Remix Chapter 13 Euphoria
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Remix, Chapter 3: Melody free porn video
Remix, Chapter 3: Melody
By Brevdravis
Getting his braces removed didn't hurt as much as he remembered. Of
course, the last time that he had this procedure, his mouth had been a ravaged
chunk of beef, with metal sticking into it at odd angles. The metal was still
there, but the lack of injuries greatly lessened the inevitable discomfort. James
ran his tongue over the teeth that sat solidly in their sockets. Apart from one
tooth that jutted slightly on the lower left side of his mouth, his smile was
nearly perfect.
"It looks nice." Anne commented as they left the orthodontist's office.
"Yeah, it feels a lot better without the piano wire in there."
"You're just so lucky. We thought you'd have to be in braces for at
least the rest of college."
He had been. James recalled that the only way he had gotten them off
was to enlist. The Navy had not been too keen on a sailor wearing braces to
basic.
James spent the drive home thinking. The morning had already held
some unpleasant surprises, not the least of which had been trying to find a pair
of pants that fit. Almost every pair that he owned was now extremely tight in
the upper portions. Although his height had not changed, the proportions of
his lower extremities had. He had eventually given up and selected a pair of
sweatpants, much to his mother's chagrin.
The changes were indeed subtle. Looking in the mirror, James could
still easily recognise his own face. It was the little ways that he had changed
that were starting to bother him. His eyes, for example. It wasn't anything
major, but the way they seemed to draw his gaze bothered him. He recalled an
old class that he had taken in sculpture where they had attempted to recreate
the eye of the statue of David. The depth of the eyes had been exaggerated in
order to enhance the masculinity of the figure. Now, James realized that the
structure of his eye sockets was changing in precisely the opposite direction.
Where before he could press the heels of his hands into his eye sockets
without applying pressure on the eyeballs themselves, now the slightest force
brought the feeling of impact to them.
His nose too had lost a slight amount of definition. Where before it had
been a precise line from his forehead to slightly above his lips, it now was
more of a curve. Combined with the forward progress of his eyes, it gave him
a softer look to his rounded face. If anything, he was starting to look like the
stereotype of a gay man.
When they returned to the house, James' first thought was of food.
Although he had already eaten this morning, a ravenous desire was sweeping
through him. He began to fantasize about steaks. No, not steaks, fajitas. Large
ones. Bell peppers and onions. Maybe a side of refried beans, with some
guacamole covered nachos to boot.
He contented himself with a meatloaf sandwich, which was the fastest
thing he could slap together in the kitchen.
"You're eating like a pregnant woman," Anne noted when she saw
James digging in the bottom of pickle jar after downing his sandwich.
"It's not my fault. I'm just hungry."
"Uhm, James, have you lost weight?" Anne's question took shape as
she stared at her son, her eyes roaming over his form.
"I don't think so. My jeans don't fit anymore." James replied through
bites of a pickle slice.
"I don't think that has much to do with your weight, honey." Anne
smiled at his response. Her face had a knowing look on them. "Can I ask you
something?"
"Sure." James rinsed the empty jar in the sink, peeling the label off. He
placed the now clean jar in to the diswasher, along with the plate that he had
made the sandwich on.
"Have you noticed any major changes yet?" Anne looked directly into
James' face.
"No, not really." James lied. He rooted in the refrigerator, looking for
something to fill the tiny empty spot that still remained in his stomach. He
settled on a small strawberry yogurt.
"Well, I have. " Her response to his omission did not give any hint of
anger. She was treating him like the child that she thought he was. "I think
that you're going to be very beautiful, James."
"Huh?" James ceased his search for a utensil as his mother?s words
made their impact. "I don't really care about that, mom. Right now I just want
to get through this, and is there a fricking spoon in this house?"
"Try the dishwasher. I think you should think about it, James. It's not a
bad thing to be pretty."
"Mom! Look, the last thing I want to worry about is my looks."
