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Rebirth - Chapter One

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An online avatar becomes an obsession that sparks the desire for a metamorphosis.

I

Trust me, I really want to tell you how it all started and how it all ends, but first things first. Be sure that this is by no means a story for everyone, but the truth of what happened, should you feel tempted to be in the know, more or less lies within these pages. I truly and fully accept the consequences; in fact, I feel all tingly just thinking about the consequences as I put pen to paper. So here goes nothing.

Indeed, things had been brewing for a very long time. What really set things in motion, however, was nothing but a harmless videogame (the name of which I’m not willing to share). The other major fact depends on my being honest and confessing to you, right off the bat, that I was born into the wrong body. At the time, inhabiting the body of a female avatar—even one that existed only in the cyber world—allowed for a short and slightly inconvenient escape from reality.

When I stumbled upon the game (and let’s not dwell on how I happened to stumble upon so specific a discovery), I immediately signed up for a premium account. Yes, I was willing to pay a few dollars per month for a chance of pretending to be a sizzling hot lady with exaggerated bodily proportions. My avatar, whom I named Anastasia, was a petite blond with green eyes and rosy red puckered lips.

Generic, I know, but the graphics were stunning, Anastasia was the bomb, and I couldn’t care less about being original. I just wanted to find a macho man, pronto. A man with the right package—and the right words. An assertive man who wasn’t afraid to take what he wanted and own what was rightfully his from someone who simply couldn’t help but surrender to him. Suffice it to say that I found my man, eventually. It took a while, but I’m more than glad to inform you now that I will forever be a possession of his. I’ll get to that later though—first things first.

II

Anastasia did the rounds. Cyber men took advantage of her, and she loved it. She sucked and fucked her way to the top. She soon achieved a great in-game score, and because of that everybody wanted to score with her. I loved how cheap it felt to be passed on from one man to the other. Once I entered a virtual room and found twenty thirsty men waiting for Anastasia. They stretched her beyond what would have been impossible even in the physical world. She screamed with pain and pleasure.

Her blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her puckered lips never had the chance not to be wrapped around a massive dick or two. In that room, Anastasia wasn’t human. She was a plastic object which men passed around to please their animalistic needs. They came all over her perfectly rendered face, one after the other, their semen stunningly simulated to flow over her naked body. The white fluid made its way between her huge breasts and part of it trickled across her puffy nipples all the way down to her still quivering vagina.

The men logged out, one after the other. They said nothing. They typed nothing into the chatbox. Back in the real world, a mental image of tiny Anastasia surrounded by big horny men put me to peaceful sleep.

III

As the days went by, the game started to consume me. What started out as an escape ironically became a prison, a dark dungeon in which depravity was rampant. And weirdly enough, I loved every second of it. Well, almost every second. When I had to be offline, I started to pretend I was Anastasia. I ordered a blond wig and the second it was delivered (two weeks later), I ran to my room to try it on.

I wore it haphazardly at first, but at least it covered my real hair. I puckered my lips and, looking in the mirror, I spoke a few words in some affected sultry voice. An Anastasia wannabe stared back at me. She was nowhere near convincing, and I remember thinking no man would ever fall for her. I averted my not-at-all-green eyes and threw the wig against the wall. It landed silently by the trash bin. That week, men in search of Anastasia didn’t find her in any of the virtual rooms.

IV

I had no plans of ever giving up on Anastasia. I wanted to be her, no matter how ridiculous an idea that seemed. I ordered green contacts from a “trustworthy” online supplier. They arrived three days later. This time the mirror was more forgiving. The Anastasia that looked me in the eye felt more self-confident this time.

I didn’t throw away the wig. Instead, I took off my clothes and stared at myself for a long time. The reflection was that of a frail, small body, hairless, as white as milk. It was a cruel joke made by a universe that began to craft a girl but ultimately decided against it. Before the mold was cast, my essence had been randomly shoved elsewhere, shaped into something that’d never align with how I felt on the inside.

I slipped back into my loose-fitting pajamas, and went online. In the browser, I opened a few tabs and ordered a bunch of things. Next, I launched my alternate reality game, logged on, and with that managed to reincarnate the long-lost Anastasia.

Men proceeded to swarm into her room, demanding entry. In the chatbox, only a few wondered where she’d been or how she’s been doing. Most of them were understandably driven by lust and only described how they were going to fuck her wide open and make her choke on their meaty cocks.

I shared the passcode with a few of them, and in almost no time they were all over Anastasia. They used her like the fuck doll she was. They choked her, slapped her, and mercilessly penetrated her vaginally then anally. For more than an hour, she was on all fours. The men took turns fucking her from behind, while others wrestled to fuck her beautiful face. Compared to them, she seemed so small and so fragile. They wanted to break her, to split her in half with their massive dicks, but she never broke. She just screamed and asked for more. When they had emptied their balls (probably in real life too), the men simply left the room. The chatbox was silent.

I logged out and went to sleep satisfied.

V

I lived alone back then. A small apartment in a nondescript part of the city was what I called home. I had very few friends, none of whom I entrusted with secrets. I realized Anastasia had to be kept in the dark, confined to a virtual dungeon that lustful men frequented for sexual release.

I did have a best friend before that. Our friendship had gone way back to the early days of childhood, until he decided to slowly (but surely) distance himself from me. We hadn’t spoken for more than a year when he contacted me. My phone buzzed two times, and I saw his name pop up on my lock screen. I shakily unlocked my phone and typed a short reply.

After we’d exchanged text-based pleasantries, he promptly asked for a favor. I thought it rude at first, but I couldn’t bring myself to say no to him. You see, I’ve always had a crush on Ryan. It’s probably why I never blamed him for wanting to keep his distance. He must have sensed my growing feelings for him, feelings that he couldn’t reciprocate let alone understand, and that pushed him away. He was straight and all man. I was gay, un-masculine, and practically in love with him. It wasn’t exactly a textbook friendship that was meant to last forever.  

Ryan was a programmer, and he wanted me to design the logo for his new startup. Even back then, I believed that was the start of something big for him. I believed in him. I wanted him to succeed. Of course, he offered to pay me for the job, but I said no, I’d do it for free. I just felt happy we were in touch again.

He sent a thank you coupled with a green heart emoji, and that was more than enough for me. Enough, but I don’t—for a second—fool myself into thinking anything where Ryan’s concerned. I don’t chase straight guys; I don’t chase guys, period. Pride is a strange thing. One moment you’re fantasizing about being a sex object, and the next moment your manner is all dignified. It’s no wonder that prey should refrain from approaching its hunter.

I stared at the green heart emoji for a minute or two. Anastasia was still on my mind (she always was), except this time Ryan was there too. He was pile-driving her pussy as he lay on top of her. Anastasia squirmed and whimpered and took it like a champ.

I closed the app, picked up a sketchbook, and started doodling some abstract shapes. That logo had to be perfect.

 

 

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