Chapter 1

2010;

I stood naked in the darkness of the night, a light cold summer rain fell on my naked body as I watched the institute burn in the distance.

I had no clothes, no money, no name, no friends, no family. It was 2010 and I was born 90 years before. My head wasn’t clear, but I knew things.

Dangerous things.

I was thrilled to be alive. At the same time, I was horrified by myself; I was a sort of monster. Because I now had the body of a teenager; with big breasts, a tight ass, sharp eyes, and tight clear skin. It seemed just like the body I had 75 years ago. Except the mind behind those big young blue eyes wasn’t what it used to be. I looked good on the outside, but my brain was slow now. I’d been a brilliant doctor once.

At the institute, a group of aging doctors and researchers had worked to find a way to reverse the aging process. And we’d succeeded. I’d been a spy, a doctor, a wife. I’d had a career, lovers, colleagues, and friends. I’d been successful and even wealthy. Now I was a confused fugitive. I’d been intelligent before, a medical scientist. Now I could barely read and write. Naked and homeless in the rain on a dark summer night, I tried to think of what to do.

My friend and colleague Dr. Kim had told me my body chemistry was missing something, and he’d been close to figuring out that final piece of the puzzle. I should have been able to understand what he told me; All I got was that he was sure that in addition to my rejuvenated body, I’d soon have my full brilliant mind again. Now he was dead, and if I didn’t get moving, I would be too.

Sirens approached and as I cowered behind a tree, emergency vehicles rushed past, the blue flashing lights reflecting across the windows of warehouses and small office buildings.

I was young! Anything was possible, and I had nothing to lose. And I was free; for the moment at least.

I crept around, trying car doors, and found a small trailer unlocked behind a woodyard. Used for worker’s breaks it seemed, there was a table, chairs, smelly ashtrays. A half stale wrapped sandwich left in the refrigerator, and some dirty men’s work clothes.

I inhaled the stench, old beer and man sweat. It made me hungry and horny. I hadn’t been horny in decades; it occurred to me that I should find a man and get laid. Preferably a big young black man ... I always liked that sort. Shit, my life was in danger and I was thinking about sex, how demented was I?

I sat in the darkness for a while, trying to think. I could hear the firefighting men and machinery in the distance, the reflections of the lights bouncing through the windows of the little trailer. I was on my own now, and I didn’t have the smarts I did before. I was young, blond, and beautiful though. Despite my circumstance, I actually felt wonderful.

I was so strong! Even if I wasn’t a top brain anymore, I had the clear face and killer body of a teenager. I could live, and enjoy myself too; I just had to get away from here. Far away.

I ate the sandwich, which tasted surprisingly good to me then. I put on some coveralls I found, and stuffed paper into a pair of worn boots until they fit my small feet. Then I left my little cocoon, and walked into the cold dark night.

The rain had almost stopped, and I inhaled the musty odor it left in the trees and earth. It was real, it was amazing!

I was a desperado; even that was slightly exhilarating. I walked through the streets of the suburb towards the city. I had no plan. Just my will to survive, my only asset was my seemingly young body.

We’d experimented on willing old volunteers; usually there was little effect, or they died. Most treatments resulted in cancer of one sort or another, especially if they worked in other ways. Step by step, inch by inch, molecule by molecule, we zeroed in on a dozen treatments, some for skin, some for cartilage, organs, bones. We were all old, our backers were old, all of us desperate to get this done before it was too late. Willing to bend the rules, because we had nothing to lose anymore.

I was working with Dr. Kim, who pioneered gene editing enzymes. We removed apoptosis, cell death genes, with amazing results. But the patients always died soon afterwards from one thing or another. Mostly cancer.

I may have had a stroke; all I know is that I had dementia for a year or so, and my colleagues used me for experimentation. And something they did worked. When my fog lifted, I could remember everything except the dementia period.

The first thing I knew was that my body was different. Strong, beautiful, healthy. My tits were big and firm again, my skin was tight and clear, and my brain slowly returned, but not to the level of the research scientist I used to be. And something else; I was happy. Thrilled to be alive, tingling with optimism, laughing at the simplest joke.

