Chapters 0–4

Prologue

Ever have something that you've wished for greatly? Ever prayed to God (or the Devil, for that matter) for it to come true? Ever consider selling your soul to the Devil if your wish came true?

Sure, we all have. At one point in our lives or another. There was a movie back in the eighties called ''Hunk'' where a geeky nerd sold his soul to the Devil to become, well, a hunk. He got his wish all right, only he wasn't prepared to deal with the consequences.

This story chronicles several years of a dying man's life. He never (consciously) sold his soul to the Devil. He was offered a deal that was just too good to be true.

Problem is, most deals that are too good to be true usually are.

First and foremost, this is an ASFR story, so there's lots of talk about robots, androids, and other mechanical devices. There's also a fair amount of sex.

I hope you enjoy.

The Diagnosis

"I've got the results back from your tests, Martin," the doctor said, walking over to me. "You better sit down."

"What is it, Doc?" I asked, still standing.

"The cancer has spread. You've got maybe three to six months left. I'm sorry."

I stood there in his office, shocked. After all the chemo and radiation, I thought I was finally getting rid of this curse. As it turns out, it was finally getting rid of me.

"Thank you for your help," I said to him after a few minutes. "I think I have to get some things in order."

"I'll be here if you need me," he said as I walked out of his office.

As I left, I turned to walk down the street to the subway station to head home. My eyes made contact with a peddler sitting next to a building.

"Excuse me, mister," he said as I walked past. "Can you spare some change for some soup?"

I stopped and turned around to look at him. "I don't have any change, I'm sorry," I told him.

"That's ok, buddy. Thanks for at least acknowledging my existence," he replied.

I paused for a second. "I said I didn't have any change, I never said I didn't have any money."

I opened my wallet. I had about $400 in $50s and $20s. I reached in, and handed him all the money. He accepted the money, with the most solemn look of gratitude I've ever seen on a man.

"But," he said.

"No buts." I said. "Tonight you won't be sleeping on the street and you won't be going to bed hungry."

He started to break down and cry. "Thank you," he said. "There is a God."

"Trust me," I said angrily; "there is no God."

I continued on my way. A little while later, I realized that I had just given the bum all my money so I had none for myself to hail a cab or buy a subway token. I continued on down the street until I came upon a park on the other side.

I walked across the street and sat down at one of the benches, reflecting on my life and what little meaning it had.

I was an advertising executive, coming up with bold and brand new ideas to sell Viagara and new cars. I came up with new ways everyday for the masses to spend more of their money to further inflate their egos and perpetuate the capitalistic lifestyle this nation was so proud to embrace.

None of this seemed important now, though.

I just sat and watched life pass me by. A couple was taking their newborn out for a stroll.

Several men and women jogged by. Some kids were playing soccer in the field behind me. An old woman sat down beside me to feed the pigeons.

"Hello," she said.

"Hi."

"I saw what you did back there," she said, breaking off pieces of bread for the birds.

"What?"

"The money you gave that man."

"Well, I don't have any more," I said, turning away from here.

"I don't want your money, Martin."

I was startled that she knew my name. "Who are you?" I asked.

"A friend." she said. "I also know you're dying."

"How do you know that!" I snapped at her. "No wait, never mind. Leave me alone!" I yelled, getting up to walk away.

"I can help you," she yelled towards me.

I paused and turned around to face her. "How?"

"Let's go back to your place," she said. I was nervous, and didn't know what to do; but what could I lose?

Slowly we walked back to my flat. She must be at least 80 years old since her gait was short and slightly off-balance.

About 30 minutes later, we made it to my apartment and I let her in. I set me keys down on the table next to the door. "Can I get you something to drink?" I asked.

"No, but I would like to use your bathroom," she said.

"In my bedroom at the end of the hall."

I walked into the kitchen and fixed myself a shot of bourbon. I was just finishing it off when she appeared out of my bedroom.

The old woman I escorted home was not old anymore! She was gorgeous! In fact, she looked like she was only about 20 or so. She had long, flowing, black hair; firm, supple breasts, and a perfect figure.

