Futa s Naughty Scented Candles 1 Slumber Party Gets Wild
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Remix free porn video
Before I start I want to thank everyone who has gone before and
inspired me to set my fingers to my keyboard. I doubt that I can match
your efforts with identical quality, but I shall attempt it. There are
far too many to list by name, so I'll leave everybody out and slight
everyone equally.
This is only part one, since I am posting this as I write it. This part
is only the set up for the James/Maggie transformation, so I beg your
indulgence for being long winded and a bit slow to get to the point.
Stuart
Remix
By Brevdravis
Prologue:
Pain. There was nothing but pain. Fire behind his eyes, leaping forth
and cruising down the right side of his face. His eyes could not focus,
seeing nothing but light and shadow. Shapes eluded him. A taste of
bitter copper and earth swelled in his mouth. Heat and a light wind
that played across the exposed skin on his hands, bringing a cooling
evaporation of sweat, or ragged pain to the insides of new wounds.
"Help me..." The words were barely a whisper in James' mouth. The pain
seemed to crawl into his lungs, robbing him of the ability to breathe.
The fire that had swelled in his head leapt to his voice. Attempting to
swallow and clear the disturbance brought a raw, gritty sensation.
What's going on, his stunned mind queried. What happening to me?
A voice, clear and unambiguous formed in his eardrums. Unlike the rush
of blood and rapid heartbeats that were the only sound that he could
comprehend, his mind could hear these words. They cut through the mist
obscuring his thoughts, bringing consciousness to that one aspect of
his fractured psyche.
"Are you just going to lie there?"
The question was crazy, nonsensical. He couldn't move. The slightest
motion brought nothing but pain to every aspect of his senses. Willing
his voice to come forth, James tried, desperately, to say some word in
response.
It came out as a sob of agony, followed by a whimper.
"Ugh. Pathetic." The voice took on an aspect of reproach, tinged with a
faint patina of amusement. "The least that you could do is acknowledge
my presence."
James could not reply. The dust he inhaled into his nose forbade any
action save a desperate racking cough. That too brought his pain to the
fore. He lay there, pressed against the earth as he sprawled. How had
he come to this, such pain. He couldn't remember, couldn't remember
anything but pain.
He rotated his eyes in the direction he thought the voice had spoken
from. The shapes still swam in his sight, seeming the shapes of a dog,
of a man, a bird. They were all one and nothing, clouds and starlight
points of ether. No sense, and no meaning ascribed to any of them.
Willing the straining muscles of his arm, he reached, trying to touch.
The dirt shifted under his fingers as his hand inched forward. He
contacted something, but in his condition he could not tell if it was
stone, man, or nothing at all save the raw earth.
"I guess that will have to do." The voice seemed deep, as that one
conscious portion of James' mind tried to make a pattern of it. No
recognition came, but it seemed familiar, like many voices he had heard
in his life and yet like none of them. With the sounds of his own body
rushing in his ears it seemed as if the cry of a bird became
intertwined with the mournful howls heard late at night; all reflected
in the intonations of the words that came to his senses.
"You look to be alone, and to seek yourself, and what do you do?" The
voice became light hearted, with a smile more heard than seen. "You
find yourself, and the spirit that could guide you. Happy?"
James cried out again, his lips grinding the soil upon them further
into his injuries. A twisted shard of metal from the braces he wore
curled into his gum as he did so. Tears welled and spilled across his
face, unnoticed by the skin that was already soaked with his sweat. The
words this voice spoke made no sense. He hurt. Was this voice going to
help him? What quest, what seeking? The final question welled up from
somewhere dark inside. Was he dying?
The agony too much for him, James let loose a cry from somewhere deep
in his soul. Trying to find comfort in something. In the inner recesses
of his mind, a child's cry lurched forward to the center of his throat
and poured forth in a desperate aching wail.
"Mom..."
The voice said nothing for a long time. James lay where he was, feeling
his blood on his lips, the deep gashes in his face and hands. The aches
and pains in every corner of his body took every bit of his thought.
The patterns before his eyes swirled and grew darker.
"You are not a man. You are a child. A child should not seek out that
which he is not ready to confront." The voice was stern. In a few pain-
wracked breaths, James heard the final words of the voice in his mind,
clear and precise. "One day, you will be ready to return to this place.
When you do, know that I will await you." The words left no impression
on his mind. He knew them, but the became locked away in the blackness
that engulfed him.
