I called my son one morning six months after Tsutomu's passing to say that I was going to return to America and live out the remainder of my days there. I told him to give the house to his son (my grandson) and his wife if he wanted it

I went to my Vishnu room and thanked him for continuing to allow me to have all the great experiences I had thus far. I then announced that I was ready to return to my life on the morning in 2011 before my previous transformation. I abruptly awoke in my bed and had a serious case of morning wood, so I knew that I had been restored to my original life. I rubbed one out and then got up, took a shower and groomed myself. I had a bowl of cereal for breakfast and repaired to my living room couch for a little contemplation. Where should I go now? I had already done things I had long wanted to thanks to Vishnu's intercession. As an old fucker, I was definitely out of touch with the current generation and how they led their lives. Because I've always been a curious guy (in both senses off the word, perhaps),  I decided to jump into that question with both feet.

I went into my room and again prayed to Vishnu and then placed both hands on the medallion and said the following: "I want to be a 14 year old freshman high school girl just transferring into Carlton Melton High School on the first day of the past fall semester who is already fully developed at 5'7" and a tanned, well toned 115 pounds with firm teardrop shaped D cup breasts, a hairless torso and legs, flawless skin, long, shapely legs, long straight blonde hair down to my butt, a face that resembles a 20 year old Bridget Bardot that knows how to make myself up and dress in a manner that will look sexy, who is also a virtuoso guitar and keyboard player who not only remembers everything I learned during previous transformations but can correctly play any song or piece after hearing it just once and a voice that sounds like Ann Wilson's, the same sex drive I had as an 18 year old male, someone who can cook the level of the best chefs on the planet, a beautifully furnished two story 5,000 square foot house with a hot tub and soundproofed music room  where I live by myself but nobody will every question why I have no parents or other adults around to supervise me,  $100 billion US in the bank and nobody will every question where I got it, a wide ranging and sexy wardrobe, I will never be the victim of any crime, disease or accident, I will have all the leading credit cards, including an American Express black card, and my identity documents in my new name of Misty Ann Johnson, I will  never be sussed by the police for anything I do, I will be a black belt in Shotokan karate, a cellphone that works anywhere in the world, , will never get pregnant no matter how much semen is ejaculated into me or on me, will never catch any sexually transmitted disease, can deep throat and take any size cock inside me comfortably, semen will taste delicious to me and no matter how much I eat I will never gain weight nor will I physically or mentally age or deteriorate no matter how long I live. I am ready for the transformation now."

The very next moment I was conscious, I woke up in a strange bed on a sunny Southern California September morning in 2011. I stood up and felt the heaviness of my breasts on my body and went to the bathroom to  have a pee. When I looked in the mirror after I was finished on the toilet, I was stunned. "Fuck, I don't know how those kids are going to handle someone who is this devastating," I muttered to myself. "This is going to be one pretty interesting adventure," I happily anticipated.

I showered, made myself up, donned a white sun dress and sandals, ate breakfast, snared a card that had a list of my classes on it and headed off to school. Again, as with the other experiences where I had been turned into a teenager, I had to get over the weird feeling of being a 50 year old guy with a female youngster's body and face on a high school campus. I knew that this time since I had no specific target in mind, I was going to have to act bubbly and accessible to get people to relate to me. I put on a relaxed smile as I went into my first period English class. Immediately, practically every eye in the room was ogling me, including the girls, who were sizing up their newest competitor.

The teacher walked into the room and the moment his eyes caught me he did a double take. I smiled at him and he caught himself and averted his eyes so that he wouldn't be seen as staring at me. I giggled as he attempted to concentrate on opening the notebook he brought with him and then call the roll. We did all the first day of school stuff, including the teacher going over the course content. The textbook we were assigned was fucking awful, about on a level with your average Reader's Digest, and it was at least ten years old. No wonder kids can't read at grade level! I even asked the teacher if this was a remedial reading class because of it. He denied that it was and that if I had any complaints about the textbook to take it up with the local school board.

During second period gym class, my teacher pulled me aside and recommended that I try out for the cheerleading squad. I politely declined, stating that I was a musician and being a cheerleader wouldn't be good for my street cred. She gave me an odd look, one which had my gaydar going off like an air raid siren. When one of the other girls, who I later found out was part of the popular crowd, asked me what Miss DeSantis wanted, I laughed that she asked me about being a cheerleader and that I had turned it down. "Oh my God1 Why did you do that for? You totally would have made it!" she asserted. "It's just not my bag," I dismissed. "So if you're interested I guess you have more of a shot," I giggled. "Gee, thanks," she snarked, apparently feeling patronized. "Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it," I apologized. "Don't worry about it," she smiled.

The rest of the day passed without incident and, when I got home, I went online and ordered a shitload of musical gear. I had a few things overnighted so that I could have something to play beginning Wednesday. The rest of it would show up a week to ten days hence.

The next day, I put on a cropped white blouse that was tied off just under my breasts, straight leg jeans, black flats and a white lacy bra and panty set and walked to school. I was going to have to get used to not having a car for a couple of years. As I sashayed through the quad, I felt lots of eyes following me. I scribbled notes to myself in my notebook about what I needed to do to get settled in to my new digs and situation as I sat on a brick planter on one side of the quad.

As my classes progressed, I found myself censoring my input during discussions because I didn't want to seem intimidating to boys. The kind of lacerating analysis that I was often known for as a male in high school and college felt like it wouldn't go down so well as a ninth grade female. I basically sat there trying to look pretty more than anything else. This was so frustrating that I just about wanted to explode

When I returned home, there were a bunch of huge boxes on my doorstep. I dragged the lot into my foyer and slit it open with a knife. With some effort, I managed to extract everything and then had to slice the boxes up so I could fit them and some of the packing material all into my recycle bin. Then I had to haul the Marshall combo amp I bought upstairs. For any boy over the age of about 12, this wouldn't have been a problem. For a female with no upper body strength, it was no fun. I spent the next little while resetting the action on the two guitars I received, one a cheaper Taylor acoustic and the other a Fender American Deluxe Strat. I put different strings on them, tuned them up and I was set. I sat in front of the tv while noodling around on the Taylor and then made dinner. After i ate, I ordered tons of compact disks, a tablet computer and a couple different laptops. It was a pain in the ass having to do stuff like this with each transformation, but oh well. It is what it is.

Wednesday, I took my acoustic in a gig bag to school with me so that I would have something to pass the time with at lunch. I sat up on the aforementioned brick planter and started picking away. I noticed a lot of my fellow students watching me as I went through Bob Dylan's "Don't Think Twice, it's Alright." Then I went into Heart's "Crazy on You," including the intro, and then Led Zeppelin's "Over the Hills and Far Away." Some smartass yelled, "Freebird!" I did "Sweet Home Alabama" instead." From there, I performed "Mrs. Robinson," "Your Move" and "Dream On." Someone wanted me to play a Taylor Swift track, but I just laughed. And then the bell rang. I put the guitar back in my gig bag and set out for my fifth period Algebra One class. "Oh my God, Misty, you were so good," one of the girls remarked. "Thanks sweety," I rejoindered, smiling. "I didn't know a lot of those songs, though," another girl remarked, something at which one of the boys scoffed. "You're a retard, Sandy," he proclaimed. She carried on anyway. "You should learn some Katy Perry," she advocated. "Uh, no I shouldn't," I answered. "Listen to Joni Mitchell, Carole King or Laura Nyro. Katy will seem like a third grader to you after that," I insisted.