Chapter Two: Mr. Jones
There wasn't the slightest groan or creak as Michael settles his newer, smaller body into the tiny, cushioned, hardwood chair. He found it unsettling. Wooden chairs were suppose to shift alarmingly under him when he sat on them.
Then again he was finding the entire situation he was in disconcerting. He was a nearly thirty year old man trapped in a teenage girl's body. A body, he had come to realize some time ago, he was more then likely going to be stuck in for the rest of his life.
With every second that passes he found himself hating the girl, Madison Rose, more then he thought he could possible hate any human being. Her getting his body killed caused a great deal of his anger. Stealing it in the first place made him feel violated, like there was something fundamentally wrong with the world that it would allow such an act to be committed.
In his mind it was second only to watching his parents killed by trio of inhuman monsters while he ran away. They had bought his life with their own that night and when the Harbringer's had killed Madison in his body tonight it had made their sacrifice, those long years ago, meaningless. Which meant they had died for nothing and that was what he truly hated her for.
Michael knew he was going to have to do something to get past his rage, to work off his anger. His temper wasn't a placid thing. It was swift and volatile, and normally left a swath of destruction in his wake like a tornado. He knew he wasn't going to be able to get through the rest of his life if every time he looked in the mirror his rage, at seeing her face, threatened to burst through.
With as bad as it looked to begin with Michael still had a little hope of finding out why she had done this to him. She had left him with a place to start his search. She had been considerate enough to leave him with her I. D. along with a key to a house that he assumed was her home. He had been in the house for nearly four hours now sifting through what had been her life.
Not that it had been much of a life from what he could tell. Madison Rose seemed to have the social life of a leper, and unfortunately for him the one person who may have been able to provide answers to his questions. A stocky, middle aged man with a fascination for tweed, had been butchered in his den a couple of hours earlier. From documents he had found during his search of the odiferous room he had learnt the dead man was Professor Wyatt Jacob. The person he was suppose to meet earlier tonight.
Michael was frustrated beyond any level he had ever felt in his nearly twenty-eight years. He knew little more about the life Madison Rose had lived after spending four hours rummaging through it then he did after just meeting her. She had kept a diary that read like a fantasy novel. Tales of supernatural warriors, slayers as they were called. Potentials, what she was considered. Their trainers, the watcher, as they were known.
Michael found the term of watcher to be rather disquieting considering the facts he had. Young, hot, nubile teenage girl living with a fifty plus year old man. His mind just couldn't stop with the rather disturbing visual images that kept flashing through his head.
There was this whole spiel in her diary about demons and vampires trying to bring hell to earth and how the slayer, young girls of an age with Madison, were suppose to spend their lives fighting them, keeping the world safe until they died. At which time another girl would be chosen from among the potentials left and blessed with a whole plethora of cool super powers.
It reminded Michael of how cults brainwashed their members, only with a slight twist. Spin them a fantastic tale of monsters and heroes. Constantly telling them that they were special. That one day it might be them chosen to fight the forces of darkness, to stem the flood of evil that threatens to overrun the world. The girls would be so grateful for their lives having a purpose that they wouldn't question anything their watcher would tell them.
Sure vampires were evil. That they needed to be wiped off the face of the planet. He could agree with that. They were viscous killers that fed off the blood of humans. They were able to use humans to increase their numbers somehow. Their were also a lot of demons out their just as bad as vampires, but he knew far more friendly, even good demons then he did evil ones wanting to end all life on Earth.
One thing that was troubling Michael was that he didn't know if it was Madison or the Harbringer's that had butchered Jacob. He hopes it had been the Harbringers, but he knew either was equally capable of the committing the savage act. Madison was willing to do anything in order to accomplish her goal. Killing one old man wouldn't have been that much of an obstacle for her.
Just like making sure his body could never be identified wasn't that much of an obstacle for him. It was a task that had to be taken care of. Now that it was over with it was simply a matter of not letting himself dwell on the deed. He'd bury it alongside all the other morally questionable acts he had committed over the years. What was one more dark secrete that would never see the light of day?