"Who are you?" I asked, setting my glass down. "What's going on?"

"Your guardian angel," she replied, walking over to me. "I'm here to take away your worries." I stepped back, scared. "The doctor said I had at least 3 months!"

"No, silly. Not that," she said with a smile. "I said I was your guardian angel, not the Grim Reaper."

"But how? How can you help me?" I asked.

"By giving you eternal life." she said.

"I don't believe you," I said; pouring another shot.

"Think about it, Martin! You'll never die!"

Quickly I finished my second shot and walked into the living room and sat down on the couch.

I felt weak and scared.

She followed and sat down across from me in my chair.

"No disease," she said. "You'll never get sick again."

"What do I need to do?" I asked. "What do you want in return?"

"That's the easy part," she replied. "All you need to do is, every century convince your love to join me. It's simple!"

"But how will you make me eternal?"

"By giving you what will give you everlasting life," she said. "By turning you into an android."

She snapped her fingers, and out of thin air, a figure appeared in the middle of the room. It was a male figure. a little bit taller than me, and it had a much better looking body.

"Who's that?" I asked.

"That's soon to be you," she replied. "If, you agree to the terms."

She handed me a simple contract which I read. Just as she said, the contract stated that I would receive eternal life if I offered to her my true love each and every century.

"I think I can handle this." I said. "Let me get a pen."

"I've got one," she said, handing me a strange looking pen. I looked like a syringe at the top, and had a metal quill-tip at the bottom. She unscrewed the bottom half of the pen when held a needle within, and stuck it in my arm and drew blood. She then screwed the lower half back on and handed it to me.

I signed the contract which burst into flames as I lifted the pen up finishing my signature.

"Are you ready?" she asked me.

"Not quite," I said. "I'd like to make some adjustments to this person if I'm going to be occupying its body for all of eternity."

"Understandable." she said.

I got up and faced the figure, and proceeded to remove the shirt it was wearing.

"I can take care of that for you," she said. She snapped her fingers and the figure's clothes were immediately gone. It stood naked in my living room.

"Let's start with the hair," I said. "I always wanted to be blond. With another snap of her fingers, the figure's hair became blond.

"Give it a little body, a slight waviness to it," I commanded. Again, she snapped her fingers and the hair had some body to it.

"The eyes, could you make them blue?" I asked. She snapped again, and they were.

I continued, asking her to make the cheekbones a little more pronounced, a cleft in the chin, a more defined jaw-line. At my request, she made the shoulders a little more broad and the chest a little more pronounced. She made him 6'2" tall, made his waist just a little more narrow, and gave him a little more prowess.

"Are you done, now?" she asked, impatient.

"He's too pale," I said. "Make his skin tone just a little darker, and remove the hair from his chest, and stomach, and that will be it."

"Good enough to fuck, isn't he?" I said after watching the transformation.

"Yes, he is," she said with a grin, rubbing her hands all over his body. "You've got good tastes."

With one last snap, I started to feel extremely dizzy, and felt a darkness all around me. When I opened my eyes, I was facing the wall.

"What happened to me?" I heard myself say, but it wasn't my voice.

"Welcome to your new self," I could hear the woman say behind me. As I turned to see what was going on, I could see myself laying on the floor.

"What happened to me?" I asked.

"You're dead; or rather your old self is."

I knelt down to look at the lifeless body which once held my soul.

"Enough!" the woman yelled. "I've taken too much time already. Before I go, some last minute business."

I stood up and faced her.

"First, some clothes," she said, snapping her fingers. Immediately, I was dressed in a black Armani suit.

"Next, some money," she continued, handing me a leather wallet. "There's $5000 cash in there, along with identification, platinum credit cards, and instructions on how to access a Swiss bank account, in your name, with a $25 million balance. Don't spend it all in one place."

She also handed him a cell-phone. "This is a special phone," she said. "It doesn't talk to me directly, but by you talking into it; you'll be able to change yourself. After all, you'll probably grow tired of your body after a few hundred years."

