Posted by Puffy on February 13, 2009 at 19:35:22:
Synopsis: Not every woman in Canniland is keen on being a woman in Canniland. This explores a darker side, where a woman creates the body of a man – without a mind – planning on putting her mind in there and becoming a man. But things don’t go as planned. Barbeque. Non-con. Ending is painful to read and I cringe when reading it but it wrote itself that way.
She is He
By Puffy
The lock is in place. She isn’t going to get out – not until the time release kicks in. And that won’t be for hours.
Not that I expect my body to have an occupant when I complete the mind transfer. I just like to play it safe and sound. And it stops anybody from coming in and disturbing my ritual – not after all those years of labour, no sir, am I going to let anything go wrong at this stage.
He’s on the work table. Complete! The finest specimen of a man, one I crafted meticulously from nothing more than stem cells, in fastidious detail based on anatomical charts and data and my own rigorous study of human biology. I could not examine a real man – it was too risky: somebody might guess my intentions. So for four years I sweated over him in secret as I adjusted the microbial cultures, spliced the genes and examined the musculature as it developed. Now all he needs for life is a mind: my mind.
The electrodes are all attached. They connect his brain with mine through yards of copper wiring. Soon my soul will shift from my body into his empty shell and I will become him, leaving behind my body as the empty shell. I lie on the table beside him. Goose bumps run down my body. Neither of us is clothed – I should have installed some heating!
No matter: his metabolism is much higher than mine. After the transfer, I will enjoy the stable warmth of manhood.
I have prepared an identity for him. Rupert, I call him. He will be a biotechnologist extraordinaire, just like his mother. He will be me in every way except for two hundred pounds of well-toned masculinity. Looking at him lying there, those arms, his big, broad shoulders, his thick neck..the familiar sensations of arousal spread through my body.
I had long resented the men in our world. It’s not fair – it’s never been fair. As scientifically sound as reincarnology is, why does everybody buy into the bullshit lets’-stay-humans idea and allow the ridiculous ratio of females to males? One hundred thousand to one? The world will end before I get a shot at manhood! Only men are able to reincarnate as something else: women are sentenced to another lifetime as a human. For what reason do they believe that being human is a good thing?
I have no intention of being cooked for somebody’s meal. But all I have control over is this life – who knows what sort of airhead I might have end up as in the next one! One jumping for the spit the moment she turns eighteen? No, I don’t want that sort of future for myself.
That was how my obsession began. I locked myself in the cellar every night for two months, poring over published journals to educate myself on the reincarnation system – and I have good reason to believe that the sex of our birth does not affect our reincarnation, but the sex of our death is the important factor. It is only a hypothesis, but I am very confident – and I am going to be the first test subject. After transferring my mind over to a male, if I come back as a human, then my hypothesis is wrong. Otherwise...blissful escape.
Oh yes! A wave of pleasure just shot up my body at the thought of blissful escape. My hand automatically reaches for my cleft – but there’s no time for that.
You see, I do not want to return as a human, and this is the best chance I have. I have to take it, and my body agrees.
Why my distaste for humanity? Because it is suffering. Pure and simple. To know and understand the world is to suffer. Why must accidents happen? Why must there be pain? It is all the worst for me because unlike my female contemporaries, I have a tendency to question things – to question reincarnology, the sense of being eaten, why we want to stay human – and so all the flaws of the world stand out more starkly for me than for everybody else. I would rather be a creature incapable of understanding such concepts – and then I might be happy. They say that people with depression view the world more realistically than everybody else. Which one causes the other – depression or realism – I don’t know, but as for me, I do not have depression, and this project has been the only thing keeping my spirits up. Four years working tirelessly in the secrecy of my basement at night has stopped me from spiralling into depression. Depressing, isn’t it?
I must also admit, unscientifically – oh, I’m blushing – that I am also curious as to how males experience the world sexually. I think it will be neat to have a penis. Please don’t tell anyone I said that.
Everything is set!
One push of the button and my contraption will transfer my mind over to his.
Closing my eyes...
1...
2...
This is it, Kirsten. Say goodbye to your life forever.
* * *
I can’t open my eyes. I don’t want to open my eyes.
Did it work? I don’t feel any different.
