Non-Plugsuit Fetishism: The Case of Misato Katsuragi, by Zephyrus

He saw the pretty, purple-haired young woman he had been thinking about all day. Voluptuous, voluminous violet locks framed a beautiful face, bangs curving outward in a cute crescent shape, sweeping the sides of her forehead and ending just above her thin eyebrows, below which big, brown eyes looked lovingly at him. Her sweet smile–perhaps the sweetest he had ever seen–welcomed him to whatever world this was.
“Would you like to become with me?” she asked softly and seductively in a beautiful, breathy contralto, as if asking her lover an intimate question. “To be of one mind and body?” Her eyebrows jumped suggestively. “It could be really, really nice.”

!!! DISCLAIMER !!!

This is NOT a PG story. This story features psychological horror, sex, and explicit language. If this is not your cup of tea, please do not read this story.

If it is, enjoy.

Non-Plugsuit Fetishism: The Case of Misato Katsuragi
By Zephyrus

Mitchell had tried to go about his usual business in his room–clean his room, do his homework, and maybe watch some television–however, the gleam of the pendant seemed to catch his eye no matter what, like the shine of a persistent sun. It seemed to clamor for his undivided attention. It inevitably distracted him a few times from his duties; he’d find his eyes drifting from his books, almost magnetically drawn to the gleam of the pendant, and he’d find his hand putting his pen down and reaching for its cool, yet warm and inviting metallic surface. He’d then caress it with his thumb and hold it up before him, twisting it every which way to see the light dance on its polished surface and bounce back into his eyes. It was like the real thing.

Misato Katsuragi’s pendant.

He reflected on it. Within his hand, he felt the weight of its history, its symbolism. The memento of a girl’s deceased father, who gave his life to save her in Second Impact.

Something this same girl grew up wearing almost everyday, as she blossomed into a beautiful young woman. Something that she gave to a boy in her last moments.

With a sudden shake of his head, he soon snapped himself out of his reveries. Why was he thinking so deeply on a simple pendant? Especially one belonging to a fictional character?
He shook his head. “It’s just a cosplay toy,” he said to himself. Although, he had to admit, it felt and looked quite real. The company that manufactured this put a lot of care into it. Even its weight and its smooth, cool surface felt real. He could just imagine this crisp, cross-shaped pendant wrapped around the slender neck of Misato Katsuragi, its cross resting on her beautiful bosom as she wore her black dress and her reddish orange NERV jacket, long, lovely violet hair flowing to the middle of her back, framing her beautiful face….
He shook his head again, trying to ignore the familiar stirring in his groin that he always felt whenever he thought of her. “Why can’t I concentrate today?” He sighed as he stared at the pendant, pondering on the money he had spent on buying it. “This is what I get for being a Misato-freak.”

Seriously. He stared to question why he had even bought it. It wasn’t as if it was a poster he could hang up in his room, or a figurine he could put on his desk, or any kind of fanatical decoration. It was just a pendant–an impressively realistic pendant, but still a pendant. It isn’t as if he could wear or somethi–

He froze at that thought. Wearing Misato Katsuragi’s pendant?

He laughed nervously at the thought as he looked at it. The pendant, however, seemed to glare back at him with a glint, as if insulted by his laugh and his flippant attitude toward itself. It seemed to indignantly ask “Why not?”

He shook his head clear of more odd thoughts polluting his mind. “It isn’t Misato’s pendant. It’s just a toy.”

Its sheen and shine seduced him, however, like a woman winking at a man and wagging her finger at herself, saying, “Come hither.”

He glanced at the clock on his desk. He had spent the past ten minutes pondering on this pendant.

He groaned in frustration at how long he had spent on this topic and just shrugged his shoulders.

“Whatever,” he said.

He threw the pendant on around his neck.

He looked down to see it glowing in the light as its bulky weight laid heavily against his flat, boyish chest. He flicked the cross with his index finger, gleaming as it flailed from the flick in the light, hearing the heavy, shiny metal release a crisp, clean “Ting!”. The impact of his flick against its weighty mass stung his fingernail.
He shrugged again. “It makes a good chain, I guess,” he said nonchalantly. Maybe he hadn’t just wasted money, then. He didn’t own any chains, after all. “It’s about time I started wearing chains,” he said.

After a moment of reflecting on the chain, he yawned loudly and strongly. Fatigue swept over his body. He leaned back in his chair, slouched, and stretched his legs and his arms. “When did I get so tired?”

He idly looked down at the pendant, as if it could answer his question. It only sat on his chest.

“Oh, well.” He sat up and forward in his chair again, and he leaned forward, gluing his eyes to his book and trying to re-submerge himself within the world of Chemistry. He continuously dosed off, however, and intermittent images and subconscious thoughts of Misato Katsuragi cut his connection to hydrogen bonds and ions: Misato wearing her jean cutoffs and her pink camisole, strutting her beautiful butt about her apartment in Tokyo-3; Misato guzzling her beloved Yebisu beers and belching beautifully; Misato’s beautiful body wrapped wonderfully in a towel, hugging her incredible curves as she stood in a misty bathroom; Misato….
His head jumped up, his eyes snapping open. “The hell?” He slapped his face while rubbing his eyes. “What’s wrong with me?”

He glanced at his clock. Thirty minutes had passed.

“Wow,” he said and shook his head. He then said “Whatever” as he pushed his chair away from his desk and stood up. He decided he might as well get a nap, since he couldn’t stay up for whatever reason.

His tongue scanned over the dry, parched gums of his mouth, though. “I’m thirsty.”
He slowly stood up, stretching his body and yawning again as he emerged, and he stumbled tiredly to the kitchen, feet dragging and dropping heavily on the hardwood floor. He opened the fridge and scanned through it. He groaned with frustrated fatigue: somebody had forgotten to buy groceries. No Sunny D, orange juice, cranberry juice, no anything. Not even water. The fridge only had beer to offer for thirst quenching.

With a groan, he slammed the fridge.

He kept his hand on its handle, however, and stared at its door. He unconsciously burned a hole through the door’s cool, metallic surface, right at the beer.

“Beer?” he asked himself, as if to scoff at where such a silly (subconscious) question came from. He couldn’t–

Yes, you can.

He blinked and shook his head, thinking he was dosing off again for such a rampant thought to run through his head–a thought so strong and insistent, it almost sounded like someone said it.

He opened the fridge and stared at one of many wet, cold cans of Heineken. Its cool, slick surface seemed to call out to him, to wrap his hand lovingly around it. “I’m too young,” he said, shaking his head at it.

No, you’re not.

This time, he knew he hadn’t dosed off again; whatever the thought was, it was very strong and very real. The thought urged him to drink it.

“Whatever,” he said. He reached out for it and took it out. Its cold, metallic, wet surface electrified his skin, making him giddy with some strange sort of excitement, as if he was about to drink his favorite drink.

He stared at the bottle for a moment, reflecting on its feel in his hand. Its coolness and marvelous moisture promised a thrilling thirst quenching experience like none he had ever experienced before; it urged him to pop its top.

He did so, bringing his thumb to its tab and pulling. The can hissed sweetly as it opened, sounding, for some reason, like music to his ears; as if triggered by the hiss, his mouth started to water with eagerness, like a Pavlovian dog hearing the dinner bell.
Without further questioning this sudden, odd urge to try beer, he closed his eyes and brought the can to his mouth, its cool, moist edge kissing his lips, and he took a gigantic gulp, feeling the tangy, yet tasty liquid flood his parched mouth and drop deep down his esophagus, into his stomach. He felt his taste buds burst with delicious bliss, savoring every last drop.

He soon stopped his gulp, releasing a deeply satisfied “Aaaah” from his mouth, follow by an embarrassingly loud, and even more satisfied belch. He could smell the strange, yet sweet scent of consumed beer in his burp.

“Wow,” he said, staring forward, stunned and speechless, as if from a first kiss. The taste of the beer still lingered in his mouth and on his lips. He stared quizzically at the can. “Why’d I just do that?”

