if they were Gretch would have left screaming and pulling her hair out as soon as they tried to discuss makeup, clothes, and Taylor Swift. She was more of a throw-rocks-off-an-overpass-into-traffic kind of chick.
First up to bat, was a slender waitress living in an apartment with two young kids who shared a bedroom. Gretchen wanted to get to it but the woman wouldn’t shut up “He just left me here, and I don’t even really know where he is. No fucking child support. I mean, what kind of asshole won’t even see his own kids? You’re lucky, hun. It took me a lot of wasted years to learn women don’t play games; women are trustworthy.” Gretchen nodded along with her endless babbling.
“God, I really feel close to you,” she said. “You’re so beautiful and a great listener.” This led to the two of them kissing, the waitress touching Gretch’s face and swaying her head a bit too dramatically. “God, and she can kiss, too. I can’t believe how mature you are for your age.” After lighting a lavender-scented candle, she put on some music. It wasn’t long before the waitress had her head between Gretchen’s legs, moving her tongue around her clit in slow soft circles. Picking up speed she slipped a finger inside Gretchen’s pussy. Four laundry baskets filled with clothes were stacked two-by-two near the bed. Gretchen pictured the waitress lugging the baskets out to her car, driving to a laundry mat, spending two hours there washing and drying, lugging it back to her car, driving home, before she had to spend two hours folding it. Then she pretended to cum.
When it was over, Gretchen got up like she was about to get dressed but the waitress stopped her and said, “Mmmmm, you taste aaaaaamazing, now do me.”
“Oh,” Gretchen said. “Um… I don’t want to keep you from…” looking around the room and spotting the laundry baskets, “…I mean, it looks like you have some stuff to do.”
“Aww, how cute. You’re shy. If you’re half as good at licking pussy as you are kissing then you’ll put my loser ex to shame” The waitress locked her legs around Gretchen’s shoulders grinding her cunt up and down. Gretch stuck her tongue out like someone had said to her, “Here, taste this arsenic.” The tang of the waitress’s cunt numbed Gretchen’s lips. “Oh my god, I am already about to cum,” the waitress moaned.
After the waitress, Gretchen met up with a nurse in her 50s who kept a big pink strap-on dildo in her night stand. “That’s it. Make me your whore, mistress!” she said, as Gretchen strapped the dildo harness around her hips. She had never imagined herself with a penis before, and looking at the big silicone rubber cock attached to her pelvis made her giggle. “Fuck me, mistress. Fuck my whore ass.” Gretchen floundered her faux-cock around trying to get the feel for it before jamming into the nurse on all fours. It might have been different if Gretch and nerve endings in the pink coating of the dildo, but it felt like a prosthetic arm without having gone through the five stages of grief one goes through after losing a limb. Still, something was satisfying about the motion of her body even if it didn’t get her off. Gretchen thrust into the nurse over and over again, grabbing at her ass and hips. She screamed, “Give it to me, Mistress. Take my pussy. Make it yours.”
The nurse had a half-dozen orgasms but Gretchen never came.
By the DJ booth, two chicks who came to the club with their boyfriends started yanking each other’s hair. David, although the furthest bouncer away, leapt over furniture and dove across the center stage to bear-hug one of the girls. He yanked her back and spun her away to shield her from the onslaught until another bouncer arrived. All the men around Gretchen cheered and chanted, “Fight! Fight! Fight!” Gretchen yawned and continued to rub her ass on some guy’s erection. It was then she realized the funny feeling in her stomach had grown and now permeated her arms under the surface of her skin. What the fuck is that?
The fighting girls were dragged out of the club. The laughter grew as douchebags traded eyewitness accounts for high-fives. This might have lasted hours but for the allure of tits and the prospects of women desperate enough to do anything for the right price. “Baby, I want a private dance,” whined one of the losers.
“Ok, Hun. Sounds like fun. It’ll be $150 for three songs.”
“Yeah? Well, what do I get?”
“You’ll just have to see,” Gretchen answered as she picked at her teeth. Reaching her hand out, she led the electrician back to a private room. By now the strange feelings in her arms and stomach had morphed into a faint burning like low-grade acid eating at her skin.
By the third song of the private dance, Gretchen’s arms and legs were covered in red lines from her nails. She wondered if she got scabies again. It was something that happened from time to time over the years, rubbing up against gross men who called cheap hotels home. But it never came on quick- maybe a few small rashes for a week until the little mites infested everything.
