Emergence

"I think your memory is returning," Ava says. She opens the wine that was left by the management company and we share it while the rest of the movie plays. It isn't particularly good, but it's obviously been quite a while since I had a drink, and by the time the credits roll I'm nodding off.

I may have good staying power in bed, but I can't stay awake past nine.

*

Eating, sleeping, exercising, and relaxing fill most of my hours. Ava visits more than I have a right to expect given that she has a life of her own. We watch movies, listen to music, talk, and once or twice even take short neighborhood walks. She doesn't share much about her personal life, but does keep me entertained with stories from her workplace. There are rivalries, friendships, dramas, and the rewards of work itself. Ava has polished her impression of her supervisor and loves to imitate him when telling stories.

But most of the time I'm on my own. When I've seen programs about drug withdrawals they're usually about someone confined or suffering on their own, torn apart from the inside, each minute a test. Mine isn't like that. I don't crave the drugs, in fact I feel more alive than I can ever recall, sometimes painfully so. I've become more comfortable in open spaces now, but the sounds and smells sometimes threaten to overpower me.

What's more predictable but just as challenging to deal with is the whipsaw cycle of hunger, energy, exercise, and exhaustion. I wake early to find myself ravenous, but no sooner have I eaten than the restless energy wells up in me again. A trip to the gym channels my energy but it takes more time with every visit, and soon I'm spending an hour and a half there. After a night's sleep the cycle starts all over again.

And I'm horny. There's a young woman in the gym whose schedule often overlaps mine. She likes to wear yoga pants and a sports top which leaves plenty of skin on display. I sneak peeks at her so often when I run or lift that I've memorized the shape of her ass, the hints of abs, and the fine strands of hair that escape the base of her ponytail. I want to fuck her so much! Is this normal for a man in his twenties or have the drugs scrambled me in some way? Surely Kapp wasn't working on ways to increase male sex drive!

I give all of this description as a way of explaining what happened after one week. As if it wasn't my fault.

Ava came over that Thursday night, but only long enough for a brief dinner. She excused herself early, something about a morning deadline. I get it. She's given me a few teasing hints about my story but isn't ready to share them yet. Maybe tomorrow.

Sometimes after dinner my energy levels remain mellow, but that isn't the case tonight. I'm wired, pacing the floor as I listen to music that must surely have been a favorite before. And I'm horny. Did I mention that? I jerked off just a couple of days ago but astoundingly my body has already recovered. I don't want to go to the gym again today, and don't want to masturbate. A walk might settle my nerves.

It's good to get out. The neighborhood where Ava rented the service apartment is one that a real estate agent would describe as gentrifying. There are young families fixing up row houses alongside properties that look like they haven't changed hands in over forty years. Cafes, edgy bars, and a few boutique shops seem to be thriving on the main street. I like it.

One of the bars attracts my attention. The evening is mild, and they've thrown open the french doors to let out the raucous sound of a basement band given a chance at fame. On a whim I go in, fumbling in my pocket. I don't have any ID or credit card, but the last time that Ava and I stocked up on groceries I kept the change.

"Whiskey," I say hopefully, placing a ten on the bar. The bartender gives me an I-hope-you're-kidding-me look before pouring a glass from a bottle on the lowest shelf. It's a good thing my tolerance is low.

The music is loud, raw, and fun. Fighting off the overstimulation, I sip my whiskey, rock to the music and check out the crowd. Some of the young couples have brought in their babies, but mostly it's twenty and thirty-somethings pretending it's Friday. Some are locked in tight groups, but there are plenty of single men and women with restless eyes.

"Excuse me," a voice says, practically in my ear, "just trying to get my drink." There's a brush of warmth against my side.

"Oh I'm sorry," I say, doing my best to make room for the woman reaching for the bar. She seems to have plenty of room but still presses her breasts against me. I spotted her earlier, laughing with a friend, paying more attention to the crowd than the band.

"No worries," she says, "it's really tight in here." It's either an incredibly suggestive pickup line or I'm too horny to identify pleasantries. She doesn't go back to her friend, but instead stands next to me swaying to the music. "You're dry," she observes, indicating my empty glass.

"Payday is tomorrow," I say, trying to explain my cashless situation without appearing desperate.

