#another you

I’ve had a lot of great birthdays in the real world. The Taylor Swift concert in Liverpool. That time I saw Justin Trudeau in Ottawa and he said hello to me. Shopping in NYC, Red Sox games, even the sleepovers and parties I had as a kid. But I would have never imagined I’d be able to experience turning 23 again, let alone turning 23 again with the help of a time machine, a New Jersey boardwalk, and the scruffy adorableness of 70s Bruce Springsteen. After our bout of silliness down on the beach, he takes me to get ice cream and revels in kissing every single chocolate stain off my face, if only to hear me laugh out loud as his beard and tongue tickle my cheeks. (“I don’t know what’s sweeter,” he’d said. “The ice cream or that gorgeous little laugh of yours.”)

Later, he wins me a teddy bear simply because I had made a goofy comment about loving teddy bears – “particularly big scruffy ones like you”, I’d said – which I immediately decide to call “Brucie bear” because it makes real Bruce blush. At one point we catch up with the band and he introduces me to everyone, which is about as surreal as I thought it would be, considering how my main exposure to these guys is from the CDs and vinyls in my room back in the real world. Thankfully, I don’t blow my cover, and the guys are certainly as friendly and nice as I’d imagined. 

Eventually we end up back at my car, talking, giggling, flirting harder than I think I’ve ever flirted before in my life. The constant silly banter doesn’t stop once on the whole ride back to my house, so when we pull into the driveway and both of us suddenly fall silent, I’m surprised.

Finally Bruce speaks. “You have fun tonight, pretty girl?”

“I did,” I reply, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. “This has been one of the greatest birthdays I’ve ever had, Bruce. And now we’ve got the whole summer.”

It may be dark, but I can clearly see a smile light up Bruce’s face. “I actually wanted to ask you about that, sugar. We’re still trying to wrap up the new record, and then we’ve got a tour coming up.” He runs a hand through his curls. “I was wondering, I know it’s a little…sudden, but would you ever consider comin’ along with us?”

I blink. “You want me to come on tour with you?” I wasn’t expecting him to say this at all, and my mind begins to race. “But…I’m not anything, I don’t do anything. What will the guys think?”

“They seemed to like you all right back there,” Bruce reminds me. “It’s one of the reasons why I wanted to introduce you to ‘em. I wanted to make sure they were cool with you before I asked you.”

“Yeah, they’re cool with me, but they’re not gonna want me hanging around all the time,” I protest. “I mean, I’d love to come with you, I’d absolutely love to, but I just don’t know what you’d want from me, or if the band would want me there.”

“It’s okay, Katie baby,” he says, his voice soft and comforting. “Think about it. You don’t have anything in Boston you’ve really gotta go back to, do ya?”

I shake my head. “No,” I admit. “I can stick around for a while. I mean, I’ll probably have to go back around the beginning of September, my parents are gonna want me to get a job, but for right now…”

Bruce chuckles and tickles behind my ear. “That’s still two and a half months,” he says. “I’ll talk to the guys, okay? I promise you, angel, I’ll take care of you. You’re gonna be fine. I’ll make sure of it.” He clasps my hands in his, his twinkling eyes and sheepish little-boy smile enough to make me crack right there. “Will you do it, K? For me?”

“Fucking hell, Brucie bear, way to lay it on thick,” I tease, leaning in close to him and petting his scruffy face. I kiss him, long and sweet, twisting my hands into that mop of curly brown hair that I’ve fallen so hard for. I feel him chuckle into my mouth, making my heart leap for joy. 

“Is that what you’re gonna call me now, sweet girl?” he coos, running his thumb over my cheek.

I smile serenely. “I think it is,” I giggle. “If I get to be your Giggles, I want you to be my silly, scruffy, cuddly little Brucie bear.”

“Dammit, you’re adorable.” Bruce plants a kiss at the base of my throat and rubs his chin against it, making me laugh out loud. I manage to pull myself up on my elbows, and flash a devilish grin not unlike his. “What do you say we take this inside?” I ask, the usual giggle back in my voice in full force.

“I was about to suggest that myself,” Bruce coos, tapping the end of my nose.

My smile takes on a cheekier look, and just like I had earlier, I swipe Bruce’s hat off his head and put it on my own. In a flash, I swing open the car door and jump out, laughing playfully. “You’re it,” I bubble, turning tail and racing into the house.

