glanced up from my drink. She was peering at me nervously, staring from a corner of her eye, her features composed and carefully schooled. She sat and waited, shifting her weight slightly. She must've thought I'd refuse the conversation, maybe even her company, and storm out like some irrational and obnoxious male.
I almost snorted. What did the males from her circle normally do whenever a female asked to fuck? I guess she'd learn from experience or second-hand experience that 'a man's wrath' was something to be feared.
Or the law, in this case, considering how favorable they were towards men.
I scavenged for that last swig of caffeine at the bottom of the cup and licked my lips.
Her eyes weren't looking at my own at that moment.
I looked at her with a face full of polite neutrality.
"Was that it?"
She did a double-take, realizing I wasn't about to go all berserk or start making a scene out of it. "I... suppose?" She mouthed the words with little force.
She stared at me for a moment, as if testing the limits of this sudden change of perspective, and when she met nothing more than a reserved, benign smile, I swear, there were faint twinkles in those eyes of hers, looking, quite frankly, utterly spellbound.
We continued to talk, then. A few new rounds and the conversation slowly turned comfortable. We shared things about ourselves—I had nothing to share, obviously. Unexpected memory loss here, and I certainly couldn't talk about my old world and its society's peculiarities.
So, instead, I was a good listener. I asked her to talk about herself. How had she been doing before getting her big job as a police officer? Where had she come from before?
Valeria's shoulders began to slump, then relax. She seemed more comfortable with each passing second. Her story wasn't particularly interesting; she was from a small town a few hundred miles from the city, had always been the rebellious sort, and had moved to the city for a job.
I nodded to each little anecdote, each small recollection she offered, making her feel more at ease. I didn't stray my gaze for an instant, sincerely interested to know how she went on through a life where men were scarce, where women were more competitive as a result. For her. For all of them.
And in turn, Valeria spoke with more enthusiasm than she began. Even when she must have felt this entire story sounded quite mundane. She went on. And after some time, we fell into a rather comfortable pattern of talking about ourselves and making casual conversation.
It didn't take long after that to establish that yes, this was pleasant.
With a first impromptu 'break' like this, and her 'admission' that the whole, 'I want to fuck you thing' was just a way to gauge how the rare, extremely rare, different, male responded to such statements and suggestive behavior... Valeria went on.
I had the privilege of seeing many different shades and expressions from her.
She tried and tried again, trying to get reactions from me, testing if this whole amiable atmosphere, and easygoing, non-defensive stance was nothing more than a performance put on to impress her, as if I wanted to seem like a 'nice' male that would only offer platitudes or sympathy and be disgusted by overt sexual advancements.
Her patience and curiosity gradually turned into awe as she came to realize there really was nothing in my reactions to reveal anything other than utter and uncompromising nonchalance, and a steady desire to listen, and for the woman to share and speak.
So, this, for Valeria, was an unfamiliar, very unfamiliar territory indeed.
By the time she finished speaking, she was leaning forward like I was, idly twirling her hair like spaghetti, and with the most pleased smile that face had ever been granted with.
"Oh, I've been talking about myself all this time..." Valeria's austere countenance had lightened considerably. It was incredible how a severe hairstyle and a police uniform could transform such an expression, and change one's whole appearance. "Ahem, tell me something about you, Damien. Please. Whatever you're comfortable with."
"Me?" I said, taking a small bite from my éclair. "My life's much less interesting. I'm nineteen. I live in a house with a bunch of women. You know the rest."
Her lips parted. "But you must have a hobby. Something you enjoy? Something you... like to do? Even if it's not work?"
A hobby. I almost laughed. The old Alex's hobbies had been steadily collecting the scars of a nine-to-five misery and heating up packaged food without a single burnt bite.
What would Damien's hobbies be? My research pointed towards things like contemplative poetry, watercolor painting of single, isolated flowers, stamp collecting or something equally lame.
All safe, non-threatening, and intensely solitary pursuits.
Time to throw another wrench in the works.
"Alright. You know what I'd really like to do? I'd like to start a fight club. Right here in the city."
Valeria's perfectly shaped eyebrows shot up to her hairline. "A... fight club?"
"Yes." I nodded, warming to my ridiculous premise. Hey, it was actually not that ridiculous. It'd rebuild some of the lost testosterone my unfortunate gender has been lacking in this reality. "But not just any fight club. A fight club exclusively for men. We'd meet in secret, knock each other's teeth out in a ring made of mattress frames, and then go home with black eyes and split lips and feel alive for the first time in our lives."
She stared at me, her lips slightly parted, utterly dumbfounded.
The concept of men engaging in recreational violence was so alien to her that she was having trouble processing the sentence itself.
"You're... joking." She finally managed, though her tone was one of questioning, not certainty.
I let a slow, deliberate smirk spread across my lips. "Am I? Well, think about it. Shirtless men grappling with each other in a basement, slick with sweat. If you charged an entry fee or something, you'd make a lot of money."
She blinked, and I saw a faint, almost imperceptible flush creep up her neck at the image I'd so crudely painted. Her mind was trying to reconcile the absurdity of the idea with the undeniably... compelling visual I'd just provided.
"That's..." She stammered, searching for a word, any word, to categorize this. "That's illegal. Immoral. You could get... hurt."
"Getting hurt is the whole point, Valeria." I leaned forward. "A controlled environment where men can get hurt without it being a national tragedy. Ah, don't make that face. I'm just spitballing. My actual hobby is more mundane. I like to sing."
"S-sing?" The relief was palpable. A safe, acceptable, artistic hobby. The world was back on its axis. "That's wonderful, Damien. What do you like to sing?"
"The most offensive, misogynistic, hard rock and metal I can find." I took the last bite of the éclair; it had outlived Valeria's one, at least. "Stuff about objectifying women, breaking hearts, and general male aggression. I find it... cathartic. I scream it at the top of my lungs in my room."
The coffee cup in her hand rattled against the saucer. She stared at me as if I'd just admitted to practicing ritual sacrifice in my spare time.
This was not Damien Winters. The real Damien would be practicing the flute and writing sonnets about dewdrops on spiderwebs.
"You... you do what?" Her voice barely there.
"I also want to learn to ride a motorcycle. A big, loud, obnoxious one." I continued, piling on the heresies. "And I was thinking of getting a job. Something manual. Maybe construction."
Valeria went pale.
"Damien..." She said, her voice laced with genuine horror. "You can't... you can't say things like that. Not out loud. Not in public." Her eyes darted around the café, as if the secret police were about to burst through the windows and drag me away for re-education. "What is wrong with you?"
A/N: My newest original story. I think that with this, Keep it in the Family, and Shota Isekai, I should've hit my limit, so I'll try rotating between them. Hopefully, I don't get any more inspirations for original stories. That being said, if you'd like to see this updated more regularly, give me some delicious feedback. I crave it.
