All-New Sloane Lone (Incomplete Second Draft)
Chapter 1
by SabrinaTVBand
The following is the incomplete second draft of a novel I was working on. Unfortunately, something happened in my life, I’m not even entirely sure what it was, that made me unable to write fiction. People who follow my non-erotic writing know that I still write a ton of non-fiction stuff constantly, and so I’m not really sure what happened.
Anyways, I’m still very proud of this [incomplete] draft. I had a lot of plans for a third draft, because I think this draft has too many fundamental mistakes baked into it. The biggest things I can identify are that the Mary and Janeane plotlines are underbaked and not necessary. I would also remove all the magic elements from the narrative.
Some of my best-ever writing is in here, and I hope you enjoy it.
Randy sighed. “So, before the end of my final lesson . . . how do you make money playing guitar?”
His guitar teacher stroked his beard. “Well, it’s not easy. Not anymore.”
Randy nodded. “I hope I can start coming here again, but my job at the convenience store is ending with the semester, and I don’t really have any money.”
The teacher nodded in turn. “I’m going to turn on a backing track. I want you to improvise with the harmonic minor scale.”
“But I can already do that.”
“You’re my last lesson for the day. We can talk longer.”
The teacher watched as Randy began to do some noodling. To anyone who couldn’t play guitar, Randy sounded like an impossibly good guitarist. To anyone who could really understand the instrument, Randy was quite a mediocre player, but at least he played cleanly and sometimes chose weird phrasings.
After checking his student’s progress, the teacher turned off the backing track. "You're doing great. You really have these modes down. You're the best improvisor I have."
"Thanks."
"But that's not what pays. You were asking me earlier about how you make money as a guitarist."
Randy nodded. Music was his life; Yngwie Malmsteen, Eddie Van Halen, Paul Gilbert, Steve Vai. These were his heroes. He didn't want to do anything else.
"If you want to make money, you have to become a session player. You need to be able to sight read music flawlessly, on the spot, no mistakes. Or you'll get blacklisted for fucking up a take in a session filled with expensive players, being paid by the hour."
Randy sighed. "But what about going on tour? Selling albums?"
"You won't. Not unless you join an established band. If you go on tour, I guarantee you'll lose money."
Randy looked down at the fretboard of his superstrat. The guitar teacher sighed as well.
"Look kid, the greedy assholes at the top have sucked all the money out of the music business. It's not the way it used to be, when anyone could make a living playing local gigs."
Randy leaned back in his chair. "Why is the world like this?"
The guitar teacher shook his head. "It kills me too. If you want to do something off the beaten path now, you need to make a fucking brand and shit. It's not about the music anymore." The guitar teacher then spoke in an almost conspiratorial tone. “Half naked women playing simple covers on youtube get more views than the actual musicians doing new things.”
Randy felt a little awkward hearing that last comment, but also it felt hard to deny; image mattered a lot. The two shared a brief pause before the teacher continued. "Just remember; any gig is worth considering."
. . .
Randy left the small soundproof room he’d been learning guitar in, and entered the larger guitar shop it was located in. Working at the counter was Helena. She had crimson hair and blue eyes, and notably to Randy, large breasts.
Randy walked up to the counter and put his guitar case on the floor. “Hi Helena. Did you have a good weekend?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow! That’s great! Can I have some strings please? The light gauge ones?”
Helena reached behind her and grabbed a pack of light gauge strings. “Let me ring this up quickly.”
“So, I, uh, was wondering . . . since I’m not going to be coming around here much anymore . . . would you like to maybe hang out sometime? Play guitar or something?”
Helena motioned to the card reader. “Maybe some other time.”
“Do you want me to give you my number?”
“. . . sure.”
Randy gave Helena his number, took his guitar strings, and then left the store.
_____
Randy sat at his desk. He was finishing up a dungeon in Gates & Griffins Online; it had been the better part of two hours since his group had entered the dungeon, and they’d managed to finally defeat the enormous boss at the end of it. They were now just killing a handful of small petty monsters before reaching the ending.
Randy sent a message to xXx_Love_Goddess_69_xXx over the chat. He’d been playing with xXx_Love_Goddess_69_xXx for years.
That was tough, but satisfying.
xXx_Love_Goddess_69_xXx replied.
I always feel so exhausted by the end of these things, but it usually feels like it was worth it. Anyways, I need to get some work done, I’ll ttyl.
Randy removed some new loot from his inventory into storage, and then turned off the game. He thought about masturbating, as he often did, but he wasn’t feeling it tonight. He was feeling a little stressed, and kind of depressed, and the boring art he usually looked at, vaguely anime-inspired but still completely vanilla, wasn’t going to change that.
He moved his office chair towards his guitar amp and picked up his favorite guitar.
Randy had to play quietly, of course, because he was in his studio apartment. It wasn’t far from the college he’d just graduated from. He’d managed to scrape enough credits to get a degree that, theoretically, could be useful someday. Randy had wanted to study music in school, but his parents refused to financially assist him.
Randy played his guitar mindlessly. He would never be able to play like his idols because he didn’t have the discipline or ability to power through speed building exercises. He played what he felt like playing, while his mind wandered in other directions.
Randy thought about how he’d probably have to get a real job, using that real degree he’d just earned. He couldn’t think of a worse fate.
Well, except for getting massively into debt because he couldn’t afford his rent and utilities. Which would be happening in only a few days.
Randy sighed. What would it be like, to be a famous guitarist? To record a new album with a band every year, to make thousands of dollars a month, to be admired for his skill and craft? To maybe even sleep with any woman he wanted? It had been days, and Helena still hadn’t messaged him . . .
Rock is dead, he thought to himself. It was something self-evident; nobody got famous playing rock music anymore. People had been saying rock was dead for decades. A modest living was what Randy could hope for, in a best case scenario.
