Many people tell me I'm cute. And that I'm funny. My boyfriend, too, tells me that.
Yet, I don't just want to be cute. I want to be handsome. I wanna get rid of my pimples. I wanna a more proportionate face, and piercing eyes. I wanna be like Jonathan.
I took this photograph when we went to London for a school trip. He does not even know that I have taken it. Jonathan is gorgeous. He's got everything I'd like to have: the moves, the voice, the clothes, the coolness.
So I stole his life.
This afternoon he asked me to go over his place to help him with maths. I'm good at maths. I understand it. 'Hey, can you help me with this?' He asked 'I just really cannot solve it.' I leaned forward from behind his chair. I took his pen from his hand. 'You see? This is where you make a mistake.' His cheek was next to mine. He smelled of cool kid. His hair was gently touching mine. I had a boner.
So I turned and kissed him.
The kiss was longer than expected but it did not matter. Nothing mattered anymore. My boyfriend did not matter. My mother did not matter. My miserable life did not matter. For a second I could feel a flow of energy coming into me. I swallowed it as fast as I could. I felt reinvigorated.
When I removed my lips, Jonathan fell on the floor, unconscious. I kneeled and raised his head. That was my head, with my hair, with my nose, with my pimples. I gasped. I smiled. I couldn't stop smiling.
I ran to the bathroom and in the mirror I saw the extraordinary. I had his face. I had his body. I had his smile.
My penis was huge, turgid. I could not help it. I had to masturbate. Right there, with those hands, with that body, which I couldn't help touching. I was him, but I was still me. And I could feel my desire in direct contact with the body that I wished so badly. I kept on smiling.
I never came so hard. I felt overwhelmed with pleasure. It was magic.
When I returned to my senses, I got back to the study. He was still there, his face against the ground. I took off his clothes and dressed him in mine. I then wore his. I put them on slowly, enjoying every bit of this final stage of my transformation. I talked to myself: 'Jonathan, Jonathan?' enjoying every single syllabe of my lower voice. I felt his ripped chest under his cotton tee. I zipped his hoodies, as he often does. I was acquiring his mannerisms. Good. Great.
In the back pocket was his phone. I went upstairs, to his room. I looked myself again in a large mirror attached to his wardrobe and was, once more, overwhelmed with happiness. I retouched my hair. Nothing else mattered. Nothing. I touched my face and smiled again. 'Who's the cool kid, now?'
Then I lay on his bed covered in white-and-blue stripes. Even his bed looked like it was coming from a magazine. I took his phone out and took a picture of me as Jonathan. I uploaded it on Instagram so that the whole world could see the new me. So I could start believing it more myself. This is me, now.
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