Old Donnie's Morning In The Park

Donnie sat down in the park. His old eyes gazed at the blue sky, the colorful flowers, birds, the grass that danced because of the wind, families having picnics, kids playing in the sandbox, and joggers who ran around the park track. He smiled at the wonderful scenery. Donnie was an old man in his twilight days. He lived down the street, not far from the park. He was your friendly neighbourhood grandpa. Donnie loved to chat with people. He sometimes didn’t understand the concept of personal space just because he wanted to talk with others.

“Hey, girl, you look familiar. Would you stop and talk with Grandpa for a few moments? What better way to spend a day in the park than talking with youngsters?”

Jillian was in the middle of jogging when she heard what Donnie said. Jillian was a blonde young girl; she was athletic and had a toned body. Her breasts were barely 34 B-cup, but she had killer, bubbly buttocks from all the workout regimen she did. Jillian not only had beauty, but she was also a complete package of beauty and brains; she was a medical student in her final years of med school. Just a few more years, and she would be a great doctor. If only she had brought her earpods this morning, she would have been able to brush off Donnie’s invitation, and her life might have been unchanged and gone on as usual.

She would usually brush off such an offer and keep jogging away, but as the blonde fit girl looked at the old man, a sense of friendliness washed over her. The man reminded her of her grandfather, and he said she looked familiar; he might be someone her grandfather had known and met before, but she forgot him.

Jillian smiled and walked toward the man.

“Good day, isn’t it, sir?”

Donnie nodded. “Yeah, girl, now that I look at you closer, you really look like your mom.”

Jillian looked surprised by the old man’s reply. “Do you know my mom?”

“Huh? Of course, your mom is Grace McLeod, right? Well, back in the day, the boys in the block called her Grace McLewd. She was such a hot tease. She had a bigger butt than you back in the day. And girl, she flaunted it proudly in those cutoff daisy duke shorts like a trophy. Your father is really lucky pervert; he got such a hottie like your mom. How is she? Is she still a hot piece of ass? Oh, please pardon such crass language from me. Sometimes I couldn’t help it; I hope you don’t mind some joke from an old man like me.”

Jillian looked at the old man as if he were crazy. What the hell is the old man saying? Her mother isn’t Grace McLeod or McLewd. Her name is…well, her first name is… Grace. Right. Grace, but her surname isn’t McLewd. I mean McLeod. Ugh…what was her maiden name again? Jillian seemed to be unable to recall her mom’s maiden name. She didn’t think it was Grace McLeod, but the more she thought about it, the more she thought that her mother’s maiden name was Grace McLeod.

Unbeknownst to her, and even to the man himself, reality had been shifted. The old man, Donnie, was a reality bender, but unfortunately for him and the people in his surroundings, even the strong and almost almighty reality bender couldn’t fight the onslaught of illness. Donnie had a deteriorated memory and mental state, making the reality bender forget that he was once someone that able to tinker with reality. Combined with his chatty, intrusive, and perverse nature, he would often say something that would ruin others, changing their nature, not out of cruelty, but just because the old man was unable to hold back, cracking his unfunny, perverse jokes or statements.

“Sweetie, are you okay?” Donnie asked. He noticed how the girl seemed to be in between opening her mouth to say something and then closing her mouth to cancel what she intended to say.

“No, I’m fine. I don’t mind your words. I'm just thinking about my mom, yeah, she's still a hot piece of ass. Father is really lucky to get Mom,” Jillian responded.

Far in her parents’ house, the 42-year-old Madison Smith, Jillian’s mother, suddenly stood still. Life flashed before her eyes. Life that was not her life, the life of Grace McLeod, the slutty girl who grew up into a hot MILF. Not only did her mind change; a moment later, her body also followed suit. Her curves were filled, her 36C-cup breasts grew bigger into a 40DD. Her ass became even more bubblier than her daughters' and bigger. She was a modest housewife who barely wore any makeup unless she needed to attend an important event, but her face was caked in thick makeup even inside her own house now to suit her hot MILF on the block image. The two were whole different people.

