Courtesan (fiction, far future)

by CC Cherri Bandi

Note: This, too, is a gfd/rr story, but as is more usual for me, it is from the male focus. It is also set in the far future, which is also more common for me.

            He never expected to end up as he became in his second, and far more pleasant life. He had never expected to wake up at all. He had been walking along the street on his way back to work from lunch one afternoon. It had been sunny and bright, quite pleasant, and he had been thinking about nothing in particular. For once in his life, he was even in something like a good mood.

Oh, work was still incredibly boring. He still had student loans which it would take him decades to pay off. Maybe he’d die with them.

At least, he thought, a little morbidly, he wouldn’t pass his debts on to his children. He didn’t have any, and there wasn’t much chance of him having any time soon. He was one of those men who women simply didn’t find particularly attractive. He was small, and nonathletic, and a little pudgy. He wasn’t unpleasant. And he had dated at times. But none of his relationships had seemed to gel into real love.

He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because he tended to want women to make the first move. Or, maybe it was just something wrong about him. He had no hint of the “bad boy.” Women found nothing exciting and sweetly dangerous in him.

He had been walking past the break room once and heard his female colleagues discussing the unattached men in the office. By ill-luck, he heard his name as he walked past. One of the women was saying about him, “Oh, he’s really nice. Really nice. But not, you know, a lover. Nothing exciting, there. He is a little...I don’t know...feminine, I guess. It would be like dating another woman when you’re not a lesbian.”

Ah, he’d thought. Well, at least she’d thought he was nice. Maybe, someday, in some far future, when the world was different.

And then he heard the car.

He never felt it. There was just the roar of an engine. Then the clanking, crunching noise of metal bending as the speeding sports car bounced over the curb. Then the screams of people on the sidewalk dashing out of the way.

Then he turned. And the last thing he saw was the Maserati as it hurtled into the crowd. Behind the windshield, he saw the face of the drunk at the wheel.

Then nothing.

He died almost instantly, and that should have been the end of his story. But it wasn’t. The driver of the car was the son of a vastly wealthy oil sheik. The man himself was smuggled out of the country before he could be arrested and charged.

But it made for a scandal, and the news outlets were full of stories about a rich kid with a diplomatic passport who had killed an American citizen and fled the scene.

In an attempt to deflect the bad press, the foreign nation involved paid for his funeral arrangements. It just happened that at that particular moment cryogenics was having of one its periodic bursts of popularity. There’d been a hugely successful movie in which the hero was preserved in liquid nitrogen and then brought back to life a hundred years later. And, somehow, it had caught on. Celebrities and political figures were publicly making arrangements to be frozen, or, technically, vitrified, after they died. The hope was that someday, in some distant age, they’d be brought back to life.

And to make for his untimely passing, the embassy made a deal.

Long ages passed.

He woke up.

He was reclining on a sort of sofa. He tried to place his surroundings. Nothing made a whole lot of sense. Then, slowly, he put it back together. What was he laying on? A bed. No, more like a chaise lounge.

He was wearing very little clothing. He felt the warm satin of the chaise under his bum, and his chest was also bare. But, there was some sort of cloth on his legs. He looked down. Stockings? Yes. He had on white stockings, very silky and smooth. Then he realized his arms were also covered. What could it be? He looked. Gloves? Yes, they were long, white elbow gloves. Opera gloves?

And around his waist...a corset? That was it. A corset of some stiff material, like leather.

How odd.

He looked around the room. It was luxurious and well-furnished. Huge windows occupied one wall. There were paintings on the other walls.

Slowly, too, he realized there was a figure seated on a chair facing him.

“Good morning,” she said in a low and gentle voice.

It was a woman, he saw. She was seated and watching him. My God, he thought, she’s huge. She was a real giantess. He guessed she must be at least 180 centimeters tall. That was over six feet, old style.

“Ah, hello,” he said, faintly.

“Are you feeling well?” she asked. “No side effects, I trust?”

“No, I’m fine. I think. Where am I?”

“At the reanimation center. It is where they handled your return from the dead.”

“My what?”

She smiled. “I know that sounds a bit odd. But I will explain in a moment. But perhaps you would like to see yourself, now. There is a mirror here.”

He was surprised. There wasn’t anything particularly remarkable about himself, he thought. Why should he want to see himself? But, if she insisted, he’d do it.

He slid slowly out the bed. The floor was cold on his bare feet. Now, where was the mirror?

