I hated women: always thinking they were superior, always going for bad boys. Why? Because they were idiots, losers who couldn't see the good man I was. No matter how hard I tried, they didn't pay attention to me.
But I'd already given up. They could all go to hell. My anger and disappointment were drowning me, and my rationality had gone on vacation. I was walking without paying attention until my fate caught up with me. First, I heard the sound of a horn, then a brutal impact knocked me down, and I lost consciousness.
"You're such a loser."
A voice came out of nowhere, and I gritted my teeth. That thing had told me to tell it how I had died... and now it was making fun of me.
"Did you seriously think someone would love you when all you did was lock yourself in your room?"
"Shut up!" I yelled, furious. "You don't understand anything. I'm the one who's fine; they're the ones who judge by appearances, without seeing what's inside me."
"Will you keep making excuses?"
Its tone was full of mockery and contempt. This supposed "God" didn't understand anything. I tried to explain to it, over and over, that I was fine and that the fault lay with others.
"Stop whining."
I wasn't whining, I was just telling the truth. It was just like my mother, always insisting that I was wrong.
"You're such an idiot."
I couldn't see it, but I knew: its arrogant smile floated in the nothingness that surrounded me. It proclaimed itself "God," but it was a fraud, unable to listen to my point of view.
"Now I'm the one who's wrong?" it asked, offended.
"Yes," I said. "You're an idiot for not understanding the situation."
Its laughter filled the void, reverberating in my ears like an echo I couldn't ignore.
"We've talked enough. Good luck in your next life."
I woke up sweating, with a strange smell that made me wrinkle my nose.
"What a weird dream..." I muttered.
But my voice wasn't the same; it was warmer, softer, almost unrecognizable. I pushed away the heavy, dirty sheets that covered my body. I didn't even remember having them. The shock came when I looked at my legs: they weren't mine. Everything seemed different, strange. I got up, stunned, desperately hoping it was all another illusion. But it wasn't.
Long, straight, black hair fell to my shoulders. I felt absolute panic.
"This can't be real," I said, trembling.
I ran in search of a bathroom, almost tripping over my own feet. The walls, stained with dampness and dark splashes, seemed to lean in on me, menacingly. When I arrived, I found discolored, moldy tiles, with cracks that resembled veins under sick skin. The mirror above the sink was opaque with stains and salt... and it returned an image that took my breath away.
It wasn't me.
A strangled cry tore from my throat, a high-pitched, alien sound that echoed in the filthy bathroom. My hands, now smaller and more delicate, rose trembling to my face, feeling the soft skin, the defined cheekbones, the fuller lips. There was no trace of the sparse beard I used to have, nor of the coarse features I knew. My fingers slid down my neck, feeling the slender throat, and then rested on my generous chest. There was an unexpected softness, a fullness that made me recoil sharply, tripping over my own feet.
No! This couldn't be! My blue eyes, now a stranger's, were fixed on the mirror, searching for a flaw, an illusion. But there wasn't one. The woman staring back at me was real, tangible, and it was me. The curves of my waist, the soft contour of my hips—everything screamed the truth my mind refused to accept.
An icy shiver ran down my spine. The nausea intensified, a bitter knot in my stomach. I leaned over the toilet, its yellowish, cracked porcelain seemed to mock me, and I vomited. It wasn't just physical disgust; it was a revulsion of the soul, the annihilation of everything I believed myself to be.
"Damn you! You bastard God!"
My voice, that sweet, alien voice, broke into a choked sob. I collapsed to the floor, my new legs refusing to support me. The cold of the tile seeped through the black thong, an obscene reminder of my new anatomy. My hands clutched my head, pulling at the silky, dark hair that now fell over my shoulders.
Was this a joke? A nightmare I couldn't wake from? No, the sharp pain in my knees as they hit the floor was too real. The sticky humidity of the air, the rancid smell of mold and confinement, everything was horribly vivid.
"Did you really think it would be that easy?"
The voice. That mocking voice, the same one that had tormented me in the void, now resonated inside my own head, clear as if it were whispering directly in my ear. It was cold, contemptuous, and full of a perverse satisfaction.
"What... what have you done to me?" I stammered, my voice trembling, almost inaudible.
"I gave you a new perspective, you little loser. Or, I should say, little loser."
Its dry, resonant laugh erupted in my mind, making me clench my teeth in fury.