Courage, girl! Open them. Now. Now!
One eye peeks. Both snap wide open.
I look down disappointingly at the two familiar freckled mounds on my chest. Not a good sign. Men don’t have breasts – my man certainly doesn’t. I sigh and turn away.
And gasp.
Rupert – he’s alive! He sits up and rubs his palms over his hairy chest, then reaches down to examine his penis.
I’m speechless; meanwhile, he is busy playing with himself.
Then he turns to me.
“You’re alive!” he sounds surprised. That’s my line!
“Of course I’m alive.” I reply brusquely, sounding as annoyed as possible.
“But...” he looks at his enormous palms. Their span is wider than my torso – trust me, I’ve checked. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
“You’re telling me.”
“Let me get this straight. You are Kirsten in there?”
“Of course I’m Kirsten! What a stupid question.”
“Ah! But I’m Kirsten too. Inside Rupert. The transfer worked.”
“What?! What do you mean? No way.”
“I know that I’m Kirsten, and you appear to be sure that you’re Kirsten too. I think the machine split my mind up and placed one in Rupert’s body and kept the other back in my body.”
“You mean it cloned my mind and put it into Rupert’s body?” Fear stabs through my heart. I know what this means...
Brave face, Kirsten. Brave face. Maybe I can avoid my fate.
It’s Rupert’s turn to sound annoyed. “I’m pretty sure I’m not a clone. I still have all of my memories.”
“That’s still possible as a clone.”
Maybe it’s because he’s in a more upbeat position than me – he occupies the body both of us want – so he was able to grasp the situation faster than I did. I am not just panicking because I can see what’s coming up next, but I’m panicking because he’s also bigger than me and thinking faster than me. My anxiety must be very obvious to him, since we both know my body intimately. And if not, the front of my body suddenly becoming flushed is a dead giveaway.
“Whatever. The end result is essentially a successful transfer of my mind to Rupert’s body, with an unintended side effect of my old body still retaining a mind.”
“That doesn’t really help me.”
“No,” he agrees. “It doesn’t.”
“I will need to iron out the flaws for next time.”
“What do you mean?” He leaps down and bounces around the table, testing out his body. He’s swift and agile. I break out in cold sweat. The dead giveaway will be me – I’ll be dead, and my body given away for his dining pleasure. But what can I do? I still have to try to divert it...
“To avoid leaving a remnant of my mind in my old body,” I reply.
“You want to spend years working on this again? And I’ve – we got it perfect the first time. There’s not going to be any way to improve the process.”
“There must be!” I insist. “With both of our minds working on this, it shouldn’t take –“
“Hang on there – why do I have to help?”
“What? Because – but –“
“Consider it from my perspective,” says Rupert. “The transfer is a success. I am now in Rupert’s body and there seem to be no negative side effects on my end. The only unfortunate outcome is that you’re still in my old body. I could just continue on with the plan.”
“What? No!” My plan had been to cook and eat my old body after the transfer was complete, thus removing all evidence of my experiment, all traces of my former existence, to allow me to blend into society again.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m still in here!” I move to get off the table, but he holds up his palm.
“Stay there. We knew this might happen. That’s why we took the precaution of a time delay lock on the door so that it couldn’t be opened from the inside. That was to stop the one stuck inside our old body from escaping her fate. It’s just that, when planning this, we expected to be the one that got to switch to the new body and didn’t consider how we might feel if we were stuck in the old body. It must suck to be you, but then I guess we were always bad at considering the emotional side of things. But since we are here now, we have no real option other than to continue with the plan.”
“We can change plans to adapt to the new situation,” I say, eyeing the door. It’s hopeless. Maybe a weapon...
“On the contrary. Everything has been set up to wipe your existence from this world and to replace it with Rupert’s. So how are we going to explain your existence to the outside world if I allowed you to walk through that door?”
“I – I – no!’
“Don’t struggle. We both know I would overpower you. And even if you do escape, you’re in deep trouble.”
He’s right. In making my plans, I had concluded that my male counterpart would have an easy time subjugating my female body. I exercised regularly for the good feelings produced by the regular release of endorphins, and the positive body image from a slim figure, but I was still weak in terms of strength and agility. And I had crafted a strong male body. It was no contest.
