Frankensteins Fellow

Heyo hussies!! I'm so excited to present part 4 of my Frankenstein's Awakening series!! I can't fathom that in just one week, I've penned FOUR of these stories. I can't stop thinking about our Franky Boy, and the words just won't stop. 💝

To make up for the last chapter, we're starting

extra

slutty.

For smut, did I research the meanings of various flowers during the early 19th century? Yes. Did I brush up on 1810s German men's fashion? Darn tootin'. And did I google the shit out of trending men's baby names in 19th century Germany as well? Take a wild, wild guess.

The only Easter egg I'll bestow upon y'all is the name

Hirschfeld.

(no, this isn't THEE Hirschfeld of 1800s-1900s Germany - but the homage was too good to resist.)

I hope y'all enjoy my horny descent further into historical sci-fi madness.

💕Love, Your Local Transmasc Horndog💕

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“Remember that I am thy creature; I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel… Everywhere I see bliss, from which I alone am irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous.“

- Frankenstein (Chapter 10) by Mary Shelley, 1818

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My hand settled at the hilt of my prick, drinking in the scorching warmth and the throb of my heartbeat just beneath my skin. Fingertips traced lightly from base to tip as a now-familiar hardness began to blossom.

My face had been hot ever since I first closed the door of my room, and my breath was now raggedly quickening. My hand wanted to wrap around my throbbing member and pump desperately - fast, rough, breathless - but that could wait.

This intimate delight was still so very new to me, and I would take my time.

I would find every last thing that made me burn.

My thumb traced a brave circle around my silky tip, and my legs jerked.

A velvety hum vibrated in my chest as my thumb worked circles around my slit, massaging the soft skin at an agonizingly slow pace.

Mmm, hahh,

Nnhn.

Mhhn...

My lust was now an itch, the racing of my pulse beating hypnotically through every inch of my body.

My hand wrapped around my fullness and began to pump slowly, taking special care to linger at the sensitive ridge beneath my prick's head.

As my hand found a steady rhythm, suddenly the image of a person sitting atop me - fully sheathed upon my rigid cock, their legs trembling with the rise and fall of their hips - sprang into mind. All I had to pleasure myself was my hand, but I imagined the silky wetness of their body enveloping my throbbing prick.

The lover in my head began to quicken their movements, and my hand followed suit - but the friction of my dry skin was becoming a distraction.

Could the wetness in this vision heighten my pleasure?

With a shuddering breath I removed my hand, reaching for the vial of scar oil that sat upon my bedside table. My rational mind was gone, slurring sleepily beneath my growing need.

I uncapped the vial and watched as oil oozed onto my palm; I rubbed it into my fingers, warming it.

When my hand finally returned to my prick, I could have sworn I felt a shock of electricity.

I oiled my length, pressing greedily into the burning flesh with my fingers.

My hand resumed its grip and began pumping faster than before, rougher than I had been able to attempt with the dry friction.

My lips parted thirstily as my breathing became ragged, hot in my throat.

Nhhmn

Hnn

, ah-! Hah,

Hnhh...

The lover in my mind was breathing harder too, the skin of their back blushing red and glistening wet with sweat beneath the moonlight. I imagined their head falling back, their hips grinding down onto my cock in a desperate, rough, feverish need.

A gentle slapping sound now accompanied each feverish stroke. My hips were beginning to take over, bucking up hungrily into my oiled hand. Heat was blossoming low in my belly and my bollocks were growing heavier, now clenching with need as tension began to grow in my gut. This tension began rising up the length of my cock.

The sounds in my room were beginning to grow muffled as I felt tears pooling in my eyes. My feet were tingling.

I had only come once before, but I knew that I was close. I was

close.

My thumb returned to the electric shock of my prick's tip, drawing rough circles around the slit. My legs shaking, my breath hitching, there was --

A knock at my door.

A primal bolt of electricity skipped through my heart as I quickly sat up, wiping the sweat from my brow and trying to breathe through my nose. I bunched the blanket atop my throbbing prick, trying to hide the painful hardness of my erection.

The door opened with a soft creak, and there stood the Doctor - clothed in a creamy white bed jacket, a flickering candle in hand.

"Good evening, dear fellow. I know that it is growing late, but I have a query for you - if you are amicable?"

"I am listening, Doctor."