Opening the dishwasher, James found a spoon that didn't look too repulsive.
He washed it off in the sink, using a small bit of dish soap. "I've got enough
problems with classes, and now this rush thing, and oh by the way, have we
figured out how we're going to be explaining that I'm a girl to the college?"
"Yes. We're treating the forms they sent us as a mistake. I put the
corrected ones in the mail this morning. Since you're already accepted, I just
said that there was a typo on your original paperwork." Anne answered,
leaning against a nearby counter.
"Typo? How the hell did you pass me off as a girl with a typo?"
"Watch your language. I just went with your middle initial. I said that
it should be M. James Fletcher instead of James M. Fletcher."
"Oh. Wait." James paused, halfway through the small carton. "What
does the M stand for?" In his own name, it stood for Michael, which was not
exactly a girl?s name.
"Margaret." Anne replied, rather blas?. "It would have been your name
if you'd been a girl."
"Margaret? You were actually going to name me Margaret?" James
groaned. Of all the names he could have been stuck with Margaret was one of
his least favorites.
"Don't talk with your mouth full. You can go with Emmjay if that
makes you more comfortable." Anne offered, trying to come to some
compromise.
"Oh, Great. A little Scottish chick with the name of a professional
basketball player. That'll go over real well." The sarcasm dripped from his
voice.
"James. I'm trying to help you here. You can't go by your other name."
"And why not?"
"Because no sorority is going to accept a woman named James. That's
why not. I am not happy with you going off in this state as it is. I am not going
to have you throw away your safety for your vanity!"
"But mom...." James checked his voice. He was actually starting to
sound like he was sixteen again, right down to the speech pattern. He guessed
it was true that you end up reflecting the expectations of others.
"No buts. You can either do what I say on this, or you can spend a year
at MPC." That was a threat. James loathed the local community college, since
the vast majority of the students there were nothing but slackers who had been
attending classes since the early eighties. He had actually had to take several
classes there during one of the periods when he was home. The thought of
dealing with that again was hideous.
"Yes, mom." James sighed in defeat. He finished the yogurt, and
tossed the empty carton into the trash. He started towards the front of the
house.
"Where are you going?" Anne asked, stopping him in his tracks.
"For a walk." He replied, beginning to move again.
"Be careful. I expect you home in two hours, young lady."
"What did you call me?" James asked, whipping his attention back to
his mother.
"I'm sorry, James. It's just that from behind....." Anne explained,
somewhat embarrassed.
James ran his hand through his long hair and shrugged. He figured he
might as well get used to it. He turned and walked to the front of the house.
He left through the front door, started down the driveway. He noticed his
mother's husband loading several items into the large tan truck in the front of
the property. At James' approach, Randall turned and tossed off a slightly
sarcastic greeting.
"Hey, Margaret!" The voice of Randall brought a surge of anger to
James. He moved past the working man, flipping him the finger as he did so.
Not waiting for the response, James walked down the sidewalk in front of the
house. The sidewalk was even, since the street he lived on was a cross street.
He continued on for about a block, before turning to his left and crossing the
street along the main boulevard. There were not as many cars on this road as
there were deeper in town, but the road saw a fair amount of traffic. As he
walked, James saw the city hall on his left, and the city police department
across from it on the right. The local fire department and library completed the
rest of the block, setting the perfect small town atmosphere. About a block
after that was the main thoroughfare of Alvarado Street. James hurried on,
until he stood at the corner of the street.
Alvarado Street was about three blocks of stores on a one way avenue.
Most of the shops catered to tourists, but occasionally there was something
that a younger person could be interested in. Apart from that and a coffee and
donut store, unless you were interested in knickknacks, there wasn't much. He
strolled along the sidewalks, noting the tourists snapping pictures of everyone
and everything. Occasionally words in a foreign language would reach his
ears, but for the most part the conversations were recognizably American.