He frowned at the thought of his dad noticing one of his precious beers unaccounted for, but he quickly shrugged his worry away, along with this sudden enthusiasm for beer, and he nonchalantly through it in the garbage. He walked back upstairs to his room, his feet once again dragging tiredly behind him as he walked, his eyes barely open to stay open.
Without even looking at it, he threw his hand at the light switch, flipping it off, and he slammed the door behind him, letting darkness flood his room. Only tiny little beams of light stabbed into his room from the gaps in his window blinds.
He yawned again, stretching his arms in the dark before collapsing backwards into his bed. He pulled his heavy, thick, cotton blanket up to his face, snuggling it lovingly, and closed his eyes.

His last thoughts were inexplicably of a certain, pretty, purple-haired girl.

-------------

“Hey,” a sweet, soft voice said to him. It sounded scrambled through the many layers of his deep slumber, however.

He did not answer.

“Hey,” it said again, slightly louder, yet still as soft.

He still did not answer. He thought his mom or someone else was simply trying to wake him up. So, he ignored it.

“Hey,” it said for a third, final time.

He groaned with frustration as he opened his eyes slowly. Light stabbed at his dilated pupils from all directions; instead of his familiar ceiling, above him, he only saw an infinite white space, the brightness of the ethereal light hitting everything, everywhere.
And, in the center of his vision, he saw a vision of beauty.

He saw the pretty, purple-haired young woman he had been thinking about all day. Voluptuous, voluminous violet locks framed a beautiful face, bangs curving outward in a cute crescent shape, sweeping the sides of her forehead and ending just above her thin eyebrows, below which big, brown eyes looked lovingly at him. Her sweet smile–perhaps the sweetest he had ever seen–welcomed him to whatever world this was.
“Would you like to become with me?” she asked softly and seductively in a beautiful, breathy contralto, as if asking her lover an intimate question. “To be of one mind and body?” Her eyebrows jumped suggestively. “It could be really, really nice.”

Would you like to become one with me? To be of one mind and body?

Despite the dreaminess of this awakening and the beauty of this vision, he frowned.

That phrase.

That face.

It was from….

She was….

“I’ve spent way too much time thinking about Evangelion lately,” he said.

Then, as if some supernatural spotlight had suddenly shut itself off, he found himself in complete and total darkness. Even more oddly, he found himself standing, without having made any motion or effort to do so. His cognizance had somehow clipped forward, like a broken movie whose film skipped forward sporadically.

“Or,” another familiar voice said, “perhaps what you’ve really been spending too much time on lately is running away from the truth.”

He frantically looked around to find the voice, like a cornered animal looking for its predator in the thickness of a jungle, but he only saw darkness. Complete, total, suffocating darkness. When he looked down, he could not even see his own body, although he could certainly feel it.

His heart began to race.

He felt like just a consciousness floating in a dark chasm of primordial preexistence. Because his eyes could not see a body for his mind to anchor itself to, he felt a disconnection between his body and mind, and, instead of that ubiquitous union of everyday life and secular sensation, he merely felt like a mind meandering through a vacuum.
Oddly enough, though, although he could not see his body, he could still see Misato’s pendant, illuminated as clearly as if it was in the sun. Although he knew it must be resting on his chest, it seemed to be suspended in midair.

Then, he remembered. That voice. It was not Misato’s. It belonged to a man. It oozed with confidence and charm, a voice that could make a woman leak like a faucet. He could feel the vibrations of its deep, rich, tenor vocal cords wash over his body and strike some sort of funny bone inside of him. The voice somehow tapped into and drew up a weird well of emotions and memories he never knew he could have towards or with a man. He started to panic even more at these wild emotions manifesting themselves.

His eyes went wide when he placed the voice.

And, almost at the same time, he felt a pair of strong, manly arms embrace him from behind like snakes.

He screamed, quickly breaking out of the embrace and turning around to confront this mystery man.

He had only turned around to face a metal panel on a wall.

Startled at the sudden, sporadic change in scenery again, he backed away from it, almost stumbling in the process, getting a view of the wall at large, and the small metal panel. The panel had two number slots, the right of which changed at a slow rate, the left of which changed much slower, and it had a horizontal disc at the bottom, which had a flap that clicked rhythmically at every change of the number.

He looked around and saw three other similar walls, but without this odd-looking metal panel, all enclosing him inside of a small cubicle. One wall had a large metal door with two panels. At that, he felt the sensation of downward movement. Then, he realized:

He was in an elevator. Going down.

But, he wasn’t just in any elevator.

He was in….

“Your hair looks nice today,” the voice said again, as he felt arms wrap around his body once again.

He screamed once again, breaking free of the embrace while spinning around frantically. Yet, as he span around, long, luxurious lavender locks of hair flailed about his face as he faced his aggressor, who was none other than Kaji Ryoji.

“What?!” he screamed as he felt his scalp and grabbed a fistful of hair. He pulled it in front of his face and saw for himself the headful of lovely violet locks he had somehow acquired, hanging down to the middle of his back. He could feel bangs brush his forehead.
Incredulous, he pulled on these locks he had grabbed, as if a simple yank could dispel its reality. He, however, felt a natural, hair-pulling pain on his scalp, the locks not budging at all.

“Why the frown on that beautiful face of yours?” Kaji asked, taking slow, yet calculating steps towards him.

“No!” he yelled, yet he face his face contort, every muscle spasming and every bone shifting. He shut his eyes tight from the pain, burying his hands in his face as he stepped backwards from his slow, forward steps.

“Nice heels,” he then went on to say. “They really make your legs look lovely. Are they new?”

He then brought his head up from his hands to glance up at him. “What hee–” he began to ask, before he tripped and fell back on his butt, his ankle nearly twisting. He saw stretched before him a pair of long legs, their loveliness concealed by his denim jeans, which had now grown tighter around his full, juicy thighs. Both the fullness of his thighs and the longer length of his legs caused his jeans to ride up his legs slightly in a feminine manner resembling women’s capris pants, revealing slender, pretty ankles, attached to a pair of petite feet perched in black pumps with three inch heels.

“What?!” was all he could say again, purple hair strewn about his shoulders and face from the fall.

“You should be more careful,” Kaji laughed, extending his head to him in a gesture to help him up, “falling flat on your cute lil’ butt, there.”

“Get away from m–!” he said, scooting back awkwardly, planting his high-heeled feet into the ground and pushing back with his new, lovely legs, but he was cut off by the sensation of his butt explosively expanding beneath him, his hips having widened rapidly. The shock of the sensation made him stretch his back, his back arching erotically as his arms stuck out to his sides, shaking stiff as his sweaty, clammy hands dug into the cold, metal floor of the elevator, his eyes wide. Now, when he scooted back, he felt the soft, fleshy mass of a woman’s ass jiggle underneath him, inside his now skin-tight jeans. Arms still straight at his sides, he looked down (hair waving beautifully) to see his wide hips and the sides of his new booty bulge outward from beneath him.

“Oh my God!” he said and looked up at Kaji. “What’re you doing to me?!”

“What do you mean?” he asked innocently, stepping forward again.

Mitchell struggled awkwardly into a standing position on his high-heeled feet, wobbling as he took another step back. “What is this?! Where am I?! Who are you?!”

“We’re in NERV Headquarters, sweetie. We’re in the elevator that descends into the geosphere.”

“That can’t be! NERV doesn’t exist! It’s not real!”

“What’re you talking about? Of course it exists! Look at your uniform, honey!”

“What unifo–” he began to say again, but, as he took another step back, he felt his legs catch on a soft, yet tight material, wrapping themselves around his legs. This, combined with his heels still, caused him to stumble back continuously until his back and his big butt smacked against the wall behind him.

Hands planted into the walls at his sides, he looked down at his body and nearly screamed with horror.

On his upper body, instead of his plain, white T-shirt, he now wore a red, broad-shouldered, high-collared midriff jacket, its sleeves tapering to his thin, slender arms, with a yellow, upside-down triangle on both its shoulders, signifying his status and rank as a Captain of NERV. Then, inside the jacket, replacing his jeans and boxers, he wore Misato’s black, form-fitting mini-dress, hugging a curvaceous, hourglass figure he had somehow acquired in the midst of all this transformational madness, dress tapering inward at a small waist then flaring fabulously outward at the rich width of his hips, hem wrapped tightly around the tops of his full, milky thighs. The provocatively short length of his dress now exposed his new legs in all their naked beauty, accentuated all the more (just as Kaji said!) by his new, black, three inch pumps.