"Last but not least, you need the mark." she said. Again, she snapped her fingers, and I could feel something extremely hot pressing onto my left shoulder.

"Ow!" I yelled, quickly tearing off the jacket and shirt. I ran into the bedroom to look into the mirror where I saw the brand; six triangles, and four lines, forming an upside-down cross within a box, about 2 inches tall.

"But," I said, getting my shirt and jacket back on.

"No buts, I'll see you in a hundred years."

Just like that, she vanished in a puff of smoke.

I sat down in the chair and contemplated my position. What was I going to do now? I was dead; or rather everyone will soon think I was dead.

I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out my new wallet. The driver's license said, "Michael Briggs."

I was just about ready to leave before I realized there was one thing I wanted before I left. I walked back over to my now dead body, gently rolled it over, and pulled out the wallet. Inside was a picture of my mother. I took it, and placed it in my shirt pocket, and walked out the door.

"Hello Mrs. Quinones," I said to the woman standing in the hall before realizing what I had done, then quickly walked out of the building.

What was I going to do?

Then I remembered the woman telling me she had given me money, so I set out to find an apartment.

I walked for sometime and made my way into the 'Village. I never ventured down here that much. My life was filled with deadlines, meetings, and new customer prospects. Here, most were carefree and truly enjoying life.

I walked up to a street market and was glancing over the produce, contemplating what I had just agreed to when I heard a voice.

"New around here?" the young man said.

"Yeah, you could say that," I said.

"My name's Paul, what's yours?" he said, extending his hand for a shake.

"Mar... uh, Michael. Michael Briggs."

"Well, Michael Briggs, do you have a place to stay?"

"Well, actually I don't," I answered.

"Then it's settled," he said jubilantly.

"What is?"

"You'll be staying with me!" he exclaimed with a huge grin on his face. "Come on," he said, taking the fruit out of my hand and setting it down as he guided me away from the stand.

We walked about two blocks to his apartment building which appeared to be an old warehouse.

I followed him into the freight elevator as he moved the lever forward lifting us up to the second level. Paul then lifted the gates which swung up revealing a huge studio apartment.

"Can I offer you something to drink?" he asked.

"No thanks, I'm not thirsty."

As he walked into his kitchen, I made my way to the center of the flat and looked around.

Scattered throughout, there were canvases and easels. Some of the paintings were unfinished, but for the most part there were stacks and stacks of portraits, drawings, and still-lifes. As I examined the paintings more thoroughly, a common theme began to emerge. Each painting had a familiar character; a central point of focus, and that character looked remarkably like my new self!

"Interesting subject," I said out loud. "Who is he?"

He walked over to me, drink still in hand. "I think it's you," he said.

I quickly turned to look at him. How could this be me?

We walked over to the futon in his 'living room' and sat down. Paul explained that about two years ago, he got a strange dream. The main subject of his dream looked exactly like me. Several weeks passed as he tried to get the image of me out of his thoughts and dreams when he succumbed to his own subconscious and started painting the scenes from his dreams.

"So you see, when I saw you at the fruit-stand," he said quietly, "somehow I knew all this would make sense; if not now, then eventually."

"Look, Paul," I said trying to sound comforting. "I don't think this is such a good idea."

"Please," he said genuinely. "I'll let you live here, rent free. Just let me paint you."

I thought about this for what probably seemed an eternity when I realized that I had an eternity myself.

"Okay," I said reluctantly.

"Excellent!" he said, coming over to give me a hug. "I've been looking for you for the past two years!"

"When do we begin?" I asked, squirming to get away from his hug.

"Now, if it's okay with you." he said.

I stood up, and raised my hands to shrug. "Sure, why not."

"Come over," Paul said, walking over to a window. There was a stool, and canvas set on an easel. "Would you mind taking off your clothes?"

"God, you know, I don't know," I said. I was feeling a little apprehensive.

"It's not like I haven't seen you naked before," he said. "You've only been filling my dreams for the past two years.

Reluctantly I took my clothes off and stood there naked in front of him.