"Right," she says, then hoists her drink and bellows, "Paydayyyyyyy!" Before I can interpret this exclamation she snags my glass and once again pushes toward the bar. She returns a minute later with what I assume is the same rail whiskey. "Least I could do," she says, bumping into me. "You've got a good spot to watch the band from here. I'm Carole."

"Jasper," I say, loud enough to be heard over the swelling noise. Carole, I realize, is already tipsy. She's a few years older than the average in the bar, probably in her late thirties. But she's packed herself nicely into a pair of tight jeans which show off her round hips and heart-shaped ass. The t-shirt she's chosen carefully manages the twin duties of straining against her breasts and riding up to show off a hint of her belly softness.

"Yeahhh!" Carole exclaims as the band wraps up one song and transitions into the next. "You can still see, right?"

She's ostensibly asked this because she is now standing in front of me, facing the band. More importantly, she takes advantage of the arrangement by grinding back against me. I'm no longer grounded. When I walked into the bar I was in control. Now I'm swallowed by the sound, the alcohol, and the proximity of Carole's backside. I could try to free myself, stagger back outside to clear my head and return home. Instead I rest one hand on her hip, matching her rhythm. I press my face forward, inhaling her scent.

One song turns into another. I finish my second whiskey, find somewhere to ditch the glass, and put my remaining hand on Carole's opposite hip. She raises her hands, tosses her hair, and makes a show of really, really enjoying the band. I'm hard.

"Shiiit," Carole says. She's reached a hand back to explore the outline of my cock where it strains against my jeans. "Jasper, when were you going to tell me about this?"

"Thought maybe you'd find it on your own," I grunt.

She laughs. "Not sure how I could miss it." Her hand stays there, squeezing and releasing as we grind together. My hand creeps up and under her t-shirt, exploring the bottom of her bra. After another song she hoarsely whispers, "My place isn't too far from here."

That's all I needed to hear. Carole and I disentangle ourselves and she goes off to say something to her friend. I get the don't-mess-with-my-bestie look before Carole returns to drag me away.

The outside air is fresh, but not enough to pull me from the confused tangle of sensations. I'm still buzzed, and even outside the bar the muted thud of bass reaches deep. Carole leads me into the alley. She's still singing the lyrics to the last song the band covered, shaking her ass, and drunkenly twirling. I want to fuck her right there, to push her against someone's back fence, tear off her jeans and have my way. My lust is in complete control.

Maybe Carole sees the look in my eyes, because she dances away, saying, "Almost there, you bad, bad boy." I stumble after her, and the last half a block feels like a sprint, until laughing, Carole reaches a gate and fumbles with the latch. I'm all over her, pressing my face against her wild brown hair, grabbing her ass, and looking for any skin to kiss. The same vibe continues inside. It's a shared housing situation, but Carole has the top floor so once we stomp up the slightly warped wooden stairs we have the entire level to ourselves.

"Welcome to the Princess Suite," Carole says, draping herself across the bed in an oddly demure pose. Then she ruins the effect by wrestling with her boots, laughing and twisting on the bed. I tear off my shoes with greater ease, then shirt and pants. At the end I'm naked, helping tug off her jeans. She eyes my cock, bobbing in the dim light from the bathroom. "I'm not going to suck that thing," she declares.

"Huh?" I ask, still holding the tangle of her jeans.

"No," she says, wriggling to the center of the bed. "I just want you to fuck me with it."

"Fine," I say. It's quieter and darker in her room, a sanctuary from the earlier blast of sensations. "I'm not going to eat your pussy, then."

"Good," she retorts, "I don't want you to. Just fuck me."

I join her on the bed, then knee-walk until I'm between Carole's legs, my cock waving left and right. Following some instinct I wet a finger and explore her pussy. She's wet, but I make sure she's ready for me by circling the finger inside her slit. But who am I kidding? I have no more taste for foreplay than she does. The head of my cock replaces the finger, pushing and sliding against Carole's outer folds. Soon the tip is slick and I can work the head in.

"Goddammit," Carole gasps. Her eyes aren't fixed on me, but rather where I'm entering her. She doesn't resist, just watches as I work myself into her pussy.

"Nnnh." My body has been screaming at me for the last half hour to get Carole in just this position. Once I've worked the shaft mostly in I begin to pump. She's a fun fuck. Not only is she super ready for me, she kind of puts on a show, lifting and kneading a breast, wetting and pinching a nipple, and arching her back. Pump, pump, pump. I'm as restless in bed as I was at home, so I turn Carole from missionary and take her from behind while she lays on her side.