Please consider supporting me on Patreon to get access to 5 advanced chapters of this story (and more to come) and others too. Like ReplyReport Reactions:Dwooly, Evolution lover, Mabubujengue and 196 othersNneeilJun 5, 2026Add bookmarkView discussionThreadmarks 7 — Don't Rush the Entrance into Hell View contentNneeilNot too sore, are you?Jun 8, 2026Add bookmark#747 — Don't Rush the Entrance into Hell
I realized I'd gone a little far in my blitzkrieg assault on her sensibilities with all those potentially triggering responses.
Maybe Damien did secretly have dreams of a fight club, riding a motorcycle, working a job that was ill-suited to him. After all, everyone had to have had something they'd like to do and didn't get around to actually doing.
Perhaps all of those desires were floating around somewhere inside of him and now, after a lifetime of indoctrination that forced his gender to stay shut up in a bubble and had that mind in isolation, the renegade was getting an opening of daylight.
Although, to be honest, I found a perverse enjoyment in all of this. I wasn't simply replying in accordance to Damien's hypothetical thoughts, or only trying to get a specific reaction. These answers were coming to me on their own. My mind didn't tell my mouth, 'tell Valeria the words'. I would've been mortified otherwise. No. My lips and tongue made the choice themselves, almost spontaneously, and I went with them.
'You just find it amusing messing up their perceptions, is what is happening, don't you?'
Perhaps, but I wasn't doing it solely out of mere sadism.
I had no intention of behaving according to what she expected of me, whether in terms of being a proper man or a normal male, or what she assumed the values and ideals would've been in a universe filled with those same 'distressed males' and where men were mostly sheep to the slaughter.
I'd merely stated and responded to her question exactly how I'd wanted to. In no way would my behavior align with what was the norm.
I shook my head. "Nothing, really. Am I making you uncomfortable, Valeria?"
"Not at all!" The denial was so rushed it was downright implausible. "It's... unexpected, is all."
Unexpected was an understatement, judging from how her face was nearly white.
"Oh, don't look like that. I'm probably just exaggerating. If I had the opportunity and the freedom to start a fight club in a seedy back alley downtown or in the living room, I'm not even sure I'd want to." I chuckled lightly. "This is just the effect you're having on me, being so beautiful and all."
Valeria nearly dropped the cup.
"S-stop!" She uttered a moan of frustration. "Are you always like this with people you first meet? Say stuff that's..." She trailed off, wrenching her police hat and covering her face with it. "I'm an officer on duty, you can't just say these things. You can't. You can't."
"Alright, alright." I leaned back, tidying up the mess we made and stacking up our plates and cups. I've worked as a waiter. The habit to clean up after customers was still deeply ingrained. "I'll be a good boy from now on. I promise."
A pause. I waited. She slowly lowered the cap from her face, her moderately rosy as she squeezed every drop of formal training and composure into her system. "I—" Her smartphone vibrated stubbornly, and a look of intense reluctance spread across her features. "—have to get back to work."
"I'll walk you out." I replied, gathering our trash and throwing it into a nearby bin. I could sense eyes and ears all over the café's interior as Valeria straightened out her uniform. When I glanced over at our former table, the flustered waiter was cleaning it at mach-2 with an expression of religious fervor on her face.
She glanced at me, surprised to see I was staring right at her.
I waved a hand, muttering a soft 'thank you, bye'.
She bit her bottom lip so hard I thought she'd rip it off. "G-Good bye, thank you." She murmured back, her hand caught in an awkward, jerking motion. It was kind of cute, because she had been cleaning the table with a cloth, and used that very same hand to wave back, bobbing it like a pon-pon.
I chuckled. The waitress, realizing it as well, giggled.
Valeria glanced at me in an unusual manner. "You're dangerous." She muttered.
And then we were out in the open air.
As Valeria stepped into her car, she looked reluctant. She turned to me, forlornly.
"Uhm, could I see your phone...?"
"Hmm...? My phone?"
"It's... for safety. And communication. I have to give you my number. Just in case." She explained in an uncertain and bashful way.
"Oh, it's for my safety, Valeria?"
"Yes, it's for your safety."
"Sure." I tossed her my phone. "Don't take too long. I might call you in the middle of work or in the middle of the night."
"Haah?"
"Joking. Joking. As you said, this is merely for safety measures and nothing else, right?"
"Y-Yes. I swear to God, no matter what..." She punched her number in after some clumsy navigation, handed me my phone and gestured awkwardly with the cap. "Thank you for the coffee and chat... and for tolerating the inappropriateness. Really... thank you."
Tolerating the inappropriateness. Is this how it feels to date a female in the days of yore when you couldn't touch their elbows or sit next to them until you marry them?
"No worries. The coffee was excellent, and you are a lovely individual, Officer. Oh, if it's not too much trouble. I can ask you for a favor?"
"Yes, Damien. As long as you're not asking for criminal favors."
"As much of a saint as you are, I can't imagine you giving those away unless under extenuating circumstances, or unless I paid for those with my body." I offered her an indulgent smile, and her eyes went momentarily wide at the prospect of actually taking payment through my body in a very inappropriate way. "Could you drive me back home? It's just a minute or two out of your way. Unless you're going in the other direction, then nevermind."
There was a split second of silence before she immediately recovered and offered. "Of course. Hop in."
I smiled brightly as I got in. "I'm getting arrested, how exciting. Can you turn the siren on?"
"Don't tempt me. Do you always crack jokes like this?"
"Who says I'm joking? Please, turn it on?"
"Absolutely not."
"But..."
"There will be none of that—"
I lightly picked her cap, which had been tossed aside when she entered the driver seat, and placed the hat on my head, fingers expertly pinching the bridge like a real professional, and stared at her. I didn't say anything, but my luminous, blinking eyes and the miniscule tilt of my head was enough.
Valeria visibly gulped, stared, gulped again, and couldn't tear her gaze off my form. "You... are very pretty." She mumbled with some difficulty. Her voice was lightly trembling, hands tightening around the steering wheel, her breathing a wheeze away from a heart attack.
Pretty? I didn't want to be pretty. I wanted to be handsome. And while both words could mean the same thing, you're more likely to use 'pretty' on a flower. Who'd ever call a flower handsome?
I still didn't say anything and just nodded slowly with an innocent, obligatory, bright smile. I had this intuition Valeria would get increasingly uncomfortable the more I stretched this silence.
So, I just continued staring.
"Damien, please... I can't concentrate."
As if on cue, when she tried to start the engine and peel out of the curb, her car made a violent sputtering sound, lurched forward, and promptly gave up.
Valeria bit a cry as the car unceremoniously stalled.
"Oh, it stalled."
"..."
She gritted her teeth.
"Can you turn it on for me, Valeria? Just one minute."
"F-F-Fine!"