Randy put down his guitar, and sat down at his shitty laptop. He began to look at music classifieds on a local website for New York musicians.
Wanted: 5'5" tall guitar players. Have to be able to sing and play at the same time. PAID GIG.
Randy furrowed his brow. What was up with the exact height thing? He opened his wallet, and checked the height on his license. He was, much to his chagrin, 5'5".
He also could sing while playing. But not in tune.
Randy wrote down the location of the audition, and put a note into his phone calendar. There was a verified symbol next to the listing, which made Randy hopeful; maybe this would be a big break.
_____
Randy arrived at a nondescript building on the outskirts of the city. It was filled with soundproof rooms designed to be used for music rehearsals and auditions. In an entertainment capital like New York, where most people happen to live in apartments, such spaces are in very high demand.
Randy entered the building with his Kramer. It didn’t take long for him to find the auditions; a long line of women with guitars were standing outside of a door, all of them within an inch of 5’5”.
After a short wait, three women left the rehearsal room. One of them was a young woman who had clearly been auditioning. There was also a woman in her late 30s wearing a business suit, and another figure Randy didn’t quite see, who walked directly across the hall into a bathroom.
Randy noticed all the people auditioning were very interested in her.
The woman in the suit motioned for the young woman at the front of the line to enter the rehearsal space. She then noticed Randy and approached him.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Randy froze. Despite the fact the businesswoman was looking directly at him, he almost thought she was speaking to somebody else. “What do you mean what am I doing here?”
“The ad said women only. Get lost.”
“No it didn’t; it said 5’5” guitar players who can also sing. It said nothing about being female!”
The other woman got out of the bathroom and approached the businesswoman. “What’s going on here?”
Randy studied her; she was old. Her face looked young, even if she’d obviously had some work done. But her posture and some other body stuff was making Randy instinctually infer that she was possibly in her 60s. Her dyed black hair was cut into a distinctive shag that went down to her shoulders. Her eyes were surrounded by smokey eyeshadow and kohl. The dark colors contrasted sharply with her pale skin. Her breasts were small.
Randy was the kind of bozo, the kind of ignoramus, the kind of dumbass, who didn’t think of women over the age of 40 as being sexually attractive. And so he didn’t realize that he was standing in front of one of the hottest people in the world.
She also happened to be 5’5”.
Randy could tell that she was famous, even though he couldn’t recognize her. She gave off that distinctive aura that only “important” people have. It’s rare, but unmistakable, and in a city like New York Randy often found himself passing people on the street that he somehow knew were significant for one reason or another. She was giving off “notable” in spades.
The woman in the business suit turned and spoke to the rockstar. “This guy wants to audition. I guess we forgot to mention that only women need apply.”
The rockstar grinned as soon as she took notice of Randy in earnest. “The ad said nothing about men applying, Mary.”
She began to study Randy’s thin physique, moving slightly to get a look at him from the side. She raised an arm.
“Do you mind?”
Randy shook his head, and she moved his long hair slightly to study him further. Everyone in the hallway seemed confused; the women who were auditioning. The woman in the suit. Randy himself wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to be feeling, but he was getting the impression that he was passing some kind of unspoken test, and so he didn’t exactly feel bad.
After almost two minutes, the rockstar moved back.
“Mary, tell the girl you let into the room to move back into the line. I want to see this guy next.”
Mary, looking disappointed and disgruntled, went into the rehearsal space.
Randy found his gaze meeting the rockstar’s. He saw a strange glint in her eyes. He almost wanted to say it was sexual, but that would be presumptuous. It’s not like a girl had ever been interested in a greasy-haired guitar nerd like himself.
_____
Randy stood in the modestly sized room across from the businesswoman and the rockstar, who were seated at a table covered in headshots and notes, with a sound recorder and microphone pointed outwards.
The rockstar spoke in her low and husky former-chainsmoker voice. “Show us your guitar.”
Randy pulled his Kramer out of its hardshell case; it was equipped with a Floyd Rose, three Super Distortion humbuckers, push-pull pots, a tremol-no, a D-tuna, and Randy had given the guitar a red and yellow Frankenstrat-style paint job a few years ago.
“Disgusting”, the woman said before Randy even finished pulling the guitar out of its case. She walked out from behind the table holding a single pickup guitar without a vibrato bar. “Try playing this.”
Randy grimaced as he took the less intellectual and refined guitar from the woman. Its slightly shorter scale length and lack of sonic options disgusted him.
The rockstar crossed her arms. “Ok, sing and play something.”
Randy started to sing a song he'd written, built over a complex chord progression filled with jazz harmonies and weird voicings, with no real consideration for the ugly harmonics the distortion was introducing.
The elf maiden was lactating
Her breast milk was amazing
Each drop an ambrosi-
After about fifteen seconds the rockstar raised a hand. “Fucking stop, that’s terrible.”
Randy paused for a minute, before starting to remove the guitar. The woman motioned for Randy to freeze.
“You’re hired. You have the job.”
Mary spoke. “Sloane, can I talk to you for a second?”
Randy watched as the rockstar sat next to her manager and they loud-whisper-argued. He could faintly hear Mary, who was perhaps a little louder than she thought.
“What about all these other people we’ve been seeing over the last two weeks? A girl came in who literally plays your music in a tribute act, and you’re going to choose some random guy you don’t even like?”
They kept talking, but it was clear that the manager could only attempt to dissuade Sloane from her decision, while not having any real say in the matter.
Sloane grinned at Randy, and curled a finger. “We have a contract for you here.”
Randy looked down at the large stack of paper the manager had pulled out of her briefcase.
“I feel like I should have someone look at this. I’m not exactly knowledgeable about legalese.”