“You little…..!” Bruce bursts out laughing himself and chases after me, kicking off his flip-flops in the process. Giggling madly, I make a beeline for my room and dive onto the bed and curl up in a fetal position in the corner, my hands still holding tight to Bruce’s hat perched on top of my wild red fluff of hair. Bruce sits down and begins to crawl toward me. “You are such a little goof,” he says. “Well, I can play this game too, Giggles. Don’t forget, I know how to make you break.”

“Oh please, I’m not afraid of you,” I say. “I can probably fight you off. I bet I’m stronger than you.”

Bruce growls and grabs me by the ankle, pulling me underneath him and pinning me down to the bed. “Care to repeat that, baby girl?”

He doesn’t give me a chance. The minute I open my mouth to say it again, he strikes, his long fingers digging into my side just under my ribs. I let loose a stream of loud, wild, almost embarrassing laughter. “Silly girl,” he teases, a goofy growl in his voice. “Silly, silly, silly girl. You’re not even fighting me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanted me to tickle you. Do you, angel? Was this your little plan all along?”

“Bruce hahahahaha Brucie please okay okay okahahahahay!” I shriek. The smile on his face is so beautiful, his fake-evil laugh so fun, his fingers so long and playful, I feel like I might melt right there. “Plehehehease!”

“Oh, what? Isn’t this what you wanted?” Bruce’s thumbs find their way to the spaces between my ribs, provoking a wild squeal from me. “Oh look, look at that. Somebody’s ribs are a real good tickle spot, aren’t they? I wonder if I should just bring you on stage with me and do this, if I’d get a good sound out of you. And if I did, I’d just play you all night. Wonder how that would work.”

I let out another squeal. “Bruce! Plehehehease! I’m not a fucking guitar, you dork!” 

Bruce grins, still growling and cooing gibberish to me as his fingers move to the pockets of my hips, a move that brings more hysterical laughter. Finally, when I feel like I can’t take it anymore or I’ll die right there, I grab his hands and entwine my fingers with his. “Bruce. Kiss me,” I hear myself say, my voice pleading, my eyes shining.

It’s like he’s been waiting for me to say it. In an instant, his lips are back on mine, his hot tongue sliding into my mouth where, in my opinion, it truly belongs. The hands that were tickling me just seconds ago now grip my shoulders, then drag slowly, tantalizingly, down my chest, tracing the edges of the knitted bikini top I’ve been wearing all day. His teeth tug gently at my bottom lip, provoking a shaky little whine from me. “I need you,” I gasp, almost involuntarily.

Without a word, Bruce unties my top and tosses it onto the carpet. His mouth leaves mine, kissing and nibbling along my jawline and down my neck, to my shoulders and collarbone, until finally I feel his scruffy face and warm lips on my breasts. Soft little moans and sighs spill from me almost as wildly as my giggles had. I can feel my face burn and my nipples harden with every little flick of his tongue, every pinch and nibble and gentle touch of his mouth.

He continues to kiss his way down my belly, his tongue dipping into my navel for just a fraction of a second, and he looks up at me long enough to greet my delighted little chuckle with a smile and a wink of his own. “Thought you’d love that,” he whispers, giving my lower tummy another kiss and a little nuzzle.

“I need you,” I say again, opening my thighs just a bit to let him rest his hands on them. “Bruce. Please.” I’m trying to think of the right words to tell him how much I want him, but my mind is going blank.

Bruce smiles. “You want me to make love to you, sweet girl?” His lips move back up to my chest, then my chin, until they finally rest against mine where they started.

“Yes,” I breathe, savoring the taste of his tongue against mine. “Yes, Bruce, please. Make love to me…I want you so much…”

“Of course, pretty thing.” His hands move back down to my waist, and he unbuttons my shorts and pulls them down. It’s then that I notice that since I’d been wearing pajamas when I transformed, I don’t have any underwear on beneath my shorts. Bruce doesn’t seem to mind, though — on the contrary, he smiles teasingly, the gap in his teeth on prominent display. “No panties, baby girl? You really are a sassy little thing…”

I flash a cheeky little grin back at him. “Your sassy little thing,” I giggle.

Bruce gives me a quick, gentle little poke on a freckle next to my belly button. “And don’t you forget it,” he coos. His grin is still a mile wide as he unzips his own pants and throws them to the floor. He’s quite big, bigger than I even expected (and I’d had a feeling he was big), but somehow I’m not nervous at all. His hands keep my legs steady, the tips of his thumbs kneading my inner thighs and spreading me apart as he eases himself inside me, and I let out a soft but definitive gasp. 

