By the time she’d finished the agonizingly-long drive back home, she was exhausted and strangely starving.
April had very thoughtfully packed her some sandwiches before she’d left, but she’d been gripped by a bizarre appetite after only a few hours out and had consumed all of them, then made a few stops at various drive-throughs to further augment her caloric intake. Regardless of how much she ate, the gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach refused to fade; assuming that it was merely the consequence of having spent such a long time skipping meals to keep within her budget, she tried not to think about it that hard even as she wolfed down yet another cheap cheeseburger.
When she finally got in, it was much too late and she was much too tired to do anything else, so she shot off a ‘not dead yet’ text to April; amusingly, her bestie sent her back a silly photo of Xena, the adorable princess still acting like she wasn’t the semi-arthritic old hound that she knew her to be. Perhaps the extra company and change of pace were doing her a bit of good, and it put a smile on her face as she drifted off to sleep, her thoughts filled with idle fantasy of how happy her bestie had to be in return.
Typically her dreams were always a complicated mess of pieced-together settings and somewhat-disturbing conflicts, but that night was somehow even worse.
A confusing jumble of images assaulted her as she tossed and turned in her sleep, lurid sequences melting into each other as sensations and colours ran together. Gripped by some horrific avarice, it manifested as animalistic fury mated to predatory hunger; herself having metamorphosed into some hunting nightmare, she stalked through twisting corridors, wilderness and city blended into lustrous feeding grounds where she searched for eager game.
She stole upon her meal in the night, familiar yet accidental, a prey animal that couldn’t help but rush towards its fate; even still it turned away from her, fleeing as she pounced upon it and wrest it to the ground with her superior strength. Climbing atop her prize, she drew the writhing creature to her by its flanks as she set her weight on its back; starved fangs itching with hunger, she swept the long, blonde hair away from its neck, her warm tongue lapping at silky skin. Powerful arms crushed the smaller game against her, holding it in a tight grip, delighting in its mooing cries; hands full of soft cushions, she thrust against her mewling prey, snarling victoriously as she claimed her due, the sweet scent of the little cow so thick that she could taste it, the warm honey heady in her mouth. Abandoning her reason in pursuit of slaking her awful need, she put the wriggling animal to use, hammering its pillowy haunches until her roaring climax.
Gasping for breath, she awoke covered in sweat, the damp bedsheet plastered to her skin. An uncomfortably wet feeling slicked her crotch and stomach, the slight viscosity to it confirming embarrassing fact; she hadn’t thought her meeting with April had wound her up that much, but the evidence pooling against her mattress suggested otherwise.
It was still quite rare for her to wake up with an erection and she hadn’t had a wet dream in almost two decades, but the combination of the two presented themselves with undeniable sincerity. Her raging hard-on strained against the fabric of her panties, themselves damp with her resolve; frustratingly, and perhaps impressively, despite her nocturnal emission she was still achingly stiff, her cock throbbing uncomfortably with every slight movement as she rolled over and sat up in her bed, grasping for her phone.
Blackout curtains drawn across the only window, it had been impossible for her to surmise the time of day until her eyes swept across the digital clock of the flat screen; she’d massively overslept, afternoon having already crept up on her during her somnophilic fantasy. Still exhausted and yet unbearably awake, she thumbed through the mass of texts that were waiting for her.
Some were from Saja or her cohort, which she silenced and ignored immediately, absent the proper mood to work through what she was sure would be her ensuing anger and resentment. Instead, she focused on the unusual flood of texts from April, her bestie having messaged her almost once an hour since the start of that morning. Most were the typical (or at least expected) variety of well-wishing and candid shots of Xena, the fluffy princess seemingly having taken quite the liking to her new circumstance. Jeannie had been caught off-angle in a few of them, and her presence stirred up a complicated contention, but she pushed down on it as she flipped through the last few texts. Startling her with its uncharacteristic vulnerability, the last photo was of her arctic dog and her bestie seated together, with April’s self-conscious grin center-frame.
Acting on autonomic impulse, she tapped out a response before she could put any thought into it; to her continued surprise, April texted back immediately as though she had been waiting for her reply.
Kitty: absolutely gorgeous
AMay: Xena, or me? :P
Kitty: yes
Kitty: I’m kinda shocked, honestly
Kitty: you look really good
AMay: Shocked on account of how frumpy I normally am?