Sloane grinned, and tilted her head to the side. “I’ll walk you through this. You have to replace me on an upcoming tour, and if you don’t do it, you have to pay $50,000 to buy out your contract. Almost all of this is insurance type stuff; touring is dangerous, you know?”
Randy raised his eyebrows. “How much would I make?”
Sloane shrugged. “You make 50%, and I make 50%. Dividing the 100% I would normally just make for myself. But that’s still, like, a few hundred thousand dollars.”
The young guitarist looked at her. “But why would you make anything?”
“Because you’re playing with my band, playing my music. When else are you going to make this much money in your entire life?”
Randy hesitated, holding the pen in his hand. Sloane reached out a hand and placed it on top of his. She looked into his eyes and grinned. Dubious, infectious honey.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Randy.”
“Randy, what made you start playing guitar?”
Randy thought for a moment. “Well . . . I guess, um . . . it’s kind of embarrassing to say.”
Sloane chuckled. “To feel admiration? To sleep with girls?”
Randy couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh. “Um, yeah, I guess. But I do really care about the music.”
“Of course. We all care about the music. But one of my favorite parts of this job is the women. And the respect. The fame. And you can have all of those things.”
Randy had no idea the woman he’d been talking to was gay, but that made him feel a little better. They both were attracted to women? Who knew! It was good to have something in common.
Sloane continued. “You can have all of the abundance you want. You can stop feeling like your life is slipping away between your fingers. All you need to do is sign the contract, and everything will be perfect. We’ll all be friends. And you’ll get everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”
Randy looked over at Mary. The manager was leaning her forehead against her fingers, clearly not liking what she was witnessing. But why should her [unspoken] opinion matter? He signed the contract.
Sloane smiled. “Excellent. Give us your contact information, and we’ll send someone out to get you tomorrow morning.”
_____
Randy got a phone call. He almost didn't answer it, because who answers their phone anymore, but he noticed Mary the manager on his caller ID because he'd been instructed to add it to his phone.
"Randy, get outside."
Randy exited his apartment and saw a long black car. It wasn't a limousine, but Randy noticed as he entered the car that the seats inside had been rearranged. There was a largely opaque privacy boundary, with only a small hole so the driver could look in the rearview window.
The rockstar was seated next to her manager in the back. "Good, you're finally here. Now we can start talking about this job."
Randy nodded. "I'm your substitute for your tour."
The woman grinned. "No, you're my replacement."
Randy nodded again, less sure of himself. "Yeah, exactly." Restraints came out of Randy's seat and tightened around him. "H-Hey! What the hell is this?"
Sloane moved to the seat next to Randy's. "I had these installed for when I'm doing scenes in here . . . but that doesn't matter right now. We need to talk about what being my replacement really means."
The manager adjusted her glasses. "Randy, do you know who this is?"
"No?"
"You don't know Sloane Lone?"
". . . The name sounds familiar."
Sloane interjected. "It's your fucking job to make sure he knows what my name is!"
Mary sighed. "Sloane is retiring, and she needs a replacement. A "legacy extension replacement". You're not just going to be singing her songs."
"Y-Yeah . . . I'm also going to be playing guitar."
Sloane put one hand on Randy's thigh, and the other on his cheek, turning his face towards her. "We're going to give you plastic surgery, and estrogen, and vocal surgery, and so, so much more, until you're the hot dickgirl version of me. You'll look just how I did when I was your age."
Randy fought against his restraints with renewed enthusiasm. "This is some kind of joke, right? Some kind of sick fucking joke!? You can’t make me into a fucking girl! I’m a man!"
Sloane chuckled, clearly very aroused by what was happening. “Yeah, sure you are. A big strong manly man, right?” She removed Randy's glasses. "We'll give you laser eye surgery, and all of my tattoos. And my piercings. Unless you want to pay us $50,000 to get out of the contract."
Randy was already thousands of dollars in debt from college. If he bought his way out of this contract, he would flat-out be in debt for the rest of his life. He didn't scream or shout. He just lowered his head, and sat quietly.
“Please, find it in your heart to . . . find someone else.”
Sloane stroked Randy's cheek. "I want to make you into such an eager and obedient faggot girl . . . but you also need to be at least a little dominant. I have an image to maintain."
The manager cleared her throat. "Sloane, that falls outside the purview of the contract. Maybe we should do what he’s suggesting?" The rockstar gave her manager a very pissed off look.
Randy spoke weakly. "So, why are you retiring?"
Sloane sighed. "My knees. And my back. And my elbow. And my hips. It just hurts to play music anymore."
Randy was affected by how heartbroken Sloane seemed about her retirement. He felt eager to help her for a moment before he remembered what he was being forced into.
Sloane smiled. "I'm going to open a dungeon while you're on tour. That will be fun."
Randy furrowed his brow. "What? Like as a LARP thing?"
"If by that you mean a fetish thing, yes."
The car eventually reached a large house; it was certainly older and more well conceived than a McMansion. Its sight didn't make Randy want to vomit, for one thing.
Sloane and her manager pulled Randy from his seat, and he found the restraints were detachable. They led him through the house into its basement.
They sat Randy down on a couch, and the manager pulled some kind of drug out of her suit and began injecting it into Randy's stomach. Sloane spoke as she watched her captive begin to fall asleep.
"Take a nice rest. You're going to have a big day tomorrow."
_____
Mary was restrained to an X-cross, her back facing outwards. Sloane's leather covered fingers began to creep softly down her back.
"You've been showing a dangerous lack of enthusiasm lately."
"i, i'm sorry Mistress . . ."
"Of course you are. You should be. You're supposed to be a very good girl, after all." Sloane flogged Mary's back five times. "Do you have anything to say?"
"I thought we agreed we wouldn't let this dynamic get in the way of my job."
