Adam's life ended in a way most would call tragic, but he'd argue it was poetic.
At 24, his heart gave out mid-climax, a victim of his relentless indulgence in self-pleasure. As his vision faded, he thought,
Well, at least I went out doing what I loved.
Darkness swallowed him, but it wasn't the end.
A radiant figure appeared—a goddess, her form an ethereal cascade of curves draped in gossamer light.
Her voice was honey, dripping with pity. "Poor mortal," she cooed, her luminous eyes tracing Adam's soul.
"Your life was cut short by your own… enthusiasm. I'll give you a second chance, in a world where your desires can roam free."
Adam, still reeling, raised an eyebrow. "What's the catch?"
"No catch," she purred, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. "This world knows no sex. Everyone is a virgin, untouched by carnal knowledge. No rules govern such acts because they don't exist. You, my dear, can do as you please."
He blinked. "Wait, if there's no sex, how do they… you know, make kids?"
The goddess chuckled, her laughter a sultry melody. "At the church, couples pray to their god. The next day, a stork delivers a child to their doorstep."
Adam burst out laughing, the absurdity hitting him like a freight train. "A stork? Seriously?"
The goddess's smile widened, and with a wave of her hand, the world dissolved.
He woke to an unfamiliar ceiling, the soft hum of a modern world buzzing around him.
The room was sleek, with clean lines and a faint scent of lavender. Sunlight streamed through a window, illuminating a desk cluttered with books.
He sat up, heart pounding.
I'm alive. I'm really here.
A mirror on the wall revealed his face—same sharp jawline, same dark eyes, same tousled black hair.
But the books on the desk bore a different name: Jackson. Guess I'm Jackson now.
The goddess's words echoed in his mind. A world of virgins, no rules for sex. His pulse quickened.
What does that even mean for me?
A knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts.
The door swung open, and in walked a vision of mature allure—his new mother, though the word felt inadequate for the woman before him.
Her chestnut hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders, framing a face that radiated warmth and authority.
Her curves were generous, accentuated by a fitted blouse that strained slightly against her full breasts, the top button undone just enough to hint at the creamy valley beneath.
Her skirt hugged her hips, swaying as she moved, and her long legs ended in delicate ankles perched on low heels. Her hazel eyes sparkled with a mix of exasperation and affection.
"Jackson, you're still in bed?" Her voice was smooth, with a teasing lilt. "Get up and take a shower. You're late for school—again." She turned, her hips swaying as she left, leaving a faint trace of jasmine perfume in her wake.
Jackson's mouth went dry.
That's my mom?