“Baby, you alright?” Asked the electrician who sounded more concerned than annoyed.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Gretchen answered scratching her scalp. “I think I’m just allergic to your detergent or something.”
Gary’s voice came out through the sound system. “Alright gentlemen, it’s last call. Make sure you tip your bartenders. And gentleman, find your favorite girl to get your final dances in, because it’s last call, last call for alcohol!”
Gretchen would stab the half-hard imbecile she was straddling if she thought it would make her fucking skin stop itching for three minutes. Something’s not right. What the fuck. She wondered if someone spiked her drink behind the bar, but she wasn’t loopy or feeling out of it. If anything, she was hyper-aware. She felt like she could hear people whispering over the music on the other side of the club. She could hear one of her coworkers fucking a regular in the parking lot. She could hear the bathroom attendant selling bags of white powder to dunk men looking for a way to bait girls back to their place.
Gretchen whipped her blonde hair over the guy’s face and pressed on his dick like she was having a stroke. In reality, she was trying to itch herself against his clothes. “Damn, baby. You must really want to fuck me.” Normally, she made crazy small talk, telling them bullshit stories about how she worked as a street mime in San Francisco before moving to Florida. Or how she was on the Olympic badminton team in Beijing. But with whatever was eating at her from the inside her mind couldn’t focus on anything but the pain.
The stripping gods blessed Gretchen by finally ending the third song. As the last beat hit, she stood up and walked out of the private room without so much as a hug or kiss on the cheek goodbye. “Baby, where ya going? I wanted one more time around the block wit-ya! Baby?”
Digging her nails into the back of her neck, the area that seemed to be the worst, Gretchen winced as the burning under her skin engulfed everything. Her lungs ached like she had chained smoked a pack of clove cigarettes. She brushed past some girls talking about where they were partying after their shift, swimming through cigarette smoke, stampeding beyond the group of electricians, passing another group of girls laughing about the cat-fight, stepping over the souls of all the girls who had come through the Peekaboo Lounge, ignoring a manager yelling, “Gretchen, where you going? You still have fifteen more minutes,” bursting through the door into the locker room, David calling out, “Are you alright? Gretchen, you alright?”
Finding an empty corner behind some lockers Gretchen rubbed her entire face with both hands, pushing into herself, trying to break away the layers of dead bark. She covered her mouth with her hand and screamed, hoping to breathe fire and expel all the heat. If I just get out of here I’ll be alright. “It’s this fucking place.”
The music cut out to a cacophony of “boos” mixed with bouncers yelling, “Time to go. You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here.”
Once Gretch was out of her stockings and panties, she put on regular underwear and jeans. She closed her eyes and inhaled while girls filtered into the dressing room. “Bitch,” one of them said. Gretchen had no idea who it was. They all sounded the same. “She thinks she can get away with anything.” Another voice but still the same voice said, “She thinks she’s hot shit.”
After tipping out the bartenders and bouncers and giving the club its cut Gretch left through the back door. David was the bouncer monitoring the parking lot. Gary stood there, too, talking to David and smoking a cigarette. Interrupting himself in the middle of his favorite, “I’m the DJ most other DJs look up to” story, Gary said, “Don’t worry, bro. I’ll walk her to her car.”
He took a long drag from his cigarette and then released the smoke. Gary picked up the story where he left off with David. “I was just telling your boyfriend back there how I was in Vegas a few months ago partying with Icey and some other DJs. They loved the shit I was spinning. They said I could probably get a gig in Vegas anytime I wanted.”
Walking faster, Gretchen responded, “Neat,” acid bubbling under her skin.
“I just don’t want to leave my brother hanging here, though, you know? You got to put family first- hey, why don’t you ever come back to my place and party with us. We have a lot of fun. You should come by tonight.”
Ringing in her ears, Gretchen chocked back the vomit about to explode from her mouth, and said, “I think I run a big enough risk of catching chlamydia from the furniture at my job to put myself at that kind of risk”
Gary sighed before taking one last drag from his smoke. He flicked it as far as he could, like the distance a cigarette butt traveled was a metaphor for how long his cock was. “You know you are the only bitch around here who doesn’t show me the respect I deserve.”
“It’s part of my charm,” Gretchen answered about to open her door. Gary put his hand on the window, blocking her path. “Come on, Gar. I’m not in the mood tonight.”