The sound of bone crunching, of teeth shattering as he slams the heel of his paten leather platform boots into the front of, what had been until recently, his open mouth made his stomach roil with disgust. He could practically taste the bile in the back off his throat. He savagely pushes the feeling down. He had done far worse in his twenty seven years then what he was being forced to do right now. If he was able to handle it back then he sure as hell could handle it now. What did it matter that the body he worked on now had belonged to him less then an hour ago.
His dark cobalt eyes stared back at him mockingly. Taunting him with the knowledge that he was dead, that he hadn't been able to save himself. That he hadn't even tried just like he hadn't tried to save his parents ten years earlier. Then he had ran, now he watched, neither time had he acted.
Tearing his eyes away he breaks the morbid staring contest he was having with himself. Squeezing his eyes shut he once again attempts to bury the turmoil that threatens to overwhelm him. Opening his eyes, a single tear sliding down his right cheek, he drags his now mutilated body to the pyre he had built a short time ago.
With an ease, that he continued to find surprising, he tosses his body atop of the Harbringer's bodies that he had already piled on top of the huge wooden structure. Setting the manila envelope on fire he uses it to ignite the dry and brittle kindling he had gathered and dispersed throughout the pyre. It takes only moments before the oil soaked lumber turns into a raging bonfire in the middle of the warehouse. The stench of burning hair and flesh make him want to gag.
Suppressing his sudden urge to vomit Michael gathers up what is left of his belongings: an intricately woven metal bracelet connecting to several rings by delicate strings of golden metal, his too large duster, two wrist holsters, tazers, and a pair of eighteen inch razor sharp daggers. Stopping at the top of the stairs Michael looks back down at the blazing pyre. Nothing within the conflagration was recognizable. Black smoke billowing into the air, as bright orange sparks rise high before falling back the earth like miniature comets.
A few moments later he's sitting behind the wheel of his gloss black, 1969 mint condition convertible Corvette, complete with a few modern conveniences. With hands that don't want to stop shaking he turns the engine over. It roars to life just as the speakers blare out the County Crows classic Mr. Jones. Their lead singer mellow voice belting out the lyrics.
"I want to be Bob Dylan. Mr. Jones wishes he was someone just a little more funky."
"And I just want to be me," Michael sighs. "Doesn't look like any of us get what we want."
Michael slams the dairy shut, "argh!" He snarls hurling the book across the room where it embeds itself into the wall. Rising to his feet he pushes the chair back. He gives a small, satisfied smile as the flimsy chair crashes softly to the thick, indigo, shag rug that covers the floor to Madison's room. Looking around the room he barely notices the mess he had created. He had gone through her closet like a whirlwind, tossing her clothes every where. He had dumped the contents of her dresser onto the floor in his quest for useful information. The only piece of which he had found clutched in the dead professor's hand. A girl's name and town in California jotted down, in a hasty scrawl, on a slip of paper.
Striding across the room, to where he had tossed a leather duffel bag earlier, Michael doesn't even wobble slightly. He was quickly becoming accustomed to her body. It was faster then he liked, but slower then he knew was necessary.
Gathering up what clothes he felt he could comfortable wear- jeans, sweats, sweaters, shorts, and t-shirts- he shoved them into the duffel bag. Turning to the pile of clothes on the floor in front of the dresser he lifts his head to the ceiling. When he had tossed them to the floor during his search he had barely glanced at the garments.
Never before in his life had he ever contemplated wearing female clothing of any type let alone their undergarments. "Come on you fucking pussy," he whispers to himself. "Its not like you've never seen the damn shit before. You never had a problem when it came to getting a woman out of her thong before. Sure you've never actually thought about wearing any yourself, but its not all that different then what men wear." He shakes his head at the absurdity of the conversation he was having with himself.
Looking back down his gaze stops as it settles on the mirror sitting atop the dresser. It was the first time since Madison had stolen his body that he had seen her face. Earlier he had purposefully avoided looking at the mirror, at any mirror, for fear of what his reaction might be. He takes a small step forward, then another, followed by another hoping, willing that with each step he takes that his face, the face that had always been his, was going to reappear. That he would be rid of this stranger's face. This person that had ended his life.
With an animalistic growl he smashes his fist into the mirror's reflective surface shattering the image. Instead of her face disappearing from in front of him, her bluish green flecked hazel eyes stare back at him from a thousand different shards. It was then that he noticed something else about her face. Something that he hadn't been aware of before this moment. There was blood streaked across her face.
