[ WP ] Yourself , a fat , nerdy 20-year old virgin wakes up one day in the body of an Italian male model .

27 May 2015, 
 
 I have always wanted to start a blog, but I could never find anything interesting to write about. Today is different. Yesterday I was an overweight twenty-year-old virgin. I gorged myself with food, lost myself in video games, Anime and comics in order to comfort myself. I loved the unreal fantasies these outlets provided because I was unhappy with my life. 
 
 Today my life changed. 
 
 I ’ ll tell you what shocked me first. It wasn ’ t the bronzed skin, sculpted body or chiseled Mediterranean jawline. It wasn ’ t the smooth accented tone of my voice and it wasn ’ t the pleasant, but unfamiliar musk that exuded from my skin. No, It was none of these. It was the ability to see my cock for the first time in six years. 
 
 Like most mornings, my alarm had gone off at seven. I slammed it on snooze, where five minutes later the bastard decided it was time to reawaken. Like most mornings, my sexual frustration decided to announce itself in the form of poorly pitched tent propping up the centre of my bedsheets. 
 
 Nothing had really registered until I reached the bathroom. My nightclothes and morning haze helped that situation. I did realise, that like most mornings, the first pee of the day was going to be a troublemaker. I got myself together and prepared for some precision control. 
 
 There it was and It was huge. 
 
 Someone once told me that most models have tiny dicks. That due to their good looks, not enough testosterone was produced and their penis stayed at a boyish size. It was only fair that way. They were lying. Maybe it was because I hadn ’ t seen it in six years, maybe it was just big, but there it was. 
 
 After the sudden shock that discovering a new penis brings my mental gears started to whirl. I noticed the distinct lack of fat around my stomach and the disproportionate amount of muscle that had decided to replace it. I remember swearing repeatedly. 
 
 I then noticed the change in my usually nasally monotone voice. It had been replaced by a lightly accented albeit slightly raspy sound, which would, as the morning progressed, develop into something as smooth as milky coffee. 
 
 I remember lifting my muscular arms in disbelief and stared into the bathroom mirror. I woke up an hour later. 
 
 In comic books and fantasy novels, you read about people going through these types of sudden and dramatic changes. The first thing they always seem to say is “ I thought I was in a dream. ” One of the many things I have learnt from the surreal experience is that when people say “ I thought I was in a dream, ” It is generally a load of bullshit. Dreams are different. Although you might not wholly realise it, the subconscious of your subconscious knows you are dreaming. It ’ s that part of the dream when you feel like you are running through custard, things don ’ t feel quite real. This is how the mentally stable know they are awake. Everything feels real. This is why I fainted. I knew it was real. 
 It was because the skin felt real, the stubble on face felt real, the firmness of my own ass felt real. Part of me told me it can ’ t be. 
 Part of me screamed, “ You are James Croft. You don ’ t exercise. You eat, you cry, you sleep and you repeat!'' 
 I wasn ’ t telling myself lies. This saddening insight into my former life is true. The last time I did any form of squatting was during a miserable trip to a French highway restroom. The most recent stint of aerobic exercise was last night alla my right hand. 
 
 I woke up to screaming. No erection this time. Just fear and screaming. It was not my scream. I for the best part of the next few hours remained astoundingly calm. 
 
 Georgie is stout and freckled. We met on campus during the first year. We were both heading to the debating society. Afterwards we went for drinks, we had lots in common. Georgie has a boyfriend back home. We became amazing friends. I was her friend and I loved her. She was my friend and she loved her boyfriend. We moved in together the following year. 
 
 Georgie was screaming. Georgie knew my family well and she knew that the naked and muscular Italian man lying on her best friends floor was no relation of a family so cursed in the genetics department. Georgie knew my barrel like mother and my wide, short and balding father. She always said, “ Your family really got skipped in the looks department. ” 
 
 Thanks, Georgie. 
 
 The screaming didn ’ t stop until I became gay. I realised that in her state there was no explaining. This isn ’ t fantasy. I couldn ’ t turn around and tell her I was James and she wouldn ’ t fall in love with the new me. So I told Georgie a plausible lie. I told her that I was a boy that James had brought home. That he had left earlier this morning. Now Georgie thinks I am gay. 
 
 Georgie left me alone after that. I picked up some old, shrunken clothes and a few personal items and put them into a backpack. She stopped me in the kitchen and quizzed me. She asked if James had a good birthday night out. She said that she always knew he was gay, but was upset that he never told her. I made up some lies and told her my name was Antonio. His night was surprising and I was meeting ‘ James ’ on campus to have coffee later. That ’ s why I had his backpack. 
 
 There were no real goodbyes. She didn ’ t even know that it was me leaving. She didn ’ t even know that unless I miraculously returned to my normal self, this would be the last time I saw her. My best friend and the girl that I had loved for nearly two years. I didn ’ t cry. I wanted to, but it turns out that Antonio doesn ’ t cry. James used to cry a lot, but Antonio can ’ t cry. Maybe it ’ s my new biological makeup? 
 
 So I decided it was best to leave Brighton. I wouldn ’ t go back home. I couldn ’ t. I didn ’ t catch the bus. I walked along the seafront. It wasn ’ t a nice day for May. It was an English May day. Drizzle and the wind. I must have looked odd to the people in the cars that drove past. a beautiful Italian man in the baggy superhero themed clothes, drenched by the May rain. 
 
 I walked into a hostel close to the pier. Paid for a night and asked for the wi-fi password. 
 
 So this is my first post. I have changed names and places. Most people will quite rightly think I am telling a story. I ’ m also sure that those who actually believe it will wonder why I ’ m not more upbeat. 
 
 Today I am beautiful. Today I now have what I always wanted. Today I am a Twenty-one year old virgin and as miserable as ever. I have lost all my friends, my family, my life. I ’ m alone. 
 
 James. U. Croft.