Before he knew it, James had reached the end of the street. The
convention center at the end of the street was not very interesting, and unless
he really felt like smelling dead fish there was no reason to walk down to the
wharf. Besides, there was a very good chance that if he continued on, he
might run into one of the Rats. The Alvarado Rats were just bored kids, like
he himself had been. This particular summer he recalled that he had gotten
into trouble by shoplifting along with the rest of them. That incident hadn't yet
occurred, and if he had his way, James would not let it occur this time
through. He turned and began to walk back up Alvarado street.
About halfway up, James spied the awning of Abinante's music. The
store had gone through many changes over the years, eventually selling out to
a chain called Music Unlimited. For now though, there it was. Looking
through the large shop windows, he could see instruments of various types.
Along one wall, set across from the counter was a wall of guitars. James felt
an almost overwhelming urge to go in.
"I'm just looking." He told himself as he pushed the door open. A
small bell on the opposite side of the door clanged softly as he pushed it open.
"Can I help you, miss?" The stocky man on the other side of the
counter asked. James brushed the hair out of his face and shot the clerk a
withering look.
"Sorry. Can I help you, sir?" The man asked again.
"Yah, I'm in the market for a guitar."
"Oh, alright. Well, tell me if anything interests you." The clerk stated,
staring at James. James knew that he was a suspected shoplifter already.
Turning his attention to the wall, his eyes flitted over the wall of
guitars. The vast majority of the instruments were marked up to ridiculously
high prices. Even the Japanese Fenders had prices over two hundred dollars.
Well, if you're going to look, might as well look at the best.
"Can I take a look at that Les Paul?" James addressed the clerk, who
had been boring holes into James' back with his gaze.
"That's a very expensive guitar." The clerk said, making no move
towards the wall.
"I just want to hear how it sounds."
"I'll need to see some ID." The clerk demanded, looking at James
imperiously. Normally, James would have been insulted by the clerk?s
manner, but the urge to play a few notes was rapidly becoming overwhelming.
He fished in his back pocket, and produced a well worn student ID, which he
handed to the clerk.
"Do you have anything else? Driver's license? Credit Card?" The man
asked, looking at the ID like he had been offered a diseased rat.
"Give me a break man, I?m not going to smash it." James sighed,
trying to think of a solution. "Here, take my wallet." He flipped the entire
package to the man, who accepted it with the same trepidation that he had
show to the ID alone.
"All right." He replied after a few moments thought. "This is the only
time though. Next time come back with your parents."
"Deal." James nodded eagerly. He just needed to play a little. The itch
in his fingertips had been growing since the previous night.
Using a long rod that had been secreted behind the counter, the burly
clerk lifted the instrument from the wall. He lowered it down and gingerly
handed it to James, as if expecting the youth to bolt the instant he let go of it.
When his expectations were not met, he grudgingly pointed to a small stool
next to an amplifier. James moved, and sat down, whereupon the clerk handed
him an output jack. James looked at the amp as it was turned on, snickering
slightly at the "ABSOLUTELY, POSITIVELY, NO STAIRWAY TO
HEAVEN" sign above it.
A slight moment of feedback, and the he was ready to play. James
momentarily considered playing the long version of Stairway, just to piss off
the clerk, but thought better of it. With a smile he began slowly, picking out a
few notes, before finishing it off with a powerful A chord. The sound was
clear and precise, and he closed his eyes as he began to run through a punk
riff.
He changed tempo and riffs rapidly, noting with some distress the pain
in his fingertips as he played. At sixteen, James had never picked up a guitar,
and while he might have the memory of how to play, his hands were not used
to the abuse that the pressure of strings brought. He finished up with three
quick chords in succession before shaking his hand, trying to get some blood
flow back into the tips of his fingers. It would take a lot more practice.
He looked up, noting that there were several other people in the store,
some obviously listening to him, and others doing the same thing, but
surreptitiously. He smiled, and then unplugged the Les Paul, handing it to the
clerk.