Sloane shook her head, and let the tips of her flogger gently stroke Mary's back.
"This is more important. Nu-Sloane is going to be my replacement. And she's going to be exactly as I want her."
Mary tried to turn her head around. "But he's going to hate it! If you'd found someone more enthusiastic-"
"Oh, she's going to take to it just fine. Just like you did, remember?"
Sloane reached a hand down and wrapped her fingers around Mary's chastity cage. It never failed to surprise and disappoint Mary just how little sensation could be felt through the cage.
Mary spoke softly. "But Sloane, I'm actually trans."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean? I think you're worried I'm going to replace you."
Sloane flogged Mary again.
"Mistress, I just think you're making a big mistake."
Sloane gave Mary a single flog. "I know exactly how this is going to work, and it's going to work perfectly. You'll come to love Nu-Sloane." Mary felt fingers running down her back again. “I’m in control, plaything. You gave me control. You enjoy giving me control. So you should listen to me. Trust me. Calm down for a few months. She'll soon be ready for the tour."
Mary nodded. "Ok."
Sloane stood still and gently swayed her flogger as she studied Mary. “You also need to understand, Mary. Because we’re open, and poly, I guess . . . you need to learn to deal with insecurity and jealousy.”
Mary was silent. This serious talk happening within such an emotionally charged kink scene was making her feel a little uncomfortable. She didn’t exactly want to be having this discussion at all while she was edging into subspace. “Why would you bring that up?”
“Because I’m going to be having fun with Nu-Sloane, and you’re going to have to handle that. Ok? Don’t fuck this up.”
Mary realized the moment that Sloane laid eyes on Randy that she’d been waiting for a guy to show up to the auditions. The fact she was waiting to find a guy to feminize for her legacy extension replacement bothered her a lot. Partially because she thought it was a bad idea in a practical way, but also on a less conscious level she did fear she was getting replaced.
She wanted to believe that it was as simple as her needing to stop being insecure, but she could tell there was something else happening.
_____
Randy begrudgingly began to wake up. There were, for a brief moment, no thoughts in his mind about anything that had happened recently. For a peaceful, solitary moment, he assumed he was in the bed in his studio apartment.
Then he began to feel the restraints, the ones that had been fastened around him in the car. That jolted him. He was surprised again when he noticed that Sloane was sitting adjacent to him on the L-shaped couch, grinning as he was harshly thrusted back into consciousness.
“Did you have a nice rest?” Sloane asked.
Randy sighed. Even if his neck was a little sore, it seemed that whatever he’d been injected with had done a good job putting him to sleep. He didn’t feel tired at all.
Sloane continued speaking. “Anyways, your training begins today. You don’t even seem to know who I am. So we’re going to listen to some of my music.”
The rockstar fiddled with the TV remote, and began to play what was easily her most popular music video, I Enjoy Rock ‘n’ Roll. It only took a single guitar chord for Randy to remember that he’d heard this song dozens, if not hundreds, of times in his life. He made a face of realization.
“Ooooh, that’s who you are. Yeah, I know your music.”
“You know that song. I didn’t even write that one. We’re looking at all of the deep cuts.”
The autoplay started to play a kind of goofy rocker’s attempt at a rap song from the 80s.
“Ok, not all of the deep cuts. I need to tell Mary to delist that one. Remove any impulse from your body to make something like that.”
Randy rolled his eyes. “Believe me, it never existed.”
Sloane started to play a different song. In the song she sang openly about masturbating and hatefucking. Predictably, the song had no music video. Randy had never thought much about things like the normalcy [or lack of thereof] relating to things like women openly expressing their sexual thoughts, but even he was kind of surprised by what he was hearing, since the song was from the early 80s.
Randy could tell that Sloane was studying him as he listened to the song. It was awkward, and not just because of how sexual it felt. He found that her expression, when it wasn’t obviously sadistic, could easily become hard to decipher. But Randy wasn’t exactly gifted when it came to understanding people either way.
Another song began to play. It was about torturing someone, in a kink way. Sloane was dressed in a leather catsuit in the video.
“Are all of your songs about sex?” Randy asked. “Do you have any songs about, I don’t know, knights? Dragons?”
“. . . No? Rock music is inherently sexual. Even when it’s not.”
“Is all that leather uncomfortable?”
Sloane grinned as she studied Randy's epic bacon shirt. “You strike me as being a sweatpants and t-shirt person, and so you probably don’t know what it’s like to wear clothes that turn people on. Wearing leather on stage is an amazing feeling. Wearing clothes like that in public is an amazing feeling. People look at you. You turn heads. Their eyes can be filled with envy, or lust. Maybe anger, if they’re a puritanical shithead who deserves to be offended. But . . . it always feels incredible.”
“Yeah, but . . . is it comfortable? And why does your clothing have to be vaguely antagonistic?”
“It’s very comfortable. And part of being a Goddess is being worshiped and being feared.” Sloane moved from the bottom of the L and sat right next to Randy. “How the clothes feel almost doesn’t really matter. It’s about letting people see who you really are. That’s what makes them feel good.”
A woman sitting next to Randy, one that clearly wanted to do things to him, made him feel awkward and uncomfortable. He returned his attention to the TV. He had to admit; younger Sloane was incredibly, remarkably, inhumanly, insanely attractive. It was starting to even give him a more positive impression of current-day Sloane. He’d never been the kind of intellectual who could appreciate a GILF, but the mind was a very pliable and flexible thing.
Of course, Randy couldn’t stop himself from attempting to assert dominance, in his usual unconscious and pathetic way. He shrugged from within his restraints, as another song came on. “You know, I can play guitar a lot better than that. I mean, no offense, but you’re just playing barre chords and stuff.”