Kitty: you know that’s not what I meant
Kitty: I mean I’m surprised in general
Kitty: this is probably the first selfie I’ve ever seen from you
AMay: And?
Kitty: … are you wearing makeup?
AMay: Is that what it looks like?
AMay: But no, I’m not.
Kitty: damn
Kitty: you look, uh
AMay: Younger? Hotter?
Kitty: you said it, not me
Kitty: …
Kitty: but you’re not wrong, I guess
Kitty: are you sure you didn’t put anything on?
AMay: Just a smile for my bestie!
Kitty: well it looks really good
Kitty: … you look really good
AMay: If you’re that fond of it, maybe you should come back and check it out in person.
Kitty: yeah
Kitty: I guess maybe I should
AMay: ♥️
AMay: Make sure you eat something while you’re on campus.
AMay: I dropped a few quid in your pocketbook when you weren’t looking, so treat yourself to something nice.
Kitty: you shouldn’t have
Kitty: I’ll send it back
AMay: You do and I will decline every transaction. So there.
Kitty: I’m very cross with you
AMay: It’s better than you being hungry.
Kitty: UGH
Kitty: fine, I’ll grab something from pagliacci or whatever
AMay: The murderer?
Kitty: you’re thinking of Canio
Kitty: I’m talking about the eatery
AMay: Then I hope it’s to die for.
Kitty: you must think you’re real cute, huh?
AMay: ❤️
Staring at her phone for a long minute, she scrolled back up to the strangely-intimate selfie. Entirely too conscious of both April’s knowing smile and her incessantly-throbbing erection, she wondered if the one didn’t beget the other; chastising herself for her indecent thoughts, she hauled herself out of bed, stripping her clothes as she padded towards the cramped closet that masqueraded as a bathroom.
Still stubbornly ignoring her persistent urge, she set herself in front of the mirror, figuring she’d sort herself out and then rinse off in the shower. By reflexive habit she reached for the little brush first, wondering if she’d finally ran out of shave soap; as her eyes roamed upward to the (too-short) mirror affixed to the medicine cabinet, she stopped suddenly, confused as to why she’d even bothered. Tracing fingertips over smooth skin, she was dimly aware of the fact that the last time she’d shaved had been before she left for California, and yet there wasn’t even a hint of stubble to be found.
Eyeing her jawline, she struggled against her memory as if belated trying to decide on what the historical truth had been; a half-recalled conversation surfaced eventually, reminding her of a physical at her doctor’s office several years ago where she’d been cautioned regarding a number of symptoms related to her ‘unique estrogen sensitivity’, one of which included the complete elimination of her body hair. Weirdly, she’d never remembered to dispose of her shave kit afterwards and so it sort of just took up space in her bathroom.
Promising herself she’d finally get rid of it later, she ran the hot water for the tiny shower, cramming into the annoyingly-small space.
For some reason the ugly-tiled box seemed much more cramped than it should’ve been, and after some deliberation she realised it was largely on account of her poor decision to try to use the tiny shelf that was recessed into the side wall. Set level with her ass, her broad hips banged against it any time she turned, knocking off the shampoos and soaps she’d set there. Grumbling a litany of complaints, she tried vainly to replace whatever clattered to the floor several times, but eventually she gave up out of frustration, resolving instead to purchase an over-faucet caddy later.
Obnoxiously her hard-on still hadn’t faded, and given the relative warmth of the spray of water she decided she might as well take care of it. Leaning back against the tile, she closed her eyes, her thoughts drifting back to the queer dream she’d had the night before. Her bestie’s selfie overlaid over her half-forgotten vision, the two blurring together in her perverse imagination; touching herself to the obscene scenario, she couldn’t help but picture April as the gorgeous little cow she’d ravaged, and it wasn’t that long until the salacious fantasy pushed her over the edge as she added a thick river of cum to the water running through the inefficient drain.
“Goddamnit,” she swore, angry at herself for already forgetting how easy it was to clog that particular fixture. Despite the volume pooling at her feet, her balls still felt maddeningly full and they’d probably stay that way until she had a chance to engage in a real extracurricular exercise ⸻ and for that she’d need a partner who could properly test her stamina.
Eventually extricating herself from the shower, she dug into her closet to try to find something to wear; outfit after outfit hit the floor as she tried on piece after piece, sighing in frustration as none of them fit. It was like someone had snuck into her flat overnight and replaced all of her clothes with replicas sized for a completely different person, one with a much smaller bustline and significantly-narrower hips. Only a handful of items came close to a workable fit, including a few of her stretchier tops and some skirts with hems that used to reach further down her thighs (or at least, she was fairly sure they did).