The severe thin line of her mouth had turned into a funny wavering 'S' as she averted her gaze, shifted gears correctly, and pressed a tiny button on a rectangle box next to her steering wheel, and the red-blue lights began flashing, accompanied by a deafening whining sound.
I grinned.
She winced.
The drive was longer than I imagined it would. Looking at the speedometer, we were going 20-mph. I didn't say anything, and just looked out of the window, while she bit her lips, mumbling inaudible things.
She didn't take a peek at me, focusing her gaze only on the road and whatever was in front of her. I looked around the car, curiously. There were many interesting buttons and gadgets.
Valeria was still driving in a state of nervousness.
"If you keep driving like that, you might get stopped by another police officer for speeding, Officer Valeria."
Of course, it was a joke. She was going at a pace slower than the city's cyclists, with the way people rode their bikes on these busy streets. The only reason other cars weren't honking was that those vehicles recognized this vehicle as a police car.
She coughed, her foot lightly pressing the accelerator, and turning the 20-mph on the display, into a slightly higher 25-mph.
And even then, the cop still looked stiff and nervous.
Her knuckles were completely white against the wheel as she struggled to get us to the Winters estate.
"Right there, thank you." Eventually, I pointed to one of the numerous large white villas of the area.
Valeria stuttered for a few moments before parking the vehicle next to the walkway leading to the gate. She was so damn nervous the wheel nearly climbed the curb.
She reminded me of my first time driving a hot chick around in the privacy of my 2003 Nissan Sentra.
Ah, the memories.
I had been so nervous I kept thinking 'what if I screw up and drive into a ditch? What will she think of me?' There's something attractive about a man who could confidently take the wheel, and get both himself and a passenger to their destination safely, right? Or suavely parallel park while delivering some charming chatter as he flawlessly managed to get into a tight spot.
'Curious that the tables are reversed.' I thought idly. 'What an inversion of sex roles.'
The loud siren naturally attracted the eyes of a number of curious passers-by, including my family, who seeing the police vehicle parked right in front of the driveway had some rather amusing reactions.
Hurried steps approached. The doors swung open in unison. Willow and Freya were the first to come out. Then followed Iris and Ivy, who both had a worried expression etched onto their faces. Calista was nowhere in sight.
"Damien! What happened?! Are you alright?!" My mother shouted as she rushed to my side. Her eyes were wide with panic and her features taut as she took in the sight of the police car, the flashing lights, and me, stepping out of the passenger side.
Her mind was already concocting a dozen worst-case scenarios.
"I'm fine, Mom. Relax." I said, with an airy wave of dismissal. "Officer Valeria here was just giving me a lift."
Willow's panicked gaze flickered between me and the stern-faced officer who was now getting out of the car. The relief on her face was palpable, but it was quickly replaced by a deep-seated suspicion. "A lift? From the police?"
"It's not what it looks like." I said, my tone laced with a hint of amusement.
"A cashier at the café fainted." Officer Valeria explained, her professional demeanor back in place, though she still avoided direct eye contact with my mother. "I was on the scene and took Damien's statement. Since he was alone, I deemed it safest to provide him with transportation home."
Freya crossed her arms as she looked the officer up and down. "How... considerate of you."
"I'm just doing my job, ma'am."
"Yes, of course." Freya's tone was flat.
"Anyway, thank you, officer. You really saved me the walk." I smiled at Valeria.
The effect was immediate. Her stern expression softened, just a fraction. "It was... no trouble at all."
I offered another small smile and the officer gave a curt nod, and without further words of farewell or pretense, she was climbing back into her patrol car and driving off, the sirens mercifully silent.
Oh, she forgot her cap. 'Guess it's mine now... unless she wants it back. Nah, it's mine for sure.'
"Damien, you..."
Willow didn't know whether to laugh or sigh. I supposed this whole chain of events looked quite insane if someone were to peck at it with no previous background information, context, or even awareness of the circumstances involved.
Freya, Iris, and Ivy all stared at me as if I'd sprouted an extra nose.
"What?"
I stared back unflinchingly, tipping my police hat in my favorite Aunt's direction, before glancing at my mother and sisters and beginning to ascend the porch.
"Damien?"
Willow called out again, backed up by Freya this time, who wore an uncharacteristic frown. Well, I'd say 'uncharacteristic' because Auntie was hardly ever anything other than gleeful, at least as far as I could tell, anyway.
"Yes?"
I turned towards them.
"We..." Willow struggled to get the words out, briefly reminding me of Valeria. "I think we need to talk about your... behavior."
"And why's that?" So fast? I've been expecting something like this ever since I awoke in this reality, but for my mother to have picked up on such an evident aberration of society norms and take the first step to interrogating me within hours, ah.
This is why you take baby-steps, Damien! Don't rush your entrance into hell. They will take things into their own hands and come crashing down the walls of the proverbial Rome before you do a damn thing!
"You're different, and your sudden change of behavior is making everyone nervous, darling, including me, and it might—"
"Mom, chill out." I shot Willow a small smile. "Why don't we discuss this later, once I freshen up. You can bring up any and all of these concerns with me. Maybe even the girls can add a few inputs to their list too. Alright?"
Willow frowned at this suggestion. "No, I don't believe I can wait any longer. You will—"
"Sure." Freya immediately jumped in, as if expecting this response from me. "We're still here all morning, in the kitchen, Damien. Take your time." She rested her hand on her sister's shoulder and gave her a reassuring pat.
She sighed, looking deeply reluctant, but relented to my wishes in the end.
It was amazing how the dynamics of authority and submission changed whenever these two were together.
Mother was the first in command. Second, Auntie Freya. Though to what extent these roles overlapped and whose power could supersede the other, or by what criteria these roles were decided, I had no idea.
I figured I was the last in this pyramid, with all decisions taken for me.
Not that I cared that much either way. All in due time. All in due time.
I walked up the steps, gently ruffling Ivy's and Iris' hair along the way, and finally vanished from their sights.
A/N: My newest original story. I think that with this, Keep it in the Family, and Shota Isekai, I should've hit my limit, so I'll try rotating between them. Hopefully, I don't get any more inspirations for original stories. That being said, if you'd like to see this updated more regularly, give me some delicious feedback. I crave it.
Please consider supporting me on Patreon to get access to 5 advanced chapters of this story (and more to come) and others too. Like ReplyReport Reactions:Dwooly, Evolution lover, Mabubujengue and 170 othersNneeilJun 8, 2026Add bookmarkView discussionThreadmarks 8 — Women Are Dangerous View contentNneeilNot too sore, are you?Jun 11, 2026NewAdd bookmark#898 — Women Are Dangerous
Willow
This had not been the response she'd expected.
Willow was surprised by just how much her own voice was strained, as if her vocal cords had constricted in protest of her attempted speech.
"He doesn't even ask what it is about. He just..." She muttered, lost.