I wipe the tears welling in my eyes with my palms.
“Come on, don’t cry.”
The floodgates drop and the tears stream down my face.
“I can end it now for you.”
I shake my head. “It’s not that. I – I just loathe at the thought of coming back to this miserable piece of shit world again.”
He pats my back. “That might not happen. We have uncovered a new branch in reincarnology. There are two of us, right? From the one soul. It will take some work for me to figure out what that means for both our fates, but offhand I think it means your path ends here and we merge again after I die. So long as you die first, hopefully we will take my path and reincarnate as something else. We can easily ensure this now with your cooperation.”
I nod. It seems obvious now that he mentions it. It just didn’t occur to me through my disappointment. “But if you’re a clone, that could mean you’re a completely different soul taken from the pool and absorbed into that body.”
His face twitched when I said that. “I don’t think I’m a clone,” he asserts.
“Too emotional, not enough rational.” I rub my tear-soaked eyes. It’s my great weakness: allowing my emotions to run my life. It was how I had ended up here. I was so careless...I wipe my eyes again. They’re going to be red in the morning. What? What am I saying?! My eyes will be jelly in a few hours and won’t be around when the sun rises.
“At least I can give you a last fuck before I fry your arse,” says Rupert. “Come here.”
Despite his words, Rupert is the one to climb on top of me as I lie where I am. What is the point of struggling? He pushes my legs apart and rests his hands on either side of my ribs, causing my nipples to harden in fear. Definitely not arousal. Definitely not. My moist sex is just coincidence. His heavy breath falls across my face. I look down and upon seeing his engorged member, apprehension surfaces.
“I –“
“I know,” he says. “But it will fit. You have to hope it does.”
With that, he cups my breasts and brings his mouth to them. His slimy tongue coats my skin as he slurps at my nipples like a hungry hyena drooling over a wounded antelope. I am not wounded, but I feel like that antelope.
Curse the familiar sensation between my thighs! Curse my body and curse the twisted world that makes me react this way towards my certain doom!
“You’re flushing.” His voice echoes sadistically through the blood pounding in my head. “That must mean...” he reaches down and feels my sweet spot, bringing the juice up to his mouth.
“It tastes the same to me,” he said, “yet the reaction of this body...” he looks down at his penis, which was throbbing like a miniature heart, thumping up and down to an ever-increasing beat.
“Lick it.” He brings the shaft to my face and I have no choice but to comply. I’ve had no experience in the matter – and neither has he. He holds my head fast and thrusts into my mouth, causing me to gag. He suddenly shoves me back onto the table. “Useless!”
My legs are violently spread and I can see his head lowered to my pussy. I can feel his breath running over my vulva, the sensation like standing in a hot breeze while soaked in sweat and with hypersensitive skin. At least he knows how to pleasure a woman down there – alas! he’s doing it for curiosity rather than for my pleasure, and quickly bores of it. After all, he knows everything about my body.
Except for one thing.
He splits me apart as he rams all the way in with one sudden shove, eliciting a gasp from me at the sudden penetration.
“This feels kind of nice,” he says as he thrusts. “Kiss me.”
He forces himself onto my lips and I meekly comply, allowing his tongue to probe my mouth and for him to nibble on my lips.
“Your nose is annoying,” he says. “It pokes into me while we’re kissing.” He cups my nose in one hand and squeezes it. I try to jerk my head away but he has me tight.
“I want to try you from behind,” he says. “Roll over.”
I go onto my hands and knees and stick my bottom up for him. My face is soaked with tears and more continue to pour from the fountain of my eyes. Is this what being with a man is like? Why would anybody put up with such a thing?
“Oh!” I cry out in pain as he rams himself into my butt. I should have expected this, but it still came as a surprise. It’s like analysing a contaminated sample but still being disappointed when the test results show that it really is contaminated.
“No! Get it out!”
“Yeah, fine. It doesn’t feel as good anyway. I much prefer your vagina.” Even after he withdraws, my anus feels like a ring of fire.
As he pumps away in my much more comfortable orifice – I quickly suppress the thought of infection from anal bacteria by reminding myself that he will be chewing on my filet in a few hours anyway – Rupert leans his weight on my body and causes my arms to collapse under me. “Oh, I forgot,” he says. “You’re much weaker than I am.”
