Chapter 8

2020;

Medical school was different this time. Very technical, emphasis on molecular biology and genetics. It should have been hard; instead, everything was easy for me. I sailed through the exams like they were tic-tac-toe sheets.

I felt safe now; I had good paperwork and a few years had passed.

I was living with five men. Yes, they were all my lovers. They were ok; none of us had much time after school and work, so it was mostly quickies and blow jobs.

With plentiful semen samples and access to the excellent lab facilities at the medical school, I managed to isolate the protein that I required. It had no known clinical use, so wasn’t commonly available, but I could buy it from a medical supplier in Sweden; it had to be kept refrigerated, had a short shelf life, and it was expensive.

Or I could just suck it out of a man anytime, for free.

My boys developed a roster, and they fucked me in rotation, one each night and another for a blowjob in the morning; mornings were usually busy for us all.

They shared the house expenses between them, and the housework too. We had fun, we laughed, we supported each other in small things that made a difference. We were a family of a sort.

It was never more than a working arrangement; I needed semen, they needed to get rid of it. The boys had no time, energy, or money for dating. Sharing the apartment and meals made economic sense for us all too.

They all thought they knew me; but they didn’t. I carried my secrets and my trauma, alone. I liked them all, I enjoyed the sex and the affection, I absorbed their semen. They were children to me though, happy squirting kids.

Sometimes, even as my mouth was sliding up and down a hard cock, I felt disgusted by it all; that I was reduced to this, debasing myself every day to feed my need.

Other times, I just did it and enjoyed it. I was 100 years old, it had been 10 years since I walked out of the burning institute naked, without even a name. I’d had 3 or 4,000 semen shots from 30 or 40 different men to keep myself going.

I still looked the same; I had the face and figure of a teenager. It was easy to find willing men, in some ways it was even empowering. They stared into my old eyes and happily gave me what I needed, they didn’t care who or what I was. Their precious hot seed exited their testis, filled my mouth or vagina, and my modified body carried me through another day.

My intelligence was powerful. So long as I had my daily semen, I could out think anyone I met. I graduated at the top of my class, this time from John Hopkins medical school, possibly the top medical school on earth.

As far as I could figure out, even fully saturated with fresh come I wasn’t any more intelligent than I’d been 50 years earlier. So how had I come third from a mediocre school the last time? Those other students didn’t seem very clever to me. I realized then, after all those years, that I’d been ripped off. They couldn’t let a woman graduate with the best marks in the 1950’s.

And in the career that followed, I was always held back by my sex; I just accepted it at the time, it was the way of the world, it was how society worked.

Maybe that’s why I never expected to outperform everyone. I was truly surprised to discover I was the top graduating student. It meant my picture was posted on the school website.

I didn’t know what to do; I didn’t know if I was safe. My professors seemed to expect me to go into some sort of high end research and become rich and famous. Rich would be ok, fame was the opposite of what I wanted.

Just a week after my photo went up, I had a call from Rick, the apartment manager I’d lived with a few years earlier.

“There’s some guys hanging around outside the foyer of number 12.” He told me, “In an unmarked van. One of them came in and I think he dusted your postbox for prints.”

Fuck; I’d become complacent, let my guard down. My ego might have killed me, I should have dumbed down a little and gotten my results below a few other students.

I never opened the postbox myself; Rick did that for me. I used a prepaid phone, had no social media accounts and no car.

“Was it a tall thin one and a short fat one?” I asked.

“Yeah, you know them?” he asked.

The correct thing to do would be to dump my hard earned identity and start again. Find another morgue, another corpse, another identity. Go through high school again, this time being more careful to keep my grades down. Make some sort of quiet life for myself in a small town where strangers who came looking for me would be easy to spot, suck a lot of cock and live out my life in safe anonymity.

I left Baltimore on a bus, then I hitch-hiked across the country and back. It was great; I really enjoyed traveling that way, totally anonymous, untraceable. I didn’t even carry a phone and I paid in cash. When I had to pay for anything that is.

I kept my white hair very short, and wore a hat when in public. It was too much work and expense to keep it colored. I tried not to look sexy, but I couldn’t completely hide my large breasts.