***
At the age of sixteen, James Fletcher rode a dirt bike into the hills
of Hollister, California. At some point during that ride he lost
control of his vehicle. Several hikers later found the bloodied teen
lying facedown in the soil, and immediately summoned an ambulance. He
had no recollection of what had occurred, and was later diagnosed as
suffering from a nasty concussion which led to temporary loss of long
term memory. For two days James lay in a hospital bed. His face had
been severely slashed by detritus and he required a thorough deep
cleansing of his wounds followed by numerous stitches. His teeth were
saved by the braces that he was wearing at the time, although they had
inflicted similar wounds on the inside of his mouth. During his stay in
the hospital, he occasionally would mumble various phrases, which was
perfectly normal for someone with a severe concussion. His family would
speak to him, but he would seem surprised every time they arrived.
After that time, he recovered his memory somewhat, although the doctors
were forced to explain that he had lost two days of his life that he
would never get back. Altogether he had been extremely lucky, and
despite some superficial bruises on the rest of his body, relatively
unharmed.
Two months later, James went off to college. The University of Idaho
had accepted the young wunderkid on the basis of his grades alone.
Having graduated high school at fifteen due to high intelligence and
poor socialization, he was thrust into the world of a four year college
at the tender age of sixteen. Despite being a legacy, he was of course
denied any chance to become a fraternity member and as a result
migrated to the dorms. The next year was extremely unsuccessful for him
both academically and socially, since he was not welcome at any social
activities due to his youth. This isolation impacted upon his ability
to study. James spent most of the year hiding in his dorm room, and
avoiding the company of others as well as his professors. During one of
his rare attempts at making friends, he lost his virginity, being raped
at a party by another male student taking advantage of his inebriated
state. After that James drank considerably more, in his dorm room, with
the door locked. He flunked out at the end of the second semester.
Returning home, James joined the Navy in a vain attempt to gain some
meaning in his life. Consigned to a role as an intrinsic loser, his
Naval career was just as brief as his college experience, lasting only
a year. During that time he spent most of his leisure avoiding reality,
retreating into the computers that he worked on. He chalked it up as
another example of his failures.
Now eighteen, the young man returned to college at a local community.
He occasionally studied, more to keep the parents he lived with off his
back, than out of any desire to actually succeed. It was during this
period that James tried to lose himself in music, playing the guitar.
His professors all agreed that he had real talent, if he would just
apply himself. James did, more out of the love of music than the desire
to succeed, and learned the great composers, their works, and his own
talents and limitations. Somewhat more mature at this point, he applied
to a conservatory in Los Angeles which accepted him upon audition.
Music became everything to James. He played his guitar constantly,
working diligently to improve his craft. His skills improved along with
his people skills. Despite his successes, he discovered, over the
course of two years in the city, that there was nothing that he had
that a hundred others wouldn't do for less money. He wasn't the right
gender to sleep his way to the top, and his family was not the type to
hand him a record contract on a silver platter. The initial eagerness
now abated, James began working at minimum wage jobs in attempt to make
ends meet. He truly believed that his chance was just over the next
rise.
Despite these things, James fell in love with a woman over the
internet, which had become a bit of a haven for him. Their relationship
was passionate but brief. She became homesick after moving to Los
Angles from her home in Texas. Agreeing to return with her at her
promise of marriage, James drove her to her home. Her parents loathed
the "cracker from LA" from the beginning, and banned him from their
home only a few weeks after their arrival. With no money, and no hopes
left, James accepted defeat and returned home to his parents.
At the age of 23, James left home one last time. He accepted a small
clerical position at a local newspaper and found a small dingy
apartment in a bedroom community near his home. It was there, after a
long night of playing the guitar loudly and drinking heavily that he
wrote his suicide note and prepared to write off the rest of his life
as just one more mistake.
***
James swirled the last few drops of the sake around in the small
plastic cup. The liquid ran around the lower rim of the cheap cup,
collecting briefly on the small raised surfaces inherent in the
plastic, before coalescing into a small pool. He inhaled deeply, then
tasted the liquid again. His thoughts turned back to communion,
remembering the first taste of wine. This was similar, but with a
aftertaste of slightly burned rice. He thought about how he would
probably like sake more if they added a butter flavor to it. Overall,
as a new experience, he considered the sake just another waste of time.
He sat on the mattress that lined one side of the room he resided in.
It wasn't a home. He knew that this was the place he was going to die
in when he rented it. A television, a toilet, a microwave and a bed
were the only furnishings in the place. It was a place that maintained
the basics, but nothing else. He had no yard, and his ancient Plymouth
needed to be parked on the street, necessitating that he not spend any
time in the house before six, lest the parking police come and take it
away. Weekends were the only exception.