“Here,” she stood and took his arm. He was stunned by how big she was. She towered above him. But, he let her lead him to the wall on the left side of the room. Sure enough, there was a full length mirror there. He looked.

And nearly fainted.

He was the same, but different. He was still small. He’d always been small. And he’d always been a little pear shaped. Now, though, he was tiny. He guessed he was no more than five foot two...about 157 centimeters. And he was more pear shaped than ever.

And he was young! The face that looked back at his could be no more than twenty two.

But the really amazing thing was that he was actually pretty. He was actually good looking.

He’d never been good looking before.

“We tried to keep you more or less as you were,” she explained. “Though we made modifications so that you’d fit in. There have been a lot of changes since your time.”

“Changes?”

“Yes,” she smiled at him again. “But let’s see if you can’t make a guess at what’s different. Come with me.”

Again she led him by the arm. This time, she took him to the opposite wall. There was a huge glass window there, and it looked out onto a park. “The grounds of the Reanimation Center,” she explained. “We like to make things pleasant. But, now, look, and tell me what you see.”

He gazed out. There were flower beds and lawns, and pleasant looking walkways. Here and there, he saw figures walking. Mostly they were in pairs. Many were hand in hand.

Then he looked again. Oh!

“Notice anything?” she asked.

He nodded. “All the women are big. All the men are small.”

“Precisely.”

She explained. She told him about how he’d died, all those years ago, and been preserved. And then, centuries later, his memories had been extracted from his frozen brain. They’d created a new body for him and placed his personality within it.

But while he’d been “sleeping” there had been enormous social and cultural changes. Women held the power, now. They were tall and masterful, and strong. Men were the second sex. They were small and delicate.

“Are there children?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “But women no longer carry them in their bodies. They are generated in artificial wombs. That was one of the reasons we could come to dominance. We are no longer hampered by motherhood.”

“I see.”

He walked away from the window and sat on the chaise lounge. Instinctively, he reclined, like an odalisque. Then he gestured at himself. “And what is all of this? I mean, the gloves and the corset and everything? This little bitty body of mine?”

“Ah,” she said. “It is the way that women like to see their boys these days. You see, we have assigned you a profession.”

“Which would be?”

“Well, there are very few things that men can do, these days. Women outcompeted them generations ago. Most are just husbands, if you will. They are born the property of their mothers. Then, they become the property of their wives.”

He understood. “But since I wasn’t born here, and I’m not part of any family...”

“You don’t have that option, yes. But you must make a living, somehow. Fortunately, there is a way to do that. You will be indentured to Bio-Luxuries Limited Incorporated. You’ll provide entertainment to the lonely and the tired."

For a moment, he struggled to understand. Then...he got it! He gasped. “You want me to be a whore?”

“We prefer the term ‘Erotic Recreation Specialist.’”

He shook his head, disbelieving. “You’re joking. I mean, would anyone pay to go to bed, well, with me? I was never very attractive to women.”

She smiled. “Oh, maybe in your day that was true. But, believe me, now you are tailor-made to appeal to us. To women today, you are a great beauty.”

He sighed. This made no sense. And would his body co-operate? How often could he make love? It wasn’t like he was, uh, over-equipped in the matter. “But, really, do you think I’m up to it?”

“Up to it?” she laughed. “Look at yourself. Look between your legs.”

He did. His penis was rising rapidly. It was already erect and very hard. “What the fuck?” he said, disbelieving.

“It’s the way you’re built now.” She laughed again. “You’re always ready to stand at attention.”

Well...he thought. It looked like he had no choice. How ironic. Women wouldn’t touch him in his first life. In this, they were expected to pay for the privilege.

“All right,” he said. “What next?”

“Oh, you’ll spend a few days here, while you get acclimated. Then, we’ll move you out to an apartment of your own. After that, you’ll see your first clients.”

Acclimated, he thought. Well, it would take a while for him to get used to this new life, that was certain. “All right,” he said again. “I guess that’s the way it has to be.”

“It is.” She walked over to him where he rested on the lounge. “And we might as well get started with your...training.”

He looked up at her, slightly alarmed. “Say, who are you, anyway?”

“Me?” she laughed. “I am Elekjendra Reganta. And I have the honor of being the vice president in charge of development for Bio-Luxuries Limited Incorporated.”

“Vice president…?”

“Indeed, and it was because of your glorious little body that I pulled rank, and decided to train you personally.”

“Oh...”

But then she was leaning over him, and he could say no more, because her lips were on his in a great and crushing kiss.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.