And, on his still flat chest, his cross-shaped pendant hung.

“Oh my God!!” he screamed again, clutching the collar of his jacket. “W-Why am I wearing this?! What’s happening to me?!”

“You’re wearing that because you’re a Captain of NERV, dear.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Oh, yes you aaare,” he said in a sing-song voice, getting closer and closer to him with every menacingly slow step.

“You’re not even real!”
“
Of course I’m real. How’re you gonna still deny all the history we had, after so many years?”

“We have no history! I’m just a regular boy and you’re a fictional character!”

“Oh, I can assure you, sweetie,” he said, now stepping directly in front of him, slamming both of his big, manly hands on both sides of his soft, jacketed shoulders, his strong arms seeming to trap him like a cage, his tall stature and towering manliness eclipsing his increasing femininity (even in three inch heels) as he looked up fearfully at him, “I am very real.”

He then raised his hand to delicately caress the soft, smooth cheek of his beautiful, yet frightened face, his thick fingers brushing back several silky strands of violet locks, his hand then lowering to rub his soft, rounded chin. His thumb played across his luscious, kissable lips, which now hung ajar in horror and what also seemed to be arousal. His feminized body froze stiff under his touch yet seemed to yearn for it all at once! He could neither move nor speak; he could only stand there as if in a trance, gazing unflinchingly into his gentle, loving eyes, seeing his wide, horrified, brown eyes of his horrified yet beautiful face reflected back in them.

“I love you, Misato,” he said, so gently his breath brushed his smooth face like a breeze. His heart jumped: out of male horror or feminine ecstasy, he could not tell. With a gulp, however, through the feminine fog of these conflicting, confusing feelings, he found the strength to say one defiant thing.

“I’m not Misa–!”

But, before he could finish the sentence, Kaji pressed his lips against Mitchell’s.
His eyes widened even more so at shock, and then shut tightly, as if to wish away this event to be a nightmare. He planted his hands on Kaji’s wide shoulders in a futile, feminine attempt to push him away, but his slender, womanly arms could not resist his body. Kaji’s arms wrapped themselves around his small waist like snakes once again, ensnaring Mitchell in Misato’s female mind. He tried to scream hysterically into his mouth in massive protest, but Kaji’s mouth muffled his screams into womanly moans whose tones rose higher and higher in pitch, becoming richer with arousal. His stubble tickled his smooth chin, a sensation strangely familiar to him; his knees shook underneath him as a wonderful warmth enveloped his scared-stiff body, invasively working its way into every resistant, contracted muscle until he relaxed and melted in the arms that had been trying to embrace him for so long. Kaji’s hypnotic cologne snaked its way into the tiny nostrils of his adorable button nose, stimulating his new, feminine olfactory senses and conjuring up memories which replayed themselves behind his now softly, happily closed eyes–memories of dates with this man many years ago, as a young, sexy college co-ed, studying to become NERV personnel….

Soon, he had found himself responding to these stimuli, his tongue meeting Kaji’s in a wet waltz, his hands, instead of roughly wringing his shoulders in desperation for release, lovingly clutching so as to never let go. And, for what seemed like forever, the only sounds that filled the elevator were his womanly moans and the constant, rhythmic click of the elevator panel. The panel seemingly counted each and every second of the kiss, as well as Mitchell’s descent into insanity, as the elevator brought him farther from reality and deeper into the rabbit hole, deeper into NERV HQ and deeper into a new body and mind.
All the while, the pendant gleamed on his chest.

Suddenly, however, with a sudden surge of defiance, he pushed Kaji off of him and then he leapt sideways off the wall, stumbling back towards the center of the elevator. He blushed brightly, his head dizzy with womanly emotions and memories, panting from the rush of emotion and the horror of having been kissed by a man and having kissed him back.
Kaji just looked at him and smiled. “I’m sorry. What were you saying before I cut you off?”

“I–” he panted, but he stopped at the sound of his voice. He grabbed his throat in shock, the other hand hovering embarrassingly in front of his luscious, freshly kissed lips. “What?” he gasped girlishly in that sexy, breathy contralto that had awoken him into this nightmare not too long ago, trying to seduce him to become one with her, both body and soul (a goal which was slowly being realized, whether Mitchell liked it or not!). “No! My voice!”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“I-It’s not mine!” He stomped on the metal floor with his high-heeled foot. “And not these clothes, either! Or this body! Or these thoughts and feelings! I’m not Misato!”
Kaji laughed. “That’s funny. You look like Misato,” he took a step towards him, causing him to step back, “you sound like Misato,” step, “you’re dressed like Misato,” step, “and you even kiss like her, too.”

“Stay away!” he screamed again. He felt helpless in this beautiful body, in this skimpy uniform, in this small elevator, descending him further into madness. He could not escape!
Without another word, Kaji dashed up to him again, and kissed him even more forcefully, arms once again wrapping him and trapping him in a womanly rapture. A newfound pair of plump breasts that he even didn’t notice he had had compressed themselves against Kaji’s manly chest, their nipples swelling into his hard pecs, as a wet, itching warmth radiated from between his legs.

For the first time in his life, he seriously considered having sex, but never in the way he dreamed he would. The warm, wet itch between his legs seemed to beg for some sort of relief that his still-morphing mind couldn’t yet comprehend, like a mother who didn’t know what to feed her new baby. He soon realized just what the nature of these desires were, however.
Misato’s body was calling out for Kaji’s cock!
The way Mitchell found his hands caressing his broad shoulders, the way he found his wide hips buckling towards his own. She wanted Kaji to rip her NERV uniform off and fuck her in this elevator!

At the realization of these horrible, male-ego-threatening thoughts, he managed to break the kiss by pulling his neck back and momentarily fending his head off with his soft hands. “Please,” he panted passionately, like a very aroused woman whispering wispily to an aggressive lover forcing himself on her in public, “someone’ll see us!” He didn’t know why he was worried with someone seeing them, though; that would be his best hope!

“Who?”

“Someone!” he squealed, but Kaji broke past his weak defenses and kissed him yet again. And, just like that, all his protests evaporated like ice in the steamy, sweltering cesspool of lust that this elevator was becoming.

(Fuck it. I hope someone’s watching. I wanna give them a show.)

He frightfully squealed into Kaji’s mouth at the voice he had heard in his head. But, before he could ponder or react to that, he felt Kaji’s hand circle around his lower back to grope his big, beautiful bubble butt through his black minidress, the other hand reaching underneath the hem through the front and approaching his–

With that, he shoved Kaji away again, raised his hand, and smacked him fiercely
across this smug face.

Kaji casually rubbed his cheek and gave him a knee-shaking gaze. “I see you’re actually wearing panties today.

“What are you talking about?! I don’t wear panties!”

“I know you don’t. It usually makes it easier for us.”

“No! I mean because I’m not a girl! I’m a boy!”

“Don’t be silly, Misato,” he laughed gently. “Last time I checked–which was just a second ago–you’re all woman.”

Mitchell’s heart dropped, his eyes wide with horror at his words.

Unthinkingly, his hands darted toward his thighs and lifted the hem of his dress enough so he could see the bottom of his crotch–a perfectly, femininely flat crotch, encased in pristine but slightly soiled white panties.

Like a girl in a scary movie having awoken to find her hair cut off, he released a bloodcurdlingly girly scream that lasted for a few seconds.

Kaji, on the other hand, just stood there, appreciating the panty shot.

“Where is it?!” he screamed like a hysterical girl who lost her favorite doll. “Where is it?!” His hand cupped his crotch in the manner of a chauvinistic male, hoping to find balls, but he felt nothing but a sensitive slit underneath the warm, moist material. “This–this can’t be real! This is all a dream!”

“There you go, Misato, running away from reality again,” Kaji sighed tiredly. “Allow me to give you a reality check.”

Kaji approached him yet again, wrapped his arms around his curvy body, and kissed him yet again. And, once again, he felt his knees go weak as a sexual heat began to flare in his crotch and on his nipples, growing hotter and hotter like a kindling fire. This heat spread itself pervasively to every pore of his skin, feeling like an almighty, ecstatic hot flash that hit his body like a tidal wave. The panel ticked, and ticked, and ticked, and the kiss when on and on and on.

