This Gender Reversed World Ain't for Me (48) - The Father of My Baby (Patreon)

When I regained consciousness, the first thing I noticed was the empty space where Calista had been sleeping.

The first instinct was to frown. Did something happen while I slept?

I rolled a bit to the side that was still warm from her body, and buried my face in the lingering scent of her. I swear I could've gone for another half hour just smelling the pillow she had used. And I could've fallen asleep for half a century doing just that too.

If my nose was to be believed, anyway.

While I wanted to indulge myself in her bed some more, the door opened, and a dripping Calista walked inside, wearing a pair of shorts and a yellow tank top. She ran the towel through her wet, ravenous hair, squeezing the water out with one of her hands, her skin still moist and glistening from the shower.

She stared at me, emotionlessly. Or at least that's what I believed, but her expression turned red the moment she saw me looking at her.

She wrinkled her nose, then turned away. "You're too clingy when you're asleep."

"Oh." I chuckled, not really moving from my new favorite spot. "Really sorry about that. If I get too close, just wake me up or something. At least, I didn't snore, did I?"

"No... you did not." Calista glanced at me, most of her face practically hidden by the towel she was aggressively rubbing her wet hair dry with. I groaned, not wanting to start the day yet, even though it was probably already midday, but what could I do. I was a lazy creature who had just discovered the perks of unemployment and didn't plan on climbing the corporate ladder anytime soon.

Why didn't I do this sooner?

Oh, right. I didn't have five gorgeous women providing my livelihood.

I rolled back around, but this time I spread myself like a star on the bed, sighing softly and practically purring my contentment.

"Don't do that..."

I cracked my eyes open to see Calista's back. "Do what?"

"......"

"Do what, Cali?"

"Nothing, Damien. You should probably get up."

"Yes, probably." I nodded, not really making a move to actually get up. No, seriously. This was my hard-earned holidays. And if I wanted to just be a couch potato on a vacation, I'd do that. Why the hell not, am I right?

I didn't have anything to lose.

Or gain, for that matter.

Just a bit of freedom.

I pulled the quilt up.

"You want to stay in my room all day...?"

I couldn't quite see her expression, what with the quilt now covering me like a cocoon. "As long as I'm not disturbing you, yeah."

"Hm."

Her 'hm' wasn't dismissive, or encouraging, nor was it approving.

"Are you hungry? Do you want me to get you something?" She said a second after, this time actually turning around, the damp towel around her neck.

Her skin was almost luminiscent, with that fresh out of the shower appearance that made women glow like angels.

"Oh, room service?"

She gave a muted groan.

"It's fine, I'm not that lazy. I'll get my own food." I lifted the covers off my head and slowly rose off the bed.

I still had to hit the gym, though given what transpired yesterday, it was probably better for me to put that on hold.

Until they caught the stalker.

Though I wasn't particularly keen on that, as I'd likely have to stay cooped up inside. Or go out only at certain, predetermined times.

Such is life.

Oh, joy.

After stretching my bones and yawning like a baby lion, I dragged my feet towards the door.

"Are you going to sleep in my room tonight too, Damien?"

"Yes. Maybe." I scratched my stomach—my shirt riding up—and glanced her way, noticing how she immediately looked to her own feet and... was she blushing? "Unless someone else makes a better offer, haha..."

"......"

...

The sunlight was a bit muted today, as was the overall atmosphere at the table by the time I came down to find everyone already there.

At first impression, it looked like I had just come down to a funeral, with everyone mourning some loss I was unaware of. "Everything's good?" I asked quietly, even my steps tapering off until I stood completely still at the foot of the stairs.

"Hello, Damien." Freya's smile was placid and dull. "How are you doing this morning?"

"I'm great, and you, Auntie Freya? And you, Mom? And of course, Iris and Ivy as well." I nodded at every family member with as much kindness and aplomb I could muster, almost tacking 'what a lovely morning, eh?' at the end, but the serious looks I was being given, practically disarmed all notions of wit out of my system. "Oh. Did someone die, or what's the deal?"

"Damien." Willow slid a note across the table, towards my direction, and I had to come closer to see what it was all about. "We found this under the door when we all came down."

She couldn't even make eye contact with me, instead gazing downward.

"I didn't want to tell you, not to frighten you, but Freya convinced me that, as the victim, you ought to be kept in the know."

Willow's hands were on her lap. She closed her eyes and sighed. I took in everyone's faces before glancing over at the paper in front of me.

Scribbled across the top in untidy but legible print was:

—Damien is the father of my baby. That song proves we've been together. I'll do whatever it takes to have him back. I'll find a way no matter what you do. I love you, Damien, and soon you will love me too.

There wasn't a signature, not that any sane person would do so.

"I'm not anyone's father, in case you're wondering." I tried to infuse the appropriate amount of humor into that statement, but no one seemed interested in it.

"Yes, Damien, we know." Freya's voice was deceptively calm. "We would never assume such an outrageous claim as true."

I turned the letter over in my hands and read it again, and then a third time for good measure. It's only right, after all, as some part of me expected this to be one big joke. But... "Did the cameras catch anything? And did the police not investigate this?"

