Bhuddist Do-over
Copyright© 2026 by Duncan Mickloud
Chapter 3: My New Life
Time Travel Sex Story: Chapter 3: My New Life - A novel-length do-over about a man born in 1955: he lived until 2038. A retired Buddhist monk befriended Mason and caused strange things to happen. Mace died normally, only to wake up at age 13 with all of his old memories. But he's not living his life over. Everything is really different. He's on a parallel planet with a completely different history and bizarre morals. It is the polar opposite of feminism. Succinctly stated: it's a raunchy romp. 33 chapters. Slow start.
Caution: This Time Travel Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft Ma/ft mt/Fa Coercion Consensual Rags To Riches Restart DoOver Time Travel Incest Mother Son Brother Sister Anal Sex Analingus First Massage Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Pregnancy Safe Sex Voyeurism Hairy Size Small Breasts
Women here want you to look at them and drool? Even your relatives? I realized Mom’s Tanga might be some minimalistic thing, but boy howdy, do I love Tangas.
Someone drove up in what sounded like an old VW. It made that characteristic tuka-tuka idling sound when it stopped. The front door opened, and my Dad came in. It was my same Dad, John Charles Carpenter. He came over and dropped off a newspaper by his seat in the living room. He wore a dark gray singlet and matching boyshorts; both were skin-tight.
Gross! I could see Dad’s junk clearly outlined in the material. Boyshorts? The term ‘Boyshorts’ popped into my mind. Boyshorts are minimized shorts that are skin-tight and very thin so they can breathe.
That must be a Mace memory. They cover the necessities, but barely. Dad’s equipment is lewdly displayed, its shape clearly outlined by the tight material.
Mace’s memory must be that what Dad is wearing is normal. It gets hot here, and it rains a lot. Dad’s singlet is a lightweight, thin T-shirt. It has large armholes and one-inch bands over the shoulders.
It looks exactly like a variation of something a Muscle Beach guy would wear. This Dad is more muscular. Summertime clothes here are one step from total nudity.
I realized Dad is wearing what is normal for this part of Florida when outdoors. Isn’t air conditioning a thing here yet? I calculate this to be 1969. I was born in 1955, so I’m close to 14 now, so it’s 1969. Where is our A/C? Does A/C even exist here? I’d had A/C before at this age in my previous incarnation.
What he’s wearing evokes merry old England. Back when men wore codpieces and women freely displayed much of their goodies. There were even eras where women’s tits were out there fully.
Crap, there is no air conditioning in the trailer. Up until my first life, we had a large unit mounted in a living-room window. We also had a small one in the back master bedroom.
We don’t have one here, so our clothing, or lack thereof, may be appropriate to this house. Dad was outside this morning doing things. We have no AC? In the Florida summer heat? That is almost frightening.
I realized I am not 85 years old. In my first lifetime, we had very little AC.
Dad scooped Mom up and swung her around. Mom screamed, but she laughed and loved it. That part was normal for my parents. My previous Dad had done the same thing countless times. My Mom had screamed and kissed him hard as she grasped him back in greeting.
My Dad is a very tall man; he was 6’ 4” before, and this one seems to be about that tall here. I eventually grew to 6’ 6” when I reached 19.
Thinking back to this morning when I looked in the mirror, I think I am right at 6 feet tall already. My body is fit, with not one extra ounce of fat.
In my previous incarnation, overweight or tall teenagers got picked on a lot.
That makes those kids upset. They usually become uncommunicative or, conversely, overly chatty, trying to make friends. I had done neither. I had always liked girls and talked to them. Guys - meh.
Been there, done that. I became slightly reticent but approachable. I pretended to be friendly to males. I had been pretty much habitually quiet.
I hated my teen years. When pushed, I would defend myself. That happened often, and I had been to the principal’s office a few times. I’ll see how things go here.
I grew up hearing “It is better to remain silent than to open your mouth and remove all doubt.” That maxim helped me to keep my mouth shut many times during my military years.
My mind started working on what I was seeing and hearing. Other memories started to surface. Was ‘old Mason’ fully in charge here? I had my adult memories from my previous life, and had the young kids’ memories. Old Mason seems to be fully in charge of this body.
Dad asked us whether we wanted a Vespa, a Honda, a Kawasaki, a Yamaha, or a Suzuki for our motorbikes.
‘Huh?’ The info flooded into my awareness. When we reach age 14 here, we can get a learner’s permit at the motorcycle store. That was not how my original life had gone.
In my previous incarnation, though, I had to take a test at the DMV. That got me a red ‘restricted’ license. It was a printed, blood-red cardboard license, with no picture or lamination.
I could drive a car with the restricted license if a licensed adult was in the car. Here it is very different. No one can drive before 16, except in some special cases. Every kid grows up with a bicycle. You normally ride a motorbike for two years. You can get a regular license anywhere you can buy a vehicle. There is no local DMV office. Licenses come from dealerships.
There are license plates, but Mace’s memories don’t include how dealerships get them. They are also small, similar to those in the UK or Europe.
In this reality, we buy the bike and the permit is a normal part of the transaction. Here, they briefly explain the controls and off you go. No lessons, no driving around cones, none of that safety stuff. You’ve ridden a bicycle, so you can ride a motorcycle now.
This is because 99% of kids our age have bicycles, and motorbikes ride and steer the same way. Motorbikes have a shifter and a throttle added to what is essentially a bicycle.