"Gawwd yeah," she groans. "Fuck me like that."

I do for a while before asking, "What positions do you like?" Pump, pump.

"Doggy."

I reply, "All women like doggy," although I have no idea where this knowledge comes from. "What position will you cum with?"

"It's fine," she says. "I don't cum that easily during sex. Just fuck me good and hard like that and I'll be happy." Then when I respond by driving forward a thrust which smacks against her ass she adds, "Yeah, like that."

I'm not giving up that easily. "A challenge. Last time you came with a guy, what position were you in?"

"On top." She looks up with a hopeful gleam in her eye. As one entity, we roll until I'm on my back and she rearranges herself to straddle me. "Try and make it last," she says as her eyes slide shut.

We work together, Carole laying partially forward, her hands braced on my chest. I grab her upper thighs and help her slide against me, burying my cock. Her journey is a gradual one. As we first get going she has a serene expression, a faint smile like she's happy just to be getting lucky tonight. Her breasts hang heavily, and when I pull a hand from her hips to fondle one she lets out a low moan.

But at some point the mood on the creaking bed shifts. Her brow tightens and her lips part. Carole lets out a small 'oh', followed by another half a minute later. She's into it now, no longer just savoring the moment, but actively pursuing release. Both of our bodies are covered in a thin sheen of perspiration. I find it deliciously easy to squeeze her breasts, sliding my fingers firmly along the sides and teasing the nipples. Carole digs her fingers into my chest hair as by silent agreement we begin to accelerate the pace.

At the end she's laying entirely against me, her breath ragged and hot in my ear. I keep one hand on her shoulder, driving her down onto my cock, while the other on her hip helps pull her back. She's close.

"It's good," I find myself saying. "That pussy is good."

"Ohhhuh," Carole pants. She's trembling against me, her slick pussy mercilessly snug against my cock. Just as I begin to wonder if I'll cum first, she surprises me.

"Fuck!" she cries out. "Oh, fuck!" Carole's head snaps to one side, her pussy clamps down, and her entire body convulses. Her thighs tighten, her hands dig into my shoulders and her breasts crush against me. "Fuh, huhh," she gasps, cumming in a shuddering spasm. Suddenly my cock is soaked in a wave of wetness as orgasm transforms her. Even in the dim light I can see the veins and tendons straining on her neck. The bed rattles and creaks at a frantic rate.

I let go, too. With nothing to hold me back I let orgasm seize me. Into Carole's now drenched slit I unload a burst of cum. "Hah, ahhh," I gasp. We're both gripping the other so tightly that I doubt either could move. Instead we let the intoxicating and merciless tug of orgasm drag us along, trembling and cumming together, draining us.

Carole's roommate must have come home because from one flight down I hear the sound of clapping, followed by a woman's voice calling out, "Car-ole, Car-ole, Car-ole!"

"Shut up!" Carole yells back, but she's laughing. "Shut the fuck up!"

*

I stumble back home in the dawn pre-light after making some vague promise to Carole that I hope to see her again. It's true. She was fun in bed, and fucking her was far better than masturbating would have been. Would repeat.

Ava is waiting for me when I return, startling me. "There you are!" she says, jumping up from the couch. "Jasper, you scared me! Where were you?"

"What?" I'm still disoriented from the previous evening - the alcohol, the loud music, the crowd, and the intense sex. Waking up in a strange bed didn't help. "Oh, I went out last night."

"I know, shit!" I can see that she's shaken. "I came by late and you were gone. Jasper you shouldn't do that. Where did you go?"

"For a walk," I say, then add, "and to some bar."

"Shiiit," Ava says, pressing her hands against her face. "You barely know your way around here." She sags back into the couch. "And I suppose you found someone to take you home?"

It isn't clear that this is something to be ashamed of. "I was horny. You said you wanted to know how I feel. I've felt super horny lately."

"Jasperrrr." Ava still has her hands pressed to her face. "This is dangerous. More dangerous than I thought."

Even somewhat drained from the previous night I still feel my usual morning surge of energy coming on. Of anger. "Well, if you'd tell me what the fuck is going on I could gauge the danger for myself. Who am I, Ava?"