"You wanted to understand women, didn't you? Always complaining that they wouldn't give you a chance, that they were 'idiots' and 'dumb'."
My eyes widened, a stab of terror and rage piercing through me. No, it couldn't be. This was torture, the cruelest punishment imaginable for a man like me. To become one of them? To live in this skin, with these... things?
"No! I don't want this! Give me back my body! I'm a man! I've always been one!" I screamed, my words lost in the echo of the bathroom. My fists pounded the floor with a force that surprised me; the impact was soft, weak, nothing like the masculine blows I used to deliver.
"You're not anymore, darling," the "God's" voice was a snake slithering through my consciousness. "Enjoy your new life. I hope you find that 'good man' you longed for so much. Although, to be honest, I don't think you'd recognize him if he was right in front of you. Always so blind, aren't you?"
The laughter faded, leaving an oppressive silence broken only by my own gasps. I crawled back to the mirror, my blue eyes fixed on the woman's face. She was undeniably beautiful, with a beauty I would have once despised as "superficial." But now, it was my face.
Humiliation, anger, confusion, and overwhelming fear swirled inside me. My own words, my prejudices, my complaints—everything turned against me with an irony so cruel it was almost poetic. How was I going to live like this? How was I going to be a woman, I, who had so denigrated them?
A single tear slid down my cheek, a warm trail on the soft skin. It was the first time I had cried this way, not out of masculine frustration, but with a deeper despair, one that I felt only a woman could understand. And the irony of that thought hit me like a bolt of lightning.
My life, or what was left of it, had just begun. And I didn't have the slightest idea how I was going to survive in this new, terrifying body.
I recoiled, my head shaking in a frantic "no." No, no, and a thousand times no. This was a cruel joke, a cosmic mockery. It was ridiculous, it was terrifying, it was so goddamn unreal that my sanity was unraveling like an old rag. A sharp, tearing scream, so desperate it scratched my throat, burst from me. It wasn't my voice, but the panic was mine.
I ran. I ran as if the devil were chasing me, looking for a way out of that damn cubicle. I found it almost instantly; the place wasn't big, just a cage. I slammed the door open, and what greeted me was the apocalypse. Ruins. The ruins of a city. Fallen buildings, skeletons of twisted steel. Broken-down cars, overturned like smashed toys, covered in dust and rust. I wasn't at my house, not even in my city. New, bigger, more terrifying worries filled my head.
I screamed again, a howl of pure desperation that blocked any semblance of reason. I ran aimlessly, my eyes scanning the horizon, but there were only more ruins, a desolate landscape of what was once a vibrant metropolis. My bare feet, delicate and alien, burned with every step on the cracked, debris-strewn pavement.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move. A shadow, a silhouette that looked like a person, but didn't move like one. It was an agile, bestial movement, on all fours. A creature. A hunter. And I was the prey. Terror propelled me, forcing my legs to their limit, the air burning my lungs.
"Heeeeelp!" I screamed, my voice broken with fear, seeking help from anyone, anything. My legs gave out, exhaustion knocking me down. I fell face-first onto sparse, damp grass, feeling the cold, wet earth against my skin. Then, the sound of bullets. One, two, three. None hit me, but the impact of their proximity, combined with the exhaustion, dragged me into unconsciousness.
I woke up. It was the second time, and the prospect of recurring trauma was starting to set in. Every time I opened my eyes, I was in a new place, always worse than the last. First, the void. Then, a filthy apartment that now seemed like a palace. And now, this.
I was on a mattress. A mattress with yellowish stains that didn't invite me to find out their origin. A damp, rancid, and sweet smell filled the air. My eyes fell on a series of glass jars, filled with some murky yellow liquid. And then I saw it. One of the jars, half-full, contained a small action doll. A girl in a swimsuit. My stomach churned. I almost vomited again, but a sound stopped me.
The room door opened slowly. A man. Old, or at least he seemed so, though the dirt and premature wrinkles on his face made him look a century older. His beard, an overgrown, uncontrolled mess, was matted with grime and grease, with tangled tufts that trapped crumbs and dust. His skin, weathered by the sun and cracked by the wind, was stained with layers of dry dirt, sweat, and old blood. He was a specimen of depravity.
He approached, his eyes, small and bright, scrutinizing me. He knelt in front of me.
"Easy, pretty thing. Everything's alright now," his voice, raspy as sandpaper, tried to sound reassuring, but it was filled with an emotion that chilled my blood. His nails, long and broken, with dark scabs underneath them, dug lightly into my shoulders.
