I could scarcely believe what happened to me, but fighting the fire in my kitchen stole top priority.

Tearing my eyes away from the mirror, I turned and sprinted back towards my kitchen. I managed to keep myself upright easily now, since the change has passed. Still, my locomotion now entirely different, every movement of my body invaded my conscience thoughts.

On my chest, two ample breasts are swinging wildly, rising up together and then swinging down and to the side with each stride.

Wider hips gyrating in a manner entirely foreign made finding my new center of gravity tricky.

It was unnerving how much I enjoyed the jiggle in my rump, rising and falling gently as I hit my stride.

Between my legs, I felt the lips of my moist lotus patch rubbing together with each movement of my long and smooth, hairless legs.

But there was no little 'fire-man' bobbing up and down, no 'coin purse' bouncing around down there. This absence was the most distracting of all.

As I rounded the corner to the kitchen, I slammed on the breaks and assessed the situation. The smoke was still thin and the pizza had only just begun to burn. No need for the fire extinguisher thank goodness. Slowly approaching the oven, I seemed to glide across the linoleum, my hips popping with every step. The bobbing on my chest was less intense too. The closer to the oven I got, the sexier my walk became.

'Was I doing that intentionally?' I thought to myself turning the oven knob to off. My train of thought derailed as the smoke alarm began to sing its obnoxious tune. Reaching up to unhook it, my diminished height again became apparent. I quickly fetched a chair to stand on.

Then, using an pot holder, I opened the oven and removed the burnt-up train-wreck of a pizza. I slid the cheesy nightmare into a black hefty bag, crisis averted and one problem solved. If only my other 'problem' could be solved so swiftly.

Hitting the exhaust fan as I exited the kitchen, I began to saunter off down the hall to my bedroom. 'Time to see what that book has in store for me.' my inner monologue began. The bobbing of my new wobbly bits quickly cut into my thoughts again, and once again without realizing it I was walking in an incredibly seductive manner. Like an uber-feminine super model.

I couldn't seem to help it though, even being aware of it did nothing to prevent my erotic gait. Deciding to go with it, I at last admitted to myself that I did in fact feel sexy. And look sexy. Why not walk sexy too?

'Back in my bedroom, I drew the curtains shut and picked up the 'present' Heather had left. I sat on my bed, still unmade from my morning rush, propping up my body with pillows. With the book in my lap, I opened the cover and glanced downwards towards the words on the page.

It was hard to look past the amazing breasts I'd just grown. I was so fond of breasts and even with my very own set that fondness had not diminished. The new parts between my legs reacted to the sight of them heaving with each breath, and bobbing with every motion I made no matter how small. Quickly realizing that I was turning myself on, I closed the book and set it down. “To hell with this book for now, I need to get a better look at myself.” I said to the empty room.

Standing in front of my mirror, still unclothed, I examined myself head to toe. Waving at my reflection, a beautiful brunette waved back. Tossing a stray lock of shoulder length chestnut brown hair aside, I watched my reflection do the same. The motion was so feminine and demure that it made me laugh, and as my lips curled up into a smile so did 'hers.'

Full cupid bow lips adorned my softer, rounder face. “Great bone structure” I whispered in a breathy tone, noting my high cheek-bones. My proud roman nasal bridge had also been replaced by a cute-as-a-button nose. I now possessed a perfect balance of feminine facial features. My jawline too was diminished, but most striking of all was the change to my eyes. Where once they had been a dark brown, now my irises now glowed an emerald green. Just like Heathers.

My eyes traveled downwards, and I drank in my slender female frame. Narrow shoulders, a shorter rib cage, wider hips, long smooth legs. And who could forget the chesticles? No one could at their formidable size. Being somewhat of a breast connoisseur, I pegged them as being between a full 'C' and a light 'D' cup. They hung there like twin pendulums upon my once flat and muscular torso. As frightening as it was, I was overcome by an odd calm.

With the calmness spreading over me, I was emboldened to glance lower. I sat in front of the mirror, spreading my legs and revealing the reflection of my new vagina to my eyes. Slightly obscured by a light brown fur, I traced it's outline with my index finger relishing the sensation. It looked very neatly groomed and well organized, the folds of skin forming a perfect pink canyon. With great daring, I separated the petals of my new flower to reveal it's inner glory.

Being a healthy heterosexual male, I had been up close and personal with my share of bearded clams. But there was something about this one in particular, not only was it mine, it was also the picture of feminine perfection. Blushing pridefully, I became aware of how easily my probing fingers slid across the surface of the smooth and sensitive pink skin. As if by magic, tiny beads of lubrication materialized on the surface of my 'lady' coating my finger in its musk.

If I didn't turn back soon, I'd be right back where I started writhing in ecstasy on my bedroom floor. Cautiously I let my finger travel to where the sidewalk ended, the crease at the top. As I pressed on it lightly, a small pink hood folded back to reveal a glistening bean. It was all that was left of my once mighty penis, a tiny pencil eraser sized clit.

The sensation from gently handling it sent electric shocks throughout my body. The feeling was far more rewarding than handling my ole' prick had ever been. But just as I started to get carried away into pleasure-land, my thoughts returned to the book once more. As curious as I was to feel the way I had made other women feel, to dance the dance of a female orgasm, I was even more driven to find out what this werewoman business was all about. And that book promised answers.

Loathing the thought but recognizing it's necessity, I covered my nudity with a work shirt hanging in my closet. It hung about me like a dress, covering all of the distracting parts of my new anatomy. Normally hanging 4 inches or so beneath the belt line, the shirt now covered me from neck to knee. Some quick math confirmed that I was nearly a whole foot shorter.

Reluctantly I returned to my cozy nest of pillows and blankets atop my messy bed, and opened the cover of the New Werewoman Handbook once more.

“Chapter 1” I said aloud to my imaginary audience, continuing on in silence...