Hey, people! My latest book is out. Here’s the blurb and links!
When Carmine Infantino wished to understand his teen-age daughter, he never expected to find himself transformed into a beautiful young woman working as a prostitute in Victorian London. The gorgeous young woman he’s become, Cherie Marchant, is the lead character in his daughter’s favorite book, and now Carmine, with his daughter’s help, must adjust to life as a woman while also contending against the world’s most notorious serial killer, Jack The Ripper!
This story features age-regression, graphic depictions of sex, and violence. It is the same premise as the first Trapped in a Teen-Fantasy novel, but with new characters,
I wish I did, he thought. I wish I could understand her, so I could be there for her…
The lights flickered. A rumble like thunder shook the house.
Carmine staggered. He felt so tired. He stumbled and fell into the easy chair. Reaching out with a shaking arm, he tried to put his beer on the TV table, but it toppled over and fell to the ground, spilling beer across the wood floor. Shit, Carmine thought, his eyelids growing heavy, closing, and the world went dark as he thought… Am I dying?
He found himself drifting, felt like he was passing through a cloud of cotton, and the air smelled of…. Sugar? Spice?
He heard girls giggling, felt himself spinning, spinning, his skin tingling like he was being gently tickled with a thousand feathers. Everything was dark, and then he heard a woman’s voice say, “Open your eyes.”
Carmine opened his eyes and found himself bombarded with both sights and sounds. The room was lit with flickering torch light and a great, roaring fire. People shouted and yell, a fiddler jigged in the corner, and Carmine found himself staring into the face of an old man with runny yellow eyes, a bulbous red nose, and blotchy sallow skin. The man was grinning, revealing a gap-toothed jack o’lantern mouth of black and rotting teeth. He did not look at Carmine’s face, however, but down at Carmine’s….
Following the man’s gaze, Carmine had looked down to find two large, firm breasts on his chest, the nipples hard and pink, the skin white as milk. He was holding open his vest, showing them to the man, who was clearly enjoying the view.
Daddy! He heard Celia say. Cover your boobs!
Carmine looked around, confused. Where am I? Who am I?
“Them’s some glorious tits, for certain. You are a comely wench if I do say,” the man growled, raising his hands and reaching toward Carmine’s breasts.
At the sight of the creepy guy reaching for his boobs, Carmine shrieked, his breasts bouncing, and pulled his vest closed over them, keeping his arms wrapped over them girlishly.
“Where am I?” He asked, his eyes going wide at the high-pitched, squeaky sound of his voice. Glancing around, he saw thick oaken beams supporting a thatch ceiling, large, wooden tables and benches, and people dressed in old fashioned clothes like at a renaissance fair or something. But he was barely able to process the strangeness of his surroundings as he fixated on the strangeness of his body. He definitely had breasts, and long hair he could feel swishing over his shoulders, and which was also falling into his eyes. He heard his small, pretty voice, and looking down he saw he was wearing a skirt.
“I’m not a girl,” he said out loud, though he was speaking to himself.
“You’re no girl. No. Not with them tits. You’re a woman, sure,” the man said, licking his lips. He reached into a purse tied to his belt and fished out a dull coin, which he flipped onto Carmine’s lap. Then he leaned in and said, “There’s more where that came from if you let me stick my fingers in ya.”
“What the hell?” Carmine said.