Then, with every fiber of his being, as if to shove Kaji through the elevator wall, he shoved him away.

And, instead, he found he had only shoved away an armful of manila folders.

At that, a snowfall of papers and folders occurred all around him. The force of him shove having been applied to nothing but thin air–or, as it now seemed, paper–made him fall back on his plump rump. With his lovely legs splayed before him, he confusingly watched the paper fly all around him, and he gazed at the manila folders on the floor.

All of them had the same insignia stamped on them in bold, red ink, with that iconic, slanted red leaf:

“NERV: GOD IS IN HEAVEN. ALL’S RIGHT IN THE WORLD.”

“No,” he gasped, almost too horrified to find breath. But, then he remembered.

Kaji.

His head snapped about to inspect every wall and corner of the elevator, violet hair whipping him in the face as he looked for his sexual assailant. He found himself looking around in a mixture hopeful victory yet also predominantly of womanly mourning, like a woman who awoke in the morning to find her lover gone with the wind, leaving not even a letter behind. Was he looking to see if he was really gone, or was he looking to see if he was still here?

He called out “Kaji?”, unsure of whether he was calling out in fear or in desire.
He only heard the hum of the elevator and the tick of the panel.

With that, he leaned back against the wall behind him, breathing heavily, partly in relief and in resting after such a brainfuck of an ordeal, but mostly out of lingering arousal.

He was alone.

Fully in the body of Misato Katsuragi.

And horny.

He gazed down at his body, his large breasts heaving voluptuously inside his dress, their nipples hard. Curiously, never having seen, let alone played with a girl’s body at the young age of fourteen (or perhaps from subconscious desire), he reached up and brushed them with his slender fingers. Such a slight brush electrified his body, causing his thighs to quake as the slit between his legs shuddered ever so slightly.

At that, he brought his right hand–the same hand that had slapped Kaji moments before–to his crotch to once again feel the wet warmth it radiated. His middle finger pressed it gently like a button, and, as if in response to the button, he cooed softly. He shut his eyes, partly in shame from inflicting these pleasurable female sensations upon himself, but also to relish in them.

And, as if a projector in his mind had turned on, in the back of his eyes and in his heart, he pictured Kaji.

“Unnh!” he grunted–out of disgust or a sudden spike in arousal, he didn’t know and couldn’t tell–and jerked his head to the side, his hair whipping about erotically.

(Don’t feel bad about it, sweetie. You’re a woman, after all. We’re just finishing what he started.)

There it was: the voice again!

He wanted to rip his eyes open and eject himself from this sexual fantasy his body and mind was slowly becoming entangled into, and possibly inspect the elevator again to see where that voice had come from. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to. As if glued shut, his eyes remained closed and, from that one thought of Kaji, the images in his mind suddenly exploded into full vividness, like a tiny spark igniting a room full of flammable pheromones and gasoline-laced lust.

He was lying naked on a bed in a dark bedroom, his splayed legs mirroring his own in the elevator right now, his hand caressing his breast just the same. Pale, blue moonlight flowed in through the window and washed over his body, making his soft, smooth skin glow with an ethereal beauty and giving the entire scene a serene, amorous atmosphere. The moonlight also revealed another figure in the darkness, kneeling tall and muscular before his beautiful, prostate body.

“Oh God,” he said in horror.

(I know. Isn’t he so dreeeeamy?)

He shut his eyes as tight as he could and violently shook his head back and forth, (as if in a silent, emphatic “NO!”) as if he could shake the voice out of his ears and squeeze the image out of his eyes, or at least scramble them from his outrageous physical movements.

Yet, the image remained as real as a high-definition TV display, the voice as vivid as if
the person was right next to his ear.

Or inside his head.

In this vision, he looked longingly up at the man through luscious lashes. Kaji’s ruggedly handsome face gazed back at him, his eyes loving yet firm.

He bent over to lie on top of him, his arms at either side of his naked, soft shoulders like powerful pillars. He gazed into Mitchell’s eyes, and, through the darkness of his closed eyes, Mitchell felt he could stare right back into his. Kaji’s eyes attracted him like a magnet, pulling him farther from the “reality” of the elevator (even though that, too, was an illusion–or so he hoped) and into yet another surreal world.
He could sense it–due to his closed eyes hiding the elevator from him and the vivid bedroom image in his mind that he couldn’t turn off, his thoughts were slowly disassociating him and, quite literally, “transporting” him from the elevator and into the bedroom!
Mitchell felt his finger creep sneakily inside the crotch of his panties, as if trying to avoid detection from his distracted, visualizing mind. It began to tickle his clit.
In that instant, in the vision, Kaji’s penis also began to tickle her clit, through the guidance of Mitchell’s own hand.

(Just let yourself go.) the voice urged. (Let it happen.)

“Who are you?!” he screamed into the empty elevator, its panel still ticking.

The voice laughed heartily for a long moment until its laugh ended in an exhausted, commiserating sigh.

Mitchell then realized.

He began to hear this voice from the very moment he put the pendant on! It had urged him to drink his father’s beer, it had lulled him into this horrible sleep, it had greeted him into this horrendous, ego-shattering nightmare, and it had been whispering to him ever since! Its strength and volume had just grown from the beginning, from masquerading as a barely audible, almost fleeting thought, to the full-blown invasive voice it had now become. But, it was the same voice all throughout!

It was the voice of Misato Katsuragi!

“That’s MY voice!” he thought. “No!” he quickly recanted, having realized he had subconsciously taken possession of Misato’s voice as his own. “I mean, that’s not my voice! That’s her voice–but it sounds just like mine! Well, it sounds like that because my voice is now hers–so–but, wait!”

His middle finger started to slide into his wet and ready vagina; simultaneously, Kaji’s cock, still under the guidance of Mitchell’s hand, started to slide into him in his vagina, like a sword slowly rescinding into its hilt. Mitchell’s mouth gaped with horror and awe, and the eyebrows of his closed eyes jumped to their peak (simulating his eyes widening), but his shock stole any word or cry that could have escaped.

Phantom Misato laughed. “This is where it all begins.”

The finger / penis plunged deeper and deeper, until its tip perfectly touched the bottom of the depth of her vagina, finger buried in to the knuckle and penis buried in to the hilt.

In this one moment, both fantasy and reality matched perfectly.

And, suddenly, as if Kaji’s penis had connected these two separate worlds, if just for a moment, and plugged her into another world, the two worlds switched; the bedroom became reality, the elevator now just a thought in her head.
The eternal ticking of the now non-existent elevator panel ended.

***

She blinked. Her eyes had somehow opened. She didn’t know and couldn’t tell for how long they had been, only that they now were. Perhaps they always had been.
She was looking up at Kaji’s face.

She looked down, straining to look over her large breasts, and saw her dainty hand firmly wrapped around the base of the penis she had guided into her hungry vagina in between the full thighs of her welcoming, splayed legs.

This was no longer a fantasy: her hand held a warm, living, throbbing penis, which was now plunged deep inside her wet and ready pussy. She could feel the soft satin of the bed sheets brush her bare back. She could smell his manly musk and her fragrant scent mix in the air.

Oddly, the pendant–that damned pendant which had started this all–still hung on her otherwise naked body, draped around her neck and hanging above her breasts. It gleamed almost magically in the moonlight.

She looked up at him again, embarrassed and sickened, like a boy caught playing dress-up in his mother’s clothes–only, this boy had somehow awoken in his mother’s clothes, with his mother looking dead at him. Did he, however, put on the clothes himself?

Did he open his legs for this man and put this penis inside his vagina?

Kaji did not give her time to ponder this. He simply began to draw his hips back and slowly unsheathe his penis from her vagina, and he almost drew it back to its head, before he rammed it in again, pounding out a surprised, passionate gasp from her mouth. She could only lie there, too mindfucked to move and too shocked to speak, as Kaji's patiently slow humps began introducing her to womanhood, allotting her plenty of time to feel every inch of his penis and the psychological impact and implications of its presence in her pussy. He soon picked up the pace, though, giving her less time to ponder her predicament. With rapid, hard thrusts, his penis soon began to torpedo both her vagina and her fragile, increasingly feminine mind in a full-on psychosexual assault. She gritted her teeth to seal in the screams and moans trying to escape her mouth, and she shut her eyes tight, her head shaking back and forth violently again, her hair tossed about wantonly. She brought her hands to his shoulders, in a similar fashion to which she had in the elevator, and squeezed hard, unsure of whether she was trying to wring them or hold on.