It feels so good I almost want to cry. The way he kisses me, the warmth of his touch, the noises he makes in tandem with my own, all of it combines perfectly to form what feels like a beautiful dream. His thrusts are gentle yet strong, each one making me gasp, moan, or sigh. He’s so good. He’s so fucking good. If I hadn’t known it enough from his songs, now I know it for sure. “Bruce….” I murmur. “Goddamn, Bruce, you feel so good, I can’t believe you, you’re so good….”

“Oh, my Katie baby.” Bruce kisses me again and runs his hands down my chest, his thumbs teasing and stroking my nipples as he continues to thrust. My gasping becomes shallower and more intense with each touch, and I press my tongue hard against his as my breath gets more and more shaky. “I’m close, baby,” he whispers. “Dammit, I’m so close…..”

“Me too,” I moan as he nibbles my neck. “Oh, God…the bites, dear God, the bites…oh, fuck…”

Bruce chuckles and continues to nibble at my neck, ears, and collarbone and along my jawline. “You like how that feels, little one? Because I sure like the way you taste…” He follows this by gently sucking on my earlobe and tickling it with his tongue. “Mm. That’s my sexy girl. God, I love how you taste…”

The mere idea of him being obsessed with the taste of my skin makes my face go hot and my body begin to feel warm all over. But it’s when he gives the curve of my neck a sweet but serious little nip that the wildest gasp of all jumps out of my mouth and a wave of ecstasy overtakes me. 

I wasn’t expecting to come this hard, I would’ve been satisfied with any orgasm, even a small one, but this one is something altogether unique and wild. The force of it is such that Bruce immediately presses his lips back against mine and lets out a wild gasp of his own. And that’s when I feel it. He gets off too, as hard as I did, inside me. His release mixes with my own, filling me up so much that a bit of it leaks out of me onto the sheets. I smile to myself, remembering the birth control pill case I had seen in a drawer in the bathroom earlier. Neither 2025 Katie nor 1975 Katie have anything to worry about.

After a few seconds, Bruce slides out of me and rolls over, grabbing my hand and kissing it. "Happy birthday,” he coos, resting his hand on my face and giving me a soft, warm kiss. “So. Will you go on tour with me, giggle bear?”

I blush all the way to the tips of my ears at this new nickname. “Yeah,” I finally say. “Yeah, I’ll come with you, Brucie bear.”

“Good girl,” he says with a cute little grin. “Now, I think I’d like to cuddle you all night, sugar. What do you say to that?”

“Oh, you.” I smile softly as he strokes my cheek with his thumb. “You really think I’d say no to that?”

“Oh, I knew you wouldn’t,” Bruce chuckles, tapping the tip of my nose before going back to stroking my cheek. “I had a feeling you’d turn out to be a good little cuddle buddy, pretty thing.” He throws his arms around me and squeezes me into him, which (of course) makes me giggle, and he kisses my neck in response. “There we go, giggle bear. Brucie bear’s not gonna let you go, okay?”

A little while later, Bruce and I have found our way down onto the sand. It's still early in the season, so while the beach isn't deserted by any means, it's certainly calmer than it would be were it the absolute height of summer.

"So tell me about yourself," Bruce says, that darling smirk not once leaving his face.

This simple request makes my brain race. Most of what I like to do in real life is so 21st-century-specific, and of course I can't mention any of that. "There isn't much to tell," I finally say with my trademark giggle. "I've lived in Boston all my life. I like to travel, I love to read, my favorite movie is that goofy new one where the guys from Monty Python do King Arthur, and I really love hockey. Watching it, not playing it. I'm the least athletic person ever."

"I've heard about that new movie," laughs Bruce. "Haven't seen it yet though. I've been so damn busy workin' on the new record, I just haven't had the chance."

"Oh, you need to!" I bubble, letting out an excited little squeal along with the usual giggle. "Oh, it's the funniest thing ever! I love it sooooo much."

Bruce’s eyes sparkle teasingly at the sound of my laughs and squeals. "You have got just the cutest little laugh, sugar," he chuckles, tapping the tip of my nose and making me blush - and, of course, laugh. "Matter of fact…ya mind if I call ya Giggles, Katie baby? That laugh is just the prettiest little thing."

I blush almost as red as my hair and bury my face in my hands, my body shaking with barely suppressed chuckles. It takes me a few minutes to regain my composure, and of course Bruce the tease is no help - every time I think it's safe to look up at him he'll wink. Or grin. Or just smirk. Then I'm back in wild giggle fits where I started. Finally I'm able to catch my breath. "I'd actually really fuckin' love that,” I admit shyly, tucking a bit of hair behind my ear and digging my bare feet into the sand.

