Chapter #7Dark Morning in a Manipulated Reality by: Unknown The next thing Jeff was aware of was a knock at the bedroom door, and then the muffled voice of his father saying, "Your mother's making pancakes, if you can make it downstairs in the next hour."
Now? Pancakes weren't unheard of in the house on the weekend, but it was still dark out, from what Jeff could tell through his eyelids. He grunted noncommittally.
The grunt came out higher-pitched than he expected.
Not only that, but the bedsheets felt different. More slippery, somehow, but there also seemed to be some metal in the bed with him, pressed up against his chest, which felt like it was in the wrong spot, and bizarrely heavy. It was like he was on a bizarre trip, but his brain didn't seem fuzzy at all; he felt more clear-headed than he had in a long time.
He took a deep breath and opened his eyes to the darkness. Well, there were the familiar glowing blue numbers of the clock radio, but it said 9:09 A.M. It shouldn't be so dark.
As he got out from under the sheets and sat up on the edge of the bed -- distracted by the fact that parts of his body seemed to have more inertia than he was used to, and there were some faint clinking metal noises as he moved -- he reached for the switch on the lamp next to the clock. He couldn't find it, for some reason. He fumbled around with one hand until he felt an unexpected pull chain. He yanked on it.
The object that lit up, instead of the cheap lamp with a fabric shade that he was expecting, had a stained-glass shade in an abstract pattern -- it looked like an antique.
The room was still fairly dim, and a big reason seemed to be that the walls were a very dark color, maybe even black. And the window was covered by thick curtains -- so that's why it was so dark at this time of day. The various posters that Jeff had put up over the years were nowhere to be seen; hanging on the walls now were some framed black-and-white photos, looking like artsy shots, various close-ups of naked women's bodies.
A somewhat confused Jeff reached up to scratch his head, and felt more hair than he was expecting. He looked down and saw a large pair of breasts, nipples pierced, with chains draped between them -- and it all came back to him. It hadn't been the pot, or a dream -- it was that Reality Manipulation game. Only "game" was apparently the wrong word.
The furniture in the room was different, too -- the bed was a four-poster covered in dark-colored satin sheets, the dresser was a definite antique, and his TV was gone, replaced by a wooden makeup table. The computer, fortunately, was still there, but now it sat on a rolltop desk -- not completely practical, since the monitor's size meant the top couldn't be closed. Jeff got up and walked the few steps to the desk -- catching a glance, in the mirror attached to the makeup table, of the female face he'd created last night, the Gothic punk centerfold slut.
He got another good view, courtesy of the reflection in the dark monitor, and quickly jabbed at the computer's power button.
As the computer booted up, he looked at what else was on the desk. The first thing to catch his eye was a fairly recent photo of his sisters Tina and Tiffa, and standing between them was his current female form, wearing a vinyl corset top, a ruffled black skirt, fishnet stockings, and patent-leather platform heels.
The computer was still booting. Jeff noticed a paper on top of the desk with the headline "Contract for Modeling Services." He kept reading -- it was for some company called GothChix, to appear exclusively for a year in their publications and on their website, in various costumed and nude photos, with videos at their option for an extra modeling fee, but the base pay was going to be --
"Thirty thousand dollars?!" he squeaked, not entirely due to the female voice box. That was more than he was expecting to earn this year as a part-time IT admin. Heck, he could probably afford to move out for that kind of money.
The computer had finally booted up, and he double-clicked on the Reality Manipulation icon, but he was already having nagging second thoughts. Women sometimes seemed to have it easier than men -- at least, the good-looking ones. And this body was not just good-looking, it was gorgeous, with unique, traffic-stopping add-ons. Maybe he should try being -- he checked the contract for the name, and found "Patricia Smith, a.k.a. 'Trish Terror'" -- Trish for a while, to get the modeling pay, and however else she could make money without much effort.
On the other hand, there was having to put on makeup, and having to shave all over the place, and having a period and cramps -- and maybe some weird maintenance issues with all these piercings.
He drummed his fingers -- really, her fingers, dainty and feminine, with manicured black-painted nails at the end of each one -- on the desktop and considered the options.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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