The phone gives its second ring, and you’re paralyzed with indecision.
The call’s certainly not for you. If they’re calling Helen Morris, they must be expecting Helen Morris to answer. But Edna, her husband and Mr. Ferrell are still outside, and any one of them might stare while you’re changing. You could answer in her stead, but you don’t know anything about her – about either of them.
You check the phone in case it’s someone you know, but it’s not. In fact, it’s an “Unknown Caller”, though the area code is the same. Given her age, it’s probably either a scammer or someone selling her something, and you don’t have time to deal with it.
Thus, you let the phone ring until it stops and proceed to check further. You rummage through Helen’s room, checking for a blood sugar monitor, but you find a couple other things. For one, you find her purse, and inside a card that identifies her as Helen Morris, a 69-year-old woman. You haven’t checked her now but, after checking some of her older photos, she was never a looker – she had very long hair and large breasts and hips, but her face (Jesus!) was always on a perennial scowl even when she tried to laugh. It’s as if Droopy was a crossdressing man, to be honest. (And that’s being nice with her.)
You also noticed a strange phallic object in one of her drawers, closest to her bed. It was dry, but as you took a whiff, it still had a disgusting briny scent, telling you more than you wanted to know. You do notice the heavily bookmarked Bible with worn cover that was below the thing you were holding, and a couple of tracts scattered around – judging by what Edna said, it’s likely that the object you’re holding wasn’t owned by Helen Morris.
That can tell you only one thing. The creep you saw was posing as Helen, probably befriending Ashley to check on her. And he must’ve spent some time doing so, if he had to buy that to satisfy himself. You drop it and shake your hand, moving to her bathroom to clean it.
Edna’s right in a few things. The house feels less like a home and more like a shack. She has little to no jewelry (and what she has is rather simple), no makeup, and tchotchkes adorn her living room but those are the kind of things a woman her age would collect – little porcelain figurines of cherubs and larger figures of angels. That, plus the show on screen – a televised church service – tells you Helen was arguably a good woman, if not the most tolerant one.
And that creep just destroyed her life. The same way he wanted to destroy Ashley’s.
You find the blood sugar monitor and grab it as you unlock the door. You lean outside, trying to send them away. “I checked Helen – it's not a drop, but a spike. Someone must’ve given her the wrong kind of food. She’s alright, but she needs to rest.”
“Can I see her?” Edna asks, making you desperate.
“No, no...! Like I said, she needs some rest. She’s disoriented – I'll stay for a while and check her out.” You do recall you left Ashley’s keys at her house – and most importantly, the pen – and her door’s closed but not locked. “Did you see anyone getting in my house, by the way?”
“Didn’t see anyone,” Mr. Ferrell answered, following with something that could be a joke or a jab. “You expectin’ someone, young lady?”
“Edna said she saw someone moving around this house. It doesn’t seem like he stepped in, but I don’t want anyone inside my house.”
“Then go,” Edna demanded, “and let us keep an eye on her.”
“It’s alright!” you claim, trying to seal it with a timid smile and a dismissing wave. “I’ll just check her, maybe help her go to bed – you can probably see her when she’s feeling better.”
The middle-aged woman scowls at you – something Helen shares with her – and relents. “Fine. Tell us when she’s feeling better. Let’s go, Gerald.”
As they leave, Mr. Ferrell approaches you – with a rare, amused look on his face – and says between laughs. “Edna can’t live without learning about everyone’s life. Helen and I may have our issues, but the last thing I want is to sic that leech while she’s recovering.”
“I suppose she must be worried.”
“Or has the perfect excuse to ask her why you two are friends.” He pats you on the hand before moving away. “Call me if you need any help, dear. I’m always a couple steps away.”
“Sure... And thanks.”
“Anytime.” It’s strange to see this friendly side from old, crotchety Mr. Ferrell. Maybe he’s a lecherous creep and that’s why he’s treating Ashley well, but all you remember is mumbled orders and half-hearted attempts at courtesy whenever your dad asked you to help him.