Sloane sighed. “That noodly shit you play, it’s not real rock ‘n’ roll. It sounds like rock, and it maybe looks like rock, when the people playing it aren’t dressed like nerds, but it’s not actually going to warm anyone up or make them dance.”
Randy really wanted to play guitar; his fingers were itching. “Like, hey-”
Sloane leaned against her protege. “Tell me, has playing guitar ever gotten you laid?”
“well, i mean,”
Sloane then looked at his gross nerd hair and lazily dressed body, and smelled him. “Have you even had sex, ever?”
“it’s a complicated question what constitutes-”
The older woman smiled. “Ok, I was just wondering. Hey, if it makes you feel better, you can say you know what rock music is, ok?”
Randy looked at the floor, and made some kind of pithy argument, but he remembered he was a nerd and that nobody actually cared about or agreed with anything he said. But maybe he could still convince Sloane of one thing.
“Hey, can . . . can you please let me go? I really don’t want to do this.”
“Watch these videos?”
Randy sighed. “No, I don’t want to be your replacement. You can’t just . . . change me. Make me into a different person. It doesn’t make any sense.”
Sloane grabbed some of Randy’s hair, forming a crude ponytail. “You’re going to love being me.” She briefly paused, and placed a kiss on his lips.
“woah . . .”
“That’s the first time a woman ever kissed you, wasn’t it?”
“um . . . no . . .”
“Your mom doesn’t count.”
“oh . . . well then yes.”
_____
After about an hour of watching music videos and concert footage, an alarm went off on Sloane’s phone. She checked it and stood up.
“Get up, we need to go to the operating room.”
Randy struggled to his feet, which was difficult without being able to use his arms. “You have an operating room in your house?”
“Just got it installed a year ago. I found the best surgeon in the world to help you.”
“Come on, you don’t need to give me surgery. Some makeup and hair dye will do the trick, right?”
Sloane led Randy into a basement room adjacent to the one they were in. He’d just assumed it was a closet. Instead, it was a fairly large and sterile room. It looked like it could be an operating room, but its interior was very sparse. There wasn’t too much more than a gas canister, an operating table, and a bed.
Mary was already inside. Standing next to her was a pale woman with long straight black hair. Her face was partially covered by a surgical mask.
Randy spoke up. “Is . . . is this safe? I’m not going to die in here, right?”
The woman with the straight black hair spoke. “My name is Sylvia. As Sloane has probably already told you, I’m one of the most highly regarded surgeons in the world. This certainly isn’t an ideal working environment, but you’re in no danger.”
Sloane gave Randy a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Sylvia, how long will this take?”
The surgeon thought for a moment. “Under normal circumstances, it would take weeks for someone to heal from a series of operations like this. But we have this new narrative convenience gel that should have her good to go in about two days."
Randy interjected. “The narrative of what?”
“Your life, of course.”
"You're not touching my penis, right? None of this is, like, serious or irreversible, right?"
Sloane crossed the space and whispered something to Sylvia, and the surgeon nodded. "You're such a kidder! Don't worry, your penis will be fine."
Mary turned to Sloane. “Are you sure you want to do this, Sloane?”
Sloane was visibly annoyed by the question. “Yes.”
Randy felt like he wasn't entirely privy to what was really happening here, even if he'd already heard about it in the car ride from yesterday. Perhaps he just wanted to be in denial. Sloane and Sylvia grabbed his restraints and began to pull him. He didn’t resist. He found himself being lowered onto the operating table and being given anesthesia.
"It's ok; you're going to love your results."
_____
Janeane Jones took a long draw from her cigarette as her friend Maya walked back into the living room with a glass of water. They’d just finished watching Saturday Night Fever, a film neither of them had seen before. Maya was a composer, and so they usually watched music related films together.
Maya spoke as she settled back into the couch. “That was a lot more depressing than I thought it was going to be.”
Janeane nodded. “Yeah, no kidding.”
Maya adjusted her hair. “Anyways, I heard you got offered a role in some big tentpole thing.”
Janeane shrugged. “I turned it down.”
Maya chuckled before taking a sip of water. “But why?”
Janeane made small motions with her cigarette while she thought of what to say. “I just . . . had a feeling. A kind of spiritual thing. I just know that something more important is coming soon, and I can’t be occupied.”
Maya rolled her eyes. “Did you seriously turn down the movie because you’re expecting the Sloane Lone biopic to happen?”
The actress smiled, a little embarrassed. “Yeah.”
Maya looked at Janeane’s coffee table, and saw two binders resting on it. She’d seen them before; each one contained a copy of the Sloane Lone biopic screenplay. The screenplay had been written over a decade ago, and even if it was more structurally interesting and imaginative than the large majority of biopics, there was little chance it was ever going to get made. Not only was it a queer film, it also was starting to become outdated, considering Sloane Lone had been doing things for an entire additional decade since it was written.
Janeane watched as Maya opened the binders again. Both of them were filled with annotations, prints of interviews, and other miscellaneous bits of acting research.
“You’re such a fangirl”, Maya said, as she flipped to a random page.
“I do this kind of stuff for all of my serious roles.”
“Yeah, but you don’t even know if you’re going to be in this movie. Assuming it even gets made.”
Janeane giggled. “I mean, I just really care about this. That action movie . . . it would’ve just been a paycheck. I’ve been thinking a lot about what I’m supposed to be doing.”
“What do you mean?”
The actress sighed. “I want to only be in films that have integrity. I want to only be in things that are putting important energy back into the world. But it’s hard, because they don’t make a lot of those movies anymore. But I’m also worried about losing my clout, and getting consigned to garbage movies.”
Maya pursed her lips and nodded. “I get it. I don’t really enjoy any of the shows I work on, but . . . it’s a living for me. I wish I enjoyed what I created.”