"Remarkable," he said gazing at my naked self. "You're even more beautiful in person." Next, he positioned me on the stool, my feet apart, set on the rungs below, and sat behind the canvas.

I stayed like this for hours, but I wasn't growing tired. Through the night, Paul just painted.

Stroke after stroke, his brush met the canvas with fury.

Several hours later, I found my mind wandering, remembering my past; my life, my relationships, my loves, my family.

I tried remembering as far back as I could. Images of me as a baby filled my head. My parents, holding me, loving me.

I tried to remember back further when I felt extremely scared. Darkness surrounded me. Pain, and pressure. All of a sudden bright lights, strange noises. Screaming. I had remembered my birth.

I tried to remember back even farther. Bliss. Calm. Serenity. I was remembering my tiny, still undeveloped fetus still growing in my mother's womb.

Dawn broke above the city, and it's morning rays cast through the windows behind me.

"My god, I didn't realize the time," Paul said from behind the canvas. "Are you tired? Would you like something?"

"No, I'm fine," I said.

"Well, I think it's done," he said. "Would you like to take a look?"

I walked over to the canvas and gazed upon the image. "It's beautiful," I said as I looked at myself.

"No, you're beautiful."

Paul left the room to take a shower; I got dressed and walked over to the living room and flipped on the TV.

The morning news was on and the lead story was about me, or rather my old self.

"Metropolitan prominent advertising executive, Martin Phillips was found dead in his apartment this morning." the anchorwoman said. "Martin is best known for his work on the Atlantis Condom campaign which successfully bridged the public policy against sex-education in
the schools."

I flipped the channel to watch something else.Some time later Paul emerged from the shower naked, his hair still dripping.

Paul was a very handsome man, with a swimmer's build, and overall very proportioned. He walked into his kitchen, still naked, and toasted a bagel.

"Are you sure I can't fix you anything," he asked.

"I really am fine, thank you," I said.

He finished spreading some cream cheese on his bagel and came into the living room with me.

"I'd like to do another nude if you don't mind," he asked.

"Uh, sure," I said.

We chatted for a few minutes as he finished off his bagel then he got up and motioned for me to follow him. I stood next to the bare easel as he got a two-foot high pedestal.

"Please, get on," he said. I disrobed, again, and stepped up onto the pedestal.

I could feel him breathing on me as he gently positioned me. His warm breath on my skin was beginning to turn me on. Carefully, he moved my arms and bended my knee into a stance he thought was right. He didn't say anything at the growing erection forming between my legs, either.

Just as before, he sat back behind his canvas, peeking out from behind every few seconds or so.

A couple of hours later, he got up.

"Well, it's done," he said; "and you've got some mighty libido there, mister."

I hadn't noticed as my mind wandered again, thinking about how I was going to be spending the rest of eternity, but I had kept my erection throughout the entire painting marathon.

"It doesn't seem to want to go down," I said with a nervous chuckle.

I walked behind the canvass to see just about the whole area filled with a painting of my erect cock and balls.

"I couldn't resist," he said. "It's like your cock was calling out to me."

Seeing my cock transformed into an image of oil and pigment made me even more horny than I already was.

"Here, let me take care of that for you," Paul whispered in my ear.

I had never had sex with a man before. In fact, these lustful feelings I have been experiencing for Paul were all new to me.

Paul took me by my hand and gently led me to his bed where I layed down on my back. He gently pulled my legs toward him so that they were dangling off the edge. Next, he knelt down in front of me and started.

With great passion he brought me to an immense climax soon thereafter. I hadn't experienced an orgasm as strong as that which he brought upon me. While in a state of orgasmic bliss, I wondered if it was because of the forbidden way which I climaxed, my new body, or both.

He finished licking and devouring the remnants of my juices when he climbed on the bed to lay next to me.

"Now it's your turn," he told me with a grin on his face.

"But," I said hesitantly. "I've never..."

"Use your instinct," he said with a whisper.

I began to reciprocate what Paul had done to me just moments ago. As his cock entered my mouth, I felt a wave of forbidden passion flow through my entire body.