With the coast clear, you check on Helen and how that creep left her. Deflated, she looks even more hideous – as if she choked on her own vomit, then someone tried to save her by sucking her around. The bags below her eyes keep the holes open, the cheeks drag her mouth down, and her gray hair is tussled to the sides, arguably where the creep grabbed to pull his face off. She’s fat, her breasts and hips suffering from the passage of time, and while at a distance she may seem asleep with her mouth open, up close she looks like a terrifying haunted house attraction.
After a couple minutes, you check for copies of her front-door key; finding none, you resolve to check and take the one from her keyring, shoving it inside your bra. You lock both the back and front doors before stepping into Ashley’s house, wary that Edna doesn’t intercept you on the way.
You check around, grabbing a knife from the kitchen in case someone has gotten inside. Fortunately, no one did, and when you check Ashley’s room, your clothes are still there, alongside the pen and the creep’s deflated skin. You still double-check, closing her door, and once everything’s clear, you set the knife aside and give yourself a good look in the mirror.
And just for kicks, you give yourself a little strip session. Taking off her skirt was so exhilarating, and being barefoot again (after struggling with pumps at all times except when you skipped the fence) was liberating. But it was when you unlatched the bra and saw how her breasts plopped off their restraints when you felt the greatest.
You’re so lucky to have this time for yourself. You’re even considering how lucky that creep must’ve been to get inside her. Those big, juicy breasts, and that peachy ass you just can’t help shaking, and that cheeky, sultry face of hers – and she’s posing before you on the mirror, fully bare and excited.
“Bet you haven’t seen someone like me before, sugar.” You tell yourself that only to hear Ashley’s alluring voice. You squeeze her – your – breasts, biting your lip while giving yourself a hungry look. You snicker, trying to sound aroused.
And it works, because you are getting aroused. The slit between your legs is starting to get moist and feely, with an itch you’re so desperate to scratch. You grab a nearby stool and shove your fingers in, resting your other arm on the vanity to see how it looks.
And after a little exploration, you hit the spot. You close your eyes, but when you open them, you see Ashley’s mouth slightly open and her cheeks blushing a bright red. You squeeze her breasts, and you notice her nipples have gotten rock hard – and the squeeze alone just flushes you with a hot flash. Soon, as you keep rubbing her glory hole, you feel your legs starting to shake, and your throat starts to gurgle and moan with pleasure.
“Oh God...!” The experience is so different you can’t even describe it. You could swear you came – either you jizzed or you pissed yourself, but something came from you. Oh, but that delicious feeling returns – pulsing, throbbing, never stopping. Your mind goes blank from all the jolts of emotion – you don’t want this to stop.
--
You’re no longer sure what time it is – and you simply don’t care. You want this to last forever.
Her lecherous face is engraved in your mind as an incredible memory. Her stool is wrecked with her juices and you can’t feel your legs, but you wouldn’t give this for anything.
You grab and fondle her breasts, enjoying the sensation. You’re seriously considering the idea of spending the rest of your life as this hot blonde, just for the opportunity of sleeping in her bed, in the nude, and replay this same sensation over and over. Hell – you have half a mind to just tell your family you’re going away, slip into Helen’s house and grab her thing, and just shove it up her pussy until the batteries ran out.
But why stop there? Why not find a big man with a huge dick so you can ride him--?
The casual slide of your hand on the creep brings you crashing back into reality. You’re no different than him. You’re even worse, because he never had the chance to do what you did. You basically defiled her, exactly as he was (arguably) trying to do.
You have to do something with Helen, though. She could make a good test in case people can’t return from being turned into skins. If she does, well, at least she can live the rest of her life safe and sound, since no one else will take over her body.
But if you wake Ashley up, you may never return to her again. And isn’t that a terrible thing to lose?
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