Her sister placed a warm, slender palm across her shoulder and gave a comforting pat, glancing at Willow with a smile. "Be glad he's healthy and fine and unhurt, Will. Isn't that more important than having his usual sullen attitude back and a couple questions to answer?"
"It's not just that. You can't seriously—"
"There's no need to be this unnerved. Please, you'll stress your poor heart out, worrying so much over nothing. We'll figure things out and help him along if we have to. Nothing happened; he's okay, so let's focus on that first. Maybe he's going through his period or something; you know how males are."
"That's... true." Willow conceded, perhaps to convince herself it was.
But, she knew the signs, and there were plenty of them. It was easy to overlook these inconsistencies when things were at their best, but in these new circumstances and after careful contemplation...
Well, the truth was something was seriously off with Damien. She couldn't be sure just what.
And that's how Willow found herself seated across her sister and anxious, waiting for Damien to join them in the living room. "Girls, go to your rooms please. Freya and I need to have a private discussion with Damien." She heavily underlined the word 'private' with a pointed stare.
Her daughters looked at each other.
"But Mom—" Iris began. "We just want to make sure he's okay."
"We all want to make sure he's okay." Willow said, her tone firm but not unkind. "Which is why Freya and I need to talk to him alone. Without any distractions. We'll call you if we need anything."
"But we're family!" Ivy protested, her small fists clenching at her sides. "We have a right to—"
"Ivy." Freya's voice was soft, but it effectively silenced the girl, and made her shift uncomfortably, looking away. "Listen to your mother."
The command, gentle as it was, was absolute. Ivy's shoulders deflated.
"...yes..." It was less a statement of acceptance, and more a quiet sigh.
Still, even this much was enough. The younger ones acquiesced and went, though slowly.
Now all that remained were two women, sitting in a large living room, awaiting the arrival of their one, remaining man. Willow's shoulders were slightly hunched in her chair as if braced for some physical impact. Mothering three girls had been no simple task, but Damien... raising a boy in this world felt like raising a rare flower that might wilt at a harsh word or a sudden change in temperature.
Willow's fingers traced the rim of her untouched teacup. Her thoughts drifted back nearly 20 years to that sunny, late June day in 2005, when the nurse had handed her the ultrasound printout with the same reverence and emotion with which one might reveal a long-sought-for, momentous answer to the grand mystery of existence.
Only, it was just an image of her unborn son.
"A boy." The doctor had said, as happy as she was. "Congratulations, Willow. The odds were... astronomical."
Astronomical indeed. With each attempt at artificial insemination—three before her daughters, the fourth for Damien—she'd faced the same probability equations and statistical improbabilities. Around a 5% chance. Abysmal odds, but way better than today's average.
And how many women would willingly go through those invasive, emotionally draining and exhaustive procedures knowing it was a roll of the dice?
Over 20 pregnancies just to get lucky. This was how it felt to try to conceive a male.
Willow had been extremely lucky to have a son. And Damien himself had been an exceptionally easy birth, no complications whatsoever.
Her 'miracle child,' her perfect boy—what greater joy could any woman possibly want to have?
That's right. Nothing.
She beat the odds. In fact, she broke the odds, smashed them to pieces. To give birth to a boy, and one beautiful enough to set a new standard.
"Willy?" Freya's voice nudged her out of her reverie and made the woman look up. "What are you thinking so hard about?"
Willow blinked, turned back around, and shook her head with a fond smile. "Nothing, nothing. Just... thinking of the old days... I never realized Damien has grown up so fast. Has it really been two decades already...?"
"Ah, it certainly feels like just yesterday when he first opened his eyes, doesn't it?"
Freya nodded, arms crossed; she had been there from the start.
"Truly, and now I've no clue where the time flew. What did we do for the past decade...? Sit by him, watch over him? Care for him, day and night, so afraid to break him if we just touched him or held him?"
"I remember being incredibly reluctant to do either." Freya chuckled at the recollection. "Your daughters are lovely, dear, but nothing can compare to a son's charm."
"Do I hear bias in your voice, Freya?"
Freya's lips curled in an insouciant smirk, not giving any more replies to Willow's musings as the sound of light, carefree footsteps echoed through the hallway and soon thereafter appeared in the living room.
Damien, after what seemed like an entire eternity to Willow, showed himself. He came into the room dressed casually, taking a chair and looking as fresh as if he had been ready for some light stroll outside or reading a book in his room, rather than getting dressed for an imminent inquisition.
Willow opened her mouth and held her breath as her son smiled a beatific, benign little smile at her and Freya before taking his seat, settling like a marble statue.
She exhaled through her lips, then coughed to cover up an impending stutter of words.
'Ask him. What you need to know. Ask him now before your throat clamps shut.'
She clenched and unclenched her fingers around the tea cup, making it clink lightly on its dish.
Damien hadn't been the same, and he continued not to be. Not only were there some obvious differences that one could observe by staring at him for a little bit longer than they were used to, but there were a dozen subtler, internal differences, too.
It required a careful dissection only a family member would be able to make.
The way he stood, his gait and body movements, the manner and cadence of his speech, the frequency and use of inflection when he spoke to others.
Things, normal as they were, were, by all accounts, not normal with him. And most importantly, he seemed unaware, or pretended to be unaware of it, or just didn't care.
But his current, unchanging, tranquility was worrisome.
Her eyes met Freya's, who seemed to urge her with a slight tilt of her head to go for it.
"Damien."
"Hmm?" He murmured pleasantly, offering his full attention. His gaze rested squarely, comfortably, on her.
Usually, he'd have difficulty meeting his mother's eye. Usually, the focus of his stare tended to hover above her shoulders or somewhere to her left. That insecurity was absent from him. He was unreserved, unhurried... and entirely unafraid.
His lack of discomfort wasn't the only change, either.
For example, his smiles had a slightly different tint to them than the smiles Damien had given before. Where the boy's smiles had been shy and uncertain, this young man's smiles seemed almost smugly ironic, like an adult grinning indulgently while someone told a very bad joke.
Willow managed an exhausted sigh. 'Will you please just...' She sucked her bottom lip nervously between her teeth and cleared her throat again. "Damien..."
"Yes?"
"You have to... you have to understand, I'm... we are… worried about you, okay?"
He seemed unmoved by this admission, nodding imperceptibly. "Okay."
"Could you not be this nonchalant?" She snapped. "Damien, do you have any clue just what... oh, Freya, tell him something too." Willow's desperation to make this conversation work was so obvious one could nearly see her wrestling against thin air. "Don't just stare. Please, do something, or just talk..."
Her sister made a wry face.
Willow fixed a hard stare upon her, but Freya responded to that, not with apologies or explanations, but by casting aside any thoughts or hesitations that might have lingered, and entering the conversation with full gusto.
"Damien, what your mother is failing to say, because she is both tongue-tied and apprehensive, is that there are things she noticed, and most likely we did too, except it would have been very disrespectful of us to say anything to you, let alone push you into giving an explanation. Your recent change of behavior and actions, while not something to be deemed a problem immediately, are definitely concerning to a large degree."
