I do believe in karma, and I do believe in the modalities of change it offers. What I thought were philosophical matrices, points of erudition to ease my tired mind, however, proved to be quite physical in orientation. Just ask Jack. King Jack, as he was known throughout the hallowed halls of Newberry High, was an accomplished soccer player and abhorrent human being. He constantly belittled me, attacked my weight, my visage, my hobbies, and eroded my already withering self-confidence. And now, well, he's the one with miserably sensitive boytits, a premature little cocktail weenie, and a cute little gut. You can see him grinding out weak load after weak load on the local cam scene, his ruddy face a riot of confusion and embarrassment. Meanwhile, I have his lithe form. His muscular body that moves with ease and grace, and assets that will please male and female alike. But it's his affable smile that conveys my true excitement. I'm free, and he's trapped. What can I say? Karma's a bitch sometimes.