"Nice tone, but you gotta work on that amp. It was a little tinny." He
commented, holding his hand out for his wallet.
Not saying anything, the clerk handed James his wallet, before
replacing the instrument on the wall with the pole. James shrugged, recalling
that nobody likes a wiseass, and exited the store with the slight clanging of the
bell in his ears. He looked down at his hand, noticing the imprints that the
strings had made on the tips of his fingers. He shook his hand again, trying to
get the residual pain out of them as he walked.
The return walk home was dull as the walk down. He arrived home
before his mother's deadline, appeasing her enough that she didn't feel the
need to address him. After a quick snack, James returned to his room. For
some reason, he had begun to get tired very easily. He lay down on his bed,
only meaning to rest his eyes for a moment, since it was only six in the
afternoon.
Over the next twelve hours, which was how long James slept, small
changes continued to occur. Bone structures that had been in place since his
birth began to rearrange themselves in accordance with their new plan. As a
minor effect, the snore that had been part of James' sleep pattern since he hit
twelve slackened, and disappeared entirely. Silence filled the room, except for
a groan or two as James tossed and turned from the nightmares that he was
having.
The nightmares were brief images, flashing back and forth as
nightmares often do. He had a powerful image at one point of being shoved
face down in a bed, and being unable to do anything about it. Then pain.
Powerful pain as he felt himself being opened; taken. A flash and the memory
gave way to another, of a face of a laughing creature. Then a vision of his
fingers, bleeding as they tried to touch something that meant so much. The
image was weak, indistinct. What was it that he wanted? Finally, the last
image that left an impression on his mind was himself. He saw himself lying
back on a floor, eyes wide open and staring blankly. He saw what could have
been.
***
When James awoke, the first thing he did was brush the hair out of his
face. With some dismay, he noticed that his hair had grown during the night,
and now reached to his tailbone. He immediately resolved to ask his mother
for a haircut. The second thing that James noticed was that he was once again
ravenous. He rolled off of his bed, and immediately headed down the stairs
towards the kitchen. The smell of eggs cooking greeted his nostrils.
"Morning, sleepy." Anne's back was towards him, as she stirred
something on the stove. "You want eggs this morning?"
"Please." James replied, moving next to his mother. "I'm starving."
"That's great," Anne replied, turning to face him. "I was thi........" The
spatula dropped from her hand as her mouth opened in shock. Her hand came
up and she swallowed briefly. "James?"
"What? I got something on my face? What are you looking at?" He
asked, his mind still in a bit of a sleep fog.
"Have you looked in the mirror this morning?" Anne asked, picking up
the spatula again. Her view roamed over James's form.
"Uh, no." James said, "But I know I need a haircut."
"I think you had better go take a look."
Shrugging, James tromped to the bathroom. He opened the door, and
moved to the sink. He focused his eyes on the reflection in the mirror. As the
image took form, he screamed.
The face that screamed back at him was his own, but it had changed
overnight. Panic tried to overwhelm him as his gaze swept over the eyes that
he could recognise as his own. They had not changed, but combined with the
new shape of his nose and eyebrows, brought a softer, more feminine look to
his features. His jaw too had changed, losing some of the solid mass and
becoming slimmer. He brought his hand up to run along his cheek, noting no
stubble at all. At sixteen he had not had to shave much because the hair that
had grown on his face was light colored, and did not show up easily. Now
there was no need to do even that, as his hand ran along the smooth cheek.
"JAMES! Are you alright?" His mother asked from the doorway. She
must have run here as soon as she heard his voice.
"I'm..... I'm......." James stared at the face in the mirror, unable to
comprehend how fast the changes had happened. "I thought I had a month..."
His mother came up behind him, and rested her hands on his shoulder.
For a moment he felt like retreating from the touch, but the comforting feeling
was welcome. He closed his eyes, feeling tears welling in them.