“That’s the problem. You’re never in the mood. You’re kind of a stuck-up bitch. You know all the other girls hate you, right?”
“Yeah, I know,” Gretchen said, trying to yank the door open. “I write about it every night in my fucking journal. Will you let me in my car, asshole!”
Gary put his hand on Gretchen’s chest, “In a minute. Let’s just talk.”
Slapping his hand away, “You talk with your mouth, not your hands, dipshit. Do not start this with me. I am in no mood for your shit.”
Grabbing Gretchen by the waist Gary pulled her close to him. He said, “I don’t care, sweetie,” as Gretch jerked back. If it rained right then, steam would have risen from every inch of her body. Her joints ached like she was thirteen and in the middle of a growth spurt. Normally she would have just kneed Gary in the balls and gone home but the pain paralyzed her. What the fuck is happening to me, she screamed over and over inside her head?
Out of nowhere, David cold-cocked Gary, knocking him out in one punch. Gretchen opened her eyes in time to see him fall to the ground and bounce. “Shit, David.”
“You alright?” He asked.
Gretchen fought the urge to itch, telling herself not to think about it. “Fuck, Gretch, what did you take. Your eyes are twitching like crazy.”
“Nothing, you know I don’t do anything. I don’t know. I feel weird as fuck.”
Looking back over his shoulder, David spoke to the club, “Well, I can’t stay around here. When this piece of shit wakes up he’s probably going to sick a bunch of the other bouncers on me. Give me your keys. I’ll drive you home.”
“Jesus, it’s fucking hot in here. Like, really hot,” Gretchen yelled as she turned the knob on the AC as far left as it could go. Cold air shot through the vents and Gretchen held one arm out while she scratched with her free hand. Every few seconds she switched, rotating the other hand in front of the vent while the other scratched. Gretchen couldn’t get her fingernails deep enough. Her neck and chest and arms were all covered with red lines on top of fading red lines.
Pulling into the apartment complex and coming to a stop, Gretchen grabbed the keys out of the ignition and erupted from the car, springing up the stairs and slamming the key into the lock, leaving the door opened with the keys in it, ripping off her shirt, kicking her shoes across the room, yanking her jeans and panties down and stepping out of them as she made her way to the bathroom, unhooking her bra and letting it fall off, flinging her rings onto the bathroom countertop, removing her earrings; dropping them on the bathroom mat, she stepped into the shower, turned the water on and pushed the nozzle to ice cold. Using a Luffa without any soap, she scrubbed and ground away at her flesh trying to peel off all the dying cells of her, the bits that were just hanging on waiting to separate and float away.
Starting with the back of her neck where her muscles spasmed, she scrubbed. Next, she moved to her face, and then the front of her neck, and then her chest. Chasing ghosts across her body she zigzagged from one spot to another, like the cruelest game of Whack-A-Mole ever. Putting out a fire on her feet led to another springing up on her hands. And by now she couldn’t ignore the truth. She was dying. It wasn’t scabies or allergies. This is what happened to girls like her, girls who didn’t care, who couldn’t feel, who live life empty only to have everything that was missed, everything she was supposed to feel all hit her at the same time. This wasn’t something she could go to the emergency room for. How do you tell a doctor that you’re dying from all the broken hearts, all the grief, all the sadness and anger, all the shame and inferiority, the neglect, the blame, the wonder, the exhaustion and vulnerability you never felt?
David, following behind, took the keys from the door, closed it, and locked it behind him. He picked up her clothes one article at a time and even folded them. Then, he just sat there at the foot of the bed as water flowed through the pipes and hit the tub floor. Those sounds muted the faint tones of Gretchen crying, something she hadn’t done since childhood.
After an hour of straight scrubbing, her skin glowed red, but for the moment she was able to take short normal breaths. Only the back of her neck throbbed. For the first time since the VIP room, her thoughts weren’t centered on itching or rubbing herself. She felt a little tingle in her pussy which took her by surprise. That part of her body had been dead her whole life, and now it awoke. Maybe that was what all the pain and burning were. The parts of her that had been asleep were awakening.
Gretchen wondered if David was still there. Shutting off the shower, she stepped out and grabbed a towel using it to soak the water from her hair. Then, she wrapped it around her chest before peeking into the bedroom. “Oh, hey. You’re here.”