“Look at you go again,” she heard a recognizable female voice say–not Misato's, but someone else's. “Getting your brains fucked out of you.”

For a moment, Mitchell's mind was transported out of the bedroom scene and, within the darkness behind her eyes, she found herself sitting in a wooden chair, as if in interrogation, her long legs clamped tightly together in a womanly fashion. She wore her NERV uniform.

Similarly to the simultaneous elevator and bedroom scenes, she still felt a cognizant and physical connection to the bedroom, and to getting the brains fucked out of her, as the voice so delicately put it. Like a split circuit, however, her cognizance had somehow been split fifty-fifty between both the bedroom and this weird world within her head, as if she had taken a temporary recession to the deepest chambers of her consciousness, while her body continued on.

In front of her stood a woman with short, blonde hair. She wore a simple blouse and skirt underneath a white lab coat. A sad, tear-drop-looking mole poked out of the skin underneath near her right eye.
Nothing but darkness surrounded the both of them.

“Ritsuko?!” she asked.

“Don't you Ritsuko me, Misato.”

“I'm not Misa–uuuuh!” she moaned at a sudden explosion of pleasure inside of her panties, causing her thighs to quake and her legs to shake as they spastically splayed themselves indecently in her chair, exposing her panties to Ritsuko. It then dawned on Mitchell.
Even though this mental interrogation scene subdued it greatly, she could still feel Kaji fucking her!

“Oh, God,” Ritsuko said. “Look at you. You're enjoying yourself so much you can't even listen to me.”

“No!” Mitchell said, blushing like a teenage girl whose mom caught her in her bedroom, alone with her boyfriend. She clamped her hands on her knees and clamped her legs shut, trying to suppress pleasurable purring and pulsing in her pussy. “This isn't what it looks like!”
“Then tell me what it is, then.”

“I–I'm not,” she struggled to say through her apparent pleasure, “I'm not Misato!”

Ritsuko just laughed. “Oh, really?” She shook her head. “It isn't enough to use people for sex, but now you're pulling the split personality card on me? That's pretty low, Misato.”
“Stop it!” she said in a half scream, half moan, as if directed half towards Ritsuko mentally, and half towards Kaji physically. “None of this is even real!”

“Really?” she heard another voice say, slightly to her left.

She glanced over to see Kaji, dressed as he was in the elevator.

“Our relationship wasn't real to you? Our love wasn't real to you?”

She opened her mouth to quickly deny, but another powerful pulse stole her words and her thoughts, causing her to close her eyes as she gasped. The pulse of pleasure had somehow painted a memory in her mind–a memory of both him and her staying locked up in her dorm room for a full week they they did nothing but have wild, passionate sex! She could remember how she rode him like a wild bronco, the humid air on her naked skin, how the cheap, plastic fan constantly whirled and tickled her skin, offering slight relief on that sweltering summer day (as all days seemed to be in the post-Third Impact climate), the constant creak of her cheap college bed underneath the both of them, the badgering calls from Ritsuko, wondering where the hell she was.

In this memory, she remembered how she felt. It was the same way she shamefully found herself feeling now, no matter how hard she wanted to deny it.

She felt–

“NO!” she screamed, her hands flying toward her head and squeezing hard, her hands grabbing fistfuls of long, violet hair, eyes shut tight. She had somehow developed a headache, and her temples now throbbed as much in pain as her vagina throbbed in pleasure; they even seemingly throbbed in sync.

“These memories,” she moaned. She could feel them assaulting the fragile remnants of her male mind, every thrust of Kaji's penis drilling in a new memory while simultaneously extracting an old one, each hump hammering at the weakened shell of his fracturing, disintegrating male ego, and rewriting her mind with Misato's memories and feelings. She felt dizzy with vertigo as, thrust after thrust, memories and feelings flooded her mind: her first date with Kaji, her graduation, her first day at NERV, the day she went out to buy Pen-Pen, the day she introduced herself to Ritsuko in college, the therapy she received when she refused to speak after the Second Impact, and the Second Impact itself.

“Second Impact?”, she fearfully thought to herself.

“Yes,” Kaji said, as if having heard her thought. He stepped in front of her. “Allow me to show you,” he said as he put his hands on the collar of her dress.

With one, swift motion, he ripped her dress right down the middle, down to her navel, making her gasp.

“What're you–?!” she started to say, until she looked down and saw it.

Even ignoring her breathtaking breasts now shamefully exposed in their bare, bra'ed beauty and abundance before Kaji’s feasting eyes (her nipples hard), she stared at the iconic scar that had developed on her rib cage.

And the scar stared back at her.

She incredulously ran her delicate fingers across its surface, feeling the roughness of the scar tissue.
As if burned by an iron, her hand jumped off of the scar, scared by the reality of its touch to her fingers and its sensation on her chest.

“You're starting to realize who you really are,” Kaji said.
“NO!” she screamed again. She wanted to desperately stand up and run away–to where, with metaphysical darkness surrounding her at all sides, she did not know. Just anywhere away from these two psychological assailants / anime phantoms! Yet, she couldn't bring herself to. It was as if her big butt had been glued to the chair, her mind handcuffed to this hell.

Still, she screamed.

“I don’t care what you say! I know who I am!”

“Who are you, then?” Ritsuko asked.

“I told you!” she screamed again. “I’m Misato Katsuragi!”

They both laughed.

She wondered for a moment why they were laughing at her. Then, she realized what she just said.

“Wait! What?!” she shook her head, eyes wide with confusion yet pleading for understanding, like someone who had given the wrong answer to a torturer. “No! I'm not Misato! My name's Mitch–”

A powerful pulse–more powerful than any before–ripped through her body and mind like a lightning, shaking her body and stealing her name from her mouth and from her mind, expunging it forever, leaving her moaning loudly.

She shut her eyes and tossed her head again, her legs still clamped shut, yet quivering, like a little girl who needed to use the bathroom badly.

“Uuuh–,” she said, trying to rouse herself from ecstasy. “I–I–”

What was she saying, again?

Oh! That's right.

“My–” she panted, “my–my name's–Michelle!” she defiantly declared.

Once again, they laughed.

She had to think again for a moment why, until she remembered what she had said, again. “Nooo!” Even though that sounded similar, she knew that wasn't quite her name, either!

But what was it?

Did she–?

“Oh my God!” she screamed. “I–I can't remember my name!” She looked at both the smug, smirking faces of Kaji and Ritsuko accusingly, her eyes darting back and forth between them, as if to ask “Which one of you took it?” But, unlike with a tangible object, she couldn't see it anywhere in their smug smiles or on their bodies.

It was just gone!

“I–I don’t know who I am, anymore!” she screamed.

“Is that why you had sex with Kaji?” Ritsuko asked.

“No! I had sex with him because I love him!”

She paused yet again, an explosion of pleasure shaking her again, once again more powerful and impacting than the last. Her heart swelled with some sense of happiness at having admitted that, as if she had lifted a weight off her heart by confessing a deep, dark secret.

But, she resisted, still.

“Wait! No! That’s not right! What am I saying?! I’m fourteen! I never even had sex before!”

“There you go again, refusing to grow up,” Ritsuko said.

“No! I mean I’m a fourteen-year-old boy!”

“I should know better than anyone that you're all woman, Misato,” Kaji said.
Ritsuko nodded. “Seriously, Misato. These childish mind games aren't going to get you anywhere. Face it: you're a woman, and, despite how much you don't want to admit it, you're still in love with Kaji.”

“No, I–” Another pulse of pleasure planted yet another loving memory of her and Kaji in her mind,, but, like an internet pop-up, she quickly ignored both the thought and the pleasure. “I'm not! That was in the past! There's–there's nothing between us anymore!” Again, another pause, another pulse of pleasure. “No! I mean, I didn’t love Kaji! I never did!”

