Emelie in the 80s: 16 (Patreon)

Pete lay in bed Saturday morning, pleasantly surprised to find that he didn’t have a hangover. Cool, he thought, wondering if that was somehow part of the whole Inane thing. His mind was also swimming with memories of the night before… He thought again of his daughters, the talks he and their mother had had with them about waiting, about safe sex… If anyone had been wearing a condom last night, it would be a miracle. He didn’t remember how he even got home last night, and he was grateful that he did. He smelled like sex, and he could feel— boy substances— dried on his inner thighs. The boys had been in heat like animals, all of them desperate to please him, almost to worship him like a goddess.

The thought pleased Pete, and he rolled out of bed and went to the shower, getting the water nice and hot, filling the whole tiled little room with steam. He stepped into the shower and bathed luxuriously… running his hands over his wet skin, frothy suds sliding down his legs and pooling at his feet. He out his hands on his breasts and lifted them, squeezed… lathering up his hands he rubbed the soap into his tits… then down along his tummy…

Stepping out of the shower, he toweled off. He’d been careful not to let his hair get wet. He didn’t feel like sitting around waiting for it to dry. He wrapped the towel around his body girl-style and went back into his bedroom, pausing when he caught a glimpse himself in the mirror. He looked sexy as hell in a towel, he decided, stepping to the mirror, arching his back, smiling. When he’d first come here and found himself female, he’d felt embarrassed at the thought of seeing himself naked. It had seemed pervy and wrong. Those feelings were gone now, and he let the towel drop to his feet, and looked straight on at himself…. His breasts were magnificent. Huge, but also firm, gravity defying, floating out in front of him, high and proud, big, red nipples against pale white skin that glowed…. Taught tummy and a narrow waist about full, round hips, soft and inviting… tiny little arms that would fill any boy his age with shame, but made Pete thrill with pride, just like those lithe legs, so long…. They rose up from his slender ankles along firm calves, and inviting rounded thighs to his red patch…

Pete started to caress his breasts. They were so soft and yet so firm… he felt his nipples Harden against his palms, and he squeezed them, then ran his thumbs over the hard little erasers…. Keeping one hand on his breast, he let the other slide down his tummy, to find that space between his legs… he knees going weak as he started to explore… to please himself… his eyes filling with stars and he made soft, mewling sounds and then moaned in pleasure as an orgasm exploded inside him and now he did sink to his knees, his hair falling him his face as his whole body shook…

He heard the doorknob to his room rattle. “Honey? You okay?” Mom called.

“Oh!” Pete called, his voice cracking. “I’m— yeah. Everything is fine.”

The handled rattled some more, the door banging against the frame. Pete sighed with relief, realizing he’d locked the door. “Can I come in?” Mom said, her voice full of concern.

“I’m dressing,” Pete said. “I’ll be out in a minute!”

“Okay,” Mom said, and Pete heard her footsteps retreating.

Pete was hot and horny, but having been almost caught he decided he was just going to have to deal. For the first time since he’d arrived back here in the past, he seemed to have a wide open day. Nothing planned. He threw himself on his bed, rolled over, buried his face in his pillow. Things had gone wild last night. He didn’t even know who he was anymore. Not just that he was a girl, Emma now, but Emma seemed to be changing, becoming some kind of slut goddess, and as much as he loved the power, it scared him as well.

He looked at the mythology book he’d gotten from the library. Maybe he should focus. Try and figure out the mystery- get free of this life? And yet, he thought about the conversation he had with Fi, the one where she’d been talking about how terrified she felt about a bland, boring future in the suburbs, a life not much different from the one he’d lived as a man. Wasn’t this life better? Bigger? Wasn’t he special and beautiful and free here in a way he’d never been as a man? Why would he want to go back?

His daughters. His wife. Memories. First steps. Pageants. Dance recitals. His heart ached at the thought of leaving them behind and never being there for the rest of their big moments: graduation, marriage.

He buried his face in his pillow and screamed, punching his mattress. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to live? What did Innane want from him? There was a knock on the door. Pete looked up, thinking it was fake mom again. “What?” He snapped.