A long, drawn-out pause.
Damien let it hang in the air without apparent care.
Freya gave him a small, disarming smile. The gesture was an attempt to disarm any defenses, to soften him up for a confession.
"We're your family, Damien. We're just concerned. And we're not trying to get you in trouble."
"I never thought you were, Auntie." Damien smiled. "You're too nice and caring for that."
"Well, I'm glad you think so."
Willow stared at her son. She wasn't quite sure whether he was playing dumb or being sincere.
"So, you'll tell us the reason behind your peculiar actions?"
"Certainly." Damien's smile fell into a thoughtful line. "You see, there really isn't... a reason."
Willow's eyebrows furrowed. She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it.
'Nothing to talk about?'
She wondered what on Earth had gone so terribly wrong that her son was being evasive, even dismissive.
'There's definitely something wrong with him!'
She could hardly keep herself from jumping up and screaming in frustration.
"Damien." The woman sighed. "It's not a joke. You know, you must know, that we're all aware something is—"
"Of course, Mother. But I still can't fathom why you would need an explanation or, rather, what it is exactly you want an explanation for as there are no particular incidents or concerns worth mentioning."
"Well, first and foremost, your attitude."
"My attitude is perfectly normal."
"No, it's not. It's completely out of character for you, and you know it."
"If my attitude was perfectly normal, as you put it, wouldn't that imply I was behaving the way you expected me to?"
"Well... yes. Yes, it would." Willow blinked.
"Then, I'm glad I've surpassed your expectations."
"No, no, no. No, you're not. You're not doing anything correctly. You're not behaving the way a person of your..." She trailed off.
"Gender?" Damien supplied, raising an eyebrow.
Willow paused. "... well, yes. I mean, no, not that. That's not what I was going to say."
"Were you going to say age, perhaps?"
"No, but—"
He tilted his head, crossed his legs, and stared at her patiently, almost amusedly.
She struggled to maintain a straight face, her hands clenching into fists before finally, she threw her hands up in a helpless gesture. "D-Damien, you just came home with a police officer and didn't act embarrassed, or even nervous."
"And why would I have to be nervous? Valeria was a very pleasant woman." Damien's tone was conversational, and the fact he'd just referred to a police officer by her first name sent an icy chill down Willow's spine.
There was no wariness in his eyes. No sense of unease or even discomfort. And that was scared Willow the most, in a sense. That absolute lack of caution, like a capybara sitting on a crocodile's head, completely unconcerned, unaware of how close to danger they are.
Valeria was a police officer. More importantly, she was a woman. A strange woman.
And Willow knew that any sane, functioning woman wouldn't pass up the very same opportunity Officer Valeria was just blessed with; and if the latter had any wits to her, she'd have already exchanged numbers and promised to keep in touch.
Freya frowned as well, and to see the always grinning Freya frowning was enough for Willow to know her own expressions weren't far from being as grave.
"Damien... do you remember what we talked about?" Freya began. "About the dangers of strangers. About the difference between women and men? About the fact you can't be careless when interacting with other people, and that, especially when talking to other women, you must exercise the utmost caution."
"Women make up over half the population." Damien shrugged again, sounding as exasperated as Willow herself was, as if for some reason their respective logic was clashing on a different wavelength of thought processes. "I can't avoid talking to them. That would be counter-productive. If anything, it would make me an outcast. Besides, both you and Mom are women. I'm speaking with you right now, aren't I? Does that mean you are both dangerous, or that I should run away and hide in my room and lock the doors?"
"No, but there's a world of difference between our relationship with you and the relationship you should have with others." Willow intervened tiredly. "Damien, don't you understand what we're getting at?"
"Well, you seem to be suggesting that women are a danger."
"We're not saying your life is directly in danger, but you should be aware of how special your existence is to them." Freya insisted, clasping her hands together. "At least, they could be a potential danger to you, Damien. Desperate women are dangerous. Especially when you're a male who is as beautiful and rare and..." She trailed off, but she got her point across more than enough.
"Thank you, but one day aren't I supposed to fall in love and get married?"
That seemed to stump both Willow and Freya.
He calmly beheld both of them.
"Yes." Freya eventually replied, a little shakily. "Yes, of course. But not until you are older... and I'm surprised you would even want to talk about these things. You always said you'd be single for life."
Willow remembered that as well, and she was perfectly fine with it—if that was how Damien wished to live. As much as that would deny another woman's happiness, and a statistical loss that society could scarcely afford.
It was, objectively, a tragedy.
But Willow had never been able to bring herself to say so out loud. Because to Damien, she suspected, framing his entire existence as a resource to be allocated would not land particularly well.
And she was probably right about that.
"Life's only worth living if you have someone to share it with, isn't that true?"
Damien did this unnervingly sexy little shrug. Freya's lips clammed shut.
Willow looked at her son, her mouth agape. She was stunned.
What had happened?
A/N: My newest original story. I think that with this, Keep it in the Family, and Shota Isekai, I should've hit my limit, so I'll try rotating between them. Hopefully, I don't get any more inspirations for original stories. That being said, if you'd like to see this updated more regularly, give me some delicious feedback. I crave it.
Please consider supporting me on Patreon to get access to 5 advanced chapters of this story (and more to come) and others too.
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Willow
"Damien, you're not seeing anyone, are you?"
She didn't know what she'd do if he'd ever lied to her. What she'd do if he did have some secret love affair hidden away in the folds of his life that none of them were aware of.
But the words she did utter did not, at any point in her mind, even begin to carry that particular possibility. And neither was she prepared for the possibility.
"Mom, how long do you think I could keep a secret from a house of women? You've monitored me since the day I was born, literally."
Willow's mouth opened, then closed.
The question had been meant as a trap, or at least, a gentle probe dressed as one.
And he'd just dissected it so calmly, as if the nature of the question itself was ridiculous on many levels.
"No." She said finally, more to herself than to him. "No, of course not. You're right."
"I usually am." He replied. Not smugly. Not even arrogantly, but with that playful lilt that denoted he wasn't really meaning it.
Freya made a sound that could have been a cough or a laugh, depending on which direction you were listening from.
Willow shot her a sharp look. Freya examined her fingernails with great interest.
"Damien." She leaned forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees, her eyes fixed on him with a directness she rarely deployed. She was a patient woman. Had always been. But her patience was being choked, hung by a rope, struggling not to collapse from the pressure. "I am your mother. I've known you since before you knew yourself. I have watched you sleep. I have watched you eat, and cry, and read, and sulk, and dream out loud when you thought no one was listening. I know every version of you that has ever existed in this house. And the version sitting in front of me right now—"
She stopped.
He waited.
"—is not the one I saw in bed last night."
Damien regarded her for a long moment.
