Regression - Second Chance At Life Chapter 2: Dream Or No Dream?

Adam awakens, his gaze fixing on a ceiling both familiar and strange. He studies it closely, noting its striking resemblance to the one above his teenage bedroom in that grand, spacious house.

Swiveling his head, he scans the surroundings and spots relics of yesteryears: the premium computer, gaming setups, enormous wardrobe, and walls adorned with posters of barely-clad models.

Memories rush back in a torrent—this is his old bedroom. He springs from the bed in a hurry and surveys the room once more.

"Am I dreaming?" he mutters to himself, examining his hands. They appear ordinary, his breathing steady and real. Pinching his skin, a sharp pain confirms it. "I'm definitely not dreaming," he declares, sliding off the bed and approaching the mirror.

Adam's eyes widen in shock at the sight of his younger reflection staring back, though it differs slightly from his recollections.

"I don't recall having a six-pack?" he murmurs, running a hand over his abdomen.

"Shit, they're real as fuck!" he bursts out, marveling at their rock-hard firmness.

Next, he scrutinizes his entire frame. Lean and powerfully built, akin to a peak-condition elite athlete. His gaze drops to his manhood, leaving him stunned by the view.

"This has to be one vivid dream," he insists, well aware his dick never measured up like that.

Taking in his overall build, it clashes entirely with past memories. Tall he was, but painfully thin—ribs plainly visible back then.

Yet the figure before him stands transformed. The face matches somewhat, but no—even that's enhanced, far more striking, with a body utterly revamped. Like someone cranked his looks to maximum.

"I must've smacked my head in the fall. These potent drugs are messing with me," he rationalizes aloud, struggling to comprehend the scene.

"Adam, get up. Stop being a lazy bum. Go out there and find a job," a voice suddenly calls from beyond the door—one he'd recognize anywhere, his stepmother's.

His bedroom door flies open, admitting a gorgeous woman clad in a provocative black dress.

This is his stepmother, Julia Grant, once Julia Wilson.

"Adam-" Her words falter as she catches him standing nude before the mirror, dick fully exposed.

His sculpted physique captivates her with its flawless perfection, but her eyes drift lower to the impressive endowment between his thighs. A gasp escapes at its sheer size.

Amid her stunned gaze, Adam drinks in the alluring woman before him. 'If this is a dream, make it last forever,' he muses, ogling her voluptuous breasts barely contained by the dress.

He spots his stepmother eyeing his dick, fueling fresh doubts about reality versus an intensely lifelike dream.

"Oh, my god!" his stepmother yelps, bolting from the room and slamming the door shut. "Why are you walking around naked? Can't you be dressed?" she shouts from outside, voice laced with irritation.

"It is you who barged into my room without knocking. Learn to knock, woman," Adam fires back effortlessly.

Their relationship was never cordial. Though he secretly desired her, he kept it hidden. Hostility defined their interactions mostly.

"Ugh," her frustrated grunt sounds from beyond, drawing a smirk from him.

"Whatever, get dressed and come for breakfast," she commands.

____________________

Leaning against the door from the other side, Julia draws a deep, steadying breath.

'I had no idea this creep hides such a killer body—and that dick, where'd it come from? Massive! Twice his father's size, and soft too. Blame his mother's genes.' Adam's nude form flashes vividly in her mind again.

'What would it feel like taking that monster?' The naughty curiosity arises, only to be shoved aside as a vision of Adam pounding her intrudes.

"Get hold of yourself, Julia," she murmurs to herself before striding away.

____________________

Back in his room, Adam continues wandering the space, fixated on his reflection. "Is this all real?" he wonders anew, every sensation overwhelmingly authentic.

He brims with unprecedented vitality—stronger than ever, vision sharper, even scents more vivid in the air.

"If this is real, I've got a second chance at life. Won't blow it like before. This round, I'll build something epic," he vows fiercely.

"Let's get dressed." He heads to the wardrobe, flings it open, and beholds rows of baggy clothes hanging side by side.

Gazing upon them, memories surge back of how he purchased those baggy t-shirts and hoodies after a girl mocked him for resembling a mere twig.

Back then, he felt deeply insecure about his physique. Letting out a heavy sigh, he pulls out a black hoodie, slips it on, and matches it with blue pants.

Adam glances into the mirror again, observing how effectively his loose-fitting attire conceals his build. The sight evokes a video he saw online about men with sleeper builds—unassuming guys who appear like typical average Joes until they shed their shirts.

Adam envisions himself performing such a reveal.

Then, he grabs his phone and examines it. The home screen displays a picture of a model he adores.

"September 2, 2023," he reads aloud from his phone's date. "22 years," he murmurs softly. He has traveled back 22 years into the past.