He feels the bile rise as he stares, mesmerized, by the sight of the blood smeared across her sharp features. He knows he's not going to be able to stop himself from emptying his stomach this time. He jumps over the twin size bed, tripping as he lands on the other side. Scrambling to his knees he grabs the trashcan he had seen earlier. He barely gets it under him in time as he heaves, discharging the partially digested contents of his stomach.
"What the hell is wrong with me?" He demands not understanding why his stomach was suddenly giving him so many problems. It had never been that delicate before. Yet now it was rebelling every time he saw something slightly nauseating.
Leaning back against the bed he knew he had to do something he had been putting off for as long as he possibly could. Something he hadn't even begun contemplating, but now it was something he had to do before he could leave this house. He had to shower.
There was no way he could wonder around New York City with blood covering his face and not draw attention to himself. Under normal circumstances attention was something Michael never wanted focused on him. With the circumstance he found himself in now attention was something that was to be avoided at all possible cost.
Michael sits on the closed toilet, bony elbows driven into the hard muscles of his long legs, chin propped up in his small hands, staring blankly at the overabundant bathing products lining the bath and filling the cabinet. He wonders why he just couldn't find a bar of soap to go along with the wash cloth he had brought in from the upstairs hall closet. He only had a vague idea of what most of the bathing products were for; sponges, perfumed oils, scented body washes, but he had never used anything like these items before. For him bathing had always been a simple process. Water mixed with soap and shampoo. Dirty man goes in, five minutes later clean man comes out.
With a disgruntled sigh Michael stands up. He was just delaying something that he was going to have to do inevitably. Unless he planned on never bathing again and living in the same clothes for the rest of his life.
For him this was the final step, undressing, seeing himself naked in a female body. It would solidify the events of the past several hours, make them real, in fact, and not just in his mind. As long as he stayed clothed he could continue to fool himself. As long as he kept his clothes on he could insulate himself from the truth.
Stepping back he turns around to check the chair he had propped under the door knob in order to make sure the door was secure. He doubted it would hold against a determined intruder but it would buy him the necessary time to arm himself. Stopping himself from finding another meaningless task to occupy his time Michael reaches into the shower. Turning the spigot on he adjust the heat until it was at the temperature he preferred.
Now that there was absolutely nothing left for him to use as a stalling tactic he takes a deep breath, looks up towards the ceiling, and closes his eyes as he quickly strips away the rest of his clothes. Somehow, he wasn't sure how, he manages to pull the bra off at the same time he pulled off his black lycra top. A few seconds later he slips the thong panties down along with the low riding, black, boot cut jeans he had been wearing.
After finishing taking off his clothes he simply stands where he was, staring up at the ceiling with eyes sealed tightly shut. The air in the bathroom felt cooler then it normally did against his soft flesh. Releasing the breath he didn't realize he was holding his shiver slightly in the cold air.
Intending nothing more then to warm himself slightly by rubbing his biceps with his hands he crosses his thin arms over his chest and freezes when his forearms run into a pair of obstructions that he had never had before. Worse yet he became aware of something missing from his anatomy. A comforting weight that had always hung between his legs, a weight that was now gone.
With a deep resounding sigh, that would have sounded funny coming from such a slight girl, Michael lowers his head as he opens his eyelids. Staring into the large mirror located over the tiny sink his eyes rake over his new, feminine body. Locking in on the juncture between his legs, more importantly at what wasn't between his legs, and what was.
He had never been a big believer in the dogma that most people sprouted about a man's masculinity resided in his penis, but now, seeing what he was missing he wasn't so sure. There was definitely something different about this body. He had felt that from the very beginning. And now there was a dry heat settling over his body as he studied the neatly trimmed pubic that disappeared between his lean, sculpted legs.
His gaze widens as he takes in more of the killer body he now possessed. He wasn't all that surprised to notice that Madison had a full body tan. Setting aside his personal feelings towards her, he could admit that the girl had kept herself in peak physical shape.