My dad bought me the Honda 50 SS last time. It had been built like a real motorcycle, just downsized a little. Here, I would happily take anything in the 50 c.c. category. I did not want to walk or take buses.
No kid wants to ride a bus to school. I remember that as madness, with boys screaming and punching each other. Boys pinching girls, them screeching, often in fake outrage.
I remember somehow that Marcy and I are limited to secondary roads. Plus, to the special motorcycle lanes on the primary roads. Marcy’s and my motorbikes are speed-limited to 25 mph. At age 16, we can have the little Honda’s governor removed. It will be able to do 50 MPH then.
I also knew that speed limits are 25 MPH on all secondary, in-town roads. It’s 45 on primary roads, and the max speed in the U.S. is 50 m.p.h. all over. 50 mph is pretty much the speed limit for federal highways only.
50 c.c. motorbikes ‘here’ are ubiquitous. There are many more of the 50 c.c. bikes than all other motorbike and motorcycle sizes combined. They are small, so they take up little space. You get over 100 mpg. You can go anywhere at 45 mph at age 16. They aren’t approved for highway use.
50 mph may be possible, but it’s really too high an RPM to be comfortable on a 50’. Many people do not own cars at all.
It’s Florida; you get wet, get over it. It’s semi-tropical, and it rains almost daily for half of the year.
Speeding results in jail time here, starting with one day in jail for the first offense. You don’t see a judge for a first offense; the cops lock you up and log it. We don’t have 250 years’ worth of lawyers sneaking themselves into every part of our lives here. No bullshit laws exist for no reason other than to create jobs for lawyers.
A quick thought popped into my mind. We do not have multiple layers of judges either. You can sue a judge, but good luck. We have only two levels: local and federal judges. They judge different things and separate areas. There is no ladder of appellate judges where you can appeal higher year after year.
A second speeding or other offense results in more jail time. The jail time gets longer for each successive violation. Our provincial and federal governments do not put up with stupid or dangerous behavior. Not on their highways. Quite often, a judge will send you to a road gang or a factory penitentiary.
That’s another thing. You don’t sit in a cell. They put you to work. You must earn your bread and water and pay for your own incarceration.
Capital punishment for murder or child rape is not looked down upon. If convicted, you are a walking dead man or woman. Crime is absolutely not tolerated here. It’s the social norm.
That is so very, VERY different.
Provinces? Oh shit! A flood of information pops in from somewhere. This is a real big epiphany for my old mind; Mason’s mind. I am thinking of Mace as the young guy’s memory and Mason as me in this body that I find myself in.
When I thought about that more, I realized this country is NOT MY U.S. I grew up in - not at all. It is very much different.
After World War II, this world had gone back to being a totally “closed” country again. We had historically not allowed immigration from anywhere. It had always remained closer to Britain/England than we had been.
History was vastly different. George the Third had no grave illnesses and was much kinder to the colonies, so we did not rebel. There was no 1776 here, and no civil war because England banned slavery in the 1810’s.
World War 1 was when things soured. 3.4 million “Americans” were slaughtered in France. Many people felt that 9 percent of our total male population was too much for us to bear. The English generals put most of us Americans in the front lines and treated us like cannon fodder.
The over 2.6 million dead Americans from World War II had created a serious backlash against England. Coming so soon after the millions who died fighting in World War I, it was the final straw. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. It started a social and legal rebellion against Mother England.
The people here had backlashed politically against Mother England. They felt that England had gone much too far. She used us as cannon fodder again. They also sucked up much of our mineral wealth because we could churn out tanks and planes where they could not. The English were vipers draining us of everything.
The government here was a federal executive form under the English Crown. A different form of a Commonwealth. We’d had an English governor.
We were English descendants. We started as colonies and then became a commonwealth in the early 1880s. The Great Depression of 1882 and the complete collapse of the British pound prompted a big change. England had gone broke during the worldwide famine of 1882. As a commonwealth, we coined our own money and made most of our own decisions.
After WWII, we broke completely with England in 1947. We never had to fight England. We just met with England and told them to bugger off. England was flat busted and broke from World War II. They could do nothing.
America had many more ships and men at the end of the war. English generals and admirals were horrible at their jobs. Their men got creamed as badly as we Americans in WW II. The difference was we had a bigger population and almost unlimited mineral riches. England was pretty worn out in terms of oil and coal deposits.
We live in an isolationist, monocultural North America. It is called the “Republic of North America or RONA.
We are almost xenophobic about outsiders here. Our borders are closed. The borders have been closed almost since the beginning, even under English rule in the 1500’s. We had to fight too many other countries to get a foothold here.
Right now, our ports are semi-closed. We buy rubber and a few other necessary commodities, but not many. We ship a lot of things out of the country to anyone who has the money, i.e., gold or silver money.
We do export a lot. We mine several metal ores and ship them to England, where they pay us back in gold, silver, or cloth. We buy their best cloth. They do a lot of linen and wool. We do a lot of cotton and export it to Europe.
We have two races of people living here. White English descendants and the natives who were here before us. Our two societies are melded together like a deck of cards. Every Province is divided into native areas and white areas.
We do not have fiat money; that is, paper money that has no intrinsic value. Paper money has been what screwed England the most. It has no value other than a government promise.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.