My Consciousness returned not as a gentle dawn, but as a slow, painful tide washing over a bed of jagged rocks. My head was a solid mass of lead, throbbing with a dull, persistent ache that seemed to radiate from the very core of my skull. A foul, chemical aftertaste coated my tongue, and my mouth felt like it had been stuffed with dry cotton. It sounded kinda poetic, but in simple terms, it a suck headache to wake up to.
'Ugh... feels like a truck hit me. Then backed up over me for good measure.'.
I forced my eyes open, the light filtering through the window was a dull, smoggy gray, but it was still too bright for the usual me, who at this time usually just got back from work. I squinted, groaning as I pushed myself up on my elbows. The frilly, lavender sheets felt alien against my skin. The silence in the house was absolute, heavy, and unnerving. No clatter from the kitchen, no muffled voices from the living room, no soft footsteps in the hall. It felt like I am back inside of my bachelor apartment back, but I knew, that is not the case at all.
'Right, they're all gone….'. The thought surfaced from the fog inside my head, the reminder of Old Sael thoughts. Work, they'd all left for work at this time of the day.
The memory of last night—the history lesson, the cultural vacuum—crashed back into my mind, but it was muted and dampened by the physical misery of the body I now inhabited. This wasn't my hangover or anything ; it was Old Sael, his final, toxic gift from him, a loving gift from him, kinda, he ingested tons of sleeping pills that ended his life, and I had to be the one that taste the after effects of it all. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet meeting the plush pink carpet, and with that, the room did a slow, nauseating roll.
"Get it together, man," I muttered to the empty room, my voice raspy and unfamiliar.
"First day of my new life and I've starting it with a chemical headache. Just great…. Thank you, femboy Sael… you're the best…Ughh! I feel like throwing up…"
Damn, I need a good shower, this guy wears too much make up, that I don't even realize last night. I shuffled to the door, slowly as I felt that my steps are wobbly, I am really weak right now so carefully, I made my way to the bathroom. The shower hissed to life, spraying hot, stinging needles of water. Stepping in, letting the steam envelop me, hoping it would clear the headache and this soreness all over my body. As the water soaked my hair and ran down my body, I finally looked down. Like really looked.
"Tch...". And I didn't like what I saw.
My frame was skinny, too slim, that it felt almost intentionally delicate. My arms were skinny, with no definition, no trace of the strength I'd built from years of hauling boxes during my old retail jobs. My chest was smooth, my hips a bit too narrow, my legs long but lacking any muscular tone. I ran a hand over my flat stomach, the skin soft and unmarked.
'This is a boy's body,' I concurred, a wave of distaste washing over me, stronger than the water.
'A pretty boy's body. It feels... too effeminate. I don't like it one bit...'. The feminine vibe from the room wasn't just a style choice; it was reflected in his physiology. He'd cultivated this body carefully; it's a body that is about to become a femboy dream body, and I am not living in that body.
I turned, letting the water beat against my back, and caught my reflection in the foggy glass of the shower door. The face was young, unlined, but it looked frail. The posture was slumped, the shoulders slightly hunched. But as I looked further down, at the very least, despite the feminine body, his manhood size is average, and most importantly still there.
'I need to change this…,' I decided,
'That's what this is. This body is a priority project of mine…. I need to fix this…. Put some meat on these bones…. Make it feel like... me.' It was the first concrete goal that formed in my new mind, a first step for me to become, me again.
I am not against Femboy or gay or anything, anyone can do whatever they want with their lives, and that is fine. Besides, in all honesty to me Femboy is kinda passable to be fucked, I mean, they act and identified themselves as female, love dick and happy to be fucked by one. But as 'me' I don't want to be a Femboy at all, nope, I preferred to be the one that doing the fucking rather than be fucked.
Now fully cleaned, dressed in a simple black t-shirt and jeans that felt reassuringly neutral, thankfully he got, a normal gender-neutral clothing left, amidst all his crop top. I felt marginally more me. The grogginess was receding, replaced by a low-grade hunger.
Heading to the kitchen, I found a plate covered in cling film on the counter. A breakfast burrito, still slightly warm. A note in Cathy's looping handwriting was tucked underneath: "For when you wake up. Love you. -Mom"
A small, genuine smile touched my lips. 'She really is something else…. It felt good to be treated like this…'.
I took the plate back to my room, my sanctuary, my command center. I sat at the desk, unwrapping the burrito and taking a grateful bite. As I chewed, my eyes scanned the computer desktop.
Icons for games I didn't recognize, a few art programs and then I saw it. A simple Word document, labeled with blinding obviousness, PASSWORDS.docx.
"You have got to be kidding me,". a laugh bubbling up.
'He just left it all right here on the desktop? Damn dude…at least changed the name a little…'. At the very least, thanks to this it made my work easier.
I double-clicked it open. It was a goldmine. A neatly organized list
Facepage: Sael_Hardcox_Official / FluffyBunny47
Chirper: @SaelTheFemboy / RainbowSparkle99
MeTube: SaelPlays / PastelPrincess22
Bank Login: Sael_H / Katherine1985!
'He doesn't even bother to properly set his bank password… his mom was doing it for him… hah~ what a mess…'. I swallowed the last of the burrito, wiped my hands, and got to work. First, Facepage. The login screen loaded. I entered the credentials.
The profile that loaded was a monument to cringe. The profile picture was a highly filtered, pouting selfie with a soft, dreamy background. The posts were a mix of melancholic song lyrics, pictures of his art (which was actually decent, but very effeminate), and rants about how nobody understood him.
"Okay, we are starting from scratch,". I muttered to myself. I began the purge, in order to restored my masculinity level.
Pouty selfie? [Delete]. Angsty poem? [Delete]. I changed the profile name to just "Sael Hardcox." The bio was next. Out went "✨💖 Just a soft boy in a hard world 💖✨". I thought for a moment, then typed: "Aspiring Game Developer. Story Enthusiast. Rebuilding."
Next, Chirper. His feed was a disaster of hot takes on cartoon episodes and interactions with other accounts with names like "Lilac_Dreams." I mass-deleted tweets, my finger getting tired from clicking. Username changed from @SaelTheFemboy to @Sael_Hardcox.
I logged into the bank app. The balance was a depressing just $300.42. A pittance, but it was something.
Finally, I looked over at the tech corner. My phone was last year's model, but it was sleek, fast, with a holographic display that made my old Earth smartphone look like a brick. And then there was the crown jewel: the VR gear. A sleek black headset and a full-body sensory suit hung on a stand, looking like something from a high-budget sci-fi movie. To me, more than anything this VR gear is the greatest thing that I have that made me smile right now.
"Hah~ that felt really good… luckily he wasn't that popular… or even active… just muddled in becoming a perfect femboy…". I leaned back in the chair, a slow sigh of satisfaction and relieved escaping me.
The digital purge was complete; the old Sael's online presence had been scrubbed away safely for me to create my own foundation. He was no longer here, and in turns I was here to take over, naturally I would not just delete his trace entirely, the physical evidence, like the pictures in the room. I will not purge them, it will become a memory, as shitty as he is, if no one going to remember him, at the very least, I should be the one who remember him.