The diamond studded hoop navel ring that was center attraction in the middle of his lithe abdomen instantly drew Michael's gaze. As did the intricate Chinese dragon tattoo that covered her right hip, the creature's long snout would easily peak up above the waist line of nearly all the pants Madison owned, and ran the length of her upper leg ending just below his knee. It was an amazing piece of artwork, filled with vibrant gold, greens, blues, and reds, of almost every shade. The intricate details the artist had created made it even more life like. From the way it's toothy maw seemed to be smiling, to the glint in it's emerald eyes, to how it's claws actually seemed to be piercing the flesh of his leg drawing little droplets of blood, to how it's long tail wound it's way around his leg ending in a sharp point in the hollow of his knee.
Both the piercing and the tattoo had to be things Madison had done some time ago because he felt no discomfort or irritation at all. Neither were things he would have done in his former body, but they felt right on this body. He turns his head from side to side, curious to find out if he now had pierced ears. Michael takes a deep breath as he learns that each ear had at least half a dozen holes in them.
He decides that after he was done taking his shower he was going to have to go through Madison's things again to find her earrings. He knew if he was going to convince anyone of him being a fifteen year old girl he was going to need all the props he could get his hands on. Not that he relished the idea of putting in a dozen or so earrings it was just something he was going to have to get used to.
Dropping his arms from in front of his chest Michael's gaze locks in on his well developed, tanned, rosy nipple breast. He feels his temperature rise again in the cool air as a line of presperation forms on his brow. A not unpleasant knot forms in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't a painful sensation, it was more of a sense of anticipation, of waiting for something to happen. Only he had no idea of what he was suppose to be waiting for.
They were supple, but amazingly firm breast, large, but not monstrously so. Experimentally he grazes his long, well manicured, finger lightly over his nipple. At the slight contact the nipple pebbles, hardening like nothing he has never felt before. Moaning softly he feels his temperature rise drastically with the sensation the light contact causes. The knot in his center growing, tightening all at the same time as heat spreads its way throughout his body.
"Fuck!" He shouts pulling his hand away from his breast in shock. He was being turned on by seeing his body naked. He had never been turned on by his body before. Taking several deep breathes he begins to calm down as he comes to the realization he's being turned on by the body of a fifteen year old girl. Michael sighs in relief, thankful that being in a woman's body hadn't changed his sexual orientation. He was still attracted to the female form. Seeing a pair of breast still got him, well not hard, but there was definitely something going on south of the border.
Then his mind informed him of another fact he had conveniently forgotten. A fact that made him feel like he was the most depraved pervert on the face of the planet. He was a twenty-seven, nearly twenty-eight year old man taking pleasure in a fifteen year old girl's body. He felt like he was committing statutory rape on himself.
Uncomfortable with everything he was feeling in his new body Michael practically leaps into the shower. Landing directly under the jetting water, "holy! Sweet fucking Jesus," he gasps loudly as the freezing water pummels his body. Stumbling backwards he tries to adjust the temperature without falling on his ass or getting hit by anymore of the frigid icicles the shower head was spitting out.
Not only was the water far too cold for his sensitive skin, but it did nothing to quell the ache he felt throbbing in his core. If anything the frigid water sent a completely different type of chill coursing through his body. As the cold spray hit him he feels his already hard nipples harden even further. The sensation was almost painful, but in an extremely pleasurable way.
Steam begins to rise from the water spraying from the nozzle. "Thank you," he sighs as he's finally able to step under the shower head. Allowing the more then warm water to spray directly into his face before cascading down the rest of his body he enjoys the feel of the water as it moistens his dry skin. Feeling the warmth spread over his entire body he lets out a relieved breath. He had finally found something that didn't turn his insides inside out.
Turning around he enjoys the spray of hot water pounding into his upper back and shoulders. It was very nearly as relieving as getting a shoulder rub. Michael could feel the tension of the last few hours slip away as the water washes over him.
Picking up the powder blue squeegee, he holds it under the water while he peruses the array of body washes. Going through them one at a time he smells each and every one until he finally finds a fragrance he likes. Reading the label he frowns at the irony, rose scented.
Squeezing an over large dollop of rose scented body wash onto the squeegee he lathers the bathing utensil. Starting with his face he quickly sets about washing his body. After scrubbing his face he begins moving down his body. As he began washing his body he could feel the tension building in his body again. Slowly at first, but with ever increasing pressure.