“Whoa,” Dad said through the door. “Cool your jets.”

Pete smiled, his mood instantly changed. Dad. Good old Dad, and his Dad sayings. “Oh. Sorry,” he said, getting off his bed, going over and opening the door. “Yes?”

“Gear up, buckaroo,” Dad said. “It’s time for apple picking.”

“Apple picking?” Pete said, feeling instantly happy. He’d almost forgotten about their annual apple picking family trip.

“Apple picking,” Dad said.

While Pete headed out for a wholesome family outing, aspiring filmmaker Jerry Stein sat in a darkened room, eyes bulging as he watched his footage from the night before, most of which consisted of Emma being an epic slut. His mouth felt dry, and he frantically guzzled down his mom’s Tab colas, watching, rewinding, watching, rewinding. The tape was awesome. Incredible. He just couldn’t stop watching, and then he started to work on a rough edit, struggling to focus as he found himself consumed with desire for Emma.

When he finished his edit, he practically ran to the bathroom, emerging sometime later, cheeks flush, adjusting his pants, relieved but still burning with desire to hold Emma’s perfect body, to bury his face in those gorgeous breasts. Then, he set up his copy maker with a blank tape and his rough edit in the other. As the machine started to copy, he ran to the bathroom and lost himself in another hot, messy fantasy of Emma.

Pete had fun Apple-picking, spending a few hours in the brisk fall weather. He picked out a cute apple picking outfit, with mittens and a big, thick fall scarf over his Angora sweater, plus cute boots. A flouncy beret he wore sideways. He and his family wandered among the evenly spaced trees, talking, laughing, sharing stories about past apple picking days Pete didn’t remember. There were many other families around and some young couples. Pete was not surprised at all to find the eyes of all the men being drawn to him, and he teased them, reaching for a high apple, getting up on his toes stretching, his sweater tight against his chest…. After, he would sometimes glance at them, wink… the men shaken, unable to look away, and when their wives or girlfriends, catching them staring, started to complain, sometimes hitting them, Pete felt a full body blush. That’s right, bitches, he thought. I am way hotter than you, and your man is getting a boner right now thinking about this body!

Back home, picking done, Pete found himself on the phone, as it kept ringing and ringing and ringing… it was guys from school, from the party, everyone was getting his number from someone, and the calls were flirty and fun and all the guys wanted Pete, needed Pete, and he teased them all and giggled and laughed and then felt that same rush of pure power when they finally got up the nerve to ask him out, and he was all, I’m not dating right now!

The guys were all crushed. They needed Pete, needed him bad, but he was in control, and he would decide when and if they got to experience the privilege of his perfect curves.

Finally, the phone stopped ringing. Pete found himself sighing, on his back, his hair spread out like a pillow under him. He could hear the droning voices of the news from downstairs. More stuff about the Russians— submarines had been spotted taking up positions around the East and West Coasts. The Russian Navy was fully deployed, and there had been more incursions, with Russians jets crossing into American airspace. Pete didn’t remember any of this, but his mind quickly drifted away from it as he drifted off thinking about— sex.

In the morning, he woke with a start, and sitting up he was shocked to see the word Daba had appeared across his bedroom wall. He sat up, climbed out of bed, digging his hands into his hair and pulling it away from his face as he walked over to the letters, reaching out and touching them. He noticed that beneath Daba there was something else in smaller letters: 42.4806N83.4755W What were they even written with? He wondered. It didn’t look like paint… chalk? It felt rubbery, and had ridges, but his fingers came away clean.

Daba…. The word haunted him now, and a chill went through his body.. just then, he heard the barking of wolves in the distance, the howling, and then the wail of a jet engine, coming closer… closer… the house shaking as the jet seemed to pass right overhead ….

“Fi!” Pete said, as soon as his friend picked up the phone. “We need to talk.”

They met in Fi’s basement. It was a place that felt private even though her parents were hovering above them. Fi was in stay at home Sunday clothes— bags sweats. Pete, of course, had gotten himself all dressed up, this time a kind of Flashdance look with an off the shoulder sweatshirt and  one black bra strap showing against his perfect skin. Fi was already lighting up as he came down the stairs, and she handed the pipe to Pete, who took a toke. “So what’re you freaking out about?” Fi said, sprawling in a tattered old Lazy-E-Boy..