“So, all those times we made love, you really were just using me for sex, huh, Misato?”

“No, I wasn’t! I was–wait! We never had sex!” She seized her head in her hands again, exasperated with all of these rapid-fire accusations and her subliminally blundering vocal errors, her head about to explode and her mind about to tear into two. “You’re not even real, godammit!”

She couldn't help but feel like she was lying to herself and to these two people after awhile, saying one thing to these two phantoms yet feeling the opposite way, deep down inside. As long as she could remember that the fact that these feelings were, in and of itself, fabricated, then she could perhaps fight back and liberate herself from this nightmare.

She then looked down at her pendant, hanging above her breasts. In the depressing darkness of the world around her, it shone like the sun, almost.

“This–this thing did this to me!” she said. “This body! These feelings! Everything!”

“Don’t blame your father for you becoming such a flirtatious slut!” Ritsuko said with horrified indignance.

She looked at her. “I’m not!” Pause. “No! I mean, I’m not a slut! I loved him, I really did! I mean–NO! I never loved him and it is his fault! Not for me being a slut–because I’m not a slut!–but for giving me this pendant!”

She frowned down at the pendant. How did she get it? She couldn’t quite remember! Despite how right and natural it felt to believe that her father gave it to her, though, a nagging, weakening remnant of her brain just couldn’t accept that! She had a vague, nebulous memory of having bought it somewhere, but the when, where, how, and why eluded her.

“Relax, Misato,” Kaji said as he walked directly in front of her. He put his hands on her shoulders and she still sat, staring at the pendant.

Suddenly, she looked up at him, her eyes starting to well with tears of hopelessness, stranded in a psychological tsunami. “What?”

Before she could say anything else, Kaji pushed her shoulders back, causing the chair to slowly tilt backwards.

“Hey! Noooo!” she screamed, her arms and legs flailing girlishly to reacquire her balance and save herself from falling, but she inevitably fell flat on her back.

And she fell flat back on her bed in the bedroom, naked, her hair scattered underneath her head, her arms extended at her sides, her legs still high in the sky from the fall–with Kaji in between them, pounding away at her yet again.

The pendant still rested on her chest.

Despite the pleasure spreading throughout her body again, she looked around frantically, as if having just woken up from yet another dream. What had just happened? What was that place–that dark place with the chair? Did she even go anywhere at all?

She was going crazy!

Yet, wave upon wave of pleasure hit her mind and body like a tsunami, its tidal waves washing away all worry and gradually wiping away her will. She somehow remembered the wonderful feeling of having him inside of her: how complete it made her feel! This almost viral pleasure invaded her transformed body and overwhelmed her weakening will, fighting past all of her defenses, burrowing to the deepest, darkest depths of his soul and consciousness, akin to nerve contamination by an Angel. After awhile of biting her lip to barely yet sexily restrain the womanly moans eager to escape her mouth, she couldn’t help but release some, her body thrusting her hips forward to meet his; pound after pound, she became one with Misato more and more, in mind and body, as Kaji fucked both her mind and body!

Soon, he stopped.

She stared up at him in wonder, her half-closed eyes asking “What’s wrong?”

His head leaned in to the side of hers and he whispered in her ear:

“Ride me, Misato. Ride me like you did back then. Remember?”

Like riding a bike, she remembered clearly. She knew just what to do.

With his hands under her armpits, Kaji’s body rolled backwards into a lying-down position, simultaneously pulling her light body atop his. Her hands planted themselves beside both of his shoulders, her lovely legs atop his bulky legs, his leg hairs tickling her soft, smooth skin.

Looking down, past her pendant, past her breasts, she gazed into his eyes. She couldn’t move; the position felt so familiar, so good, yet so wrong at the same time.

(Don’t be shy, Misato. You know what to do. It’s not like you haven’t done this before.)

“But I haven–”

With his hands gripping her hips, he pulled her toward him, making her hips lower onto his penis.

“I–I–!” she gasped, feeling each and every inch enter her, inching her closer to full penetration.

Soon, her hips sat perfectly on his crotch, his penis fully inside her.

(See? Just like riding a bike!)

“Ugh!” was all she could say in response. Her sweaty, clammy hands squeezed the bed sheet beside Kaji’s broad shoulders, her eyes shut tight again, as if to try to expel the reality that she was riding the penis of another man. She tried to raise her hips off of his penis, slow and steady, as if pulling a knife out of a wound. She succeeded in doing so up to its head, but he firmly pulled her back on top of him again, causing her to gasp again as his penis once again stabbed itself into her. And so the cycle continued, its pace picking up until, before she knew it, without his assistance or coercion, she was officially riding him like a wild bronco, as she somehow had a very vivid memory of doing so long ago.

It all somehow seemed so familiar. Just as she remembered it. The hot, humid air licking her sweaty, naked skin, the smell of their scent in the air, the gasps and moans, the creak of the bed underneath them. They all hit a place in her heart, just like his penis hit that familiar spot in her vagina.

She opened her eyes to look at the pendant. It gleamed as it bounced buoyantly along with her breasts, as if to taunt her into reaching for it.

She then realized; she needed to take it off!

She needed to take that off before she–

“Uuuuuh!” she moaned passionately.

(“Look at you go, you lil’ slut!”) Phantom Misato teased.
Her mouth opened to respond, but, instead of a denial, all that came out was a long, ecstatic “Unnnnh.”

The phantom laughed. (“You get it now, don’t you? You do. Don’t pretend like you don’t know what to do to end this.”)

Again, she moaned.

(“Unless you don’t want this to end?”)

“Yes!” she screamed.

(“Was that yes to me, or to your lover?”)

She honestly couldn’t tell. She found it hard to care to tell.

The phantom laughed yet again. (“Looks like you’re enjoying yourself too much to even listen to me. But, like I said, I think you get it now.”)

She half-opened up her eyes to look at the bouncing pendant again.

(“You have the power to wake yourself up if you want to. All you have to do is take that pendant off!”)

Her thigh started to shake. She could feel an impending eruption begin to take place.

(“You look like you’re close, though. You don’t have much more time. If you cum with that pendant still there--well, you’ll still wake up–but, I’m afraid you’ll awaken to the sight of an unfamiliar ceiling that you‘re going to get real familiar with!”)

Her body languid with lust and arousal, eyes only half-open, heavy-lidded with ecstasy, she limply threw one of her hands in the pendant’s general area, but missed embarrassingly. She looked as if she was trying to bat away an annoying fly instead of grab a dangerous, magical pendant that threatened to permanently steal her manhood!

The Phantom guffawed at the pathetic, half-hearted attempt. (“You’re pathetic. Even after what I just told you, that’s the best you can do?”) Another laugh.(“I’m convinced. You enjoy this. You want this. You’re going to trap yourself now and forever in the mind and body of me.”)

“Nnnnnuh–nnnnnooo,” she moaned weakly, shaking her head. “No!” With a slightly stronger morale, she threw her hand at the pendant again, but missed barely.

Instead, her hand landed perfectly on her big, bouncing breast.

And squeezed it.

“Uuuuh!” she moaned loudly, horrified with herself yet delightfully surprised. Her hand, however, would not correct itself and leave her breast be (or was it that she would not let go)? As if the sweat on her breast (and also on her skin in general) was some sort of lust-laced glue, her hand remained on it, unable or unwilling to let go. She even felt her index finger flick her nipple, eliciting more moans of unabashed pleasure.

Meanwhile, the pendant dangled and bounced freely in front of her now occupied hand.

At this point, her mind and body could take no more of this.

And, soon, they both incorrigibly cracked.

Her vagina started to twitch and pulse rapidly with pleasure around Kaji’s cock, an unbelievably gratifying sensation which pulled her entire body and mind under and tore them asunder. Her head throbbed just as rapidly as her vagina, the two seeming to share a connection to each other. The rapid throbbing of her head induced a sense of vertigo that quickly overcame her senses. It was a tumultuous, transformative vertigo that hit her senses like a tsunami, which seemed to turn her world upside down and inside out, as if her perception of reality and her sense of self had just been thrown in a blender to be remade anew. It was as if every nerve and cell and gene of her body, every facet of her reality, and every atom in her universe had broken down and converged together into a climatic Big Bang (pun intended), which seemed to be the peak of this Instrumentality–the final, ultimate union of herself with Misato. As her senses swirled in this transformative vertigo, she felt her eyes roll in the back of her head, her head thrown back with her lovely violet hair brushing her lower back, every inch of her body tingling with unbridled pleasure, her skin flushing with a frenzied heat. Every muscle in her body contracted, as if struck by lightning. Her soul felt as if it were on fire, as if burning in some holy, ceremonial immolation, to be reborn again in some phoenix-like fashion. Her ears rang and popped.

