Autonomy Part 3

Jessica's problems differ.

Though she'd had a motley of problems, Jessica held one above all others. She was a guy. That took a while to get used to, was being kept in mind, and it showed in how long it took her to learn not stand up to pee.

It was still difficult even after learning to sit down to pee, or realizing that the breeze between her legs would never not be there. Or to look in the mirror and not see the boyish body she faintly remembered having, and instead seeing a body that would have had any straight guy staring, including the one she could have sworn she had once been. No guy had her hips, legs, or… her ass. When she was a he she hadn't. Her tits being on the small side wasn't a problem, she didn't care, but she felt a little self-conscious anyway. Still, with a trunk stuffed full of junk, she didn't needs floatation devices. She was bound to capsize anyway.

But having been a guy and now having a body that guys would lust after wasn't the absolute nadir, but it was close; that some girls, few and far between, stared just as much didn't help any either. She was a guy. Was. Had been, once. Though, technically never. So not was, but… Oh, man. Girl.

Jessica Drew had problems. Figuring out where she lay on the spectrum of male, female, or scientific mistake wasn't at the top of the list, but it came around every once in a while.

It got worse. Other than hormonal problems and orientation problems. Jessica wasn't sure which way was up, or which way was down. She adjusted to being a girl fairly quickly because, hey, not having the fat dick she was used to between her legs said a lot. The hormonal problems changed her body. The orientation problems kept her from figuring out which was left, east, or if all roads regardless of where they started would end up at a juncture of a place she wasn't sure she wouldn't be at.

She was a guy, and she had liked girls. It was that simple. But she was a girl now. Did that make her gay? But not really, because she was a girl, so she was technically… straight.

This sucked.

First world problems. When she was Peter Parker the only oversized cock she had to worry about was her own. To not pop a hard on while swinging in the breeze, and to stay in the green with air freshener so May wouldn't smell the heavy scent of flung goo and murdered sperm. She didn't have to deal with this shit.

After leaving New York City, Jessica had no clue what problems she would face, but puzzling out the sexual orientation equation of being a gender-swapped clone was not it. She had to adjust to life without the comforts she had ever known. And without her penis. And had. No home, no friends, no clothes, no school… and no cock. That was important. It was something she spent a lot of time thinking about.

She became a nomad. Away from the east side, she managed to spy a couple of jobs on her way wherever. Wherever turned southwest from Manhattan and it looked like she was on her way to Texas, maybe even Mexico, collecting a bit more than pocket change here and there by working as a waitress, or a courier.

She wasn't Peter Parker though, not really, and she couldn't go back to Queens. …Except she was, biologically? No, that wasn't right… Peter was, definitively, a guy. As clear as she could tell, she was his twin… with his memories. It was better than being an imitation. The only reason that even made sense was because telepaths were assholes. Cassandra Webb joined Jean Grey on Jessica, she was sure Peter would agree his too, shitlist of people to avoid no matter what.

This was Webb's fault. She had taken Peter's memories and supplanted them into his clone's minds, effectively mindfucking them with his big, fat memorabilia, making them less clones and more brainwashed quadruplets. Jessica had enough with telepathic mutants when Jean Grey did that to her, to Peter, but this was something else entirely.

But Webb was dead, near as Jessica could tell, Jessica's 'life' as Peter Parker began to fade. She was grateful. Soon all that was left was a vague image of the people he knew, the things he felt, and knowledge so she was just as smart as he'd been. The memories were distant enough for her to almost believe that she had simply experienced them with him as his inseparable twin, his sister. She'd frequently shake her head at remembering them, got angry on his behalf, and wondered whether she would be the protective older or younger sister for Peter Parker.

It all made it even easier for her to think about it, and Jessica embraced that. She was no clone, though sometimes she would lapse into that line of thinking. She was a sister. Peter's sister.

Without a cock. That was important.

A new problem emerged in the other's absence. While everything was fading fast, Peter wasn't. Peter was always there. It was kind of his fault. He could have wanted nothing to do with her and demanded she never return, but he had wanted her to stay instead. He hugged her, Jessica's first true, genuine memory. After a litany of seeing life through someone else's eyes, her first major one was that one hug and Jessica cherished it, hugging her Peter goodbye.