Kim was still alive then, but fading fast. “I was going to tell the old man about you, he would have restored our funding for sure, but he’s been replaced by a new guy who insists on shutting us down.”

“But you did it, look at me!” I said, “Will you publish?”

“It’s too late for me, Gisele. If we can just get your chemistry balanced, everything you need to continue the work is in my files.”

All lost in the fire; if there were any off site backups, I didn’t know about them. It didn’t matter, I no longer had the brain to understand it.

I pressed on through the night, remembering my life, all that I’d done. Even though I couldn’t think like I used to, I remembered everything, or a lot at least. I remembered my childhood in 1930’s Germany, listening to the radio before TV was invented. I remembered my first lover, and my first kill of the war. I remembered friends, homes, cars, colleagues, neighbors I’d had in the cities I’d lived in.

I’d lived a long, full life. I wondered; could I have another? So I wouldn’t be a doctor, lots of dumb blonds did just fine. I needed some decent clothes, and an ID would be a good thing too.

I arrived at a sprawling tent city in the middle of a highway interchange, stinking of untreated waste, a few people moving around in the dawn light. Home to the homeless, the undocumented, drug addicts, and registered sex offenders who couldn’t find housing. I hurt everywhere by then, I was tired and hungry. I felt sort of numb in my head, even my vision wasn’t working quite right. My nipples were sore from the rough fabric of the coveralls. Tits like these need a bra.

I found a man in a chair eating breakfast in front of big battered motorhome under an overpass.

He looked fairly young, 50 or 60. A bit twisted somehow, as if life had been pressing on him too heavy for too long. He looked up at me; grimy, stained, dressed in dirty overalls that were too large for me, my head covered by a rat eaten knit cap.

“What do you want?” he asked suspiciously.

“Food.” I told him as I sat in the other chair, “I need food.”

“The shelter up on ninth opens in a couple of hours.” He informed me, but I was done.

My limbs ached and the horizon seemed to tilt. I couldn’t think clearly, so I was going on instinct; which was telling me not to go to where someone might be looking for me. I looked at the man, then his half eaten omelet. My stomach growled in agony.

“I’ll suck your cock.” I blurted.

Shit; where was the cool clever woman who had seduced and betrayed generals? Who had graduated at the top of the class every time? I’d been reduced to offering blowjobs for table scraps. Yes, I’d do it. I’d do whatever I had to do to live.

And oddly, the thought of sucking cock seemed sort of comforting; I used to do that before, and I remembered I liked it.

“How old are you?” he asked suspiciously, “Are you strung out?”

“I’m older than I look.” I told him, “And no, I’m not on drugs. I’m starving.”

He pushed the half eaten eggs over to me. “Go on then.” He said, “I’ll make another one.” He went up the steps into the RV and lit the gas stove as I ate his breakfast and drank his coffee. It tasted amazing; the sensation of the simple food in my mouth was a sensual treat, even the cheap weak American coffee was fantastic, a sensual explosion in my hungry mouth.

“Still here?” he asked as he stepped down with another plate.

“Yeah, give me that one too.” I told him, “And after that I want a shower.”

“You’re moving the goalposts here.” He complained as he dutifully handed it over, “What’s your name, girl?

“Gisele.” I told him stupidly. He was pretending to be uninterested, but I could tell he wanted me. Of course he did, all heterosexual men wanted me. They always had, even when I was old.

I was born in Germany in 1920. My parents named me Gisela, Gee-sa-la. I despised my country, so after the second world war I started using the French version, Ji-sel. Even now I could speak fluent French, German, and a smattering of Dutch and Italian.

“Is someone looking for you, Gisele?”

“Yes.” I told him as I finished up the omelet, savoring every bite as if it was the last food I’d ever get. And for all I knew, it was.

“Look, just give me what I need and I’ll give you what you need, ok?” I added.

I was a very sexual woman throughout my life, but it had been 10 years since I’d had a cock in my hands. I wasn’t aroused by this weirdo, at the same time I was quite willing to do what I had to do. I pulled the zipper of the coveralls down to my navel and pulled it open a little so he could see my smooth pale skin. I fixed my blue eyed stare on him for a few seconds too. his eyes widened and he looked at me like a starving dog looks at food. I might have had half the brain I once did, but I knew he’d do anything I wanted. That’s was the power I had, the power of sexual attraction.