I sucked a lot of cock; I went home with men I met, and twice with couples. Sharing beds and meals with them for a day or a week before moving on. It was fun and interesting, popping into the lives of strangers, hearing their life stories, visiting their lives and sleeping with them a few times.

Always white men; colored men didn’t pick up young white girls. Well, none ever picked up me anyway.

There was danger too; predators. I’d known many evil men, and there’s something in the eyes that gives them away. I carried a knife, and I’d have had no problem using it if I had to. I managed to avoid serious trouble; there were a couple of close calls I think, I can’t say what would have happened.

I carried a little tent and a sleeping bag. When I slept alone in the woods far from the road, where no one could possibly know who or where I was, I felt most safe. Of course I needed food and semen, so in the morning it was back to the road, catch a ride, find a man to buy me breakfast and feed me a throat full of cock. I know it sounds awful, tawdry, demeaning. I guess it was.

Yet I enjoyed my time on the road; every morning was new, the people I met were great and each had a story to tell. I listened, laughed, sang, and they were always willing to share food, a bed, a ride, and sex with a pretty girl.

Sometimes I hooked up with a guy or two for a week or two. I traveled with a sexy fiftyish bisexual French couple in a big RV for a while, they were into all sorts of things, we picked up young men and had a lot of fun. The problem was that the woman was horny as hell and wanted to fuck young guys, and her husband wanted to suck them off. There was never enough for everyone.

I got a ride in a big converted schoolbus camper with a gorgeous pregnant young black woman and a bald old white man; they were both hilarious, and great fun to hang out with. They invited me to live with them, but the guy never ejaculated so I had to move on.

I hooked up with a grumpy old biker guy who had a cute little dog with him. He was running a creche in a suburban house and I worked there for a while, taking care of children. That was new to me, I’d never liked kids before. I wondered what my life would have been if I’d ever had one of my own?

I was happy there for a while, there was a good looking young Swede living there who spoke German and had good spunk. and then I got paranoid, or maybe there was real danger. Either way, I moved on.

I crossed the whole country with a 55 year old truck driver who only wanted hand jobs. He just looked into my eyes as I did it to him, kissing me softly from time to time, gently fondling my tits. If I kept him hard for a half hour or more, he’d have plentiful semen. He was always kind to me, although he had a darkness to him too. He kept asking me what I needed, I told him just food, water, and come. He insisted I take a thousand dollars when I left him. He was a weirdo for sure.

I moved on, hitchhiking again. It was total freedom, sometimes I thought I could just live out the rest of my days like this. I stayed in the south during winter, traveled in the northern states in summer.

While I was still at John Hopkins, I’d tracked down a man I’d known in 1990, when I was still an old woman. He’d been young then, and he’d loved me. Loved me for who I was, for my spirit, my mind, my deeds. He knew me.

And I knew him; Hank was a good man, a good lover, and I yearned to see him again.

Now, 30 years later, I was young and he was old. Maybe it was stupid to go to him, unnecessary risk. I was just tired; tired of being alone. Of having no one to trust, no one to love.

Way back in the first chapter of my story, I railed against that emotion; the cost of it, the vulnerability. But there is also strength, safety in partnering with someone who will watch your back, guard you when you sleep, feed you when you’re ill.

Hank had some rental units on a piece of land out in the countryside. I got dropped off at a high gate with a video camera and a call button. There was a fence that seemed to circle the entire large wooded property, a surprising level of security for a place out here. It was new, because it wasn’t in the streetview photos from a few years before. I pressed the button and after a minute, I heard his smooth deep voice again; recognizable after 30 years.

“What can I do for you?” he asked kindly.

“I’m looking for a place to stay, I read online that you have rental units.” I told him.

“I only offer long term lease.” He said.

“Can I come in and look?” I asked.

There was a long silence; prospective tenants don’t normally walk in unannounced with a backpack. On the other hand, I looked young and pretty.

“Yeah, ok.” he agreed.

When I saw him, my heart sort of lifted; of course he didn’t recognize me. The last time we were together I was a dried up 74 year old woman in Germany. He looked at me now and saw a young backpacker, a girl who surely couldn’t afford the rent, trouble.