Janeane took a draw from her cigarette. “I’ve also been thinking about, being gay, you know.”
“Yeah?”
The actress sighed. “If I’m open about who I am, will it open doors for me? Or will it just make my life a circus?”
Maya thought for a moment. Being a lesbian didn’t have much relevance when it came to composing music for TV shows. She couldn’t honestly say it had impacted her career much. “I don’t know. But you were just saying you wanted to create stuff you care about.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t made the leap yet. I’m not a “great actress” yet. If I make the wrong move now, that will be the end of it.”
Maya smiled. “Well . . . I really hope this movie gets made.”
“I told you, I have a spiritual feeling about this. Hopefully it shows up in my dreams again.”
“Sloane, or the movie?”
_____
Sloane walked into the “operating room” in her basement and saw Sylvia standing next to Randy, who was tucked into bed. The rockstar approached her friend.
“Are you finished?”
Sylvia nodded. “Yes. I think I managed to accomplish everything that you asked for.”
Sloane looked down and studied Randy’s new face. As Sylvia had promised, he looked exactly as she had roughly 40 years ago. Sloane was speechless. She quietly looked at her doppelganger in awe for a moment.
“Is everything ok?”
Sloane nodded as she wiped a tear off her cheek. “Yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine. It’s just . . . she’s a child.”
“She’s 24 years old.”
“No, I mean, wow . . . she’s so unvarnished. I wasn’t even that young when I was that age. Was I?”
Sylvia thought for a moment. “She’s sleeping. But you’re probably right.”
Sloane reached out a hand and began to gently stroke Randy’s cheek. Her duplicate’s lips slightly parted, and she made a soft groan.
Sylvia nudged away Sloane’s hand. “She really is going to need two days to recover. A lot of work has been done to her body, and if she wakes up now she’ll be too exhausted to do much of anything.”
Sloane lifted a finger to pause Sylvia. She then cautiously lowered herself, and placed a gentle kiss on Randy’s forehead. She stayed there for a moment, and deeply exhaled from her nostrils, before returning to an upright position.
“I’ll head back upstairs now. Want lunch?”
“Sure”, Sylvia responded. She turned off the lights as she left Randy alone to recover.
_____
Heidi sat at the vanity in her one bedroom apartment and began to put on her black lipstick, nudging away her two lip rings and Medusa piercing with practiced motions as she did. She then studied herself in the mirror; she was 30, but she looked younger. Her hair was dirty blonde with dyed black streaks. She was technically "overweight", but most people would think of her as being "average".
Heidi's phone began to ring; it was Christine, requesting a video call. Heidi sighed and swiped her phone screen.
"Hey Christine, what's up?"
Christine was a woman in her late 50s, with bleached blonde hair and full lips. She was driving.
"Aphrodite, Sloane just contacted me and asked if you were available for tonight. Are you busy?"
Heidi sighed. "No, I was just planning on browsing a bookstore."
"She requested you wear that fishnet top again."
Heidi stood up from her vanity and began to walk with her phone into her closet. "Yeah, she really liked it the last time."
"Aphrodite, you've told me why you don't like seeing Sloane, but you're crazy. And wrong. You should be thrilled about this."
Heidi pulled off her Autechre shirt and put on her fishnet top, and then a black crop top over it. "That's great."
"Anyways, she said she wants to pick you up for dinner."
"Ask her the name of the restaurant she wants to meet me at and I'll see her there."
. . .
Heidi was led up the stairs in a Chinese restaurant into a secluded private room. Sloane Lone was already seated at the table. Her eyes lit up as she saw her courtesan.
"Aphrodite! I'm so glad you could join me for dinner on such short notice."
Heidi seated herself at the table. "Where are the menus?"
"I already ordered our food."
"I wanted to get orange chicken."
"No you didn't. Anyways, what have you been up to?"
"Working on a new album. Doing some mixing stuff."
Sloane drank some water. "Is it another techno album?"
"Yeah."
Sloane looked disappointed. "You really should be making rock music, with an organic pulse. There's nothing erotic about computer noises. I bet you would be really good at making rock music if you tried."
Heidi sighed and murmured under her breath. "Ok grandma."
"What?"
"Nothing."
A waiter brought two bowls of stir fried vegetables to the table. He placed the identical meals in front of each customer.
"Thank you", Sloane said, before turning back towards Heidi. "Anyways, I saw that new video you shot with Lace Midnight the other day. I loved it."
Heidi took a bite of some broccoli. "Yeah?"
"Back when I was your age, it was impossible to find good trans girl porn. But now it's everywhere!" Sloane paused to eat some of her meal. "If you want, I could show you my old pre-digital collection of T-girl porn."
Heidi sighed again. "Um, maybe some other time."
"You know Aphrodite, you don't need to pretend you're not into me. It won't make me think you're less hot if you openly worship me."
Heidi checked the time on her phone; they'd only been speaking for three minutes. She also noticed that she’d received a notification relating to a game she played. Heidi looked up for a moment.
“Do you mind if I check this quickly?”
Sloane leant forward slightly, trying to look at her phone screen. “What is it?”
“A new plugin was just released for a game I like to play, Gates & Griffins Online. It’s going to allow me to queue up macros so that they automatically trigger one after the other, allowing me to attack, and then heal, and so on. If I crunch some numbers, I think I’ll be able to set things up so that I can loop my abilities so that I’m always doing stuff while waiting for the beginning of the loop to cool down.”
Sloane stared at Heidi for a moment, mouth slightly agape. “What?”
“It’s a complex thing. It’s all about the meta, the advanced game that exists beyond the intended experience. It’s very complicated.”
“It sounds like you’re doing your taxes, or something. Don’t you have better things to be doing in your free time than playing video games? Like, I dunno, coming to visit my house?”