“Honey, are you okay?” asked Johnatan Smith, Madison’s husband and Jillian’s father. And then he got caught in the change too, a subtler one. No physical change, just a mental change as his memory of marrying the modest, conservative Madison changed into marrying the hot tease Grace. His lips broke into a perverse smile. The butterfly effect had made him change from a responsible husband into a perverted man. He groped Grace’s huge ass. He married the slut for this reason.

Back again in the Park, Jillian didn’t realize what had happened to her parent at home and was still chatting with Donnie.

“So, girl, may I have your name? You can call me Grandpa Donnie or old Don.”

“I’m Jillian, Jillian Mackenzie Smith.”

“Your nickname doesn’t happen to be Jill Mypussy, right? It feels like something that Mclewd would give.”

After a moment of silence, the old man added, “Just kidding. I hope that's not true. Jillian, that’s a good name.”

Jillian blushed. A memory resurfaced in her mind where her mother called her that; worse, the nickname spread when she had a sleepover with her friends. It was an embarrassing nickname; thankfully, now that she was in university, nobody called her Jill Mypussy anymore.

“Let’s talk about something else, Grandpa Donnie.” Jillian tried to shift the conversation away from her family and her.

Donnie nodded. He then scanned his surroundings for conversation material and finally found a hijabi lady talking with an arab man, probably her husband.

“You see the hijabi woman; it’s nice to see that they can enjoy our park like us. Alas, our veterans went to war in the Middle East back in the day. A lot of unneeded deaths for various bullshit and forced reasons, one of which was to liberate Arab women from oppressive rules, whether it was their government rules or religious rules. I just hope that that arab woman is now a free woman who is not bound by her religion or anything, free to embrace all the freedom the United States offers. Freedom to be sexual, freedom to drink until you get wasted, etc. Our men are better too. You know what they often said: our men’s private parts were, on average, bigger and larger than most of the world; that woman probably wouldn’t get enough of our cock if she got the taste of it.” Donnie chuckled, but he still looked melancholic.

Fatimah was happily chatting with her husband. She was a devout muslim woman. Then Donnie’s power washed over her. Her change was drastic. Her hijab was gone, her brunette hair flowed and extended down her back, and then turned blonde, an obvious bottle blonde with her dark roots still showing. Her black abaya dress changed into an out-of-place sleeveless mini dress used for clubbing. Tattoos appeared on her arms. Her makeup was no longer subtle, but thick and whorish. Her lips were injected with filler until they became bee-stung. Fatimah was no longer a housewife; she was valuing her freedom too much to be bound to one man. She’s a total party girl now who hasn't gone a few days without having sex with a different man that she just met and knew from a club. She also had OnlyFans. The man in front of her, Fatimah’s former husband, had now become one of her loyal OnlyFans donors. He spent a lot of money to get the chance to meet with Fatimah one-on-one. Instead of picking a more private place, Fatimah chose to meet the arab guy in a park so nothing could happen between them. For her, meeting in private places like a hotel room was reserved for donors that fit her criteria: a hunk, white American man.

Jillian blinked. Wasn’t she a hijabi girl a few seconds ago? The blonde girl doubted her eyes. But once the reality settled, she no longer had any thought about it. As far as she cared, Fatimah always looked that way.

Jillian didn’t care that Donnie pointed at the wrong woman; there was no hijabi woman there. The blonde girl attributed it to Donnie’s old and decreasing eyesight. Poor old man. She just nodded her head out of courtesy to comfort the man.

Donnie’s eyes wandered again, and his gaze stopped on two goth punk girls smoking and chatting under the tree.

“Those punks, a bunch of bad, rotten girls. Before you complain, I love bad girls. Those slutty bimbo girls are a feast for the eyes to see, but that goth punk crowd, they give me a bad feeling. They are not pleasant in my eyes. They are bad news. I hope these girls will find a man who can teach them to be a good, docile housewife like in the 80s, or if they don’t want to find a man, how about joining the army? Better use of their rebellious energy to contribute to our nation,” Donnie remarked.

Ashe, real name Ashley, and Raven, real name Rachel, were a lesbian goth couple.