Paul was right; it was instinctful. Lost, primal urges. It seemed natural. Then again, sex was natural.

I soon brought him to orgasm and he spewed his juices in my mouth. They tasted nothing like I expected. The scariest thought to me was that I think I could get used to this.

He went into the bathroom to get clean. When he emerged, I followed suit, grabbing a clean washcloth from the linen pantry behind the door. As I stepped out after washing myself, Paul was talking to a woman in the living room.

"It's true!" she exclaimed when she saw me. "I didn't believe you existed."

"Michael, I'd like you to meet Jenna. Jenna's my sister."

"Uh, excuse me," I said quite embarrassed as I ran into the bathroom to put on a towel. As I emerged, she and Paul were staring at his latest work; the rather large painting of my cock and balls.

"You've got to show this," she told him. "You've got to show these all."

"I don't know," Paul said. "I'm not sure if I'm ready yet."

"Show what?" I interrupted.

"Well, you," she said smiling. "Or rather, the paintings of you."

"Oh," I said softly.

"Would you mind?" Paul asked.

"Well, do you think they're appropriate for the public?" I asked.

"It's art," Jenna said exuberantly. "And in the flesh or in oil, you are a work of art."

"Well, ok," I said reluctantly.

The Showing

Jenna had successfully persuaded both he and Paul to show the paintings. Acting as Paul's agent, Jenna arranged a showing for that weekend at the Metropolitan Underground Art Gallery.

Paul and Michael stayed busy for the weeks prior to the showing; each-other contributing their part to the vast array of artwork produced.

Paul had acquired a new-found vigor in his paintings, choosing to paint Michael in a variety of styles and positions. All the paintings had one single theme however, they all pictured Michael as the central character; and they all pictured him nude.

That Friday, a truck from the gallery came to pick up Paul's work. Paul supervised the workers loading the paintings onto the truck and he and Michael followed it to the location.

Jenna was standing on the back loading dock smoking a cigarette with the gallery's owner, Patrick Haas.

Michael followed Paul out of his car and walked over.

"This must be Michael," said Patrick, reaching out to shake Michael's hand. "Come, come inside for a cappucino."

They all made their way inside to the main gallery where preparations were taking place for the next day's showing.

They all sat at the bar with Patrick tending to the offerings as workers brought the 50 or so paintings inside.

"My Lord," Patrick said as he caught a glimpse of one of the nudes. He set down his coffee and walked over the painting leaning up against the wall. "Exquisite," he exclaimed, holding it up to the light.

The nude he was admiring so much was the one of Michael, standing like Michaelangelo's David, fully erect.

"Come," he said, clapping his hands together after setting the painting down. "We must get ready for tomorrow's show!"

He, Paul, and Jenna, worked feverously into the night hanging the paintings and setting the lights. Dawn broke and they were all passed out on the floor, or against the wall, exhausted. Michael had decided to go to the donut shop across the street to grab everyone some donuts, bagels, and coffee. When he walked back into the gallery, the noise of the door chime woke everybody up.

"Ah, glad to see you're awake," he said sarcastically. "Breakfast is here."

He set everything out on the bar and leaned back against the wall while everyone ate.

"Michael," Paul said. "Have something to eat."

"I'm not hungry, thank you." he replied.

"You're very curious," he said, setting his donut down. "In the three weeks you've been staying with me, I've yet to notice you eat, sleep, or go to the bathroom other than to shower."

"You've got some peculiar habits of your own," he replied, trying to draw the conversation subject away from him.

"Yes, Paul," Jenna interjected. "Leave him alone."

"Mr. Briggs, will you be joining us this evening?" Patrick asked.

"You'll have to," Paul said. "You're the star of the show."

"I guess I don't have much of a choice then, do I?" he asked.

With great exuberance, the group responded in unison, "No!"

Michael stepped away and took one last look at the paintings throughout the gallery. After examining all the pieces, he walked back to the group and told them he was going to back to Paul's apartment to rest.