"Margaret, you're beautiful." Anne's voice was calm, as her hands
kneaded at the tension in his back. "Open your eyes, honey."
"I can't." James replied, his eyes tightly closed. "I'm not Margaret. I'm
James....."
"James. Open your eyes." The voice was insistent.
Unable to resist any longer, James opened his eyes, looking again into
his reflection. His tears streamed down the face of the woman in the glass. His
face. The long dirty blonde hair framed his face, the part on the left revealing
the high forehead that no longer looked prematurely balding. His eyes, that
was what hurt the most to look at. They had not changed, save for their
prominence. They were now the main feature of his face, the sky grey color
setting the tone for the remainder of his features.
"You're beautiful, honey." Anne's voice was quiet, reassuring. James'
quivering chin quieted as he listened to his mother?s voice.
"I... oh, my god." He stared into the mirror again, ignoring the
growling from his stomach.
"James, you knew this was going to happen."
"But not so soon!" His eyes strayed downwards, to the rest of his
body. He saw no other major changes, but his face.......
"You're alright. Come on, let's go have breakfast."
"I look...... I can't...."James was unable to complete the sentence,
staring into the face that he knew was his. The fear reflected in the eyes was
obvious.
Relenting, he allowed his mother to guide him to the kitchen table,
where he sat, staring at his hands. They had lost a great deal of their mass,
becoming slim with delicate digits. His arms too had lost much of their mass.
He was still reflecting upon them when a plate of eggs and english muffins
was set before him.
"You must be starving, with what you went through last night." Anne
stated, returning to the stove. Mechanically, James began eating. He found no
joy in it despite his hunger, but he knew that his body demanded the food.
"Don't stare at him." His mother's voice was a distant echo in the
maelstrom of his thoughts. She had addressed his sister, who had just come
into the kitchen. Elaine looked over at James, before replying to Anne.
"He looks like a girl." Elaine's comment was a death grip on the
obvious.
"Yes, he does. Now let your sister eat her breakfast." Anne's change of
pronoun affected James deeply. His mother had changed her thoughts of him
totally. To her, he was now a daughter. It didn't matter that he still had the
male equipment. He looked like a girl, and that was enough.
"Hi Margaret!" Elaine's voice was cheery, as she stared at James. "I
like what you've done with your eyes!"
"Leave me alone." James replied, smearing strawberry jam on an
english muffin. James, my name is JAMES, he wanted to scream.
"Do you want to come with me and Julie over to the mall today? It's
Saturday, you know." Elaine asked, her voice still taking that cheerful tone.
"I would rather waltz naked through the fiery gates of hell." James
replied sharply, before taking a huge bite of the muffin.
"Elaine! I told you to stop bothering your sister!" Anne shouted over
her shoulder. She finished preparing her own plate and sat down at the table.
"Mom, you said to be nice, and I thought...." Elaine whined, trying to
ingratiate herself.
"Yes, I did. Now eat." Anne interrupted, doing exactly that herself.
The rest of the meal went quickly, James scarfing down his food,
making several trips back to the stove to fry himself a second, then a third
helping. The hunger that had run through his nerves seemed to be lessening
slightly, which was a good thing.
"Margaret, what are you planning to do today?" Asked Anne after she
had finished rinsing several plates.
"Mom, can you not call me that, please?" James asked, trying
desperately to distract her attention.
"Fine, what do you want to be called? Emmjay?"
James sighed. She knew exactly what he wanted to be called, and yet
he knew that she would not do it. He was Margaret to her now. He had to
make the best of it.
"...How.....how about......Maggie?" He offered tentatively. It was better
than Margaret at least.
"All right. Maggie. What are your plans today?"
"I hadn't thought about it much, mom." He replied after a few
moments of thought.
"Well, I was thinking that you should probably get a lot of rest today. I
think that Doctor Hubbard was a little off in his estimate."