He tossed the plastic cup into a corner, and pulled his guitar into his
lap. It was a nice instrument, not expensive, but not cheap either. His
back rested against the wall as he closed his eyes and began picking
out a slow piece. There were no chords in the song, just notes rising
and falling with his breath. As he played, his eyes opened and lighted
on the note he had finished writing. It had been spat out perfectly
from the bowels of his computers printer. He had considered creating a
more immersive experience for the note, by burning it onto a CD along
with some samples of his better work, but immediately reconsidered when
he remembered how computer illiterate most of his soon to be audience
was. Better that the police have no ambiguities about his motives.
Near the note lay a bottle of pills. James didn't know what was in
them, and he frankly didn't care. He just knew that they would do the
job if he took enough of them with alcohol. An acquaintance from school
who had sold them to him, had warned him that although they would help
him calm down, they could be extremely dangerous. Noting the now empty
bottle of rice wine at his feet, he ironically reflected that step one
of his was done.
Breathing deeply, James finished the last note on the guitar, then
placed it reverently on a nearby stand. His vision moved to the mirror
that graced the wall nearby. His gaze swept across his face, tired and
defeated. He was an average man, with a high forehead that gave the
false impression that he was prematurely losing the dark blonde hairs
on his head. Normally his hair was parted on the left, the bangs
occasionally crossing over his right eye, but to say that he was now
unkempt was an understatement. The small clumps of his bangs hung down
over his grey eyes that had never developed laugh lines, partially
shielding the view that he had long considered not only unattractive
but downright homely. The overall shape of his hair framed the rounded
face beneath. He took in his own visage, with the high cheekbones that
his sister had always joked about wanting to borrow. There was three
days stubble along the line of his curved jaw, but even that did not
amount to much, considering how little he had ever had to shave.
"You look like shit." He mumbled to the reflection in the mirror. The
athletically built man in the glass did not reply, eliciting a non-
committal grunt from James. Jeans and a shirt had been his standard
dress for years, and he thought it was only fitting that that
particular garment be the one he was found in.
He stumbled to his feet, and moved to the bottle that squatted
menacingly on the table. He closed his eyes one last time, trying to
get up the courage to finish what he started.
"Don't fuck this one up too." He murmured as he reached forward. The
bottle was light in his hand, as all such bottles were. The cap wasn't
childproof, and came off easily in his grasp. He looked in at the small
white shapes within, trying in vain to quell the fear of the unknown
that was rising in him. He nodded softly with deep regrets, and began
to tilt the bottle. The lethal chemicals begand to roll within the
bottle, closing towards its lip, when a familiar sound floated across
his mind.
The sound was not the sound of the ocean, even though the ocean was
near to his abode. The words that reached his ears sounded far off,
like a sound that was not so much real as imagined.
"Giving up on your life so easily." The words were hauntingly familiar.
Something grasped at his soul, and he felt compelled to listen. His
hands dropped limply as the bottle dropped from them and fell,
scattered its contents across the deep orange and brown rug. Eyes wide,
he turned, looking in the direction of the sound.
Near the large sliding door that was the only entrance to the room,
there was a figure. It was indistinct, the shapes seeming more of a
dream than a true vision. They melded into one another, reflecting
images that could not be reflected. James felt a strange attraction and
a familiarity that he did not understand.
"You have found me once. This time I find you. I am the spirit that
would guide your life." James had no words to respond. The vision in
front of him had not moved, but the words were clear in his mind.
"What are you?" The question came out hesitantly. Uncertainty clouded
his mind again. Was he hallucinating? He had seen this sight before,
but he could not recall where, or when.
"I am the vision you saw in your pain." The words were true. He was
unable to comprehend how he knew that, but the words forming in his
mind were nothing but truth. "You sought guidance from yourself, but
were only a child who knew nothing of your life."
Visions flitted through the mind of James. Visions of his youth, his
childhood. And then a day that was forever blocked from his mind came
to the fore.
"I remember you..." The vision, the pain, the blood. It had been buried
in a dark, black place in his mind for so long, and yet it was there
again, burning in his mind like it had happened five minutes
previously. He remembered that brief moment of flying, and the pain
afterward.
"You were not ready. A child cannot learn from himself when he knows
nothing." James sighed, his vision taking in the creature that seemed
nothing more than the vestiges of a drunken nightmare. Perhaps that is
what this truly was, and not a memory at all, but a drunken figment.
"You're not real." James denied the creature. He turned, and dropping
to his knees, began to collect the widely scattered pills. He had
gathered a few when he felt a light touch on his shoulder.
He turned, and saw a hideous face of a laughing dog. No, not a dog, a
coyote. The face itself shifted into indistinct shapes once again, and
James thought he could see the figures of a bird, several men, and a
snake come and go through the swirling mass.