"Thought so," Bruce smiles. He watches as I sift a pile of sand through my fingers, absentmindedly pouring it over my knees and lower legs. He laughs. "The hell you doin'? Trying to bury your pretty little legs there?"

I giggle. "Yeah, I guess so. I dunno, I used to do it all the time as a kid when we went down the Cape. Just one of those kid things, y'know? Whenever I see sand, I just get the urge to bury my legs like I always did.”

The most adorable little-boy smile is stretched across Bruce's face, the darling little gap in his teeth on full display. I've clearly given him an idea. "Let me help ya, Giggles," he says, pushing a mound of sand up against my leg. His fingertips brush against the skin, prompting another giggle from me, and a wink from him in response. He continues to dig up handfuls of sand and push them toward me, and I pack it against my legs and knees. We're both laughing madly - here we are, 23 and 25, burying me in the sand like a couple of six-year-olds. After about twenty minutes, everything from my thighs to my ankles have disappeared under a mound of sand.

Bruce pulls himself up on his knees, admiring our work. His eyes scan down my body, from my beaming face, to my breasts and my bare stomach, down my sand-covered legs to the pair of little feet with red-painted toenails sticking out from the pile of sand. I had specifically requested my feet not be covered — I hate having them that tightly confined. I grin and wiggle my toes as his gaze lingers on them for a few extra seconds.

"Like ‘em? I just got 'em done," I say as I wiggle them.

The little-boy smile has returned to Bruce's face. He kneels down at my feet and looks at them once more. He then looks up at me, and the smile has turned into the most devilish devil smirk in the history of hot guys. "I wonder…”

I know exactly what he's about to do, and my brain short circuits. "Don't you fucking dare," I squeak, my face burning hotter than ever.

Bruce ignores me and wiggles his fingers down the sole of one foot. "No wonder you're such a little giggler. You're ticklish, aren't ya, sugar? That's why you're always laughing, ain't it? You're a ticklish lil thing, aren't ya?"

The wildest, most bubbly little giggles yet pour from me like a geyser. "Bruce no no nohohohohoho no tihihihihihihickling!"

"Aha! I thought so!" he chuckles, moving his hand to my other foot and tickling behind my toes. "Who's my Giggles?” he teases. "Who's my Giggles? Who's a pretty little sassy girl?" 

I'm sure my laughter and squeals can be heard halfway to Manhattan. “Ahahahahaha stop it, Bruce that tickles, oh god hahahahahaha Bruce please!"

"You're beggin' me to stop, but you're not doin' anything to stop me,” Bruce teases. "If you really wanted me to stop, you'd break out of this sand pile." He grins and tickles both of my feet simultaneously. "C'mon, darlin'. Do it. Break out. You won't. I know you won't. Cuz you don't want me to stop. You're havin' too much fun. Aren't ya, sugar? You're having way too much fun for me to stop. I see that smile, baby. That’s a real smile. I know it is.”

I let out a roar and force my legs out from under the sand, then lunge at Bruce, knocking him down. His hat falls off, and I snatch it up and put it on my own head before straddling his tiny waist and digging my fingers into his cute skinny ribs. "Payback time, you big goof!" I laugh. "You're not the only one who can launch a tickle attack!"

Bruce squeals. That's the only way I can describe the initial noise he makes before dissolving into helpless giggles. "Katie, Katie please, gimme my hat back, Katie plehehehease!”

"Come and take it!" I tease. "C'mon big guy. Grab it right off my head. It's right here. Just take it, hot stuff."

When he raises his arm to grab the hat, I immediately attack his armpit, tickling furiously while still squeezing his ribs, sides, and hips. Bruce is producing what have to be the wildest, craziest giggles I've ever heard from a man. "Katie please stop stop stahahahap!"

Surprisingly for both of us, I obey and slap Bruce's hat back on top of his head. "There. Happy?" I ask with a cheeky grin.

"That's it?" Bruce smirks. "Coulda sworn you were gonna try and go a little bit longer. 'Specially with how long I did it to you."

"I had to stop," I laugh, folding my arms. "You tickle me to death, it's no big deal. But I really don't think your band would appreciate having to get a new leading man only three months before an album release if I tickled you to death."

Bruce pulls himself back up into a sitting position, shaking the sand out of his hair. "Can't say I’d mind goin' out that way, angel. Better to die laughin' in a hot girl's arms than cryin' in somebody else's." He grins. "Silly little thing.” 

I blush the same way he did. "You're adorable," I say shyly.