He grabs my breasts and fondles them. “I wonder how these will taste.” My breasts feel like they are being rubbed against steel, his touch is so rough, but what can I do? I have never felt so helpless in my life and cannot wait for this to be over. Is this the kind of hell we have created for ourselves? Or is this purely my own doing, the specific consequences of my secret endeavour?
Culinary participation in Canniland is strictly voluntary – so how can other women willingly walk into this, go through with this, when they can say “No” at any time?
This world makes no sense. I just want to leave it.
He pulls my hands back and tie them behind me. Where did he get the rope? Ow! My shoulders and cheek bounce on the table with each thrust – in the same way that a bowling ball bounces on concrete.
Oh god, just end it. Even being a bimbo enthused with the idea of being consumed might not be so bad after all.
He’s pulling my butt cheeks apart, probably for a closer look at the action. It feels uncomfortable – he’s pushing them too far, and it’s like he’s running a knife between them, the skin is stretched so.
He finally grabs my hips and pushes himself into me as deeply as he can, all the while howling with pleasure. I conjure the abstract image of his semen squirting into my special canal, but I am so desensitised down there that I don’t actually feel him ejaculate. Yet, and this surprises me, a strange feeling spreads up through my body as he withdraws – a feeling I can only describe vaguely as disappointment. Have I never felt this before because I have always worked myself up to orgasm? Could I reproduce this feeling by ceasing stimulation and withdrawing a dildo prior to climax? The scientist in me takes over and laments: if only I had explored my body more thoroughly when I had the chance.
Another feeling washes over me: I feel dirty. Although I usually work up a lot of sweat and fluids during masturbation, lying here right now I feel very dirty – so dirty that no matter how much I wash, the dirt will never come out. I feel like I have been coated with super reverse Teflon. I haven’t moved an inch since Rupert withdrew from me. I am still lying with my tush in the air – oh god, I’m objectifying myself, calling it a tush – head and shoulders against the table, and pools of bodily fluids all around: tears, sweat, and sex.
And I’m cold again.
I start shivering.
“Don’t worry sweet cheeks,” Rupert slaps my tush – no! I’m entering meat girl mode again. “We’ll have you warmed up in a few minutes.” With that, he ties my legs. “Now...” he picks me up and takes me over to the BBQ grill.
“Wait – what are you doing? Aren’t you going to kill me first? No! No! Argh!” The pain! The indescribable pain!
He’s talking, he’s saying something – from the look on his face, he’s gloating. But I can’t hear him over my own screams.
The pain – after an eternity, it diminishes. It still hurts, but not as much. I try to talk – but only manage a croak. My voice has given out. I can still move somewhat, but my movements feel unusual. My body – oh god, my body is ruined. It wasn’t a spectacular body, but it was mine – I looked after it, I kept it in shape through daily exercise because it was conducive to longevity – longevity! I expected longevity! But now...ruined. Ruined.
I can’t sob, so my body merely shudders without the vocals while I listen to the drips of my tears sizzle as they fall into the embers close enough to my ear I can hear them above the sound of my own scorching skin.
Then Rupert rolls me over...and the pain begins anew.
And now I notice it – he’s chewing on something, and I can only guess that it came from my flank. I can’t muster the concentration to consider the implications of this – it hurts so much!
He rolls me over again and slices off a breast. My breast. No! Give it back! You monster. It’s mine...My breast...
“You know,” Rupert chuckles, “it’s not everyday we get to eat oneself. And I must say I had quite a delicious body.”
Suddenly another new sensation sweeps over me – and I quickly realise it’s my hair. My hair is on fire.
Rupert rushes to find something to put it out, but he’s going to be too late – my head will be cooked by then. His movements are slowing down, he’s entering slow motion when suddenly the world goes black.
...But I’m still alive. I’m in here, thinking. That’s it, my eyes have been jellied. Or my brain has been fried. But I’m still here...for just a little bit longer.
It was silly of him to overlook my hair. For all our care, scientists can be stupid sometimes, overlooking the simplest details. He might be in a male body, but his mind is still mine, and so occasionally prone to overlooking important details in his excitement.
Yes...Such a silly detail to overlook...