She realized what had happened.

She came.

And, thus, she became Misato Katsuragi.

Just as soon as she realized this, her head suddenly cleared, her transformative vertigo vanishing just as quickly as it had came, almost as if it had never occurred–as if it, too, was a split-second figment of her imagination. The climax--the Big Bang-- metaphorical, psychological, and literal, was over. She felt the aftershocks of her orgasm ripple throughout her body, and she idly reflected on how she hadn’t felt this in a long time. Fingering herself could never compare to Kaji’s cock.

She soon looked down at her chest and saw her pendant now hanging lifelessly.

She reached up and finally, without any difficulty, yanked it off of her neck.

Nothing happened. It simply hung in her hand like any other ornament in the world.

“Oh my God,” she huffed weakly through her physical fatigue. She couldn’t muster up more of a shocking response, though. After so much psychological and physical torture and frustration, at finally being relieved, fatigue quickly overcame her like a giant blanket.

She collapsed onto the bed and quickly fell asleep.

--------

She stirred in her bed, tossing and turning somewhat for awhile, trying to refuse to wake up.

“My parents still haven’t woken me up?” she thought languidly to herself. “How long have I been sleeping for?”

Oh well, she thought. No point in getting up if nobody wanted her. She tried to force herself back to sleep, but she shivered at the vague, foggy memory of a horrible nightmare that she had. She couldn’t quite remember what it was, but it was enough to make her not want to sleep again.

So, she acquiesced to the natural alarm inside of her body, and she opened her eyes.

She saw an unfamiliar ceiling. Pale moonlight lighting up its foreign surface.

She frowned. “Is this my room?” she thought.

She motioned to sit up but quickly, with this major motion, became more cognizant of all the sensations of her body. Her head throbbed with a dull pain, as if she had had the worst hangover ever after a night of heavy drinking (as she was apt to do). Her crotched throbbed with a dull pleasure, as if she had had the wildest, wettest wet dream of her life. She could even feel a giant wet spot on the sheets beneath her crotch.

She could barely keep from gasping. Her head shot down to look at her crotch, but two, big, beautiful breasts blocked her vision.

“What the hell?!” she gasped in an unfamiliar yet all too familiar voice.

She hoisted her upper body on her elbows to looked further down her chest, and she soon saw a diagonal scar on her sternum, below her beautiful bust. This sternum tapered into a small waist, which then curved out dramatically into a pair of wide hips, between which lay the recently moist, very satisfied vagina that had wet her bed.

She could feel long hair behind her head, tickling her ears, her back, and her forehead.

She frantically reached back, grabbed a handful, and pulled it forward, in front of her vision. The violet locks glowed in the moonlight.

“Oh my God!” she screamed.

Then, suddenly, like a memory rushing back to her after a night of heavy drinking, she remembered everything.

The Pendant.

NERV.

Kaji.

Ritsuko.

Misato.

Her father.

Her body.

Her nightmare!

“Oh my God!” she screamed again, her hand flying to her neck, but feeling no pendant. She looked down just to confirm that it really wasn’t there. She then crazily snapped her head about the room, her eyes sweeping the floor for it.

She soon locked onto the pendant, lying lifelessly on her nightstand, just like any other pendant in the world.

She was too afraid to even look at it, let alone touch it. Then, another thought came to her.

“Eeeek!” she screamed, and, as if being embarrassed by a sudden intrusion or a peeping tom, she yanked the blanket over her beautiful, naked body and, once again, looked all over the room, her eyes trying to stab through the moonlit darkness.

“Is anyone there?!” she screamed, loud enough for anyone in the entire apartment to hear her. “Hello?!”

She heard nothing.

“Kaji?!”

Nothing.

“Ritsuko?!”

Nothing.

“Anyone?!”

Nothing. Nothing but absolute silence, left to her body, her voice, and her mind.

Finally, after a long, torturing nightmare of psychological assault by many different voices and people…

She was truly alone.

In an unfamiliar room.

In an unfamiliar apartment.

In a strange, but all too familiar body.

Staring at an unfamiliar ceiling.

She looked down at her body, the soft, silky sheet still accentuating her curves. She felt the wet spot and suddenly remembered:

She had been fucked on this bed and enjoyed it immensely. Her new, feminine nose could even still smell the faint aroma of two naked bodies fucking in the air.

She screamed again and, with a jolt, quickly stumbled out of the bed, as if she had been lying on hot coals. Once she stood up, she winced back at the bed as if it were a dirty pool, noticing that, it wasn’t her old, Western style bed, with a mattress and a bed frame–the bed she had fallen asleep in earlier–but a Japanese futon lying on the floor. This major change prompted her to look around this unfamiliar room (her room).

Now, standing up in it, she could truly take in all the differences in it.

First of all, she herself was taller. Her former five-foot frame as a fourteen-year-old boy had increased to the five-foot six height of a grown, twenty-eight year-old Japanese woman. That, of course, would make everything look different. As for the room itself, though, the door, rather than a Western style door, with a knob and hinges, was a fusuma–the Japanese-style sliding door that Asuka so hated. Other than that, it was characteristically messy Misato: several empty Yabisu beer cans and old Nissin cup noodles (which smelled faintly of curry) here and there, crumpled balls of paper thrown about the floor, several unpacked boxes, and a desk pushed away in the corner with a desktop computer on it. A calendar was posted on the wall next to her desk, with markings and writings on several dates.

The current month and year read: “September 2015.”

This truly was Misato Katsuragi’s room.

And being in it was freaking her the fuck out.

She needed to get out of it.

She scanned the room for clothes–any she could put on.

Her eyes locked on a pile of clothes thrown haphazardly in the corner. Looking carefully, however, she saw that this pile of clothes was her NERV uniform: red jacket, black dress, heels, and all. The very same uniform that had magically appeared on her body in the elevator, the same uniform that Kaji had sexually harassed her in, now lying lifelessly in the corner as any pile of clothes, wrinkled and thrown as if forcefully removed before a session of sex.

“Oh my God!” she screamed. “No!”

She tore her eyes away, scanning for more clothes to wear; anything but that dreaded uniform.. She saw a pair of white panties lying somewhat to the side of her futon, along with a pair of denim cutoffs a pink tank-top.

Without thinking, she frantically grabbed the panties and stepped her petite feet into their leg holes. With her hair hanging in her vision and brushing her face from bending over, she nervously drew them up her long, lovely legs that Kaji had complimented her own earlier, pulling them up to her wide hips, where it clung to her crotch and her butt. She reached down for the cutoffs and repeated the same procedure, the cutoffs, her cutoffs clinging even tighter to her wide hips, her crotch, and her big butt, leaving her lovely, long legs completely revealed for adolescent boys like Shinji and Touji to drool over, accentuating her ass for them to be hypnotized by as it wiggled when she walked.

“Why am I thinking about all of these characters?!” she thought to herself. First Asuka, now Shinji and Touji? She didn’t allow herself to get distracted by these fleeting thoughts, though. She still needed to leave the room.

She zipped and buttoned the cutoffs, and she threw on the tank-top afterwards. Then, she ran to the door and pulled it open.

All at once, the light of the rest of the apartment struck her eyes like an epiphany, or like daybreak in a dark night.

Instead of the upstairs hallway of her old, regular, American suburban house, she saw the living room of an apartment. A table sat in the center, with more empty beer cars and cup noodles, and a TV lied against a far wall, with another futon right in front of it. She saw two other fusumas, one with a piece of paper that said “SHINJI’S LOVELY SUITE”, with hearts floating around it, and the other bare. She could only imagine these two doors leading to the rooms of Shinji and Asuka–a thought which horrified her and made her determined to not enter them under any circumstance.

