Before you can worry too much about your current predicament, a call comes through on the work phone that you and Kadir leave in the taxi. Your new self seems to take over -- you know this is important."Kolay gelsin, hi, how are you," you say, blending Turkish into English fluently. "Hope you are ready, yavrum, it's busy today," Melek says. You notice that word in there, yavrum, darling. She works at dispatch, she is nice, but she is so obsessed with marriage. Kadir often says not to pay her any mind, as there are plenty of women and men who know how to enjoy themselves without getting marriage involved -- you tend to agree with your brother, like always. Melek gives you an address, telling you that you must be there in 10 minutes. "Allah allah! 10 minutes? You all ask too much of me and my brother sometimes." But even as you say this, you know you can't pass up the fare, and climb into the taxi, already sweating nervously. Your old self is upset by your new form, the middle-aged heavyset hairball pervert you seem to have become, "Goodbye, Melek." "İyi yolculuklar, good trip," Melek says hurriedly, clearly already distracted by the next fare.
As you drive, swerving around slow cars, you wonder if maybe this is a preferable outcome. Before, you were a balding 23 year old with oversized arms. Now, at least, you look like a human that could exist. Your arms are still disproportionate, but only in the sense that someone might assume you only do arm exercises. And with the flab and body hair, you're a bit of a muscle bear. Several of Asil's memories (YOUR memories) confirm this identity, the remembered visuals of screaming chub chasers and college boys exploring the beginnings of daddy fetishes moaning underneath you. Usually while Kadir fucked their friend or filmed for your later enjoyment. Sometimes, watching back the tapes, it was hard to remember which of you was pounding tight ass or pussy when you watched them back, but did it really matter? You feel blessed that your brother is able to enjoy himself as much as you do.
Finally, you arrive at your destination, where a slim Caucasian man is standing, hips angled in a feminine pose. Man is perhaps too strong a word. He is probably 20, give or take a year. From one look, you can tell he is very gay. He has a swoop of long black hair and tight fitting clothes that leave little to the imagination. You lick your lips, pleased at the prospect of a potential fuck tonight, and feel your cock harden in your trousers. He climbs in, and you introduce yourself warmly, hoping for some sign of interest or lust. "I am Asil, my friend, I will be driving you today. Where are you headed?" The young man looks at you briefly, seeming to size you up. His face doesn't change, he simply turns to look out of the window. "To the ballet studio over on Sixth Street." You start your meter and drive, occasionally looking back in the rearview mirror.
"So you are a dancer, then?", you ask, hoping the boy will warm up to you. Whether from politeness or interest, you earn a response this time. "Yes, I'm studying it in school," he says. "Ah, so you go to the local university then?", you venture. "I went there not so long ago. Mm... evet... yes... I graduated 15 years ago!" Your new memories tell you you are 37, and memories of you and your brother studying business dilligently echo in your mind. Although, fat lot of good it did, you think. Ah, boşver, it is nothing to daydream about. The Caucasian boy simply says "mm" and pulls out his phone, sliding his finger rapidly across his screen. You deflate a little, your hopes of a tight ass to fuck tonight cast aside.
When you arrive at the studio, the boy checks the meter and goes to reach for his wallet. He taps his card on your reader, avoiding eye contact, but then the machine beeps, displaying 'DECLINED' in large print. The boy looks sheepish, red color flushing his milky skin. "That's my only card. I should have money on it, I..." You think for a moment. This is certainly an interesting opportunity.
"I'll tell you what," you say kindly, "to pay me back..."