Brad felt tired now, it had been a day that had started a journey of self discovery, he kept thinking about how his sense of identity was changing, old beliefs being challenged. He yawned, as he walked past the tv in the hotel room, he glanced at the screen just as the news station chimed in. Shaky footage of native american protestors taken from the view of a helicopter were played, the crowd had been sitting on the scoop of a giant bulldozer and various construction equipment and refusing to move, suddenly a tear gas canister was lobbed into the group and the young sioux men and women were frenzied rushing the armed riot-police, instead of retreating. Brad saw that firebrand girl, Kenda he recalled, he heard the others call her as she had confronted him earlier. Kenda lept to the front of the fray, rallying the people around her as she punched an officer through his broken visor, she grabbed his truncheon as he stumbled and walloped the crumpling figure before more riot police began to surround her. Brad watched as she valiantly struggled to resist being dragged to the outer perimeter where the police vans were taking detainees.
Brad was spellbound as she watched Kenda curse inaudibly in her sioux mother tongue, wrestling with the faceless goons that had come to pillage her homeland. Brad got aroused, she had pissed him off so much but -damn- her indefatigable spirit was seriously hot, and that she had stood up to him and took none of his shit made him respect her point of view more and more. She was fighting against impossible odds with all the powers of Big Business against her, and yet she was never going to go without raising hell. Brad began to massage his dick, thinking about how sexy she was, not just in looks but that untamed inner fire she had within her. The athletic young woman with her long coal black hair and her attractive scowl ...Brad worked himself over, his hand in his boxers as he felt that strange tingling sensation returning -god it felt good- he felt his dick start harden as he fantasized about Kenda and what she stood for -a hopeless cause- but a compelling one nonetheless. He groaned as felt his body quiver, he let the sensation wash over him this time, wanting to savour it. As he wanked, he grunted, his features changing slightly; cheekbones becoming slightly more prominent, his stubble retreating slightly, his lips a little fuller and smile wider.
Brad wanted to finish this off, he quickly tossed off his clothes, throwing his shirt on the floor as he hurried to the shower. He leaned in the cubicle with one hand busy and turned on the hot water as he kicked off his boxers on the tile floor. Brad had never been this horny for a long time, he stood under the soothing water as the fake tan washed off his body, he kept stroking himself as the build up seemed to keep out of reach, he just couldn't seem to climax. He watched as his swarthy tan underneath his fake one was turning a honeyed bronze, so much better, while the tan had been an arousing bit of acting out, seeing his own skin flooded with melanin was even hotter. He imagined himself, what he was becoming, and this sudden change of heart all because of her. Fuck, he wanted to feel that blazing passion she had, to spit in the face of those who would deprive her of her stolen lands and way of life. Brad huffed as he thought about Kenda, standing cross-armed in that tight cropped tanktop, her midriff bared, all while she cocked her pierced brow. She didnt give a fuck how rich or powerful he was, and that really turned him on. He could feel the 'high tide' of his boner finally reaching as he moaned, he shot his load into the corner of the cubicle. Unbeknownst to Brad his hair was turning darker at the roots, the dirty blonde locks turning soot black and the follicles getting longer, leaving his hair just shy of tickling his nape, more a messy mop than his original short cut. The bathroom mirror had fogged up, leaving Brad unable to see that his face barely resembled his caucasian self anymore.
Brad felt the energy drain from him; the 'low tide' rolling in as his libedo petered out, he cleaned himself off and dried his hair. Brad stumbled out of the bathroom, now he just wanted to sleep, he flopped into his huge poster bed and sighed wistfully, soon his outfit would arrive and already he was getting horny again thinking about wearing that loincloth and buckskin leggings. Brad’s ideas about native americans and other minorities took after his father’s, he had never up until now questioned those prejudices. But a sea change was roiling within him, he knew that deep down it was something he truly wanted for the first time in his life of luxury.