I saw a different man than the one I’d known too; he’d aged well, he was still strong and healthy, yet quite different to the happy naive boy who had given me his cherry all those years ago. He had pain in his eyes, distrust, fear. His two big dogs sat on either side of him, staring at me suspiciously, awaiting his command.

“Hi, I’m Dorothy.” I said, offering my hand.

“I’m Hank.” He said, taking it. “What’s your situation, Dorothy?”

“I’m not sure yet, I might take my internship at the Hospital down the road.” I told him.

He looked surprised. “You’ve graduated from medical school already?”

“Yes, I’m older than I look.” I told him.

“I have a big place just vacated, and a small cottage empty too. I suppose the small place is what you’re looking for?”

“The whole property is fenced?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Is that a security camera up there on that tree?”

“Yes. I’m uh, a bit security conscious. A few of my tenants have kids, my place is a safe place, you know? The kids have the run of the place, sometimes they get loud, if that bothers you then this isn’t a place for you.”

“I like it.” I said, “Just because you’re paranoid, it doesn’t mean no one is after you.”

He laughed; “Yeah, that’s how I feel. It’s just for you, or will you be sharing with someone?”

“I’m single.” I told him as we walked together around the inside of his property. “What about you?”

He stopped and looked down at me quizzically. “Are you flirting with me, Dorothy?”

“Yes.” I admitted staring up into his soft brown eyes, remembering the way he used to hold me, kiss me, and fuck me with his great big cock. Great big black cock. Damn, this guy made me come when I was 74. What could he do with the body I had now?

His eyes widened a little, he seemed shocked.

“Hey, are you ok?” I asked.

“Yeah, it’s just that you remind me of someone.”

“An ex? Someone you loved?”

“Yeah.” He sighed, turning away and walking on. The place was expansive, 5 or 10 acres with lawn, trees, and a sprinkling of houses and cottages. There were several picnic areas, and a playground for children. Someone did a lot of work here.

“Tell me about her.” I pleaded.

“It was a long time ago.” He told me, “She was amazing.”

“Beautiful?”

“Oh yeah.” He said.

“Older than you though.” I suggested, trying to get more from him.

“She was, yeah. What made you say that?”

He turned and stared into my eyes again. We stood there under a tree, a bird sang, the dogs snuffled around looking for something more interesting than us. My heart sped up, my stomach sort of clamped, and my vagina itched.

What was this? Real emotion, or just the hunger for semen I’d developed since walking out of the institute?

“I think you have a beautiful soul.” I whispered, before remembering that was what I used to say to him back when we were lovers.

He tore his gaze away. “Well darling, I appreciate that, but I’m resolved to sticking to age appropriate girlfriends.”

“I told you, I’m older than I look.” I said. “Much older.”

“Why, how old are you then?” He asked.

I don’t know what happened; maybe it was just too many lies for too long, being so alone. My secrets seemed to bubble to the surface and I had to tell someone.

“Gottverdammt Hank! I’m really, really old. My real name in Gisella, I used to call myself Gisele, I was born in 1920, I was a spy, a doctor, a researcher, and long ago. You were my Mein wunderbarer junger amerikanischer Liebhaber, the last love of my old life.”

He took a step back, staring at me with confusion and fear.

“What? What did you say?” he asked.

I reached out and took his big black hands in my small white ones, looking up at the man who had loved me. He was different now; war had damaged him, taken away his innocence. At the same time, he was still Hank, big and strong, a man with a good heart.

“You heard me; Mein wunderbarer junger amerikanischer Liebhaber. I am Gisele!”

He shook my hands off and took two more steps back. “What the fuck is this?” he demanded, “Who are you and what do you want?”

Emotion; it’s why we live. It’s the greatest, the worst, the driver of all we do. There is no logical reason to live, we think we’re like computers with a little bit of old emotional shit underneath. In reality, our emotion is the power that gets us out of bed in the morning. Logical thinking is merely a tool to further our emotional success.

I’d been suppressing my own emotions for too long; it all bubbled to the surface as my great love rejected me. I broke down, crying like a baby.