“I need someone to talk to,” Pete said. “I can’t keep this in anymore.”

Fi sat up. “You banged another teacher?”

“No, not that,’ Pete said. “It’s something much weirder.”

He started off talking about Innane, Daba… how he’d been seeing the word everywhere, how he felt that Innane had given him some kind of sex powers. Made him irresistible to men. Fiona seemed curious, receptive. Pete talked about the wolves, the Russians, how he felt it was all building toward something terrible…

Fiona still seemed willing to come along for the ride.

Pete took a deep breath. “The next thing I am about to tell you, you may have a hard time believing, but please just hear me out.”

“Lay it on me.”

“You noticed there was something different about me, right? How I was acting different? Didn’t seem like myself?”

“Yuppers.”

“Well, I am not myself. I am not the Emma you know.”

Fiona tilted her head to the side. “What does that even mean?”

“I am from the future. I travelled back in time somehow, I don’t know… maybe it was Innane, but all I know is I woke in this time, this body, and I need to find some way to get…”

“Back to the Future?” Fiona said, crinkling her nose. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“No. I swear. I need you to believe me.”

Fiona frowned. What the Emster had just said seemed impossible. She wondered if Em had gone a little crazy, or was sick or something? The idea that this wasn’t her best friend Emma would not calibrate, despite the changed behavior, and so she defaulted to the decision that felt right, and decided she had to stick with her friend.

“I mean, okay? Maybe? But, why now? Why are you telling me all this now?”

“I want your help. I need your help. I have to get out of here before something terrible happens. I think maybe all this weirdness, the wolves and the meteor, I think I may be causing it by coming back in time.”

That part sounded crazy to Fiona for sure, but she let it slide. This was all starting to scare her— Emma sounded more and more crazy, talking about ancient goddesses, blaming herself for all that was wrong with the world, and the talk of leaving was like a dagger in her heart. Fiona needed to stay close, to at least make sure her friend didn’t do anything drastic. “So, how can I help you? Tell me what you need.”

Pete sighed. “Thank you,” he said. “Thanking you for believing me.” He reached for the pipe. Fiona caught his hand and pulled it away.

“Maybe we lay off the weed for a little bit— until, ya know, we solve this whole mystery thing.”

It was Pete’s turn to frown. “You think I’m crazy now, don’t you?”

“I always thought you were crazy, but you do NOT need anything else messing around with that crazy brain of yours.”

Pete pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket. He showed it to Fiona— the code he’d found scrawled under the word Daba: 42.4806N83.4755W.

“What’s this mean?” Fiona said.

“I was hoping you could tell me?”

Fiona shook her head. “Maybe it’s some kind of ….”

Before they could even finish, they heard the klaxon rev up and start wailing. Novi, like many towns in the mid-west, had huge sirens that sounded to warn of tornados, and they were revving up now, wailing their warning into the day.

“Hell,” Fi said, rushing to open the basement windows, waving, trying to get the smell of weed out of the air. Pete lit an incense stick and started waving it around… the basement door opened, and the sound of feet pounding down stairs, then Fi’s family appeared. “Stay calm, stay calm,” Fi’s Dad said. “We’re all gonna be fine!”

Fi’s Mom, a tiny, birdlike woman, sniffed the air but then turned her attention to Pete. “Call your mother. Tell her you’re here and safe.”

“She knows I’m here,” Pete said, slipping the slip of paper back into his pocket.

“Call your mother, young lady!” Fi’s Mom said, using her Mom voice.

Despite the fact he was not really a teen-age girl, Pete found he had to obey. Rolling eyes and groaning dramatically, he stomped over the basement phone and called.

“As soon as this is over, I want you to come straight home,” Mom said.

“But, Fi and I were going to—-“

“Straight home!” Mom insisted.

Once more, Pete groaned. Parents! It was hard enough trying to solve this whole mystery, but the limitations and demands of being a teen girl were making it nearly impossible.