A shower in Devon's unfamiliar body.

After I open the shower tap, I wait a minute for the water to get warmer. And during that minute, my only thought is to try and stop thinking altogether. Despite the pathetic life I've been living so far, where social interactions almost never go in my favour, the level of awkwardness I'm feeling right now is definitely not something I'm used to.
But who can blame me? I'm an heterosexual middle-aged man inside the body of another man; one that is 14 years younger than me, who is thinner, well-endowed to a ridiculous level... and a total crook, of all things.

And the fact that he is black only elevates this already perplexing situation into a whole new level of cringe-provoking awkwardness. I never considered myself to be a racist, but when we sum up every aspect of my new self, the reality is that I have virtually nothing in common with the person whose body I'm controlling, whose brain I took over, whose senses are now my own and whose life I'm literally stealing... or at least until I can get out from him in a safe manner.
And until then, I have no other option but to manage the Whole Pack. Which means taking care of his body's needs and dealing with all the unpleasantries that comes with it, including his hygiene.

My only relief is that I know, thanks to the pendant, that Devon Williams is completely **** while I'm inside his body.

I step into the tub with slow and almost mechanical movements, foolishly preoccupied on keeping this massive lump of black meat that now hangs from my crotch as still as I can. Why? I'm not sure I can put it into words. I just don't want it to wiggle around. I only want to forget about its existence for as long as possible.

As I put myself under the warm water, I let out a deep sigh. After all, taking a warm shower feels nice regardless of the body.

Only... that in this case, the water is hitting Devon's short dreadlocks before it gets on the scalp. It feels strange, almost like I have a thin sponge over my head.

I don't get too distracted though, and I immediately start to lather this unfamiliar dark skin as best as I can despite the circumstances.

"Now, how do I do this...?"

As it is obvious, my chubby old body is the only one I've ever washed, so my movements over Devon's lean physique and firm skin are quite clumsy and insecure, especially due to the fact that I really don't want to 'touch' him more than necessary.
All in all, the process is slow and uneven, but I still do my best to make sure to scrape every corner of this strange body appropriately while doing my best to obviate the fact that I'm using the same sponge I used in my original body.

However, there are two places that give me some extra trouble:

One is my hair. I just don't know what to make of these short dreadlocks. How do you even wash those? Will my shampoo work properly? I know next to nothing about this black man's hair, so I just try to get it done as best as I can for the time being.

The other troublesome part is, obviously, Devon's private parts. I mean, how do I even start to handle this thing?! Just looking down at its bulky long shape, all shiny dark, dripping soap and water, is enough to put me in a sour mood. During the last decade, I couldn't even see my own dick whenever I washed it! And now I'm suddenly having to deal with this horse-like appendage that, from my upper pount of view, almost looks like having a third leg sprouting from the middle. And this time there is no bubble gut to block my view in any level.

It feels extremely unfair how this thug got to be so hung while my own size was nothing but a source of insecurities and probably the main reason I'm still a virgin at 39. I've never had the guts to even pay a prostitute to take care of it.

Wishing for nothing but to get this over with, I steel myself and start rubbing the thing with the soft part of the sponge. But the moment I pull the foreskin back, I can't help but curse.

"Does this moron ever wash down here?!" I exclaim.
To be fair, it is not that bad, only a bit of dirt behind the rosy glans. But I'm quite triggered by now, so I still want to vent some steam.

After a minute of delicate, almost surgical scraping with sponge and soap, this body finally shows the reaction I expected but didn't want: A wave of ticklish warmth filling my lower belly. Pressure building up in the crotch area... and then extending forward.

"Oh crap..." I mutter when the bulky but still soft appendage between my hands starts acquiring some consistency. In just a few seconds, its weight almost doubles. And then it starts to grow, slightly thicker, and way longer. It is an amazing sight, but still painful to watch. And I can't help but feel a little conflicted in this very moment.
For one, I want nothing to do with Devon's gross body.
But for two, there is this morbid curiosity creeping through my chest. I kinda want to feel it properly. This is now my body after all.