"Back atcha, sugar," Bruce grins. God, I love that grin. "Man, I haven’t done somethin’ like that in ages.”

Something in my mind is screaming at me to turn on the sass. "Since when, last week?" I hear myself say, the requisite giggle more playful and teasing than I've heard it so far.

Bruce's eyes get big, then immediately narrow. "You sassy thing,” he practically purrs. "Better be careful, little girl. Who knows what I could do with a fiery little cutie like you..."

"I have a few ideas," I say cheekily, poking my tongue out at him just a bit and adding another extra-teasy giggle.

"So do I, honey." Before I can respond again, I feel his hot breath on my face, and in an instant we're kissing, kissing breathlessly, the bittersweet taste of his warm tongue pressing against mine, his hand on my hip, the kind of kiss that makes you moan and makes you wet purely from the sheer intensity and passion of it. The butterflies in my stomach are multiplying by the second - hell, the millisecond. I can taste every bit of raw hunger and desire on his gloriously delicious mouth. "God, Bruce..." I breathe. "You're a devil, god, you're a fuckin' devil…”

"Yeah, you like that, baby girl?" he coos, giving my lower lip a gentle little tug with his teeth and making me gasp. "Little sassy girl. I should've known there'd be fire in you.”

I giggle. "My hair wasn't enough of a clue?"

"True," chuckles Bruce. "I was more focused on thinkin' about how I could get more of that sweet li'l laugh outta you." He strokes the back of his hand across my belly, his touch raising goosebumps on my skin, and nibbles the tip of my ear, producing another gasp of delight from me. “God, you’re so fucking sweet,” he whispers. His hand cups my side, his thumb moving up and down against the soft skin as he trails little kisses down my neck, then back up to my lips. “Precious little angel.”

I chuckle softly, almost musically, against his lips as his thumb traces each of my ribs and drags down my stomach. “Mm. Bruce, you silly boy, you’re tickling again.” I grin.

“Sorry, baby girl,” he says, the return of his devil smile telling me that he's clearly not sorry at all. "I could stop if you really want me to."

“You don't have to,” I whisper playfully, placing my hand on top of his and entwining my fingers with his own. "I actually like it when you tickle me."

Bruce’s big brown eyes are twinkling again, and he gives me another kiss, this one soft and teasing, his lips just barely brushing mine as he gives me a few little skritches under my chin. “Oh, you do, do you?” He flashes another devil smile. “Well, that's certainly interesting, sugar. So when I said earlier that you really didn’t want me to stop…”

“You were right,” I tease, giggling happily. “You saw right through me. Why do you think I said you could tickle me to death?"

"I did catch that, actually," he chuckles, running his thumb over my bottom lip and kissing my nose. "I just didn't know if you meant it or not."

I giggle out loud. "Oh, I mean it," I tell him. "Consider this your blanket permission, silly boy. Anytime, as much as you want. I'll love every minute of it. I just think it’s the silliest, goofiest fun in the whole world. And….” I wink at him. “You’re pretty good at it, too.”

“Oh, am I now?” Bruce smiles broadly and gives me another teasing little kiss. His fingers are now tracing little circles and patterns on my stomach, and I throw my head back in a stream of joyful little chuckles. He swipes his finger across the skin, circling my belly button before giving it a little poke, causing me to outright howl with giggles. At the sound of this, his face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Now that there might be the prettiest little laugh I’ve ever heard,” he says. He gives me another poke, producing a nearly identical bubbly laugh, which makes his eyes sparkle even more and his smile brighten. My giggles intensify into full delighted laughter and I begin to squirm as his finger wiggles across my stomach, but it’s only when he leans down and gives it a sweet little kiss and a nuzzle (all while still tickling with his hands) that I finally break into complete hysterics. “Oh Bruce that tickles hahahahahahaha the beard the beard the beard oh please oh please Bruce that tickles that tickles hahahaha!”

“Sounds like somebody likes that, too,” Bruce coos, rubbing his scraggly beard against the soft skin of my stomach and sending me into more fits of wild laughter. A quick flick of his tongue prompts a squeal that knocks me fully backwards onto the sand, leaving me fully pinned down and subject to the whims of this silly, sexy man. He continues peppering soft kisses across my stomach and nuzzling it with his scruffy face, his thumbs and fingers digging into my hips, ribs, and sides with the dexterity that can only come from a musician. “My darlin’ little Giggles,” he teases. “I’m not gonna stop, pretty thing. Not until you’ve given me all those perfect giggles. They’re mine. They’re all mine. Those hot little giggles are all mine.” He plants a kiss on my cheek, his fingers still wiggling wildly across my stomach, reveling in every laugh I give him. “C’mon. I know you’ve got more giggles in you, little girl. And I’m gonna tickle all of them out of you. Even if I have to tickle you all night. I’m not stopping till I have them all.”