“It is me, Hank!” I insisted, “Look into my eyes, listen to my voice!” I choked.

“Gisele would be 100 years old.” He said dismissively, “You’re full of shit.”

“102, and yet, here I am.” I told him. “Reborn.”

He squinted at me doubtfully. “You got into my computer and read my story.” He accused me, “I don’t believe in magic.”

“I have no idea what you wrote.” I told him, “I remember everything though, like it was yesterday. I seduced you as you lay in a hospital bed, you came home with me to my apartment in Paris, we made love and made a connection. I wore a long flowing transparent negligee, you were wild for me even though I was 70 years old then. We had sex in your barracks, in a hotel in Munich, and one time in a car in a rest area somewhere near Heidelberg. You shipped out to Iraq, and I was notified that you were killed a couple of months later. I sold my apartment and moved back to the US to join a research group, very secret.”

“What kind of research?” he asked, unconvinced.

“Age reversal.” I told him. “It didn’t work; everyone died. Everyone else that is.”

“Give me a break! You’re not Gisele, you’re not even Dorothy, I’ve had a dozen interns stay here and you’re not old enough to be one.”

“I’ve looked like this for 10 years.” I told him, “I have a fake ID, I went back through school, I really did graduate from John Hopskins. I’m a fugitive now, Hank. I think they’re on to me. I can’t afford to rent your cottage unless I work, only I don’t dare let my social security number be registered anywhere.”

He stared at me, confused. “You have her eyes.” He conceded, “You talk like her too.”

“Think about it.” I urged him, “This is something researchers have been trying to achieve for 1000 years. Science moves forward; A few old men have most of the world’s money, do you think they would spend a billion or two to try? And like most procedures in medicine, it helps some patients and not others. Then what? Well, here I am, alive. 102 years old in the body of a teenager.”

“And what do you want from me?” he asked suspiciously.

“I don’t know; I’ve been very alone, I wanted to see you, talk to you again. I guess I’d better leave, please forget I was here, ok? Just, could I have a hug?”

He stared at me for a few long seconds, then opened his arms. I pulled off my cap, exposing my short white hair as I stepped into his embrace. I felt a huge release of tension, stress that had been with me for so long, it was a part of me. My fingers pressed into his spine and worked downwards, his big hands held my slim body, my big breasts pushed against his chest, I looked up at him, his deep soft brown eyes, the same yet different.

Then, he kissed me.

I’d been with so many men in the ten years since I left the burning clinic; I’d kissed, caressed, sucked, fucked, and even loved some of them a little. I thought I was over it, immune to the deadly addictive emotion we call love.

As I kissed my great young lover, safe in his arms, I knew I was on the edge of a cliff, and I yearned to fall. Even though I knew it might kill me when I hit the bottom.

He pulled his mouth away, and just looked at me, still holding me as we stood outside his modest house.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed quietly, running his thick black fingers through my snowy white hair, “Is it really you?”

“I’m feeling some powerful feelings here Hank.” I told him.

“Yeah, me too.” he said, and kissed me again.

We stood there in the bright daylight, our hands and mouths grasping desperately for traction as our minds melted together. Finally, I broke away, my tits and vagina aching for more. Was it just my need for semen that was bending my mind, or was it something deeper this time?

“I should go.” I gasped, “If I stay, we’ll do it again. I don’t want to bring trouble to your door, Hank.”

“How do you like your coffee?” he responded, walking up the front steps onto his porch. The dogs bounded along ahead of us, tails waving as they ran inside.

“The same as always; I like it strong and black. Je l’aime fort et noir.”

“Gisele had a mole on the inside of her thigh.” He said.

“Not anymore.” I told him; “My skin regenerates now, apparently flawlessly. Do you recall anything else down there?”

“Yes.” He said quietly as he set the coffee machine.

He sat on his sofa and stretched out one arm in welcome. I sat down against him, and his big strong body gently pulled me close. I wasn’t really safe just because a good man was hugging me. It was such a pleasant illusion though, that I relaxed and let myself enjoy it for a while.

The machine beeped and Hank stood to pour 2 strong coffees, adding milk to his own.

