Trade My Body In For A Newer Model?

Date: 6/13/2019

I was placed into the body of a friend, they literally copied her body and gave it to me. The one they gave me wouldn't age. I worried often if my being in this new body would make life harder for my friend who it was copied from. Would we be mistaken for each other? I think she was a famous actress and I didn't want to hurt her career. I went to live with another friend, who was white, and her family some of which was my family irl. For example my sister was online and a schoolmate or something, I often saw news of her. And my grandfather was now my new friends father. I was now dark skinned with short short short hair, nearly bald, and a very leith figure. I was also a teenage again. I was addicted to sugar. I hid various items of sugary treats all over the room of my blonde friend who I lived in the same room as. Miniature Marshmallows, snickers, some Valentine candy, some other candy which was a chocolate animal, a not commonly thought of cute animal which was in an Easter bunny box. I ate on on this stuff when "home". I was gone for a while then I came back. I think maybe this family had two homes. The Victorian one and a simple house in the suburbs. Maybe the one I lived in mostly was the one in the suburbs and they often sent me back to the Victorian one which was in a less populated area. I didn't feel very welcome in that house, everyone judged me not knowing who I really was. They thought I was bad news and a bad influence. My blonde friend was kinda sedate. She sat on her bed looking at her computer mostly. She didn't make waves. I took a video of the Victorian house we lived in, their fancy house which they let me stay in. I took the video like it was a walk through and I was selling the house when I really wasn't. I put it up on my website so I could generate some ad revenue. I then took a better video of something I did, maybe handy work, and put that up. I knew I'd begin to get money. People online commented about my video being too blury or something and that they couldn't properly see the house for sale. Maybe they wanted me to slow down. I had a hard time cutting the video, I kept posting hour long ones, and I didn't know how to edit, or even that I could. Dream logic. My sister online had a few skit characters she played for laughs, one of which was a boy. She played him for fun and commentary on stuff but then people began to act like he was real. They began to treat her like she was a him like she was very brave for dressing up and stuff. She was amused but taken aback. She didn't know what to say to that. After I had been sent back to the Victorian house for days I came back to my blonde friend and found her very much the same. Sedate. I cleaned up all the plates and cups which she had used while I was away. This was my role when here, taking care of her, like a sister but also like a servant. There were too many for me to carry in one trip downstairs, I would have to go back for one plate. My grandfather, well hers in the dream, called me fat Sophie and I hated it. He use sit like it was my name, Sophie which I assumed was the name I had in this new body. Whenever he used it I was fat in the dream but went back to being super skinny when away from him. I found an axe and hauled it around with me everywhere. It wasn't sharp enough so I added a razor blade to it. People left me alone when I was outside of the home. People left me alone in general. This society was a bit odd as women, children especially, were still seen as property. I was loud and harsh and snappy when a friend of the family came over and I was quite rude to her. She kept telling my grandfsther I needed to be trained. She seemed to find that idea rather seductive and kept pinching my face, my mouth, harshly as she talked about me. She seemed to delight in my 'spunk' maybe only because she wanted the pleasure of breaking me of it. The corner in the room I shared with the blonde girl had a problem rug. The rug was white/gray and brand new but every time I went to that corner I nearly vomited. The rug felt like it was covered in paint, every little carpet thread upturned was stif and dull needle like. It felt nauseating to walk on. I wasn't disgusted by the pain, I was turned off by the texture, by the little tiny hundreds of pokey things against my skin. Just talking about it makes me want to vomit. Like a phobia. I encountered this rug several times. I felt it was my job to clean but I couldn't for a long time. Finally forced myself to face my fear, although I didn't know why facing my fear was so important, and I walked over it, and ended up washing it. The rough stiff threads which so nauseated me softened in the sudsy water and eventually the rug corner was normal and soft like the rest of it. I showed my blonde stepsister my stash of sweets. She liked the snickers the most and kept eating them almost scolding me for keeping them from her. I told her I didn't much like chocolate which is why I didn't mention them. I never ate them. She nearly ate them all. I hid my property. My axe and computer and my journal got hidden on strings and stuff outside in the gutter or various clever places outside the window of my and the blonde's room. I didn't want my new 'family' to find them. I was really really tough in this dream, in this new body and personality. I was eager to fight and to speak my mind. Angry a bit and rebellious and I knew how to make money. I really knew how to make money. I felt observing that version of me that was the best part.