In the 1940’s, I’d used it a lot. I’d fucked my way through WW2. How odd to be 90 years old and look like 15; it defied belief. Literally; no one would believe it. Anyway, my ass was my only asset and I hoped it was going to work like it used to.

“Does that thing even have a shower?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He allowed, “Go easy on the water or it will run out on you.”

He followed me inside; I opened the bathroom door and saw the space was really small, so I peeled off the greasy coveralls in the kitchen area. A strange noise came from the man, and then he was on me. He pushed me past the shower door, to the bed at the back. I resisted a little, I didn’t like this, it wasn’t how I wanted it to be. Yet I didn’t really fight it. I was too weak in both body and mind. I’d let him fuck me, and then I’d have the leverage I needed.

He pushed me face down on the bed, my bare feet were still on the ground, I felt him against my vagina, prodding, rubbing up and down to lubricate me with his eager juice. He held me down with one hand pressing on the small of my back as he pushed, and I had a live cock inside me for the first time in many years.

When I was 70, I had a hot affair with a 20 year old American soldier in Paris. He was so nice, polite, and clean. The way he respected and obeyed, and he was terribly handsome too. The opposite of the pervert who was frantically fucking me now. I thought about my big strong gentle soldier boy as I let the greasy pervert do his thing to me. I wondered where Hank was now? Was he happy, did he think of me sometimes?

The worst part was that actually, it was quite pleasant. His cock wasn’t very big, but it seemed stiff enough. It was all very primal, dark, nasty. It was pretty wet down there and I guess my plumbing was working again. My face was against the musty bedsheet as he rammed his cock in and out of me. I knew I shouldn’t like it, I should fight him, I should protest at least. Instead I just stood there and let him do it. I might have even had an orgasm if the pervert hadn’t come first.

He gasped and grunted, shivered and squirted me full of spunk. I stayed still until he was done. We were both silent as he pulled it out and stepped back.

“You’d better get out of here.” He growled as I straightened up and turned to face him. He was tucking his depleted willy back into his trousers, I was stark naked. My skin perfectly milky white, my tits big and full, my ass round and tight, my legs long and lean, and my pussy wet from sex.

“I need a shower and a ride to somewhere.” I told him flatly. I was feeling better after the eggs, toast, coffee, and the sex was ok even though it had ended before I was satisfied. Everything was different; my body was young and amenable.

“Yeah, and I need to win the lottery and be elected president.” He scoffed as I opened the little door and stepped into his grimy shower.

As I washed myself, I felt better and better. I realized my thoughts were clear again, my mind was the calculating machine it used to be. It’s difficult to describe, it was sort of like I’d been half asleep and now I was awake.

This was huge; How, why? What was different?

There was just one substance I’d been exposed to that could explain it. Male ejaculate. The stuff was a soup of complex organic chemicals; proteins, hormones, amino acids, and more. Eventually, I needed to figure out the active component that made me whole. Until then, it was easy enough to get. I wondered if ingesting it would work as well as vaginal absorption? How long would the effect last?

I thought fast; because I had no way of knowing how long this would last. It might be for a minute, or for the rest of my life.

I considered whether I was really being pursued? There was no way to know for sure. I’d seen the men that torched the clinic, I couldn’t identify them but they didn’t know that. More importantly, I knew what had been done there, I was walking proof of it. I had to assume they’d be looking for me with violent intent.

Rejuvenation; the restoration of youth. If I continued to live, I was a scientific breakthrough that would change history as strongly as the use of steam, nuclear fission, or the computer. If my existence became known to the public, every dollar in the world would be focused on repeating the work. Just the possibility of success was so powerful that it would change the world.

Would that be ‘good’, or ‘bad’? If the rich and powerful could live forever, what would they do? I thought about many scenarios; few of them were good for me, or the rest of humanity.

I stepped out of the shower naked and looked at the man. He had no power now; I was no longer a dumb blond bimbo. I was a wily 90 year old genius in a teenage body.

“What’s your name?” I asked him.