Her brother, Peter. Not… not her Peter.

But she missed holding her peter. She missed her cock. Being a girl kind of sucked liked that.

It was making an impact Jessica was having a hard time dealing with too. The fact was, Peter was stuck inside her, hard, and… he had a cock, she didn't, and… that… that was a thought.

But it wasn't narcissistic unless she saw it that way. After a while Jessica convinced herself that it wasn't. It wasn't constantly thinking about herself, she was constantly thinking about Peter. Her sibling. She was reminiscing about her big brother, and that was alright. He was all she had, it was a sibling consideration that became concern when she realized just what his life was like without her.

Their teenage, superhero life had been shit-city central. It was only natural for someone that wasn't named Peter Parker, namely his sister, to worry about Peter Parker. Jessica took to that quickly to get away from the fact that whenever she thought about him, she felt heated. Weird. More than a little confused.

She hoped he was safe. Sane too, after finding out that he had clones. He watched them die. Safe was good, but alright would be enough. And that he had punched Eugene Thompson in his nose since she wouldn't be able to any time soon.

After she sorted all of that out, being a clone wasn't so bad. As much as she wanted to find Otto Octavius and punch his teeth into his throat for what he had done, she had to admit he'd done a good job. No periods for one, that was great. Otto was really alright. He tortured a fifteen year old boy that was her brother, gave him a reason never to go to a dentist again, but he was just swell. Really.

Life as a girl was remarkably easier. She wasn't made fun of, got better tips, better reactions, easier dates, likely because of her long hair, widening hips, and the new junk she had gotten in her ass as hormones worked their magic on her technically teenaged body, was exacerbated by her barely increased height, which itself made her wonder what exactly had been done to her in vitro.

Dates hadn't been easy. She wasn't surprised. They came easy, but there was always one thing in the way, namely she wasn't exactly sure where she was on the spectrum. Jessica soon learned that, outside of a glancing attraction, there just wasn't anything after that. Not for guys, not for the scarce few girls. She tried. The girl/boy next door redhead types, blondes, and a particular type of brunettes, after learning that Peter, sometime after her 'conception', had started to date Kitty Pryde.

If he was attracted to her type, that meant Jessica was, right? Wrong. She couldn't stop herself from asking what Peter would have liked about them. Likely he wouldn't have liked the guys. Punk, alternative, or bookish and cute, the next door type. Spunky, maybe? She… didn't know what Kitty Pryde was like. What did Peter see in her, really?

It got worse. Looking at girls she'd ask herself if Peter would have liked that dress, those pants. At first it was to gauge whether or not she'd like it. She was that confused, but then… it got worse. Peter would be easier to talk to, she knew him. Hell, she had been inside him and he in her. …Technically. No one knew them better than they knew each other. Talking to him would have been more comfortable than talking to anyone, hugging him after a date wouldn't have felt so alien. She knew from experience. She'd rather hug him than mumble on meaningless dates, feeling awkward while she talked to a meek, bookish brunette boy who loved science and happened to be a photographer, or a meek, bookish, brunette girl who had a bent for chemistry and happened to take pictures.

Every date ended in a one sided failure. She felt bad, but soon, more than anything, she felt twitchy and anxious. She was a teenager. Physically she was, chronologically, she was little more than a baby, but that was a whole other pot of weird to not think about.

She was hormonal, superpowered, and a virgin. Jessica didn't particularly care about that, and Peter had resigned himself early on to a teenaged life of careful celibacy so he wouldn't literally bust ass and pussy when he passed his genes on. Jessica was fucking horny, and without the option to date, or to find a good one, all she had was her hands. Then the toys. Then toys weren't enough. Great.

Her body was in heat, her pussy was tight, aching, dripping, needing, and that was weird and hot because having a pussy and filling it felt so fucking good, but she couldn't, wouldn't, and was unable to cross the line and 'be' with someone else.