"People change, Mom." He said. "Isn't that supposed to be a good thing?"
"Not overnight."
Definitely not overnight. She could understand change, but such a drastic one? In the span of less than 24 hours? What had really happened? That was what she was worried about.
"Maybe I was overdue. Or maybe I've long been this way, and just... didn't want to disappoint you..."
"Damien..."
Willow swallowed, rubbing her mouth.
Freya uncrossed and recrossed her legs. "Son." Her voice was stripped of its usual playful lilt. "No one in this room is accusing you of anything. And no one here wishes to make you feel cornered. But your mother is not wrong. You have been... different. And yes, you could've hidden this from us, but isn't it too much a seismic change, dear? This morning you had a mental breakdown of sorts, then you took your shirt off in the living room. Then you brought a police officer to our home. And now you speak of falling in love as if it's the natural, ordinary next step of the equation. When we know very well that for most people, marriage is a choice made well into adulthood. And that choosing one's partner isn't done on a whim, nor is it something men would even think while in their twenties. You've always frowned at that thought. Surely, you understand how concerned we are...?"
"You might as well just give us some warning, Damien." Willow spoke, sighing.
"Yes. Something, anything..." Freya pleaded.
He regarded them quietly.
"What if there isn't an explanation?" Damien leaned forward as well and rested his elbows on his knees, mirroring Willow's posture with such precision that she momentarily forgot what she'd been about to say. "What if I just... woke up... and decided to finally be myself?"
"Woke up." Willow repeated, numbly.
Freya looked at him. "Be yourself..."
"Yes." He nodded.
"Damien, that's not—"
"I mean it literally, Mom. I had a long nightmare, opened my eyes, and decided that spending the rest of my life being afraid of my own reflection was a waste of a perfectly good face." He said it like he'd switch from tea to coffee. A minor lifestyle adjustment. Barely worth the conversation. "Was that the wrong call? Being myself."
Willow opened her mouth.
Closed it.
The infuriating part wasn't what he said. It was how he said it.
The Damien she was used to would have apologized three times before she finished her sentence.
Would have looked at the floor.
Would have agreed with whatever conclusion she reached, not because he had no opinions of his own, but because having them out loud had never seemed worth the effort to him.
This one was looking directly at her.
Not defiantly. Not with any of the theatrical rebellion she might have braced for from one of the girls at his age, but with a direct honesty.
He had never spoken like this before, like he was the one waiting for them to make sense.
Willow rubbed her temples as she turned the possibilities, and her thoughts, around and around her head, until a loud throbbing took root.
Finally, she drew a breath.
"Let's forget, for a moment, that I can't fathom why the philosophy behind all that involves denuding yourself in front of your family and displaying uncharacteristic familiarity with an unknown police officer." She spoke quietly, staring at her tea-cup. "The truth is, Damien, I'm just not sure it's an appropriate action for you to think your actions would, automatically, not cause some worry in other people who live under the same roof. When those very same actions might be perceived as rude, improper, and very, very inappropriate. It's like you turned on and off a switch with no regard for anything else. Maybe you can, maybe you have, but we as your family members... we can't."
Was it too early to have this discussion? She didn't know. She saw a problem and she wanted to deal with it, as soon as possible.
"I'm sorry."
The apology came so instantaneously that she actually didn't catch what he'd said. "What…?"
"I'm sorry… for causing concern, Mom." Damien said, looking genuinely apologetic. Or perhaps not, and this was another subtle change in personality. A mere formality to get a mother's worries out of the way. "I wasn't feeling well. I was confused and absent-minded. It won't happen again, I promise."
Willow and Freya blinked, momentarily taken aback by how quickly he was to apologize, the sincerity or lack thereof aside.
Then he continued...
"Just, I mean, I admit I didn't handle today well. It was a combination of things. I wasn't in my right headspace, and..." He paused. "I want you to not to expect me to behave same way I did in the past."
"..."
A few seconds passed as Willow and Freya looked at each other, clearly reading the same thing in each other's eyes.
It was a delicate situation, and she figured she'd take a wait and see approach. The kid had apologized, promised he'd do better. Would his actions live up to his words?
"Alright..." The woman nodded, an index finger tapping pensively against her lips. "Just... don't do that anymore, alright. And be more aware that there are women under the same roof, and you being naked and acting... out of your boundaries is bound to cause misunderstandings, whether you intend them or not. I know you haven't had much experience outside the house, but take that same respect you have for us and use it elsewhere too, alright? Never show skin without good reason. No, even in that case, don't show it."
Her tone sounded like that of a stern mother giving advice on dating etiquette, yet this whole time her mind was busy calculating where the scale tipped. What constituted 'good' reasons and where would this new 'good reason' of his start.
Freya stared at Damien as well. Perhaps thinking the same thing as her sister.
But to her, 'being confused and absent-minded' felt like an excuse at best. The image of Damien was still clear.
His head tilted, exposing his pale, beautiful neck. The lean line of his collarbones leading, in a smooth slope, into his broad, but still well-defined shoulders and chest...
Freya closed her eyes for a moment. "As long as you understand, dear. We're not asking you to go back to who you were yesterday. We're asking you to give us time to catch up, and try not to do anything that would... cause unrest. Your mother and I are too young and still unmarried to have a heart attack."
A defusing laugh from both sides.
"Alright, it was a simple misunderstanding." Willow muttered. "Let's drop the topic for now."
As long as there were no consequences of note, best not to push any further.
They weren't going to force him to explain, or delve more into the issue, especially not with something so subjective, and the result would likely be the same even after a couple hours-worth of interrogation, especially since Damien appeared adamantly set upon using the 'I've always been like that' card, whether that was true or not.
Damien nodded as he quietly stood up. "I'll go back to my room, then. I'm feeling a little tired."
His smile was angelically charming.
Willow's gaze remained glued on him for a few moments, but she, too, relented eventually. "Yes. You do that, honey. I'll call you once we've got lunch ready. Be sure to come down later."
Freya and Willow both kept their thoughts private as they watched Damien head out of the living room.
They only spoke after Damien's light footsteps died away, along the hall, up the stairs, and toward his room.
"... That was better than expected, overall."
Freya broke the silence with a weak attempt at humor.
Willow massaged her throbbing temples with the thumb and forefingers of one hand. "You reckon, I have any cause to be worried about that boy?"
"Certainly, you do."
Freya sighed, gazing in the direction where Damien had left.
"But not, I would suppose, for the reasons you're worried about."
"..."
xXx
Damien
I didn't expect to be cornered this quickly, though that was to be expected. While I didn't have the original Damien's memories, it was easy to infer his life thus far hadn't been eventful in terms of close interactions with others, let alone incidents involving women.
So, they'd want an explanation.
The fact I offered one up immediately threw them off the trail and reassured them enough they could leave things for now without pushing any further.