"I think I'll take a walk, if you don't mind." James tried. The last thing
he wanted to do was spend the entire day cooped up inside the house.
"Alright, we can do that. Did you want to go see the Theaterfest
today?"
Theaterfest? Dear lord. That was a fixture of the summer in Monterey.
Down at the Custom House plaza, a local theater put on shoddy productions
for the tourists. The plays ran the gamut from children?s fare to Shakespeare.
It was something he had always looked forward to, despite the clich?d and
trite jokes that were always tossed in.
"That, uh..... That sounds like fun." James tried unsuccessfully to show
some enthusiasm.
"Great! It starts at noon, so we have time to get you a haircut if you'd
like."
Feeling the weight of the mass on his head, James nodded
enthusiastically at that idea. At least it would ensure that washing his hair in
the morning wouldn't take an hour. Perhaps he would look like a boy with a
short enough haircut, like the Shakespearian heroines who did drag.
James stood from his place at the table, and took his dishes over to the
sink. He rinsed them quickly, and placed them in the dishwasher. With a final
nod to Anne, he walked to the bathroom. Closing the door behind himself, he
locked it, and then turned on the shower. The steam that rose quickly warmed
him, a nice contrast to the normally chill air in the mornings of Monterey. He
rapidly pulled the sweatshirt over his head, and followed it with the white t-
shirt he wore underneath. As he pulled it up, he noticed a slight chill run
through his spine as the cotton slid over his chest. Shaking his head to clear
the feeling, he removed his sweatpants and underwear, before getting under
the warm spray of water. He inhaled softly, feeling the warm water splashing
across his skin.
Taking a moment, James, ran the water over his face, wiping the last
vestiges of tears out of his eyes, along with the sleep remnants that had
collected there. He momentarily wondered if the water pressure had been
increased, since he felt the impacts of the droplets of water more firmly than
he was used to. After another moment, he thought of the scar on his wrist, and
wondered what other marks might have vanished. He turned his attention first
to his left elbow, where a sister of one of his friends had scratched him,
leaving a deep slash. Apparently the slash had never occurred, because the
skin was new as the skin on his wrist. Shrugging, he looked down to his right
thigh, where a bike accident at ten had left a deep gash. That too was gone,
but it was what was next to his thigh that caused the feelings of dread.
He stared down at the juncture of his legs. His penis was still there, but
it had shrunk. He swallowed, trying to calm himself, as he looked again. The
item in question looked as though it had been immersed in frigid water for at
least an hour. However, it had none of the traits that were normally associated
with cold. He was merely flaccid, and smaller. At least an inch of his normal
length was gone. It struck him less firmly than had the face in the mirror
earlier. After that shock, the loss of this seemed merely an afterthought. He
ran his hand down his stomach to grasp the member, feeling the same pleasure
that always accompanied the touch. However, his phallus remained in its
quiescent state. He stroked it softly, feeling some slight warmth, but no build
up towards orgasm. His body remained dormant, no longer responding.
"Shit." He murmured. Shaking his head, he grasped a bar of soap from
a nearby dish, and began the process of cleaning himself. His mind was
elsewhere as he worked, occasionally noting a place where the touch felt
different then normal.
When he was done, he turned the shower off, and stepped out of the
tub. He quickly dried himself off with a towel, followed by squeezing the
moisture from his hair over the tub. He shook the towel through his hair,
leaving himself looking a bit like a wet dog. Grumbling, he reached for a
comb, and spent the next half an hour attempting unsuccessfully to remove all
of the tangles from his hair. Eventually he gave up, and traded the comb for a
brush. Using that, he managed to quickly put his appearance into some
semblance of order. He quickly dressed in the sweats, before taking a deep
breath, and opening the bathroom door.
"I will never bitch about a woman taking too long in the bathroom
again," he said quietly as he headed up the stairs towards his room.
***
To Be Continued....
Mhairi
- 25.06.2021
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