"Yes, the camera did catch something..." Freya said, nodding. "The mailwoman delivering the letter. But nothing before and definitely nothing after. The police have already been notified, and they've interrogated the delivery person. That woman isn't involved, from what they've determined. She has an alibi, and didn't fit the measurements of the one from last night. She was just doing her job. The letter was sent anonymously, so we couldn't track down where it originated from."

"We looked through the footage all night." Iris chimed in. "But there's no other sign of her."

"......"

I brought the letter up, and took a deep sniff of the paper.

"Damien, what are you doing?" Willow queried, somewhat perplexed.

"Sniffing."

"... Why would you—nevermind." My answer seemed to give her second thoughts.

But there were no smells that I could detect, apart from the typical cardboard and papery one.

"What does it smell like?" Ivy asked in a curious tone.

"Like nothing in particular." I replied, disappointed. "I don't know why I thought there'd be some residual odor or something, but there's absolutely nothing."

Freya stood up and took the letter off of my hands. "Damien, I think this begets a new conversation about your music hobby. You see what this has become? You see how dangerous it is? Perhaps... and forgive my bluntness, you need to give up."

"What?" My first reaction was a blunt one. "You want me to stop?"

"Think about it, please? This was the first sign, then a girl is brazen enough to try and break into our home like it was no big deal? To leave us a letter as if to rub salt in an open wound? I think that's only the start."

"Listen to her, Damien." Willow came in support. "Perhaps for the short-term, it would be best, at least until that person has been caught and secured—"

"......"

I fell silent. I didn't want to simply stop, but the repercussions could spread into the lives of my family as well. I wasn't the only one in the crossfire, as their safety was, quite literally, on the line as well. But damn, I had just started. I was finally enjoying myself and was motivated for the first time in a while.

This... could end things on a sour note.

"I would... I'd need to think about it, honestly." I gave a reluctant sigh. "Honestly, I'd rather not stop, and I hope you understand that. I really enjoy being able to do music without... too many restrictions, but it's a decision that affects all of us, so I shouldn't have all of the input."

It was only fair, I figured. I still lived here—perhaps when, and if, I got my own place, I could do whatever the fuck I wanted. 

Freya and Willow stared at each other. "We don't want to pressure you, but..." Willow looked at me with a weary expression. "We're all worried about your safety, and... for what? A song? Is it really worth it, Damien? All this trouble?"

I was going to say yes, but I could see the concern in her eyes.

"Let me... think about it." I settled on that answer, instead.

Willow nodded and sighed. "I think that's a good idea. You should take your time and consider all the pros and cons. We'll be here to support you, whatever you decide."

I didn't feel hungry after that.

I went back to my room, locking the door behind me, and then laid down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

It was not as if the idea was that far-fetched, at the beginning. I knew what kind of nuke I had dropped on this world the moment I released that song, and I could've stopped, but I chose not to. To follow through with it. And I could see myself doing it again. Was it self-satisfaction more than a true desire to re-establish the natural order?

Singing about an utopian man willing to eat a woman's pussy because it was love, and not a chore. It wouldn't really fix the root of the problem, as men were still... well, men.

[Males Perspective]

I opened the forum; my song found its own little shit post corner where people would continuously pelt hate at me. 

“On My Knees - Thoughts on this song?”

—Is this really written by a man?!

—I don’t like it…

—This is just a marketing ploy. Don't buy into it. There's no way a man wrote this.

—lmao, have you seen how women are thirsting over this trash? 

—He's a fraud. Probably just a woman trying to get some attention. Real men don't think like this.

—maybe he’s one of those slutty types, you know… 

Real men.

What is a real man, even?

I had half a mind to tell them to go fuck themselves, but honestly, I couldn't blame them for their skepticism.

—Okay, but let's say it is a man. Then what? Are we supposed to believe that all men are secretly like this?

The most upvoted comment, actually. Probably a lot of hopeful women lurking in the forum.

I closed the forum, and returned to stare at the ceiling. 

Damien is the father of my baby.

Was it possible that OG Damien was actually raped by someone and never spoke of it? 

If so, then why come out now, right after that I released a song? 

And if they had a kid together, then that meant... they had a relationship beforehand.

There's always that possibility of a kid from a sperm bank. I was 19 now, and assuming I started donating sperm at 18, it'd be entirely possible for that woman to have given birth to my child, though that child in question would be only a few months old. But why go through the trouble of breaking into my home and leaving a letter? If she had a child, she could've just used that as blackmail instead of forcing her way in.

Maybe she was just a crazy psycho-bitch.

Hmm...

I might be overthinking this shit.

'But this feels so familiar... and maybe I could also use it to my advantage.'

There was an iconic song that had a similar backstory in my previous life, but unlike that one, my situation here was a bit more convoluted.

The silver lining of all this was that I had a lot of time to think about the next song. Die for You, first. Then, maybe... that one as well.

Though, I should wait until the 'stalker' reveals themselves or gets caught.

'Or maybe...' I thought.

'What if I could make her reveal herself with my next song?'

If she really was the mother of my supposed child, then I could use that to lure her out. To make her come to me.

But that would mean that I'd have to play along with her delusion.

This would have consequences, not only for me, but for my family as well.

But if I could...

...maybe I could solve this problem once and for all.

A/N: To be rev