“No,” she whispered in disbelief. “This can’t be real. I–I–I must be dreaming. This isn’t my–this isn’t Misato’s apartment. It can’t be–it–just–”

As if to contradict her disbelief, a hiss sounded from the fridge–the sound of a door opening.

She looked at it, yet saw nothing. The door hadn’t opened.

But, she decided to look down.

A compartment had opened underneath the main door of the fridge. Cold mist floated from the inside, indicating it must be a freezer of some sort. And, from this compartment of cold mist emerged a penguin with red hair and big, quirky, yet cute green eyes. It wore a nametag around its neck.

It said “PEN-PEN”.

Pen-Pen stared at her.

Misato stared back at it, her mouth ajar.

Pen-Pen squawked cutely, as idle as any penguin’s squawk in the world.

Misato screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.

Pen-Pen just stared at the hysterical woman, his head cocked curiously, wondering why the hell she was screaming–as if she hadn’t ever seen a pet penguin come out of her fridge before?

“NO!” she screamed. “NO, NO, NO!” She ran to the table and knocked all the beer cans and cup noodles off. “None of this is real!” She knocked one of the table chairs over. She then stared at the fallen chair, lying on its side, as she hyperventilated. She felt dizzy and lightheaded. Her hands went up to her head and grabbed a handful of hair, massaging her scalp yet pulling her hair at the same time. “I–I’m still dreaming,” she said in a crazed, calm panic. “I haven’t woken up yet–I’m still dreaming. I need to wake up.”

She looked up and saw the bathroom, its door open, a purse on the sink counter.

She ran to it and looked through this purse. Lipstick, a mini-mirror, eyeliner, blush, a condom (she was too frantic to stop and wonder why she would keep a condom in her purse). All infuriatingly feminine junk. Soon, out of frustration, she simply poured out all of its contents onto the counter and fished through everything until she found what she was looking for.

She found her NERV I.D.

The same I.D. that Kaji had cockily, mockingly handed to her in her dream.

The name on the I.D. was “Misato Katsuragi.”

She looked up into the mirror ahead of her, and saw the very same face in her reflection as she did in the I.D.

The very same face of the woman that had invited her to become one with her. She could not deny it.

She was–

“No,” she said softly again. “No–no–no. This is a dream. This is an illusion.” She looked at her I.D. “This isn’t real!” She then looked at her reflection. “You’re not real!”

Yet, unlike a dream, everything felt so lucid and vivid.

Unlike unreality, everything felt so–real.

Everything was continuous, fluid, and logical.

This I.D. was named “Misato Katsuragi.”

Her face perfectly matched the face on the I.D.

Thus, Misato Katsuragi must be real.

And she must be Misato Katsuragi.

Yet, she stared at the beautiful woman in the mirror, telling her she wasn’t real.

Yet, she felt everything this woman felt, and everything they did matched.

A deep contradiction caught her incredulity: how could one stare at one’s own reflection and yell at it that he or she isn’t real, without being real?

The way she philosophically analyzed her senses and her touch with reality would’ve made Descartes proud. Lucidity and continuity being the two biggest indicators of reality.
Yet, it was true. She saw the pretty, purple-haired young woman she had been thinking about all day. Voluptuous, voluminous violet locks framed a beautiful face, bangs curving outward in a cute crescent shape, sweeping the sides of her forehead and ending just above her thin eyebrows, below which big, brown eyes stared back at her in obvious horror. She felt the mane of violet hair on her head; she felt its bangs brush her forehead. She felt the breasts in her tank-top, rising and falling with every panicked breath. She felt her heartbeat in her ears. She felt the cool air of the bathroom brush her bare legs.

At these thoughts, she suddenly remembered the most vivid and intense of physical sensations she had experienced recently: sex with Kaji.

The way he touched her all over; the feel of his penis deep inside of her, filling her, completing her, like a drill filling in a cavity in her heart. The memories of all these sensations sent shivers up her spine. Her skin tingled with a warm glow at the memory of his touch, and she felt a warm, wet tingling between her legs–the same tingling that caused that giant wet spot on her futon! Her vagina seemed to be drooling at the memory of Kaji’s cock, her nipples poking excitedly from her tank-top, as if awaiting the return of his lips!

All this she could remember clearly, as if remembering an actual memory, yet she could not remember her old name, nor much about her old life! Being a boy felt more like a dream than having sex with Kaji did! And, just as a dream fades away immediately upon awakening, so did any memory of her former life! She couldn’t even remember his name! If she remembered something else, she had to remember his name! If she couldn’t even remember that, she would forever lose any key or connection to her past.

Yet, she could not.

Her reality had switched. Her former life became the dream forgotten upon awakening, and her life as Misato Katsuragi–more specifically, her lovelife with Kaji–now felt real. It felt as if Kaji actually had been in her bed earlier and they had made wild, passionate love to each other, for him to leave her waking up alone, him having disappeared, without even a note, as men often do. She suddenly cursed him for having done this, in a typical male fashion, yet she simultaneously wondered where he was and when he would return for a round two.

The ringing of the phone broke through her trance. Without realizing it, she had started to rub her vagina through her cutoffs and fondle her breast.

“Oh, God!” she gasped, throwing her hands away from these parts.

She stared at the phone in the living room, but she did not answer. She was simply too afraid to. Verifying her apartment and her own existence within this world was horrifying enough without encountering other people, as well. Does Asuka really exist, too? And Rei? Ritsuko? Even–even–

The phone beeped, signaling the beginning of a voice message.

“Hey,” an all too familiar male voice said. Her knees nearly gave in at its sound. “I’m sorry I left while you were sleeping, without even saying goodbye. I know that’s pretty insensitive, but I hope you understand and forgive me. I loved what we did today. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, okay? I promise.”

The voice message ended.

She just stood there, frozen with horror.

“Oh my God,” she said, leaning against the wall for support. She felt faint and sick, as if she suddenly found out she was pregnant. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” She slapped her hand against for forehead, as if she could slap the reality of the event out of her head. “Could we have–did–did we really–?”

The phone rang again.

She let it ring a few times before she snapped with desperation. She just had to know.

She ran out of the bathroom, to the phone. She picked it up.

“Please, tell me we didn’t really have sex!” Misato screamed, as if asking to be reassured that God really existed.

“What?” the other person said. A female voice. A familiar one.

“Oh my God.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Misato?” Ritsuko asked.

Remembering Ritsuko’s merciless psychological scolding and assault inside her mind, Misato tensed.

However, Ritsuko’s tone contained no bitterness, no sarcasm, no coldness. She spoke with the soft, gentle tone of one female best friend to another: “I just wanted to see if you wanted to go out tonight and get some cocktails.” She paused. “Maybe even talk about your sex life, too, while we’re at it,” she added facetiously.

“Go out?” Misato thought to herself.

A realization came to her.

Misato looked outside of her living room window and gazed at the skyline of Tokyo-3. Tall buildings with jagged, sloped, post-modern looking rooftops and tall antennas. The post-apocalyptic city of hope.

This was not the view she was used to seeing outside of her window.

She gawked at the city view as if looking at an alien world–as if dinosaurs and pterodactyls were outside the window. It was horrifying yet magnificent at the same time; so alien, yet so familiar. A colored, ink-drawn landscaped only previously sketched and displayed two-dimensionally in an anime now lay just outside her window, now a living, breathing world. Now her world.

“Misato!” Ritsuko screamed in her ear, jolting her back to reality. “Are you still there?”

“Y-Yeah. I am.”

“So, are you up for it?”

“F-For what?”

“I just told you: going out tonight.”

“Uh–no. I–I don’t think so.”

“Uh-oh. You’re turning down drinking?” She paused. “I thought your voice sounded a little tense, but now I know something’s wrong.”

Misato said nothing.

Ritsuko paused and, with a bit more actual concern, asked, “What’s wrong, Misato?”

Misato glanced everything all over, taking in everything like a big, concluding, panoramic picture of her new life: her living room, her pet penguin, the doors of her two roommates (who seemed to not be home right now), her beer, her cup noodles mixed with curry, her questionably provocative attire, her rocky love/sex life, her strong libido, and the futuristic skyline of her city.

“I–” she began, her voice shaking. “I had a really bad dream.”