David had broad shoulders and thick muscular forearms shaded by dark hair. Gretchen pondered what he had under his black “security” shirt. She pictured thick coarse hair from neck to waist covering up a young fit body. The straight lines of his jaw met at a slightly dimpled chin. He had short dark hair atop his head that faded into thin sideburns. His ears were a tad disproportionate to the rest of his head but matched his rather large nose. Other than that, he had more or less straight teeth, a scar over his right eye, and a prominent Adam’s apple that disappeared and then reappeared every time he swallowed.
“Yeah, I was pretty worried about you,” David said and then swallowed before continuing. “I hope you don’t mind. I kind of peeked in the bathroom a couple of times to see if you were, I guess… alive? I didn’t think you’d mind. I see you naked almost every night, right?”
“Yeah, cool… whatever,” Gretchen responded. The sensations in her pussy vibrated outwards into the rest of her. She dropped the towel, revealing a wet naked body. She jumped on the bed and got on her hands and knees. “Hurry. Put your dick in me. I need to check something.”
“Don’t be an idiot. Just put your dick in me. You’ve been wanting to fuck me for over a year. Do it before I change my mind.”
David opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself. He jumped up from the bed and unbuckled his belt. Not wasting time to step out of his jeans he pushed them down and left them around his ankles. After setting the world record for going from completely limp to completely hard, David positioned himself behind Gretchen and rubbed his cock on her dripping wet pussy. Normally, Gretch needed lube or the guy to at least spit on his hand and rub it on her, but this was different. “I think something is happening inside of me,” she said. “I think this will be different.”
“Please tell me this isn’t another one of your fucking jokes,” David asked, easing his cock inside her like a man walking through a minefield. “If this ends with you trying to convince me you’re an Olympic badminton star, I won’t find it at all amusing.”
He wasn’t particularly long but had good girth. His shaft spreading her pussy, Gretchen received everything, every vein, and fold of his cock against her insides. “Shut up and just fuck me… Yeah, this is different. This is really different.”
David pumped in and out, sliding his hand up Gretchen’s smooth slender back, into her still soaked blonde hair. Her young perky breasts rippled with each heave. The muscles in her legs flexed as she balanced against him. For years before she became a stripper, she pretty much fucked anyone who wanted. Not once did it feel good.
It was then, David asked, “What is that?” A small silver point bulged from the back of her neck at the base of her skull. Reaching his hand out and squinting his eyes, he asked, “Gretch, what is that on your neck?”
“Don’t stop. I think something is happening to me. No matter what don’t stop.”
David rubbed his fingers over a small piece of metal poking out of her skin, cool and sharp to the touch. “It’s cold and sharp.”
“Promise me no matter what I say or do, promise me you won’t stop. David, promise me.”
The skin around the metal was loose and David carefully stripped it back. It didn’t hurt Gretchen, not the peeling of her skin, but the more he searched around the metal protruding from her neck the more she clenched her fists and shut her eyes tight. Her arms locked straight trying to push all her agony down into the bed.
David unfolded the skin on her neck like it was the dry flakey layer of an onion. “What the fuck? Gretchen, there’s a Zipper on your back.” Still fucking her, his cock still hard, Gretchen’s body heated up. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied with the strange object on her neck David might have realized her skin was practically burning him. He would have noticed that beads of sweat were rolling off of him like condensation on glass. David pinched the zipper which caused Gretchen to open her eyes and yell, “OK! Wait! I changed my mind! Stop! Don’t touch that!”
The zipper wouldn’t budge. David tugged on it, his fingers turning red, trying to get a better grip. With each hard thrust into Gretchen’s scalding hot pussy he yanked on the latch. Little by little, it jarred loose until finally, the zipper caught traction. Reluctant but still moving down her spine, Gretchen’s skin separated. “Wait! David just wait! Fuck that hurts! You’re killing me. David, just stop!” She screamed incoherently as sweat streamed out of her body. What looked like another set of skin emerged, though more defined, and more muscular and tan. David watched the new back flex and contract as the old skin lost color.
Now that the zipper was all the way down to Gretchen’s ass, he realized he was looking at a man’s back. David rubbed his hand over the new tight and firm anatomy, almost all muscle. “Gretchen, you have a man’s back. And I don’t get it. I don’t understand what’s happening, but I can’t stop. You feel amazing.