They’re more than giggles at this point — I’m snorting, belly laughing, practically shrieking. I should have known the guy with the long fingers on the cover of one of my favorite albums would be my ticklish kryptonite. “Bruce plehehehehease! Let me breathe, big guy, let me breathe!”

Bruce raises his head and smiles sheepishly at me. “Sorry, angel,” he says, this time actually sounding sincere. “You just really do have the most gorgeous laugh. I wanna hear it every day this summer, you got that?”

I nod my agreement as he takes my hand and kisses it, then returns his hand to my stomach and softly rubs it with his fingertips, making me practically melt with joy. It feels so good and sweet that I let out a few gentle sighs and little coos, closing my eyes to soak in the warmth of his touch. Now that we’ve finally reached this point, he clearly doesn’t want to stop touching me. For a few minutes, neither of us says anything, the only sound being the happy little noises still coming from me as he continues stroking my tummy. Finally, Bruce speaks again. “You enjoying your birthday, angel baby?”

“More than you know,” I tell him, letting him pull me onto his lap. “I got a gorgeous beach, a hot guy, and the whole damn summer ahead of me. I’d say those are pretty awesome presents.”

“So that’s it?” Bruce asks, nuzzling his scruffy face into my neck and kissing my cheeks. “You’re gonna be mine all summer, right?”

I giggle delightedly as his beard tickles my cheeks and neck. “That depends,” I tease. “Do I get tickle monster Bruce or sex god Bruce? Because I'd really love to have both, if you'd do it...”

“Then you get both, sunshine,” he croons, nipping my ear and giving me another long, glorious kiss. “I contain multitudes, Giggles. You want both, you’ll get both.”

I rest my hand on his chest to steady myself as he kisses me, savoring the taste of his mouth, the way his lips and tongue feel against mine. “Then I’m in,” I whisper, my voice suddenly husky and seductive, captivated as I am by the devious little twinkle in his big brown eyes. “You want a summer baby, you got one.”

It’s my day off, and I’ve promised my mom that I’d finally finish organizing my closet. Yeah, as usual, I’ve tried to get out of it, tried literally everything I can think of to get her to drop the subject, but she’s adamant. Granted, I don’t think I’ve actually seen my closet empty since my room was painted in 2004, but that’s what they’re for, isn’t it? To put shit in. I’ve already moved my record collection out of the way to give myself room to stand, and I’m bending down to pick up the old posters crumpled on the floor when I hit my head on the wall.

“Fuck!” I spit.

“You all right?” I hear my mother’s voice in the hallway outside my room.

I roll my eyes. “Yeah. Just bumped into something. Trying to get these posters out of here.”

As I bend over to pick them up again, something catches my eye. The impact of my head hitting the wall has caused the whole wall to literally start sliding open. To my utter shock, there’s a small space behind the closet that I never knew existed, in the wall between my room and my sister’s. Gently, I ease myself into the space.

It’s full of computers, with a large screen in the middle that turns on as I approach it. Welcome to the Time Jumper, the screen reads. 

Holy fucking shit, have I actually discovered a time machine in my own goddamn room?! If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear it was a prank. I reach out and touch the keyboard, and the screen changes. Please enter year and location. 

A million ideas begin to run through my mind. I have a goddamn time machine, I can go anywhere and anytime I want to, and it’s asking me to choose one?! Do I go back to the sixties and meet JFK? Or Pierre Trudeau? Or maybe experience Expo 67 for real? Or I could go to Regency times and be a society lady like in Bridgerton. The possibilities are literally infinite.

As I’m considering my options, my eyes wander back into the main part of my room and come to rest on my record collection. Sitting in front of the crate is my copy of Born to Run. I look at the all-too-familiar photo, Bruce Springsteen leaning on Clarence Clemons’ shoulder and smirking devilishly, his long fingers draped casually over Clarence’s arm, the leather jacket and ripped tank hanging off his skinny body. Goddammit, he’s too fucking hot, I think to myself for the millionth time that day.