I couldn’t stay. I would bring danger to his home, this place he’d clearly worked so hard to make safe. I’d just stay for coffee, a good fuck. a shot of semen, and a good night’s sleep.

We had our coffee and we caught up; we both had a lot to say. I left out my biological need for semen.

Hank had been injured, captured, and although not tortured physically, he was threatened with death every day for weeks before he was rescued. He told me his body had recovered; his mind had not.

“I get episodes.” He told me, “Audio hallucinations, paranoia, can’t sleep. If I take meds, I get drowsy and dumb, it’s difficult to stop them. Also, they make me impotent.”

“Are you on them now?” I asked.

“No.” he said happily, looking at me with clear intent.

I laughed and peeled off my tee shirt, then unhooked my bra and let my big tits swing free.

“Better than they were last time we were together, don’t you think?” I asked, lifting them in my hands. I had to laugh at his unabashed hungry stare. “And they’re natural too. Well, in the sense that I don’t have implants.”

“God damn.” He mumbled, reaching for them. “May I?”

“Oh yes, please help yourself.” I agreed, and his big hands gently groped.

“It’s imposable.” He noted as I pulled his shirt up, “Only teenagers have tits like this.”

“To be honest, I don’t really like them.” I told him, “They’re an encumbrance. I consider them a side effect actually. I would have had them reduced, only I don’t want any other doctor to examine me. On the other hand, it does feel nice when your hands are on them like that.”

Words stopped as we kissed again, this time there would be no stopping until we were both satiated. We caressed and made out, clothes came off, there was no urgency. I got his big penis in my hands again after so many years.

I’d been with other big cock men. I won’t say size doesn’t matter, because it does; just that it’s only one part. I prefer a good lover with a small cock than a bad lover with a big one. Hank though, was a good lover with a big cock. He was gentle, passionate, considerate, knew his strength, and was very conscious of how to please a woman.

A lot of which he’d learned from me.

I pulled my pants and panties down my tight ass and long legs, and spread them so he could see my damp vagina.

He just sat there opposite, staring into my open slot.

“Fuck.” He whispered, “It’s exactly as I remember it.”

He went down on me.

He did it the way I’d taught him, the way my first lover old Henri had done it to me in 1936.

I looked into his eyes, and remembered the fun we used to have. It was different then.

He was a teenager, a soldier on leave. We both knew our affair was just for fun, there was no worry about the future, it was just sex and good times, his first and my last.

And then his big cock was mine once more, and it filled my rejuvenated body like no other cock. Not because he was large; because of the emotion I felt for the man, the association with joy, love, safety.

At 70, I’d looked pretty good for my age. In reality, I was delicate and prone to injury, weak and vulnerable physically and emotionally.

This man was a boy then. He had ten times my strength, good looks, and as I might have mentioned, a prodigious penis. He could have hurt me in a hundred ways; and he never did. He treated me with love, respect, lust, and good humor. He was a great lover already, and his teenage cock coaxed the last orgasm from my aged body. We laughed, talked, fucked, and scandalized. We didn’t hide, we flaunted our relationship whenever we found time to be together. I remembered walking through the streets of Heidelberg hand in hand, sharing a kiss on the ramparts of the castle, cuddling on a park bench like lovers do. People stared, some actually berated us for our blatant unashamed affection. Yet where is it written that a young man isn’t allowed to love an old woman?

I was never afraid when I was with Hank. We used to just laugh at the sputtering fuddy duddy prudes who thought they had the right to judge us.

Now he was nearly 50. He looked at my ageless young face and pumped my body with his big hard penis, his wide shoulders in my hands. He was strong, so damn strong! His muscles firm and powerful in my hands, the muscles of a fit mature man.

“You can go hard.” I told him, “I’m not like I was before, I’m strong now.”

“You’re tight as a virgin!” he laughed, and I had to laugh with him. Then we were silent except for our breathing and some soft moans of passion, as he fucked me at a steady pace through 2 orgasms.

By this time, an orgasm was a simple pleasure to me; like a good meal, a hot shower, or a soft bed. I’d been with so many men, come so many times, that there was no surprise in it. And yet it was different with Hank. I had feelings for him that I hadn’t consciously acknowledged.