Ashe was a goth girl with long, side-swept black hair. She was wearing a black sundress. Her pale skin gave her a feeling of fragility.

Meanwhile, Raven was the ‘butch’ in their relationship. Red pixie haircut. She was wearing tight leather pants, black Demonia boots, a dark green tank top, and a black biker jacket.

The two were genuinely in love. Raven was charmed by Ashe’s caring nature; she was expecting that a goth girl like Ashe would be more or less a ‘didn’t give a fuck to anyone’ type, but Ashe was different; she was a goth with a heart of gold. She would help others if she could. Ashe was an example of don’t judge a book by its cover. Raven thought she was the one and was ready to propose to her girlfriend so they could move to the next step in their relationship. She had even bought a ring already; she just needed to wait for the right moment to propose to her. And then they were washed by Donnie’s power. Raven suddenly lost her interest, passion, and love toward Ashe. She even felt disgusted with herself for being a lesbian. She felt so wrong and guilty. A woman like her should be married to a man and be submissive to her husband. Not her playing a man and wanting to marry another woman. Raven rubbed her belly. It felt empty. She was longing for it to be filled with a baby. She wanted to be pregnant and barefoot all year long like her grandmother's generation in the 80s.

“Raven, are you okay? Are you stomach hurt?” Ashe asked her girlfriend. She could tell how her girlfriend looked at her had suddenly changed.

“No…I mean, yes, my stomach hurts. I need to go to the toilet first,” Raven replied. Of course, her stomach didn’t hurt. She just rushed away from Ashe after she saw a man who made her heart race walk away in her field of vision. An arab man. Looked religious. The kind of man who would put her in her place as a baby factory and submissive wife. She couldn’t wait to know about him, but first, she needed to catch up to him and introduce herself to him. She would gladly give him the ring she prepared to propose to Ashe so he could propose to her. It might sound outrageous, but there’s no harm in trying her luck. If he thought it was too quick, she would propose that she herself become his tryout girlfriend; she would be his absolutely adoring and obedient girlfriend. Raven concocted a plan in her mind.

The man was Fatimah's former husband. Later that day, he would accept Raven’s offer, but the man was still a big simp for Fatimah. The man would vent his frustration over Fatimah to Raven. He would turn Raven into Fatimah’s look-alike, who was obedient to him.

As Raven walked away, Ashe felt a bit lost. She had a thought to break up with Raven. It was a thought that just appeared today, not because she thought they weren’t suitable with each other. But love suddenly felt luxurious for her. And she didn’t want to burden Raven with her love. And that feeling might be troublesome if she wanted to become the soldier she envisioned. Ashe aspired to go into the military to enlist as a soldier. She wanted to be the best soldier or one of the best aces that the States ever had. Her mind had created an ideal stereotypical soldier based on Ashe's limited and twisted view of the army, which involved the need to be a cold, unfeeling machine that would obey any order given to her. Feelings such as pity, caring, empathy, and love could get in the way of being a top soldier in the army; the army needed those who follow orders without question.

Ashe took out her phone. She sent a simple message of ‘We should end our relationship here’ to Raven’s number without hesitation before walking away. Maybe this was the best for the two of them.

Donnie smiled when the two goth girls left his field of vision. The old man looked at Jillian again.

“Thank you for accompanying this man and hearing his nonsense, young lady. I know that you might want to continue with your jog, so I will not occupy your time any longer; you may go. I just hope we could meet more frequently. But if you keep jogging each morning in this park, I believe we will stumble into each other frequently. I hope you can bring your mom for your daily jog too. I miss her and her big ass. Just kidding. Now go, run until you almost can’t feel your legs; that's the recipe if you want to be a winner in the track race. Give it your all.” The old man said with a big, hearty laugh. He didn’t care whether the advice was effective or not; he just wanted to look wise for his age and offer the youngster advice.

Jillian didn’t want to be a track runner, but she would run until she couldn’t feel her legs from now on, and she would do it daily if she could. She was also thinking of a plan to bring her mom to jog with her.

Meanwhile, the old man, who didn’t realize that there were several lives he had ruined this morning, just continued his bird watching in peace.

The End.

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