Heidi sighed. “Did you ever play video games?”
“Yeah. When they were testing out Pong in the valley I played it a handful of times with my friends.” Sloane began to lean forward slightly as she subtly grinned. "Anyways, I've been wondering . . . what's your name?"
"Aphrodite."
"You're a trans girl, and so maybe that is your real name. But, if it's not, I'd be really interested in knowing what it actually is."
Heidi studied Sloane's slightly expectant expression. After a moment, Sloane pulled a hundred dollars out of her wallet.
"Come on, I know how to keep a secret. You know that I do."
Heidi sighed. "What's your real name?"
"You can look it up on Wikipedia. It's one of the few things on that page that's accurate."
"I want to hear it from you."
Sloane leant back slightly. "It's . . . um . . . Sloane Betsy Murphy. That's my birth name, by the way. Sloane Lone is my real name."
Heidi took the hundred dollars from Sloane. "My name is Heidi. No last name. Haven't chosen one yet."
"You don't have a last name?"
"Not anymore."
The two shared an awkward pause. Sloane was mostly sure why Heidi didn't have a last name, but she didn't want to open any wounds.
"Anyways, I've been seeing you for about three months now. When can I take you to see my place?"
Heidi sighed yet again. "Christine's escort service clearly states that there's no sexual contact allowed between clients and workers."
"Yeah, but . . . that's just there for the cops. Right?"
Heidi studied Sloane again. There was something wrong with Heidi; she didn't think that Sloane Lone was hot. It didn't help that Sloane was getting less cool and more desperate each additional time they met without anything sexual happening.
"No, it's there because we have a no-sex policy."
Sloane sighed. "Ok. Could I commission you to shoot a video instead?"
"I have the information relating to requests on my website."
"But we're right here. I have a friend, and I was wondering if you could shoot a video with her."
Heidi furrowed her brow. "A friend?"
"Yeah. That won't be a problem, right?"
"I mean, it could be. Is she also anc-, uh, in her 60s?"
"No. She's a trans girl in her 20s. And I'm only 40."
Heidi wanted to tell Sloane that it was literally impossible for her to be 40, but she stopped herself. "Well, I'd have to meet her first, but maybe I could do that. Of course, you would need to pay me an extra fee for filming with someone I don't know. About . . . $1500."
"That's fine. By the way, has anyone ever told you that you look like David Bowie?"
_____
Randy felt himself swimming under the surface of consciousness again. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to penetrate the barrier, to exit sleep. He hesitated to open his eyes, which would thrust him into a new world. He could already feel that his body was different.
“I can tell you’re awake. Open up.”
Randy opened his eyes, and saw that Sloane was standing next to him. She was holding a bowl filled with sauteed vegetables. She placed the bowl on Randy’s lap as he rubbed his bleary eyes.
Sloane continued to speak. “You should eat something. You’ve been asleep for two days.”
Randy picked up the fork and began to eat the vegetables. The first thing he noticed was that his vision was perfect. Never in his entire life had he been able to see a foot in front of him without his glasses, but now he could see the far end of the room.
“How do you feel?”
“Great. Not-” Randy froze. His voice was not his own anymore. He shuddered. “How does my voice sound like this? This doesn’t even make any sense!”
Sloane smiled. “They scanned my vocal chords and made yours into a near-exact replica, with a bit of the mileage removed. Your inflections are a little different, but we’ll fix that. But what were you going to say?”
“. . . not having to wear my glasses is great. Before I could barely see, but now, it’s effortless. It’s like I’ve turned into a god.”
“Goddess”, Sloane corrected. “And you don’t even know how much better you have it. There are much more important things to savor.”
Randy noticed that, despite having a bowl resting on his crotch, there wasn’t too much discomfort. That familiar source of constant irritation; he couldn’t feel it. Feeling panic in his chest, he moved the bowl onto the bedside table, and pulled away the blanket.
“My balls! They’re gone!”
Sloane grinned, and sat onto the bed next to Randy. “Yeah. Thankfully, your body can generate its own estrogen now, so you don’t need to worry about anything hormone related.”
Randy stared at his crotch. There was no pubic hair there anymore, and it made his torso look oddly long. He began to climb out of the bed. Sloane walked alongside him as he started to approach a mirror.
Randy almost jumped out of his skin when he actually saw himself. He’d never seen someone else in the mirror before in his place, and it was about as unnerving as he would’ve expected, if he’d ever actually thought about it.
He looked exactly like Sloane Lone did in those older videos; the resemblance was unmistakable. The only difference was that his hair wasn’t teased at all.
The real Sloane appeared at his side. “They did a new kind of surgery, where they removed your scalp and permanently changed your hair color to black. You’re lucky; I still have to dye my hair.”
Randy studied his new body some more. Almost everything was different, aside from his height. He had small, pert breasts. His face looked different. His lips looked different. He cautiously touched his arm, and realized his skin felt softer.
The only things that hadn’t changed were his hands, which had always been feminine. The only thing distinguishing him from Sloane was a lack of tattoos or piercings. And about forty years of age. And also a penis.
Randy’s eyes moved back down to his breasts. Out the corner of his eyes, he could see Sloane leering at him.
“I know you want to touch them. You don’t have to wait for me to leave. This is your new home. You don’t have to be modest.” She moved closer. "Especially not in front of me."
Randy cautiously lifted one of his hands and gently placed a finger on his left nipple. Sloane moved behind him, and softly, but firmly, grabbed each of his wrists. She moved his palms over his breasts.
“Squeeze them.”
Randy did as he was told. The first thing that struck him was how sensitive they felt. And then how good it felt. He began to feel arousal, but that also felt different. There was a warmth in him that was distinct from how arousal had previously felt.