It’s in that moment that I know exactly what I have to do. I shove the wall closed behind me and turn back to the big computer, and type:

Asbury Park, NJ, USA

1975

Within a second or two, I realize I'm no longer in my own cramped little closet in 2020s Connecticut. I seem to have materialized in the doorway of a very different closet — larger, filled with the kind of clothes I've seen in vintage shops, old family photos, movies and TV shows, and even in miniature form in American Girl doll catalogs. The bedroom it belongs to also looks straight out of an AG catalog, combined with my sister’s old apartment — floral wallpaper, shaggy red carpeting, a huge comfy bed with lots of pillows. The walls are covered with Beatles posters, one of John Lennon’s “war is over” placards, a map of Ireland on canvas printed with family names identical to the one my grandparents had hanging in their hallway in California when I was a kid, stickers and buttons galore — Kennedy in ‘68, McGovern in ‘72, several anti-Vietnam War, a few pro-Irish Nationalist — and a clipped-out newspaper photo tacked up underneath a Boston Bruins pennant that turns out to be that one photo of Bobby Orr flying through the air after scoring the winning goal for the Stanley Cup. A large window on another wall looks out on the ocean, with a small, private-looking strand of beach between the house and the water. For a second I'm confused, and a little worried. The occupant of this room is clearly a New England Irish girl like me, if not specifically Massachusetts. Did the time machine fuck up and send me to the Cape instead of the Jersey Shore? I'd specifically told it to send me to Asbury Park - has it not worked?

It's then that I notice that not only has my environment changed, but so have I. I'm no longer wearing my Taylor Swift shirt and pajama pants. In their place is a pink and blue knit bikini top, low-rise cutoff denim shorts, and sandals. My body itself also looks different - the time skip seems to have subtracted about 50lbs from my weight. My stomach is smaller, about what it was ten years ago, yet at the same time, my breasts look like they're definitely increased a cup size or two, and my ass is, to put it simply, insane. As I look at myself in the mirror, I see that my hair has stayed long, fluffy, and fiery red, and my eyes are still blue, albeit a deeper shade of blue.

What looks like an old-style paper driver's license is sticking out of a wallet on top of the dresser. I snatch it up. It is a license - a Massachusetts one, at that. When I look at it, my jaw drops. The photo on it is unmistakably me, but instead of my real information, it reads:

Kathleen Marie Kelly

Brookline, MA

DOB: 06-15-1952

The time machine created a whole new identity for me. I can’t believe it. I realize then that it likely provided the house too, and the décor, and everything. I look out the window a bit further, and there’s a beautiful blue-green convertible parked in the driveway. I smile to myself. This thing is more sophisticated than I thought. It had given me another Irish last name and a home base that I know well, and even my birthday had stayed the same — just 40 years prior to reality! A quick glance at a calendar hanging nearby tells me that I've landed in another June -- June 1975. I have enough sense in my head to know that the time machine wouldn't have just chosen any random day, and it certainly had the year right, which leads me to just one conclusion.

"Holy shit," I say to my equally stunned reflection in the mirror, taking another look at “my” ID and doing some quick math in my head. Now I know why my body looks like it did in 2015, larger breasts and red hair notwithstanding. "It's…it's my 23rd birthday!"

Even though it's clear that this new assumed identity explains almost everything I'm seeing in this room, one important question remains: where am I? I'm clearly not home, wherever that actually is - there's definitely no parts of Greater Boston that I know of with beach houses like this, not even in 1975. I have to figure out where I am before I do anything else.

Somehow, my body seems to know its way around the house, even though this is obviously my first time ever in it. It's cozy, classic 70s, wood paneling and shag carpeting, reminiscent of both my late grandparents’ house in California and the house we always stayed in on the Cape when I was little. There's something so inherently familiar about the aesthetic that it calms a good chunk of my nerves.

I finally find my answer in the form of the phone book in the kitchen. The cover clearly reads Monmouth and Ocean Counties. I breathe a sigh of relief, the rest of my nervousness evaporating. I've made it to the right time and the right place.

Thank fuck.

I head back into “my” bedroom and inspect myself in the mirror. A tube of red lipstick is sitting on the dresser, and I pick it up and swipe it across my lips. The shade of red is almost like something Taylor would wear, and I feel my confidence rising as I brush my hair and pick up a purse that’s sitting on the bed. Finally I grab the lipstick and “my” wallet before checking myself one more time. If it’s my birthday, and I’m this hot, nobody will be able to resist me — not even a future rock legend himself.

It only takes a few minutes to get into town. It’s like another world, familiar yet also so alien. The beach looks the same as Point Pleasant, further down the shore, did when I went in 2015, but dirtier, scuzzier, in a charming sort of way. The smell of salt air that I love so much is mixed with cigarette smoke and weed. It’s a world I’ve only ever seen in photos, read about, or pictured in my dreams.