Fortunately the winter chill had yet to melt completely into spring, and so she had excuse to layer; unable to close any of her stupidly-expensive bras, she went three layers deep with a cami-shirt-sweater combo and thanked her luck of genetics that her chest hadn’t started to sag at all; still, that added a different problem back the other way, and she hoped that the fabric would hold everything in place without it being too obvious that she'd ‘forgot’ a bra. Cramming herself into her panties was much-more difficult task, and eventually she gave up and settled for some leggings underneath her longest skirt. Returning to the mirror to fix her hair, she wasn’t sure how she felt about what she saw.
While her outfit was still rather muted, the black fabric contrasted spectacularly with her platinum-blonde hair. On the one hand the striking difference was kind of cute, but on the other hand her red-pink underlayer stood out as the only colour in her look, and ‘alt-girl undergrad’ wasn’t really a vibe she felt like she should be trying to pull off as someone solidly into her mid-thirties. Raking her fingers through her locks, she was grateful that the roots still didn’t need a touch-up despite being so far out from her last visit to the salon; she hadn’t really bought the nonsense the stylist told her about the experimental dye altering her follicles, but the treatment was clearly worth whatever she’d spent on it.
Deciding that she’d never be more ready than she was, she took off for the campus, wondering how much money she could get for her old clothes and whether or not the trade-in value would cover any decent outfits.
“I’m sorry, miss,” the registrar told her for the third time, “but I can’t alter someone else’s enrollment, even if you have their permission to speak for them; Catherine still needs to be present before I can make any changes.”
“I’m not trying to speak on her behalf,” she insisted, her temper already frayed down to bare threads, “I am her. I’m Catherine O’Neill, alright? That’s my transcript. I just want to withdraw my enrollment for the quarter so I can get a slip to take back to the aid office.”
“I will agree that you have memorized a remarkable amount of her account and biographical data,” he allowed as he passed back her Student ID, “but you are very clearly not Catherine O’Neill. Now, I’m not unsympathetic, so if we can reach her by phone ⸻”
“The fuck do you mean?” she retorted, raising her voice more sharply than she intended. Snapping up the card, she held it up next to her face, aiming it towards the registrar. “I’m her! She’s me!”
“Miss,” he said calmly and somewhat defensively after her outburst, “that is not your ID.”
Frustrated, she flipped it around in her hand, wondering what was wrong with it. Staring at the portrait on the little piece of plastic, she was startled to find an eminently-familiar face, and yet one that … wasn’t hers. Despite knowing every inch of it, it was nothing like the woman who had gazed back at her in the mirror only an hour prior.
“There must’ve been something wrong with the print-out,” she muttered, wondering how she’d gotten this far with an incorrect ID. “They put someone else’s photo on it.”
“I don’t think that’s possible, miss,” he assured her. “The IDs start printing after the shutter clicks. There’s barely any human involvement in the process these days.”
“It’s still wrong, though,” she insisted. “Someone fucked-up my ID, but I promise it’s mine.”
“As I was saying,” he continued as though she hadn’t objected at all, “we can call Catherine’s contact number, and if she verifies that you’re authorised to speak on her behalf then I’ll be happy to do what you’ve asked.”
“Then go right ahead,” she demanded. “It’s just going to ring my number.”
Smiling pleasantly in the face of her standoffish attitude, he took hold of the practically-ancient landline and dialed in her number. Though she could hear it ring through the speaker, her cell stayed silent, sitting quietly on the desk. Eventually the line picked up, one of the automated tones that indicated the number had been disconnected.
“You called the wrong number,” she explained, confusion rising alongside her anger. “You had to have.”
“I’m sorry,” he returned, speaking softly but with authority. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave so that I can help the next person in line.”
“Just call the right number,” she complained. “I’ll pick up, and then you can drop my classes and I’ll forgive you for busting my balls.”
“Please, miss,” he entreated politely. “I don’t want to have to make this more complicated than it already is. Come back later with Catherine, and I’ll be more than willing to help you ⸻ but for now, you need to leave.”
Capitulating to his implied threat, she snatched the bad ID off the table, stomping off angrily.