My words came out shaky and breathless. I cleared my throat and tried to focus.

"Excellent. Now, I've been thinking of all your time here at the manor - I've been thinking heavily upon your progress in lessons, and your worldly know-how. I feel as though you are well on your way to becoming a gentleman."

I nodded and smiled softly, trying to distract myself from the maddening heat between my legs.

"If you would be so amicable, I was thinking that you might... perhaps... be willing to try and leave the manor in my company, sometime this week? With all of your efforts, I believe that you may be ready to take on the arts of socialization."

My breath caught dryly in my throat as I tried to make sense of what the Doctor was suggesting.

Me, in this body? With this face?

Looking directly into the eyes of another human being, outside of the manor?

The Doctor noticed my silence, and gently added, "This can happen at any time, and only when you feel that you are ready. It does not have to be tomorrow, or the next day, or even the next month. And we - me, and some of the staff - we would be with you every step of the way."

My head was spinning, the heat in my gut now replaced with a sinking cold.

"...May I think on it?"

"Of course! Please, do get some rest. We can discuss this in the morning."

The Doctor gave me a reassuring smile as he shut the door behind him.

Click.

I could have easily returned my hand to my raging prick to finish what I had so hungrily built towards, but my thoughts were now racing elsewhere.

I wiped my oily hand on a washcloth beside my bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. I turned onto my side so that I was once again facing my dear friend, the moon.

Perhaps she could give me some comfort.

I lay in silence, the heartbeat eventually softening in my groin.

----

By this time, it had been several long months since my awakening.

My body was moving smoothly. My speech was growing more confident, and most of my finer nerves had reconnected - though on occasion, I would still feel the prickly tickles of a stray nerve finding itself.

My dreams had more color now than they had had in the beginning. Some nights brought me fleeting visions of things that I had no recollection of seeing yet in this lifetime!

I did not think to ask the Doctor, but I know now that these were

memories

embedded within the muscles and organs of the bodies that had made me.

Whether or not I wanted them they lived within my body like ghosts, surfacing gently as I slept.

My long keloid scars were softer now, in spite of their stubborn pink and purple hues. I realized one day - after catching a glimpse of my reflection in the china cabinet - that if no one came many feet of me, I might actually be able to pass as simply odd-looking.

A very odd, over 7 foot tall, raven-haired gentleman with scars on his face.

....Perhaps it was possible?

----

"Please do try and hold still, sir!"

It was hard not to fidget and flinch as members of the house patted, brushed, buttoned, and scrutinized every inch of me for my very first social outing.

Katrina had massaged a soft beige cream into my face in an attempt to mask the darkest of my scars. After an eternity she handed me a looking glass, and I gazed upon myself in utter astonishment - my skin looked so even, so very organic. So very soft.

Had my eyes not been slightly different hues, I would never have guessed that the face of the man looking back at me had come from several different individuals.

A modest white shirt and gray wool vest hugged my form as I spun shyly in front of the mirror. The Doctor beamed from ear to ear.

"Had I given you this clothing sooner, I believe that you would have left us ages ago to steal the hearts of every young lady in Europe!"

Katrina giggled and I smiled warmly, anxious joy tingling in my chest.

---

"One thing to consider is that as long as you are moving about with purpose, you should not draw much attention. No one dares bother a busy man."

The Doctor's hand rested upon my back, patting my modest black jacket in reassurance. I had underestimated how deep my fear would render itself once I was no longer within the Frankenstein property. As soon as the carriage started rolling, my heart had begun to race.

(I remembered the mystery of my very first carriage ride some months ago and blushed softly. I had not set foot in a carriage since that day, until now.)

"It is one thing to walk about aimlessly on this fine day, but perhaps we should visit a shop. What say you?"

"Alright," I whispered, and Katrina added her hand to my back.

I walked between the two of them, both hands resting on my jacket.

Guiding my giant frame forward with gentle, reassuring touch.

A bell jingled as we entered a small haberdashery with

"Hirschfeld and Son"

printed on the door.

My head spun.

There were more colors in here than I had ever seen - spools of thread, rolls of ribbon, bolts of fabric - all of different hues, textures, widths - dozens of colors whose names I did not know.

