Forever Drunk - Forever Young (Patreon)

— Hey, remember when Tessa almost fell off the roof that time? — one of the guys chuckled, spinning a beer can in his fingers and nodding toward her boyfriend, who was now holding Tessa by the waist.

— Yeah, she was yelling that "gravity is just some bullshit made up by the system," — the second one burst out laughing, taking a swig from the bottle and glancing around.

Tessa, half-lying on her guy’s chest, threw them a sideways glance with a crooked smirk, her shirt slightly sliding off her shoulder, revealing a flat stomach with a tattoo.

— Hey, you assholes, quit gossiping about me like a bunch of bitches who just had their iPhones taken away — she snapped, rolling her eyes and hitting the emphasis on the last words out of habit.

The guys cracked up, and Tessa snorted, but then something hit her — a weird feeling, pressing from the inside, painfully familiar and deeply annoying.

— Alright, I’m gonna go take a piss — she drawled, getting up lazily, the shorts tugging uncomfortably between her legs, making her twitch her lips a bit. — Be right back, don’t miss me too much, boys.

She headed around the corner, heavy boots clunking over the concrete slabs, instinctively tucking her hair behind her ear and feeling the toy cat in her bag rattle on her shoulder. But then she froze. At least that’s what it looked like from the outside — inside, everything was completely different.

— Uh… what the… — she began, but her voice cut off halfway, her dry throat refusing to produce a familiar sound.

'That’s not my voice…' — a cold wave rushed through her, but even worse was the shock of just a moment ago — when she was sure she was in a conference room, surrounded by glass walls and the smell of expensive coffee. The metallic hiss of the AC, the fearful eyes of her subordinates… All of it vanished in an instant, and now she — not Jeff Ronaldson, media tycoon — stood among the concrete slabs, feeling the rough ground beneath her heavy boots and an emptiness between her legs.

— That’s not my voice… — she tried to say again, but what came out was a cocky, husky female voice with that kind of tone like she’d spent her whole life giving zero fucks about rules.

'What kind of satanic bullshit is this?..' — Jeff Ronaldson swore inwardly, a man used to running boardrooms and crushing careers — not… not standing out on the street in the body of this… panicking street whore.

He, she now, looked down automatically and almost lost balance. A small, flat stomach, barely visible muscle lines under the leather top, chains and rings, tattoos — everywhere. Fingers were trembling. Short nails with some kind of black polish, palms covered in patterns. All of it was disgusting, alien, provocative.

'Okay... calm down, Jeff, don’t panic, figure this out first' — was all she managed to think before the guys' laughter came from around the corner, and she — or rather, he — Jeff — clenched his fists tightly, feeling the thin fingers trembling under the skin from anger and… weird awkwardness. The bag with the stupid plush toy bumped against his side, and Jeff winced, feeling how the short top pulled uncomfortably at the skin on the chest, clinging to the nearly flat, but still definitely noticeable female tits.

The laughter got closer — the one who’d been hugging her… or Tessa… came out from around the corner. Skinny, all in black, chain glinting, hair slightly messy, a predator’s smirk on his face.

— Oh, why you just standing there, baby girl? — the guy poked her in the side, and Jeff felt a wave of irritating electricity shoot through the body — way too close, way too intimate. — Or are the shrooms still messing with you?

'Shrooms? What the fuck?... Are they fucking junkies?' — Jeff thought coldly, but held himself back, teeth clenching instinctively behind perfectly plump lips.

— I… — the voice hit his ears again like a slap, that raspy, cocky tone like he’d spent his whole life smoking and mouthing off in alleyways. — I'm... I'm fine.

The guy chuckled, running his hand along her — his — waist, down to the ass, grabbing it so hard Jeff yelped and jumped, more from shock than pain, but the mouth — now hers — reacted on its own:

— What the hell’s wrong with you, you fucking creep? — she snapped, her lips twisting into a cocky smirk all on their own, but inside everything went ice cold. 'Jesus Christ… is that really how I talk? Like some cheap street slut…'

The guy just burst out laughing, not even pulling back, his hand still gripping her thigh.

— That’s my Tessa, firecracker bitch — he slapped her ass hard, then turned and walked deeper into the yard. And just as she — or rather, he, Jeff — was about to fire something back, those natural, humiliatingly banal biological urges that had brought her here hit again.

'Oh God Almighty, seriously?!' — Jeff clenched his thighs desperately, his hands sliding down on reflex, and that’s when it finally hit him. Flatness… smooth, soft skin, no trace of what had always been there. Instead — a strange itch and a sickening sense of emptiness between his legs.

He froze, heart pounding in his chest, the top pulling unpleasantly at the skin, the tits — even in this form — giving the slightest bounce.

'Stay calm… calm the fuck down, Ronaldson… you built a goddamn media empire, you can handle this too... ugh, I said handle it!'

The urge grew stronger, his insides clenched, the body demanding to finish what it started — and there was no choice left. He gritted his teeth, yanked the shorts down — cheap-looking, short, tight around the hips — and saw it all. Flat stomach, tattoos, hips… and that humiliating, female anatomy.

The body did its thing, and every second of it was pure humiliation. The sound, the position, the cold air… All of it smashed his pride, erasing the last bits of his former "self."

'Just relax… finish this, get dressed, figure things out, and you’ll be back in your office…' — Jeff clung to the thought, feeling how something as simple as taking a piss now felt both bizarre and degrading, especially with all the sensations involved.

Soon, Alt Shift was officially acknowledged, but not the way the 20% of the population who had irreversibly and permanently swapped bodies had hoped. At first, the government tried to deny it, then introduced the so-called "Stability Laws," claiming that "nothing had changed" and it was all just "mass psychosis" or a "mass hallucination" (different countries phrased it differently), but the fact remained: everyone was now required to fully assume the role of their new body — or rather, to "become themselves — who they were always meant to be." Behavior, habits, style — all of it was under control. The ones who disagreed were sent to reeducation camps.

Jeff tried to fight it — filed appeals, tried to pull strings through his old contacts… But who the fuck was gonna listen to some street whore named Tessa Rocko? All the documents, all the access — gone. His face was now covered in tattoos and piercings, lips puffed up, and this body — Tessa was extremely skinny and about 1 meter 50 centimeters tall (4.92 feet), so forget about strength.

He had to learn to be her. Parties, booze, stupid hangouts with junkies and street musicians. Clothes — tight, trashy, skimpy tops, platform shoes, tattoo meetups. And sex... "Tessa engaged in promiscuous behavior" — said one of the protocol’s bullet points for becoming "yourself." He hated every fucking minute of it, every glance at his hips and tits.

But there was no way out.

The first attempts to "act like himself" led to a report — one night in solitary at the reeducation camp was enough of a lesson, and at some point Jeff — or rather, Tessa — had to start "accepting herself."