She suffered. Thought of what Peter would do and knew he would have fucked his hand with his oversized dick and then hid the result from May. He did it constantly and so that's what Jessica did. With the lack of fat cock, all she could do was reminisce about that same fat cock in her hand while she rubbed herself raw. She was thinking about him too much, in the wrong way, and she definitively didn't like that, but it was hard not to when the thought of each pearly, gooey, alabaster rope smacked against the wall with an audible splat. Those memories of her being his inseparable sister? Took an odd turn. She was watching him do it and smiling as he rushed to clean up before their Aunt found out. Helping him clean up and… the oxytocin release in her brain made her pretty creative in how she helped.

Maybe Webb and Octavius had done something to implant a need to perpetuate the 'species'. It made sense, they made clones of Peter to make more of him. Why make a female clone if not to make more 'naturally'. But why was she the only one? Was she the only one? Or just a one-off, a test?

Were there more of her? She imagined a scene straight out of Toy Story 2. Stuck in a building and finding rows upon rows of Jessica Drews, all fat assed and tiny titted, waiting to be unboxed.

It was enough to kill the mood for a short while. Only for a short while. Soon, with months of frustration and thoughts of Peter, she'd be bent over in whatever apartment or motel she managed to pay for, plowing herself stupid in front of her cheap laptop. Remembering familiar hands over her body and familiar masculine groans in her ear. Her hands were too soft, too delicate, her groans too light and womanly to be the same as his. Of course she wasn't Peter, his grip was tighter than iron, his voice deeper and so much more pressing. Thinking of being one of many female clones didn't even bother her as she rocked against the wall while she thought of that, of riding a familiar face while she sucked on her on her fellow clone's tits.

It was only when she imagined being strung up and taken to pound town on a webline did she indulge the possibility that she might have a problem. When she imagined stringing Spider-Man up and taking him to 'Plow-Your-Spider-Sister's-Pussyville' after sitting on his face and making him forget about Kitty whathertits and Mary whoseherface while another female clone bent over, spread her cheeks, and waited for her turn to get inseminated by her overly loving 'brother' like her 'sister' was being, she realized that yes, she really did have a problem.

She, Jessica Drew, wasn't a guy. She was incestuous. And that was fantastic.

Apparently it was too fantastic, because it didn't hurt her fantasies so much as it did help them take a turn toward Japanese-cartoon-porn; that was the only thing that could have two twins fucking in the house while avoiding their Aunt. It was a recurring theme for Jessica to her stumble to the dinner table with his gooey wad clogging her pipes and his balls being empty, and May Parker being oblivious.

It was all the more reason for her never to return to New York City. Yeah, Jessica knew which camp she belonged in now. Not the straight camp, not gay camp, or even the fat-sweaty-dick-stuck-in-spandex-all-day camp. It was a mix of all three because she liked fat, sweaty dick, but only her own… her brother's, she wasn't a guy, she was a girl, but if sticking her face between her own legs while she got his fat cock up her ass was a possibility, she was there. As it was, she only succeeded in getting her face between her legs and her mouth on her pussy, but that… wasn't bad either. She considered changing her name to Narcissus because she felt like one when she imagined bending over and shaking it for Peter so they could improve their 'sibling bond'.

While she plowed herself, soon enough doing so while looking up videos of him as she rocked against a dildo mounted on the wall, Jessica did hope he was doing well. She hoped he was happy and safe and not in a relationship still, because if she came back… she'd screw his life up. By screwing him up. By screwing him. Possibly webbing him to a wall and then making him take her to Pound-Your -Spider-Sister's-Pussyville. Freud would have a fucking field day with her. Behold true believers: Spider-Incestia.

When she was done she filed the… thoughts away. Avoided them. It was just an odd fantasy for an odd girl, who happened to be the clone of a guy who could climb on walls and toss cars like paperweights. Odd begot odd, it was to be expected. They were never away for long though. Thankfully, it wasn't possible to steal your 'brother' from his 'girlfriend', right? Well, girlfriend, no quotes. Especially when he's- you're him?

Jessica didn't think so, and didn't think there was any harm in fantasizing about that. It was just… fantasies of autonomous, incestuous masturbation. Otherwise, life as a clone was good. Being Jessica Drew? Fucking great.