When presented with a solution they preferred over the uncertainties the 'unusual change of behavior' suggested, people often leapt to it with open arms, at least as long as said explanation was within the realm of acceptability. Now, I just had to be careful not to overdo things.
If I mis-estimated and caused some huge scandal, the collateral would fall back on my own family too. Though, wouldn't that also be restraining myself? Reshaping and remolding my original self in line with this world's values.
Sensitively and prudently dealing with other women and all that.
Of course, 'sensitive' and 'prudently' weren't exactly my forte. And could I even pull off a convincing performance of the role of 'gentle, sensitive and bashful young man', especially one as pathetic as the original?
For a good 3-4 decades?
How faithfully could a wolf pretend to be a lamb?
Only, in this scenario, it would appear a young ram was being tutored by wolves to act like a dog.
"What now?"
I walked around the room, briefly scanning Damien's items.
Laptop, several game consoles, comic books, clothing, a few folders with what looked like school assignments, a guitar, notebooks with musical scores and handwritten notes, textbooks, paperclipped research materials for the research essay on English literature—
"Hmm..."
It was quite the room for a 19-year old in these conditions. God, did I have to go back to school? I could probably quit and pursue music or just laze around like some spoiled prince if I really put my heart into it.
I took off my shirt, this time within the sanctuary of my own private space. And stared at my body. Skinny, pale, unblemished. If I were a girl, I'd nod in approval at the face, but the physique wasn't something that'd inspire safety. Or much lust, at any rate. It had potential.
A lot of potential.
Even so, this physique wasn't complete shit, even with its thin, almost sickeningly feeble look and twigs for limbs.
Was this world one of reversed aesthetic ideals? Because the fuck if I'd understand what made someone ogle.
I certainly hadn't seen well-built women roaming the streets, and a quick look online told me that, thankfully, the general sense of aesthetic taste here wasn't totally brain-dead either.
Men with good bodies were appreciated by both sides here. Just that, most men, owing to the highly selective environment and the female-biased circumstances that shaped everything, weren't in great shape at all. They didn't have to be.
While, on the contrary, women had to constantly make an effort and invest their time and money to look more 'beautiful' and 'alluring'.
So, the average woman tended to be way more attractive than the average male.
You'd be hard pressed to find a shabby-looking woman, unless she had totally given up on life. Whereas the male version was entirely justified. After all, just being a breathing human male counted as a big success, right?
Of course, my aesthetically pleasing-appearance-oriented mindset made me jot a note in the mind-screen.
> Note - Set 1st priority: Frequent exercise, along with dietary and other proper methods to gain a healthy, well-developed body as early as possible.
I grinned, hitting that Zyzz pose in the mirror.
It was time to get these dormant muscles of mine pumping some sweet, hot, testosterone-rich blood.
'In fact, why don't I start right now?'
Gotta squeeze that burst of motivation dry.
Please consider supporting me on Patreon to get access to 5 advanced chapters of this story (and more to come) and others too. Like ReplyReport Reactions:DeathShade, Dwooly, Evolution lover and 141 othersNneeilJun 17, 2026Add bookmarkView discussionThreadmarks 10 — Overcoming Differences View contentNneeilNot too sore, are you?Jun 21, 2026NewAdd bookmark#11710 — Overcoming Differences
With the money I had, I found myself wondering whether to sign up at a gym. 'Would I be allowed?'
Fuck the 'preservation laws' or whatever they called them. My experience so far with this society and these laws had only left me bemused, at best, and completely revolted at worst. So, maybe I was a bit rebellious when it came to this whole setup.
Okay, so I was a hell lotta rebellious.
But this was such a primitive, almost tyrannical approach towards a problem which was entirely contrived and imaginary, at best, or the fruit of the decades of bias. If I were to walk in on a female-dominated gym with my appearance and attitude and go nuts, wouldn't a few faints and near-death experiences from swooning women be, by far, the smallest problem I could've created?
Would anyone raise an objection over something as natural as people wanting to maintain a healthy figure, anyway?
Perhaps a private one with male-only sections would do the trick, if I could find one.
Or I could even just build one in here. After all, the house had plenty of spare rooms and a big yard. There had to be enough space for a small, private gym.
But fuck it, wouldn't that be an absolute waste of time? Not to mention having to set up the machinery, I'd have to deal with questioning looks and all the commotion from having all those heavy equipment delivered.
It was faster and easier to just walk into a good gym and do my own exercises and all that shit.
If I were to consider this choice as an actual, reasonable one, which was the current option that would get the job done at the least cost and the most efficiency, then it was the only choice I had. A quick Google search gave me a list of nearby gyms that were well within my walking distance.
Though nothing came up about male-only gyms; well, there was one, but it was too far out. The only one in this state, from the looks of it.
...
I believed that it was a universal thing to check yourself out in the mirror after your first workout session, as if your muscles would have grown instantly and turned bulging, rock-hard in an instant.
"Damien?"
Iris called out from behind my door as she knocked softly. "Lunch is ready. We're all waiting for you at the dining table."
"I shall make haste to descend presently and attend to my royal duty of food consumption. Lamentably, I fear that my physical attire does not currently allow me to do so appropriately."
She paused.
"... what?"
I blinked. "I'm getting dressed."
"Oh, uh, okay then!"
I didn't hear footsteps, so she was most likely still standing there.
"Hmm. Should I be worried you're going to peek, sis? The door's not locked. They keyhole's not even covered."
"... p-peek!? At what!? I'm going downstairs. Mom will be worried otherwise. S-so you'd better come down quickly!"
"Yeah, yeah, I heard. Thanks." I muttered, changing into a set of plain clothes.
I ran a hand through my hair, making faces at the mirror; I did it frequently, as if to confirm that this face was actually mine and wouldn't suddenly melt away like wax.
'My family must think I'm clinically insane, with how out of character I've been behaving.'
I stood there, for a moment, simply thinking.
I had no memories of them or the relationships I had with them. It was a little difficult for me to find a point of connection.
Their existence wasn't all that grounding, neither could I connect with their behaviors or understand their feelings or what they expected of me. And that left us where?
No memories or established relationships. That left me with the... less-than-satisfactory solution of 'making an attempt' to accommodate each.
It seemed so simple, yet impossible. Forging relationships and rearranging emotions and establishing boundaries and finding out what they liked or hated or tolerated.
At least in this world.
It was like taking a puzzle whose pieces you had never seen and then blindly arranging the bits together until something vaguely clicked into place. In that sense, I wished OG Damien left some memories behind, just so I could understand him a bit more, and my family, and the rest of the world at large.
Was I expected to be the kind that cooked and cleaned? A demure boy, a delicate flower, a middle finger to what a man is supposed to be.
Maybe my old life had made me a bit too jaded, making a comedy out of this new life.
Time to face the inquisition again, though.
...