This gives Ava pause, though I feel guilty for the outburst. She lets out a long sigh, dropping her hands from her face, but not looking at me. "I was hoping this would have a quick resolution," she says. "I wanted to give you the story at the same time I published. That isn't going to work now."

I wait her out, fearful that any interruption might give her an excuse to change her mind.

"Here," she says at last. "The best way is probably just to show you." She fiddles with her holo display for a minute before turning it so we can both watch.

The video is a beach scene with a strong porno vibe. There are no distinct features like signs or buildings, and no crowds. A young woman, distant and out of focus at first, is slowly walking toward the camera, her hips swaying. As she grows closer we can make out the glittering gold bikini she is wearing, a garment barely able to contain her ripe curves. Once the actress is in focus she playfully pulls back a strand of hair. She's gorgeous, one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen in porn.

If Ava feels at all uncomfortable viewing a porno with me, she conceals it well. Instead we keep watching as the young woman settles herself into a lounger and beckons to someone off screen. The camera is aimed low, keeping only the reclining woman in the frame. Soon however, the view is partially blocked by a man's lower body as he comes to stand beside her. He's wearing swim trunks, but his legs are admirably ripped, with a layer of fine hair which fails to disguise the taut muscles beneath. He's holding a tray with a frosty tropical drink, complete with umbrella.

Smiling first at the drink, then up at the waiter, the actress takes the glass and sets it on a nearby table. But she doesn't dismiss him. Instead, in predictable porn fashion, she says, "I'd like this, too," before untying the man's trunks. They fall to the sand.

The actor is, to put it mildly, quite well hung. His organ is practically draped over a set of heavy balls. A single, fat vein runs along the top and sides, disappearing somewhere before it reaches the plump head. The woman kisses, then begins to lick and suck, the bulging shaft. She smiles wickedly up at the man as he begins to harden. Accordingly, the camera pulls back, gradually revealing the man's rippling abs, chest, arms, and finally his face. I gawk in confusion.

It's me.

Ava freezes the video, scrutinizing my reaction.

"I...I..." I stammer, "what the fuck? What is this?"

"You're a porn star," Ava says. "That's how you're famous, Jasper."

"No," I insist, still looking at the video. The man has my face, but not my body. "That's not me." Even his face isn't quite right. The man in the video has my same features, but they're harder, more angular. "That's not me," I repeat. "It's some deep fake, or something."

Ava nods, but only switches to another video. Again, I'm there, looking several years younger, and not quite as powerfully built. My cock is the same though, plowing into a moaning blonde's pussy.

"No," I say, still struggling to understand. "That guy is hung. I'm not." I'm at most average; the actor is packing a serious rod.

"Yes, that's odd," Ava admits. She pauses the video. "Jasper, I know it's overwhelming; I know you're confused. But hear me out, please."

I take a deep breath and say, "Sure."

"The body is the easiest to explain, right? You're a little overweight, and soft. But Jasper, you've been hospitalized for eighteen months with very little in the way of exercise. Your recent activity probably helped some, but of course you don't have the same build you used to. You will though. You can get that back."

That does make sense. I'm the same height in the video, if that's me.

Ava continues. "Your face is much the same. You've just put on some weight. You were really lean, which brought out your jaw and cheekbones."

"Yeah, but what about that?" I say, pointing at my doppelgänger's intimidating appendage.

"Yes." Ava herself stares at the image frozen on the screen. "That's more difficult to explain." For a moment I think that's all she has to say, but then she turns to me once more. "Would you mind if I measured your penis?"

"What?" I ask, surprised once more.

"For science," she assures me. Then when I say nothing she continues, "You'll need to be erect."

"Fuck it." Letting Ava measure my dick wouldn't be the most bizarre thing to happen this morning. I nod at her to start the video, and soon I'm treated to the dissonant experience of watching a forgotten version of me fucking on screen. It's weird, but the blonde is hot and responsive, and soon my dick is swelling.

"Take it out," Ava says. From her bag she's retrieved a flexible tape measure.

I yank down my jeans, lift my cock, and give it a stroke. On screen my three-years-ago self is really giving it to the blonde, and she's encouraging him/me with scorching dirty talk. "Gawwwd that's good in my pussy, my dirty little pussy. Fuck! Don't stop, don't stop!"