"I'm fine, please, get away. You're hurting me," I said, my voice trembling with terror. I tried to pull away, to get out of his grip, but his strength was surprising.
"No, no, no, no," I screamed, shaking my body desperately. It only served to ignite his anger. He shoved me hard against the disgusting mattress.
"You're ungrateful! I saved you! I'm your hero! I'm your savior!" he shouted, his voice filled with angry madness.
And then, with a decision that chilled me to the bone, he kissed me. The heat of his breath, thick and sour, filled my nose. His lips, dry and cracked, clashed with mine. A metallic, rancid taste, a thick mix of stale saliva and unbrushed teeth from a long time ago, took over my mouth. The roughness of his dirty beard scraped my skin like sandpaper, leaving a trail of burning discomfort as his tongue, thick and repulsive, explored my mouth, a viscous, nauseating assault.
It was disgusting. I wanted to vomit, but I managed to contain the nausea, gathering the little strength I had left. With a desperate shove and kick, I pushed him away. I quickly turned, trying to get up, but my foot sank into the soft mattress and I tripped, falling face-first onto the dirty floor, my bottom exposed to the air.
The crazy old man didn't hesitate. His hands, strong and brutal, immobilized me. One of them rested on my head, pressing it against the floor with crushing force. The other, with unrepentant rudeness, began to stroke my right buttock.
"What luck I have! What good luck I have, goddammit! Hahahaha," his laugh, a hoarse, slobbering cackle, filled the air. "I found a woman those damned communists, capitalists, and fascists forgot!" His voice was filled with a sickening happiness that turned my stomach. "Your skin is so soft it looks like you never went outside, that you never suffered the Great Purge."
I tried to get up again and again, my muscles trembling with the effort, but the crazy old man pressed his hand with more and more force. A dry sound resonated, his hand slapping my buttock, leaving a sure mark on my smooth skin.
"Goddammit, look at how they bounce! I can't control myself anymore!"
My desperation reached its limit. I knew what was coming. His free hand took my wrists, squeezing them against my back. The hand pressing my head moved away, moving slowly, as if enjoying every moment of my terror, to where I feared most. He slid the black thong I was wearing down, revealing the intimacy of my body. Red lips, virgin and perfect, were shown to him. A healthy, intact vagina caught the eyes of the crazy old man, who didn't hesitate to unbuckle his old pants. They fell a little, revealing that he wasn't wearing any underwear. His penis, dirty and with strange protuberances, was revealed. A monster.
"No, no, no, no! Get away, please!" I screamed, tears gushing from my eyes.
The head of his dirty member grazed my lips. He didn't put it in immediately, enjoying the torture, soiling my entrance with his pre-cum. He laughed, a dry laugh full of anticipation that announced the moment. His thing entered. It hurt. A sharp, stabbing pain that made me clench my teeth tightly. A barrier. His eyes widened with a crazed happiness.
"You're a virgin, fuck! You're a virgin!" he shouted, his voice hoarse with a perverse euphoria.
And he pushed. With all his might. His dirty penis forced its way inside me, breaking my hymen. Tears, now uncontrollable, streamed down my cheeks. He didn't stop. He started moving, brutally thrusting against my backside over and over. I could feel the veins of his member throbbing as he fucked me. The obscene sound of his pelvis hitting my buttocks filled my ears. He was grunting like a dog in heat.
"Stop it, plea... please!" I whimpered. Was it pain? Or something more? My internal walls were squeezing his member tightly, a biological reaction I didn't recognize. I felt his penis trying to get deeper inside me.
"So tight! Do you like this, you fucking whore?" he asked me mockingly. I wasn't a whore. It was a biological reaction, I was sure it was that, but I didn't respond. I just kept whimpering, saliva dripping from the corners of my mouth.
"I'm almost there, bitch! Get ready, I'll fill you with my saliva!"
My eyes widened in terror. He was going to cum inside me. Me, who was now a damned woman.
"Don't you even—"
I couldn't finish the sentence. A thick jet of hot semen invaded my uterus.
"Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, hot, hot!" I moaned, my voice sounding sick, twisted, as I felt his hot seed mark the deepest part of me. My internal walls squeezed his member, wringing it out as if to squeeze out every last drop of his dirty seed. The shock. The mixture of ecstasy, disgust, fear, hatred, and stress collapsed my mind, causing me to faint.