I walked down the stairs, already hearing them all in a conversation—with my sisters aggressively voicing out their opinions on their favorite music genres and songs. Whatever had topped the music charts this week. Which celebrity had gotten into some sort of a scandal, and which other one was suspected to have a fling with yet another one.
'I am so ready to rip my ears off. Could they please get some better topics of interest...'
"Damien." Willow called out the moment I reached the bottom of the staircase. "How are you?"
Naturally, every single conversation at the dining table came to a halt, their eyes snapping to my direction.
The room felt unnervingly cold for the longest moment, everyone's expression unchanging. Iris was a little dazed, head slightly tilted on that beautiful, slender and so chokable axis as she watched me. 'Bad thoughts. Though considering the flipped gender roles, perhaps I'm the one who's going to be choked during sex?'
Ivy smiled the brightest, patting the seat next to her with obvious cheer.
Calista was absent. Given how her gaze wasn't as openly welcoming as her younger siblings, I figured that was for the best. Logically speaking, an estranged relationship wasn't something I looked forward to. I was already having issues figuring out these women, let alone someone who likely didn't see me in a positive light.
"I'm fine, thank you, Mom." I shrugged, placing myself where Ivy had shown me the empty spot. She gave a mischievous yet slightly victorious grin at Iris.
The dining table was set up nicely. An immaculate white cloth. Bright and shining silverware and plates. Expensive stuff, probably.
Good food. Nice arrangement. Everything in its right place. The aroma was inviting, too. This was my first real lunch with this family. Such a weird feeling, considering they were just a level above strangers to me, right now.
"You look better." Ivy offered, beaming.
"I feel better." I replied, which was true in the sense that I'd had time to think, and thinking, for me, had always been a more productive activity than panicking.
"We're all glad about that."
"Calista's not joining us?" I asked, genuinely curious, reaching for the nearest dish.
A brief pause.
"She had work." Willow said, piling food on his plate. "She sends her regards."
"Is that so...?"
My skepticism must've been evident.
Iris glanced at me.
Willow blinked. "Damien—"
I shrugged, unbothered. "It's fine."
Whether that was true or not, it was always wiser not to expect a warm reception from someone who had made no efforts to give a warm reception in the first place.
The way I saw it, the one who tries first loses.
That was logic.
And I had nothing to prove.
The problem was that I didn't know whether Calista hated me or it was something more complicated. I could handle complicated. Hatred and jealousy, potentially, could and would break families.
Willow, seeming to be trying very hard to take things slowly, and with grace. She was always graceful, I noted. Even when she was on the cusp of a mental breakdown.
Freya settled into the chair across from me with a glass of something that was definitely not water. "How was your morning, all things considered?" She asked, resting her chin on one hand as she watched me.
"Productive." I shrugged. "Learned a lot more about this city. The café on Meridian has excellent éclairs. The police response time is impressive, if a touch disproportionate."
I had to chuckle a little at that, because it was indeed impressive.
Willow stared at me over the rim of her coffee mug. Freya's brows crept ever-so-slightly upward.
I offered them a guileless smile.
"You caused a woman to faint." Willow said flatly.
"In the spirit of transparency, she caused herself to faint. All I did was raise a hand and say hello. Am I really at fault here?"
"Most definitely." Ivy giggled. I sent her a grin. Look at this mischievous little brat.
"Damien." Willow set her mug down with more care than the action required. "You can't just walk into a café alone. You know this."
Actually, I didn't.
"I did, though. So apparently I can."
"That's not what I—"
I rolled my eyes.
"Did no one care how I got there, and back in one piece without someone 'apparently'—" I had to air quote this shit. "Stalking me or anything. And, stay with me here, I'm not saying there aren't risks. I'm simply saying that none manifested this time. Which is why I plan to do it again, since, contrary to popular belief, I have discovered no imminent or acute threats to my person thus far." I drawled, making eye contact as I bit down on the steak. "God, this really is good."
Willow opened her mouth. I closed it. Looked at Freya for backup.
Freya was staring at her glass with great interest.
"Freya."
"Hmm?" She looked up, perfectly innocent.
"Help me."
"I'm thinking." Freya said, which was not the same thing.
Iris had been quiet through all of this. She was eating slowly. Every so often her eyes would move in my direction and then move away again before they'd been there long enough to count as looking.
"Iris." I said.
She looked up immediately. Couldn't help it.
"How's your food?"
A pause. "... good."
I smiled.
She went back to eating. The back of her neck was slightly pink, which the curtain of red hair almost, but not quite, covered.
Freya made that sound again into her glass. Willow sighed; I decided to extend an olive branch to the poor woman, as a gesture of my improved mood and goodwill. "I've decided to sign up to a gym, as well. Seems it might do me some good."
That, of course, sparked immediate reaction.
I didn't pay it too much mind as I tore into the rest of the steak and side dish.
"What did you just say, honey?"
Willow wasn't even bothering with pretense. Freya stared. Iris and Ivy's jaws dropped.
"A gym." I said. "It's a facility where people exercise. I'm told there's a decent one on Calloway."
"I know what a gym is, Damien."
"Then..."
Willow pressed two fingers to the bridge of her nose. "You can't go to a public gym."
"Why not?"
"Because—" She stopped. Started again. "Because it's not safe."
"For who?"
She blinked. "For you."
"I walked to a café this morning and back. I had coffee with a police officer. I returned here unscathed." I reached for my water. "My safety record is currently perfect."
"That's not—one morning isn't a sample size."
"It's a start."
I wondered how dangerous an hypothetical scenario the likes Willow was conjuring, actually really was.
Forgive me, for I still had my own mindset. Men easily overpowered women, though that could possibly not be the case here. Yet I simply didn't fear either rape, sexual harassment, assault, nor kidnappings, among many others.
The notion itself, even if realistic here, was ridiculous and highly unlikely to me.
A woman kidnapping a man?
No, let's construct a better example.
A bunch of hot women, all sweaty from working out, all gathered up in a small space in tight-fitting clothes, with their big asses jiggling from squats and thick thighs shaking and breasts bouncing from jump-roping... all of them glancing towards this beautiful, irresistible virgin boy, converging threateningly around him, before taking advantage of that overwhelming physiology differences and fucking him senseless.
Then dragging his weak, pale ass somewhere for them to take turns to 'use' him—
Seriously, is this world fucking real?
In that sense, then, perhaps going to the gym was an absolute must if it turned out I was so much weaker than a woman, though I had to spare enough time to test that out—as much as I scoffed at the thought of it possibly being true.
While I didn't care about being sexually harassed, being seen as a little, compliant bitch was definitely not on my bucket-list.
Please consider supporting me on Patreon to get access to 6 advanced chapters of this story (and more to come) and others too. Like ReplyReport Reactions:Dwooly, Evolution lover, Mabubujengue and 135 othersNneeilJun 21, 2026Add bookmarkView discussionThreadmarks 11 — He's Really Good with His Fingers View contentNneeilNot too sore, are you?