He watched as his girlcock began to harden, and he could see Sloane move one of her hands down to touch it. As she started to touch the head of his cock, slick with precum, he began to feel his legs weakening. Nobody had ever touched him there; it was too much. Too fast.
Randy’s vision began to fade, and he started to collapse onto the floor. The descent was gradual enough that he managed to harmlessly lower himself onto his knees.
Sloane knelt next to Randy. “Are you ok?”
Randy breathed heavily. “I . . . I don’t know.” He looked up, and noticed Sylvia was standing behind Sloane. How long had she been there?
“Sloane, you should probably let her get back into bed. She still needs a little more time to recover.”
Sloane and Sylvia helped Randy onto his feet, and they walked him back to the bed. Sloane turned to the surgeon.
“Is it ok if I just talk to her for a moment?”
Sylvia nodded. “Yes, you can talk to her. Talk. And nothing more. Not until tomorrow. Ok?”
Sloane nodded, and Sylvia left the room. She returned her attention to Randy.
“I have two presents for you.” Sloane reached into her jacket, and pulled out a necklace with a metal pacifier attached to it. She gently lowered it over Randy’s head.
Randy studied the metal pacifier. “. . . what . . .”
Sloane grabbed the metal pacifier, and placed it into Randy’s mouth. She then pulled out the boxers he had previously been wearing, and a pair of black silk panties.
“I looked at the boxers you were wearing when Mary and I brought you here.” She rubbed the boxers against her cheek and frowned. “They feel coarse . . . but thankfully, I have these for you.” She rubbed the panties against her face, making an exaggerated expression of contentment. “These are a lot better. Don’t you want to try them?”
Randy hesitantly reached out and grabbed the panties. They felt indescribably soft; so much better than any garment he’d ever owned in his life.
“Put them on. See how they feel.”
It was a little strange to be worrying about crossdressing, especially this far down the river, but Randy hesitated. He was a guy. He wasn’t supposed to wear panties. He studied the black lace embellishments around the edges, and the little black bow.
But he began to lift his legs up because he couldn’t help but wonder what they would look like on Sloane Lone. Or rather, himself. He brought the panties up his smooth, hairless legs, and eventually over his cheeks. He smoothed everything out and adjusted his girldick. His captor looked at him expectantly.
“You love it.”
Randy could feel himself growing hard again. The panties felt so nice. Not having testicles felt nice. The silk felt nice.
Sloane moved closer to Randy. She gently stroked his hair as he unconsciously suckled on the pacifier.
"It's so easy, isn't it? So easy to change."
Randy froze. Should I be resisting more? I'm a guy . . . this isn't who I am . . .
Sloane grinned as she noticed the change in her plaything's demeanor. "You're a good girl at heart. My beautiful faggot princess. You don't need to fight it."
Randy felt heat building up in him. Not the heat of arousal, but the heat of knowing something is deeply wrong. He let the pacifier fall out from his lips.
Sloane leant forward, and kissed his lips, before placing a soft second kiss on his forehead.
“There you go. Have a good rest for me, ok?”
_____
Randy woke up in the middle of the night. He noticed that a tablet had been placed on the bedside table in his sleep. He grabbed the tablet and decided to visit youtube.
He quickly realized he didn’t know what he wanted to watch. After some hesitation, he looked up Sloane Lone videos, and found an entire concert from the 80s uploaded. As he started listening to the music, he began to scroll through the comments.
ffffuuuuucck i want her to choke me (simp face)
HHHHHHHHHHH she’s so fucking hot ohmygoshiwanthertofuckmybrainsout ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
please notice me Mommy (simp face)
There were also some weird and off-putting comments written by middle-aged men, but Randy kept reading the ones written by the dykes, faggirls, and/or queers.
That level of admiration was . . . something.
Randy looked at himself in the mirror. He was . . . her. Sloane. The person in the video.
He could feel herself starting to get kind of hard. He hesitantly wrapped a hand around her cock as he continued to read the comments.
punk Mommy please piss down my throat ♡♡♡
oh gosh i want her to be mean to me and then coddle me while she's fucking me with a strap and also choke me while holding a knife to my throat
Randy didn't know how someone would go about fucking someone using a “strap", but he didn't care. He was starting to really feel it; the praise. The ecstasy. She was so wanted, so lusted after.
Randy wasn't the person in the video, but he was. All the women and money he could ever possibly -
She orgasmed, and fell back to sleep.
Interlude
1974
Sloane sat in front of the TV as she worked on her homework. A news bulletin began, with a local reporter standing in front of a record store.
"A new, dangerous trend is threatening the youth of America, and its name is glam rock."
Sloane put down her pencil and began to study the TV more intently.
"Originating in England, the glam rock scene is effeminate, un-American, and un-christian. Men dress androgynously and sing songs detailing their sexual fantasies. These obscenely wealthy musicians do party drugs and have sex with their legions of adoring fans."
Sloane looked at the androgynous and delicate men on the screen. She started to feel things she hadn't felt before. The reporter continued.
"This perverse, often homosexual style of music could destroy the fabric of this country. It is every responsible parent's duty to make sure their children only listen to wholesome music that focuses on what's important; family, god, and country. god bless America."
The reporter's words replayed in Sloane's mind. Adoring fans? Obscenely wealthy? Sex? Drugs? Sex with adoring fans? Homosexual?
I hope you enjoyed that first chapter! I have the other two completed chapters scheduled to come out over the next two weeks, but if you want you can download a PDF containing the entire draft for free on itch.io. I should also mention that there's a $10 bundle on itch.io containing some of my other writing right now, called The Queerotica 2025 Bundle. It contains writing from ROM regulars Kallie, Modren, and Skaetlett, as well as art from other talented creatives such as Nadia Nova, Grumpy-TG, and Darling Demon Eclipse; check it out!