There are always situations in life that call for you to make quick decisions, that demand you act instead of simply thinking about something, and the way one handles those situations depends greatly on the level and extent of the risk, the time constraints, or simply, the knowledge or lack thereof in said situation.
Me, taking my shirt off in the middle of my living room while I'm standing right in front of the six most beautiful women I'd ever seen—women that also, conveniently, happened to be my relatives and care deeply about the safety and wellbeing of one Damien Winters, was definitely one of those moments.
First off, it was certainly not how I envisioned or wanted my day to turn out. At the same time, however, it's certainly not something I could just shrug off either.
So far, my encounter with this society has been the epitome of confusing, bizarre, and convoluted.
However, I needed to find something to ground me, something that could reassure me that no matter the differences this world and my former self had, there could have been, at least, some familiar, solid, rational logic within my world's basis.
The risk was high, but so was my curiosity. If I were in my old body, I might've hesitated. Alex wasn't the most adventurous guy out there, and certainly not the most handsome, but, again, this body—it was different.
And the data I got was immediate and overwhelming.
It was like someone had cut the power. All the lights came on in a dazzling flash of attention.
The six women, who had been a tableau of concern, froze mid-breath.
Iris, who had been wringing her hands, went completely still. A flush, so vivid it was almost painful to look at, crept from her neck, painting a crimson path up to her hairline.
Her mouth, which had been open to speak, now hung slightly agape, a silent, perfect 'O' of shock.
Beside her, Calista, jerked upright as if her spine had suddenly decided it had been a cord rather than bones. She immediately averted her gaze, with the great reluctance of Hercules on a life or death quest.
Still, even her glance at the floor had to pass me, so it didn't miss much.
And then there was Ivy, the baby of the family. Her huge eyes met mine, and her cheeks became crimson, as she took a half-step backward as though an unseen force had given her a gentle push. Her lips parted, then closed, before she tugged at her long hair and used the gesture to cover her face.
She looked like she might either faint or start hyperventilating.
Aunt Freya, the naughty Jessica Rabbit-ish female member of the family, let out a strangled noise.
"H-Holy..." She stuttered, coughing to cover her slip up. It would've been comedic if it wasn't so goddamn intense.
My mother, Willow, had to put a hand down on the nearest couch to keep from falling over.
"Damien!" She gasped, her voice a strained whimper. "W-What are you doing?! Put that back on right now!"
For a moment, my determination faltered. Had I been too heavy handed? Was there such a thing as social etiquette when it came to doing this sort of thing?
Would my being this straightforward, my taking initiative and not using Damien's persona of the shy, sheltered young man have an impact on something—someone—somehow?
It seemed highly possible, and the ramifications weren't small or inconsequential by any means.
Except that... none of them were running for a shirt, or their phones, or covering my exposed body parts, or scolding me. No, on the contrary, the women around the room looked like a troupe of characters whose cords had been expertly, and maliciously, sliced through, leaving their bodies at the mercy of an all-powerful puppeteer.
More importantly, I couldn't find it in myself to give a single shit about the consequences right now.
After all, what consequences could there be for the porcelain prince in his protective tower?
In this topsy-turvy universe where my mere existence qualified as a national treasure, the worst they could do was what? Shield me from their own eyeballs? Wrap me in bubble wrap and hide me away for my own good?
"Sweetheart..." Willow's voice was tight. "Please, for Mommy, put your shirt back on. You'll catch a chill."
A chill. In this furnace of female hormones? The only chill I could possibly catch would be from the absolute zero of their collective shock. I pretended that I couldn't tell they were only two seconds away from keeling over and opened the fridge.
A soft sigh swept over the group, like wind rustling through dry leaves. It was an odd reaction, as if someone had pulled a dagger out of a wound. I grabbed a bottle of water, closed the fridge, and with a sweeping glance at where the women were all trying their damndest to become one with the furniture, made my way back across the living room and upstairs.
No one stopped me.
No one. Not even one single "Don't go, we want to talk to you, and we would very much appreciate it if you could behave and not seduce our eyeballs".
Nope. Zilch. Zip.
Not even the slightest questioning gesture.
Just another set of obedient, dumbstruck puppets.
Was it me? Was it because of the rare-male-thingy? Whatever the fuck it was... it certainly looked and felt a bit too easy.
By the time I made my way to my—Damien's—room, I didn't know what to think, I didn't know what to feel. It was as if I'd lost all capability to even get in contact with my emotions and feelings. What should I be feeling, in the first place? Amazement? Relief? Satisfaction?
Why would I, in a moment as fucked-up as this, feel any form of positive emotions, much less satisfaction? I mean, I wanted to figure out, in a quick, efficient, and straightforward way, just exactly what the whole big deal about Damien was, and how things truly worked in this world.