I’m trying to figure out how on earth I’m going to find my way around this place. Not only am I in a town I’ve never been to, I’m also nearly fifty years out of my element. I lean up against a fence on the side of the boardwalk, gazing around, letting the wind play with my hair and curl around my body. It feels so good, I throw my head back and giggle, causing a group of guys nearby to take notice.

The guy at the head of the group turns around first, and my heart nearly drops all the way to my feet. It’s him. Bruce fucking Springsteen. Soon to be one of the most iconic rock stars in music history. And holy shit, is that Clarence behind him? Holy fuck, it’s the entire goddamn E Street Band!!!!! I’m trying to make a mental note of who I recognize, but my gaze keeps moving back to Bruce.

He's wearing jeans, a ripped tank top, and that same sloppy-Irish-bastard hat he's got on in several shots of the Born to Run photoshoot, tipped at a rakish angle on top of his wild curls. His face is decidedly scruffy, his big brown eyes have a playful sparkle in them, and his smile somehow seems to give both "wild devil" and "sheepish boy next door" at the same time. What's more, he has what has to be the fullest, most absurdly delicious-looking pair of lips I've ever seen on a man. He's still a skinny young thing, with no hint yet of the thick arms and ripped chest that will become iconic in the 80s, and that he still has in 2025. The only thing that seems to be the same is his insistence on wearing as little as humanly possible (easier to get away with on the beach than anywhere else, admittedly) and, of course, that fucking smile. God, it's even more irresistible than I could have imagined up close.

"Don't look now, Boss, but there's a really hot redhead checking you out over there," I hear one of the band say. I think it's Garry, but I'm standing so far away that it's hard to tell. It's only then that Bruce glances over in my direction, and I feel my stomach jump and my heart skip a few beats. He grins broadly and flashes me a cheeky wink, and I immediately and somewhat instinctively (exactly what instinct, I don't know) giggle delightedly in response.

The sound of my giggle seems to stop Bruce in his tracks. He turns back to the rest of the band and mutters something to them, and the others nod and smile before walking ahead without him. I see Clarence give him what I can only assume is a "good luck" pat on the shoulder before joining everyone else, leaving Bruce alone.

Finally free of distractions, Bruce walks up to me, that wild devil smile still lighting up his scruffy face, his eyes sparkling more than ever.

I speak first. "Hey there."

"Hey yourself, sunshine," he says in that familiar gravelly voice, warm and flirtatious. "Don't think I've ever seen you around here before. I’d definitely remember if I did."

"You haven't." There's a soft giggle in my voice as I respond. "I'm Katie. Katie Kelly. I'm from Boston. I'm down here for the summer.”

"Boston?!" Bruce chuckles, his laugh sending a happy little thrill through me, like a thousand little butterflies springing to life inside my body. "You're a little off course, aren't you, darlin’? Don't you Boston girls all hang out at Cape Cod or somethin' in the summer?"

I giggle again and roll my eyes. "First off, it's ON Cape Cod, not AT. And secondly, I used to go there. I got sick of it though. Cape guys are just... too preppy. Too full of themselves. If you're not 'somebody', or related to 'somebody’, they couldn't give a fuck about you. The Hamptons are the same way. I'm done with all that. I'm lookin' for somethin' a little…different. Wilder. I wanna have some fun." 

Bruce laughs. "You're sassy. I like that in a woman." He sits down on a bench next to where I'm standing. "Well, welcome to Jersey, baby. I'm Bruce."

"I know who you are," I say with another giggle. "I've got both of your albums.”

"Really now?" He looks pleased. "Got a favorite song, sugar?"

I toss my hair and consider the question. "Probably Rosalita," I answer. "I'unno why. Somethin' about it is just soooooo hot.” Yet another giggle. Am I just going to laugh whenever I speak to him? At least he doesn’t seem to mind. Every time I giggle, his eyes twinkle just a little more, and his smile brightens. He clearly loves the sound.

Bruce winks, and I feel my cheeks tinge pink. "How old are ya?"

"I'm 23," I tell him. "Actually, today's my birthday. June 15."

"Well, happy birthday!" Bruce’s smile could light up Vegas. He gives those gorgeous lips a soft little lick. “Got any plans for tonight?" He winks again.

I shake my head, which is clearly the response he’d hoped for. "Nope. Just thought I'd chill out at the beach, I guess."

"You think I could join ya?" he asks.