"You have learned much." The voice in his head was nearly deafening. He
wondered if he was going insane. Visions were not a good thing. In
history they tended to get people killed or committed. Learned much, he
mused, yeah if you count seven years of being buried in shit as
learning.
"Fat lot of good it does me." James' reply was sharp. He had had a plan
tonight, and it didn't involve mystic fucking spirits getting in the
way of his suicide. Anger, an anger he had thought long buried crashed
into his mind. How dare this thing interfere with what he needed and
wanted to do?
The face of the coyote appeared again in the clashing swirls that
clouded his vision. The creature laughed. It laughed loudly and
heartily. The sound was not frightening. James felt an urge to join the
mirth that was inspired by the joyous sound. The rage left him suddenly
to be replaced by a sense of wonder, and hope ran across his mind as he
looked on the laughing face.
"Would you like to benefit from your newfound wisdom?" The face changed
into the bird that James recognized as a raven. The bird's voice was
grating, but carried the same weight that the laughing coyote had. The
black glossy feathers that gave the impression of deep mystery were the
most prominent feature in the creature's wizened face.
"I can't." James realized as the question was posed to him. Could have,
would have, should have were the hallmarks of his life. To benefit from
his wisdom required that he go forward, and he couldn't. There was too
much pain in the past. There was no reason. The hope was dashed as he
felt the wellings of the regret that had brought him to this point.
"You can." The face became that of a monkey with a crown upon its head.
A broad smile crossed its face as it too faded into the swirling
morass. James realized that he was on his knees before the vision that
permeated his very being. He could do nothing but listen and respond.
In a small corner of his mind he wondered if he was already dead.
"That day that you first met me was the beginning of the end for you."
The face of man with pinched features came into view. The smile on his
face was not as pleasant as those from the earlier faces, but it was
earnest. "From that day on, every day has been a step to this point."
"Yeah, well if I knew then..." James shouted at the creature as the
face faded into the vague shapes that had been present before. He had
never been ready for anything in his life, he realized sadly. Too many
mistakes by a child not ready to make the decisions.
"Do you want that time again?" The face that appeared this time was
also doglike, but faded too quickly from the vision to be distinct in
his sight.
"No point. I'd just fuck it up again." He spat out. Even if he could do
it all over again, there was no way that he could change anything. He'd
still be a kid of sixteen with a hard-on for anything that moved with a
wiggle. Better to just end it now than to live through that hell again.
Better to suffer for his choices as he always had.
"A challenge." The face became that of an old wizened man. It lingered
longer on James' face, a soft smile crossing its lips. "Become that
child-man, and change it for the better." The face was instantly
replaced by the laughing face of the coyote once again, which
continued, "But it isn't fair."
"What?" To go back, to do it all again, and to know the errors. That
had been a dream for so long.
"Not fair at all, to let you have all the knowledge you do now. It's
only fair if everything isn't exactly the same." The coyote smiled, its
teeth becoming visible as its lips curled back from it's teeth. "If you
take the chance, one thing will change. One thing that will give your
life a different cast."
"What?" James gasped. This had to be a hallucination. Only a
hallucination would offer him the chance to do what he had always
dreamed. That time had held so much promise, and he had squandered it
in the pursuit of nothing. For that had been what his younger self had
sought. Nothing.
"One letter." The face of the Raven returned, the words quiet and
precise. "One letter will be changed, over time."
"One letter." It was delightfully cryptic. Perhaps the creature would
change his name to something embarrassing. A grade in a required course
changed. Something that would throw everything else off, and set the
tone differently.
"Only one." The pastiche had returned. It seemed that the entire
cosmology present had come to a consensus. Laughter sprung forth, with
a humor that escaped James. They seemed to be all sharing some private
joke. But that wasn't right either, since the creature before him was
not a many, but a one with many aspects. It had made its decision, and
now waited patiently for him to make his.
"For that chance, I'd do almost anything." James sighed, tears running
down his cheeks. The hope that radiated from his heart was
overwhelming. He could do it again. He could do it right. So what if
one little thing changed? The mere chance to would far outweigh any
minor effect. "Let me go back."
There was no other sound than the laughter that rang in his ears. The
vision became brighter swallowing his entire vision with a light that
engulfed the room. There was a taste in his mouth of dirt, and of
copper. A warmth permeated the back of his hands, and his whole body
began to ache. The light turned to darkness, and James closed his eyes,
hoping. The emotion filled his soul, as he slipped into the black.
To be continued...
Trish
- 01.09.2022
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