And it happened to be fucking simple. Way too simple, for that matter. I knew better than anyone the value of showing skin. A man's nudity shouldn't be a particularly earthshattering event, not by any means. Women were bombarded with shirtless models in their billboard ads, their male movie stars, male dancers, male whatever-the-fuck.
There was nothing special, unique, or exceptional about a man's skin or physical features. They had more of that than we did. They looked at that all day. They could appreciate the symmetry, the muscular lines, the abs, or whatever they were, for days.
And yet, at the mere sight of me, at what should have perhaps been mere surprise and nothing else, these ladies were quite literally floored. Merely by the act of me taking a single article of clothing off, revealing nothing particularly new or outstanding.
I closed the door. Locked it for good measure.
"So, that's the whole big deal, huh..." I mumbled to myself, turning back to look into the full-body mirror, and raising an arm as I did so.
The face I saw, the perfectly symmetrical lines and elegant shapes that was Damien Winters' face. It'd get a bit to get used to, sure.
Millions of guys would kill for this body, this status.
A walking, breathing male in a world where my gender had become a protected species. They'd revel in it, let themselves be coddled and worshipped like an Olympus God of some fertility cult, a gift sent from heaven. Part of me was like that too. Who wouldn't want such an easy way to have the best of everything, with not an ounce of effort required to acquire said things?
That part of me was ready to be selfish, and go ahead with it, no questions asked. Women at my feet? Food and all sorts of luxury delivered at the door like in the fantasy of a thousand and one Arabian nights tales? Why the fuck not?
But there's a dark side of everything, even something so ludicrous as this. The darkness wasn't completely hidden in this, either. After all, for all the glamor and sparkles that made this perfect and beautiful gift to any man worth their shit—a handsome face, the rarest status imaginable—it didn't make the one simple fact undeniable.
I was livestock.
Not in the cruel, chains-and-whips sense. Nothing that obvious or cartoonish. Still, livestock nonetheless.
A special piece of livestock that had somehow grown enough to hold at least some awareness and will, maybe even an inch of autonomy. Something akin to having a chicken lay an egg every morning, or a cow give its milk without being provoked, only for the animal to wonder just why on earth it had to be the chosen one for this job.
I had no power, no right, nothing other than this empty title and this pretty face.
So, yeah, I could possibly fuck as many women as I wanted, and I wouldn't be held accountable for anything, even a damn crime. So fucking amazing, right?
Sink that much dick, become a local or regional celebrity for being such an angel for the continued existence of the human race... then fuck them, for all I cared. It'd probably be quite fulfilling, not giving a single shit, no?
I could watch as these ladies threw everything they had away just for the chance to lay a finger on me. Just for the possibility to gain one more iota of the pleasure my touch could provide, for the opportunity for some breeding.
'No.'
The word seemed to emerge out of nowhere.
I guess I didn't quite enjoy the idea of just being a cum dispenser.
Crazy, since I'd have enjoyed myself like that in my old world. But not here. No, in this world, I wanted more. I wanted to choose. Not for the sake of getting any power or something like that, but just because I could. To see where it'd all go. To see how far they would all bend their rules, their entire system, their whole damn reality before they'd start pushing back.
I'd enjoy myself.
But I would also have them enjoy me.
Just my way.
xXx
Willow
Back in the living room, where Damien had left them all behind, four members of the Winters' family were still quietly fidgeting in their places while trying their best not to acknowledge one another's reactions.
If nothing else, the group was united by the understanding that the only real way out of the last few minutes' events was simply... pretend.
There was no real point in bringing it up at all.
Pretend the whole incident never happened. Act the way it should have happened instead—the way the family manual dictated.
Calista broke the silence first.
The older sister crossed the living room towards the front door with a bit of stiffness in her step. Her heels made an audible click, click, click as they touched the polished floorboards.
"I have... work. Work." She mumbled under her breath, shaking her head. "Work..."
In a similar fashion, Iris—having at last gotten her legs to cooperate—turned with an unusually jerking movement to trudge towards the staircase, moving in complete silence and almost with a robotic pace. She, too, refused to make eye contact with anyone in the living room.
Ivy, quietly sneaked where Damien's shirt still lay on the floor. She collected the garment with her teeth clenched and eyes cast downward.
A flush remained fixed on her delicate cheeks, a perfect twin to the brilliant, red flush Iris still carried as she ascended the stairs. Ivy, upon securing the shirt, immediately scampered back to her room, just as the main entrance door swung open and closed, marking Calista's rapid and discreet exit.
Willow sunk in the couch, soon joined by her sister, Freya.
She decided to ignore her daughters' reactions, because her own mental state would go through the roof and straight out of the atmosphere the minute she did so.
"So..." Freya spoke in a soft murmur. "That went well."
"... oh, so well..." Willow replied sarcastically, a smile that was just a little too tight stretched across her face as she said. "What's gotten to him?"
Please consider supporting me on Patreon to get access to 5 advanced chapters of this story (and more to come) and others too.