A MALE college co-ed

Images and videos flash on a screen in front of you. Naked women, on their knees, from the POV of the guy. Sports. Football players, rushing in for the tackle. Basketball players making a slam dunk. Guns. A house you don’t recognize. Cars. More women.

My name is Curtis.

“My name is Curtis,” you mumble, having been told to repeat what it tells you.

I am a confident man.

“I am a confident man.” Pictures of men in business attire, stereotypically successful. Men in sports gear. Men in expensive clothing, on boats, women on their arms.

I will study hard. I will work hard. I will fuck women.

“I will study hard. I will work hard. I will fuck women.”

I want to be a man.

“I want to be a man.”

This goes on for hours. Then you wake up.

Your eyes flit open, taking a moment to adjust to the lights in the room. You sit up. Everything feels … different.

The man staring back at you from the mirror is … you. A name comes to mind and sends a chill down your spine: Curtis. That’s you–isn’t it?

You run your hands down your chest. It’s so flat. Part of you remembers how, hours ago, you had a nice rack on you. A nice little fuckable set of titties–wait, you didn’t call them that, did you?

You slip off the hospital gown to inspect your package. So this is what it feels like to have something dangling between your legs. It’s big. It must be so inconvenient, especially when it–oh, there it goes! You grip it and stroke it, feeling weird to be doing this to yourself. You’ve given your boyfriends handjobs so many times you’ve lost count, of course. This is different. You’re … masturbating.

Pre-cum leaks out from you. Whoa. The sensation is so weird. It feels good. Old you wouldn’t have hesitated to lick it up, to taste it. But your memories of enjoying that are fading away. The idea of enjoying the taste of cum seems so ludicrous to you. Instead, you fantasize about having a woman’s mouth wrapped around this part. How good it must feel to be on the receiving end of a warm mouth moving up and down, massaging this with its tongue.

You don’t quite ejaculate, but you’re a little bit messier than you’d like. Slightly embarrassed, you quickly dress in the boxers, T-shirt, and jeans that were left for you. Suddenly you don’t really care about what you’re wearing–you actually, come to think of it, don’t remember what colour those boxers were.

An orderly enters the room. “Oh good, you’re already dressed. Let’s meet the others, shall we?”

You shrug and follow him out of the room. You’re taller than him now, and you walk with a firm, confident swagger. You enter a common area and see the rest of your family seated, waiting for you.