Perched on one of the ridiculously-elevated tables in the student union building while she chomped angrily through a plate of slightly overpriced carbs and deliciously-mediocre proteins, she found that all her cards were wrong. None of them said ‘Catherine’, instead referencing some twenty-something woman named ‘Callie,’ and none of her original copies were evident. Whoever this doppelganger was, she had a driver’s license and a passport card with her face on it, so if someone pulled her over then at least she would have something to present. Her bank account was just as empty as she left it ⸻ save for the cash April had supplied her with ⸻ but it, too, had Callie’s name on it, and while the routing number suggested it was the same credit union the actual account number had changed as well; annoyingly she couldn’t remember what the real number was supposed to be, either, and the whole experience was incredibly disorienting.
Looking over the license again, Callie at least had the decency to have the same birthday as her, though it had been moved up by a little less than fifteen years. The ability to purchase alcohol would’ve been incidental since she’d already given up four years of drinking after she turned twenty, but being embroiled with a teenager would’ve been a lot worse. As far as anyone seemed to care, she was this Callie person, and she wondered who would’ve bothered to conduct such an elaborate prank. Really, the whole thing was unexplainable by anything save a committed conspiracy or divine intervention. In the span of two days, all of her identification had morphed into someone else’s as if by magic.
… Magic?
A headache built behind her eyes as she turned the word over in her head, feeling like her brain was stuffed-full of cotton. Her thoughts grinding slowly forward, she struggled to remember the exact details of the last few days; while she was sure she met Jeannie and drove her to California, the other facts surrounding those two events seemed hazy at best. Interrogating them as closely as she dared, the thread of glamour started to unravel, the correct timeline revealing itself.
“That crafty fox,” she chuckled to herself, both furious and yet impressed with how she’d been outmaneuvered. Pulling out her phone, she tapped out a quick text.
Kitty: hey
Jersey: Oh! You have my new number.
Kitty: new number …?
Kitty: and why’d you change your display name
Jersey: I didn’t do anything to it, not exactly. This account has always been named ‘Jersey’.
Kitty: are you trying to gaslight me as a bit?
Kitty: I’m not saying it wouldn’t be a little funny, but I’m sorry to say I’m not falling for it
Jersey: No, I’m not trying to do anything like that.
Jersey: I’m not really sure how much I should say, either. I don’t really know the rules.
Kitty: rules …?
Kitty: ah
Kitty: does this have something to do with Genie?
Jersey: Oh, so you remember!
Jersey: From what she told me I had thought that you were totally wiped, and honestly I’m somewhat glad to have been mistaken. I felt awful being the only one in the know.
Kitty: she tell you what was up?
Jersey: Some of it. Maybe even most of it. I don’t know whether we should be talking about it over the phone, though. She says it’s not exactly a safe thing to do.
Kitty: why not?
Jersey: Um, there is a _thing_ that enforces the rules.
Jersey: And it doesn’t like being tested.
Jersey: Talking about it counts as testing it, unless the conversation is sufficiently private? I’m not very clear on the last bit.
Kitty: well, regardless
Kitty: I take it you asked her for something?
Kitty: something aimed at me, I mean
Jersey: … I might have, yes.
Kitty: alright, well at least my morning makes a lot more sense
Kitty: I’m surprised, though. are you into like, age-gap stuff or something?
Jersey: Do you not like it …?
Kitty: it doesn’t bother me at all, really
Kitty: I mean, it’s not what I was expecting
Kitty: but I don’t dislike it
Jersey: Oh thank goodness. I was terribly worried that you’d be upset after that photo I sent you.
Kitty: why would I be worried?
Kitty: did you have her do something to you, too?
Jersey: A little bit, maybe.
Kitty: well, it’s fine
Kitty: I didn’t think you’d go _this_ young, but like
Kitty: idk I don’t hate it
Jersey: Honest?
Kitty: yeah
Kitty: people might give us weird looks if they see us together in public tho
Kitty: on account of the gap
Jersey: I’ll just tell them you’re my older sister.
Kitty: hahaha sisters, huh?
Kitty: I doubt we look even close to that much alike
Kitty: anyway
Kitty: if I called you, could you put Genie on the phone?
Jersey: I don’t think she’d agree to that.
Kitty: of course not
Kitty: …
Kitty: alright
Kitty: I’m gonna grab some stuff out of my flat and then I’ll drive back down
Jersey: Be very careful when you do.
Kitty: yeah, yeah
Kitty: I’ll be fine, I promise