Going from his long, graceful neck and narrow, delicate shoulders, down to his slender arms. From his overly sensitive underarms and ribcage to the swell of his gentle, curving breast, to his harden nipples. Everywhere the lathered squeegee touches the tighter, the more constricted his body becomes. With each touch, every time he grazes his skin the knot in the center of his core pulsates sending a fresh wave of heat spreading throughout his body. From the soles of his small feet to the very tips of his braided hair.
It didn't seem to matter how he touched his body either. Sometimes a lighter touch elicited an even more intense pulse then a firmer hand did. It felt as if a countdown had been started in his body. A countdown he had no idea how to stop. A countdown he didn't know if he could stop even if he knew how.
Just wishing to end the torturous experience as quickly as possible he quickly scrubs over his midriff and gasps as his knees buckle. An electric jolt blows through his body as the squeegee roughly brushes over his naval ring. He felt as if every single cell in his body had come alive for a single mind numbing instant. If he hadn't grabbed hold of the hand rail as quickly as he had he would have wound up on the bathtub floor the intense stimulation had caused.
Gritting his teeth tightly together he once again tries to shove everything to the farthest reaches of his body as he continues with the task at hand. Hastily he scrubs down his right leg starting from his right buttocks down the back of his leg to his ankle, then back up the outside, down the front, and finally up the inside of his thigh. So concerned with finishing his washing Michael doesn't think as he scrubs between his legs. With a sharp gasp and a full body shudder, his muscles turn to jello in an instant. He collapses to the bathtub floor, his knees slamming into the hard plastic surface.
It was as if a damn had burst open inside his body as wave after wave of pure bliss crashes over and through his body. It made the unbelievable experience of just a few short minutes ago seem almost common place in comparison. It dwarfed ever experience he had ever had as a man.
It was easily the most phenomenal thing he had experienced in his life. He didn't know how to describe it. It had made him feel alive in a way he had never imagined he could feel before. Yet there was still a part of him, a piece in the back of his head, that felt like most deranged pervert in the entire world.
Gasping for breath, chest heaving, stomach quivering, as his body slowly recovers from his first female orgasm, he looks up at the bathroom ceiling. "What?" He shouts at the ceiling, "what did I ever do to deserve this?"
________________________________________________________________________
Mr. Jones - Counting Crows
I was down at the new amsterdam staring at this
Yellow-haired girl
Mr. jones strikes up a conversation with this black-
Haired flamenco dancer
She dances while his father plays guitar
She's suddenly beautiful
We all want something beautiful
I wish i was beautiful
So come dance this silence down through the morning
Cut up, maria! show me some of them spanish dances
Pass me a bottle, mr. jones
Believe in me
Help me believe in anything cause
I want to be someone who believes
Mr. jones and me tell each other fairy tales and we
Stare at the beautiful women
"she's looking at you. ah, no, no, she's looking at me."
Smiling in the bright lights
Coming through in stereo
When everybody loves you, you can never be lonely
I will paint my picture
Paint myself in blue and red and black and gray
All of the beautiful colors are very very meaningful
Gray is my favorite color
I felt so symbolic yesterday
If i knew picasso
I would buy myself a gray guitar and play
Mr. jones and me look into the future
Stare at the beautiful women
"she's looking at you.
, i don't think so. she's looking at me."
Standing in the spotlight
I bought myself a gray guitar
When everybody loves me, i will never be lonely
I want to be a lion
Everybody wants to pass as cats
We all want to be big big stars, but we got different
Reasons for that
Believe in me because i don't believe in anything
And i want to be someone to believe
Mr. jones and me stumbling through the barrio
Yeah we stare at the beautiful women
"she's perfect for you, man, there's got to be
Somebody for me."
I want to be bob dylan
Mr. jones wishes he was someone just a little more
Funky
When everybody loves you, son, that's just about as
Funky as you can be
Mr. jones and me staring at the video
When i look at the television, i want to see me staring
Right back at me
We all want to be big stars, but we don't know why
And we don't know how
But when everybody loves me, i'm going to be just
About as happy as i can be
Mr. jones and me, we're gonna be big stars...