I needed more than fun and cock. I needed a man, a partner, a refuge. I was a fugitive, running out of money, what did I have to offer in return?

Well, I was pretty damn sexy.

I needed semen, I hadn’t had any for several days at that point and my mind was going foggy. I wasn’t in any hurry though; because when I was with Hank, I was safe. The fence, the cameras, the dogs ... this place was perfect, comforting to me.

My long lean white legs wrapped around his powerful black ass as he pounded me, harder and harder, until we came together in a great rush of joyful chemistry.

He stared down at me as his big cock deflated inside my vagina.

“You used to stay hard after ejaculation when you were a boy.” I teased him.

“Yeah, now that I’m middle aged I need a break between bouts.” He answered with a smile. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” I said.

“It’s barbeque Wednesday, I make the fire and my tenants all bring something to share.”

“But it’s raining.”

“I built a gazebo for rainy Wednesdays.” He said, pulling his spent cock out of me. “It’s a thing we do, keeps everyone connected. Even some ex-tenants who still live nearby come up for Wednesday barbeque.”

The gazebo was large, and closed on 3 sides by thick plastic sheeting against the wind. There was a brick fireplace grill, and hank built a fire from small cut branches of wood, that would burn down to charcoal after a little while. It was a little bit cold, so we huddled over the fire.

“Are you really my Gisele?” he asked.

“You know I am.” I said.

Just then a young couple arrived with two young children and a large pot of potato salad. Soon after that, several women arrived with several more children and various meats for grilling. Hank skewered some vegetables for a sharp looking redhead who was vegetarian.

The redhead immediately started to grill me while Hank grilled dinner. She was obviously a lover of his, or an ex, even though she told me she had a boyfriend.

As I observed their expressions and followed their gazes, I was sure one or two of the other women had had him too. What impressed me most though, was the children; they all adored their big black landlord. No, none were his, they were all very white. The told him silly jokes and he laughed with them, it was nothing. Yet it was everything.

This place was a refuge; Hank had fenced it, secured it, and filled it with love. These people were laughing, talking, sharing food and drink. They all knew each other, they were neighbors and they were friends.

The individual houses and cottages were each separated by 50 yards of lawn and shrubs. There was a playground for the kids, a tennis court, and a basketball hoop. All carefully thought out to encourage interaction between residents while allowing everyone their privacy at the same time. What would have been a normal community 50 years ago was extraordinary in 2020. Hank had built this.

The meal ended early because it was too cold to be outside for long. Everyone said their goodnights and went to their homes.

“We had great fun all those years ago Hank, that doesn’t mean you owe me anything. It’s been great to see you and feel you again; I’m so glad that you’re well. Tomorrow I’ll move on.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I bring danger, and I have nothing to give in return.”

“Hold on a minute; look, maybe it’s just some residual emotional crap that was never resolved, but I still have feelings for you. Stay a little while, then decide. We should go see my lawyer, we can find out if you’re wanted.”

“Is your lawyer good?”

“She’s a genius, I killed a white doctor and she got me off.”

“Killed him by accident, right?”

“No, not really.” He said, and I could see the clouds of trauma forming over his face.

I stroked his brow. “I know how you feel.” I whispered.

He turned his head to look at my face. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” I said. “You know me, I told you what I did. I told you things I never told anyone else. Don’t forget Hank, I’ve also known war.” “I just told you I killed a man, and that doesn’t put you off?” he asked.

“I have no doubt that there was good reason.” I said.

“Yeah.” He agreed, “I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

The dogs were outside on watch, video cameras with motion alarms at the perimeter, my big trained paranoid killer lover held me against his strong warm body.

“Do you keep a gun, Hank?” I asked him.

“I have six of them.” He answered.

There was no better place on earth. I slept like I hadn’t slept in 10 years.

Hank’s lawyer Susan agreed to check things out, even though she didn’t believe me. She was a sharp looking woman, and quite professional.

“I see three possibilities here.” She said, “One, you are being pursued by shady murderous assassins with access to government resources; two, you’re being pursued by law enforcement. Three, you’re simply paranoid and deluded. Sorry, I have to say it as I see it.”