Without realizing, I wandered away from the guiding hands of the Doctor and Katrina as if in a trance. My gloved hands found their way to an impossibly shiny fabric; I gingerly bared one hand to feel it. The feeling was somehow even softer than it looked, and I stood there for a while rubbing my fingers across its fineness.

It was the color of a robin's egg, gossamer with an absence of freckles.

"That's our signature silk, sailed all the way in from China. Isn't it breathtaking?"

I started. The warm, lilthe voice seemed to have come from a man behind the counter at the head of the store. This young gentleman was of a slightly heavier build than I, freckles adorning his soft cheeks and gracefully hooked nose. A dark brown top hat sat upon his auburn hair, which glowed a brandy gold wherever the sunlight kissed it.

Touched it.

Wherever the sunlight touched it.

I felt suddenly childlike as I returned the glove to my hand, turning towards this gentleman to share a smile. I realized that he must have be the "Son" in

Hirschfeld and Son.

"It is very beautiful. More beautiful than any cloth I have ever seen."

I was suddenly mindful of the very deep rumble of my voice, of the very unavoidable largeness of my body within his small shop.

His voice was honey, and mine was molasses.

I glanced towards the Doctor in a silent beg for permission, and a smile was already splitting his face in two. He waved back at me reassuringly.

"Are you fond of the color, or of the feel?"

"I am fond of both."

"Well - if you enjoy this cloth, then you will definitely enjoy these."

He stepped away from the counter and walked over to me, his eyes scrutinizing a shelf as he whipped a pair of spectacles from his breast pocket. The glasses perched delicately on the curve of his nose as his hands fluttered gracefully through a shelf of kerchiefs.

"Are you a kerchief fellow, by chance?"

"I must admit, I do not know - for I have never worn one."

"Perhaps a pocket square, then? This one should suit you."

The man pulled a small, neatly hemmed cut of silk from the shelf and handed it to me. I held it gingerly and realized that it was made from the same bolt of blue fabric that I had fallen in awe of.

As its name suggested, I placed the square daintily down into the pocket of my waistcoat.

"It is very nice, thank you!"

He laughed suddenly, and my smile dissolved. I was burning with embarrassment.

"Sorry - may I?"

Before I could formulate an answer, the gentleman reached gently into my pocket and retrieved the little square. He stood on tiptoe as I bent down, allowing him to fold it into the breast pocket of my vest. Directly over my heart.

His hand stayed there for a moment, smoothing the soft creases of the silk.

I could feel his breath warmly on my neck as he worked.

His eyes were another color whose name I did not know;

speckles and misty clouds of brown and green.

And yet somehow

more

embarrassingly, I began to feel a heat growing between my legs.

"Well, that is a handsome color on you! I think that you should purchase it."

Katrina was suddenly at my side as the man's hand left my chest, leaving me flushed.

He did not hesitate for a moment, instantly snapping back into professional stride.

"An excellent choice."

We moved to the counter to pay for my silk square, the gentleman scrawling neatly into a small book. He addressed the Doctor.

"May I have your name, sir?"

"Frankenstein, Victor Frankenstein."

"And yours?"

The blood drained from my face as my breath choked dryly my throat.

My

God.

I did not have a name.

.

"This is my Adam."

.

The blood returned hotly as I tried to act natural, tried to pretend that I had been born with the name that the Doctor had just spoken into being.

The gentleman took no notice, smiling softly as he wrote my name into the book.

Adam Frankenstein.

----

We moved from a world of color back to a world of cold grays and browns, returning again to the cobbled streets of Ingolstadt. My hand rested lightly over my breast, touching the blue silk that had just been put there by small freckled hands.

The shop bell rang once again as I heard footsteps moving towards us; we all turned to see the shop clerk approaching us in stride.

"Mr. Frankenstein! I believe that you may have forgotten something."

(I hadn't forgotten anything, but with the pleasure of seeing him again so soon I did not protest.)

He placed a small fold of parchment firmly into my gloved hand.

"My name is Fred, by the way. Fredrich Hirschfeld."

With one final smile, he turned and strode back to the shop.

"What a lovely young man. I have not set foot in that store in years! We should stop by the next time that we are in need of an update in wardrobe," Katrina said giddily.

.

As we walked across town towards other shops and other adventures, I unfolded the mysterious parchment.

There were no words. The only thing within the paper was a bright, recently picked, wild pansy.

I was going to need to touch myself tonight.