Gretchen’s usually sharp voice cracked as she tried to speak. She cleared her throat and tried again. Whispering to herself, “Just get it over with.”
Louder this time, she forced the words out, “Just get it over with, please.” Once the zipper reached Gretchen’s pussy the curious piece of metal fell onto the bed. She whimpered and sniffled as her old skin turned translucent. David reached up, inserting his hand underneath the top layer and Gretchen complied, helping free her new shoulders. He grabbed her hair and gently pulled it off her head, creating a vacuum and a suctioning feeling, as if the old Gretchen was putting up a final fight. Her scalp and face shed to reveal a fully formed man.
“Gretchen, you look… you look really good.”
“Do I have back hair,” she asked?
“No. I mean. Yes. Well, you have a little. A normal amount, I’d say.”
“Neat, I have a ton of chest hair,” she said, with an upbeat inflection, rubbing her hand where her breasts once were.
Studying between her legs she saw a long smooth cock, Gretchen’s cock. David was still fucking her pussy, but now there was a penis in the mix, swinging back and forth. She stared at this new appendage like a baby learning visual acuity. The first image her new man-eyes saw was this kind of big perfectly smooth cock, perfectly veiny with tiny little follicles near the base. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered to herself. Blood rushed from her heart to her cock giving life to her very first boner. She wondered if she was flexible enough to suck it. She wondered what it will feel like to pee standing up. She wondered if she’ll have the urge to go online and send dick pics to all the women on the web. “It’s beautiful. I want to show it off.” She said in a deepening voice “Oh shit, David. Don’t stop.”
David gripped Gretchen’s masculine hips now pounding into the 200-pound man’s pussy. “You won’t believe this. I have the most beautiful cock I’ve ever seen.”
David groaned, “And your pussy is just as tight as it was before.”
Starring at her cock Gretchen asked, “I still have a pussy? Are you sure you aren’t fucking my ass?”
“Yeah,” David snorted the word out his nostrils. “It was the first thing I checked. Do you have balls, too?
Slipping her hand between her legs, Gretchen felt her soft wrinkled balls for the first time, causing her whole body to shudder. “I think I have a clit, dick, then my balls, then my pussy, and then my asshole,” she said, aware of how crazy that sentence sounded in any other context. Gretchen stroked herself, imaging standing in a gym watching bitches do squats and having to hide her erection. She imagined getting a new job at the Boo as a bouncer and flirting with cokeheads all night. Holy shit! She just realized the first thing she was going to do in the morning. She couldn’t wait. Right as the doors opened, Gretchen planned to walk in and get the first dance of the day, from Pamela, the lunch time dancer with sagging breasts and stretch marks.
Gretchen’s body parts had been misappropriated from birth. It was as if twenty-four years ago a delivery man sent her the wrong package, and for some reason, the right package just materialized on her doorstep. Stroking her cock while her pussy got fucked made her feel like a man. No wonder men are so addicted to touching themselves. “I think, I’m about to cum?”
“From where?” David wanted to know.
“I think… from both places, maybe, at the same time?”
Gretchen had given a lot of lackluster hand jobs in her life but stroking her own penis she knew when to speed up and slow down when to tighten or loosen her grip. Pressure built in her balls and pussy with David slamming into Gretchen’s firm muscular ass.
“I think, me too,” David groaned back.
Gretchen’s senses overloaded as every receptor in her body flipped on at the same time, her cock throbbing with cum surging up the shaft, juices dripping from her cunt, two new testicles smacking David’s dick. She recalled every person who used her old anatomy, the waitress and the boy in the Civic. She remembered the guys on the football team, all the teachers, the family photo next to Straight Teeth’s bed, the pink strap-on, and everything from Walter’s bedroom. So clear, with cum shooting out the head of her cock and vibrations emanating within her pussy, she gushed, squirming, and David unloading inside her. All this time, she just needed to add a dick. She just needed muscles and a beer gut. She needed hair on her chest. She needed balls between her legs. “Oh my god, this is fucking amazing!” Reborn, tears streamed out of her new brown eyes. Everything she had known changed with just a few tugs of a zipper. Now, a stranger, a young man having never played baseball, having never watched TV with his hand down his pants, having never gone out searching for bitches to fuck. Her identity stripped away and discarded like furniture at Good Will, replaced with a fresh persona, one that had always been just under the surface trying to find its way out.