Wishing everyone a safe and Merry Xmas - Wendy C

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A Starr is Born Pt 3
Reworked by Wendy C from
a story written by Mistress X.

A pounding at the door woke me up. I rolled again out of bed, this time wearing nothing but a pair of now very poor fitting boxers and staggered over to the threshold. I looked through the peep hole to see Jerry standing there, so I unlocked the door and swung it open.

"Good morn," he began. "WHOA!" He looked down over me and then averted his eyes, probably out of some sort of reflex modesty.

I looked down at my already more hourglass than triangular thin frame, the boxers riding high on my hips, the slight tenting in my chest with much more pronounced protruding nipples. "Yeah, grow up Jerry," I said dryly. "I don't have anything you haven't seen before”. Then I thought back to the events of the previous night. "Or maybe I do."

"Yeah well" said Jerry at the door, his hand up flat against the side of his head like a horse blinder. "Get dressed, um dressed to work out. We have a long session this morning, then a couple of meetings afterwards". I threw on a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt, both of which were loose as hell, except around the hips.

"My shoes don't fit," I confessed. "I mean I can wear them, but they're too floppy to work out in."

"Um, okay," Jerry said. "We'll see about borrowing some when we get to the gym. But come on we're gonna be late as it is."

We piled into Jerry's rent-a-car and he drove us over to the arena. We passed the big rigs that carried the equipment from show to show. They also brought the gym equipment too, so it would probably be set up near them.

When we got into the gym a lot of other people were already working out, I shrank into myself slightly, being embarrassed to be seen the way I was. "Anybody have some shoes or boots Casey can borrow?" Jerry called out.

"Yeah," answered one of the junior trainers. "What size?"

"Shriveling," I answered. I stared for a moment and paused. "I don't know," I admitted.

"I'll see what I can find in the spare gear," the guy said.

The first fifteen minutes of my workout session were taken up by trying to find some footwear that would fit me. Ultimately I had to settle on some knee high lace up boots that were made to resemble tall sneakers, women's sneakers of course.

We came to one of the rings that had been set up for practice in which a couple of low-card guys were standing. "Hey fellas," Jerry called. "We're gonna need this ring," Being one of the senior trainers, Jerry's word had a lot of pull in the gym and the two abandoned the ring, and we climbed in. "Alright," Jerry addressed me. "First things first, blow-up drills," I wasn't shocked but I was still disappointed. In wrestling 'blowing up' was the term used for when somebody got winded or gassed, too tired to put on a proper match. Blowup drills were meant to build up stamina; they were very repetitive, very boring, and it was a lot of what we did in the gym. It wasn't all about weightlifting. "Let's start with bumps and kips," he said.

"Fine," I said unenthusiastically and I centered the ring. I bent slightly at the waist, then threw myself backward and slapped the mat with the palms of my hands as I impacted back first. That was a 'bump,' a back bump, the act of throwing one's self to the ground to emulate being knocked down. But instead of kipping up, springing back to my feet, I just writhed.

"Come on Casey kip, you don't have to sell the back," Jerry instructed.

"I'm not," I complained. "That hurt. I don't think I landed right."

"Crap," Jerry said. He stepped over and helped me up. "Your center of gravity must be off. We'll figure that out. Um, let's just run the ropes instead."

Another blow-up drill, running the ropes was an exercise where we'd run back and forth across the ring, hitting the ropes with our backs and bouncing off, over, and over again. Ideally you'd grab the top rope, tuck an arm over it, push your shoulder blades into the rope on the turn, and bounce off. Then you'd repeat, again and again across the whole ring for as long as the drill went on.

I positioned myself on one side of the ring, and started the run, I took three big steps, reached for the top rope, but it was out of range, my hand ended up going under it, and on the turn I missed the top rope altogether and fell between the top and second ropes, falling out of the ring completely and landing on my head on the thinly matted floor.

"Casey, Casey, are you alright?" I heard a warbling voice say and then a bright light hit me in the eyes.

"Nnngg," I moaned.

"I don't see any signs of concussion," said the EMT as he emerged from behind his flashlight. "But you might want to put some ice on that and sit it out for a while."

"Is the rest of my life okay?" I said rubbing the aching knot on my skull.

"That was my fault," Jerry apologized as he helped me over to a bench. "Can somebody get an icepack over here? Look, you're shorter than you were. I think you need to take an extra step and hit the ropes with your feet closer to the apron."

"Can we not do this Jerry?" I pleaded.

"And maybe kick your feet up more on the back bump, that'll get better rotation through the lower center of gravity."

"Jerry, can we not do this? I don't want to do this, any of this."

"I'm sorry Casey," he said. "But that's what contracts are for, and we both have to do our jobs. They're putting a lot on you. I can give you a few minutes, but then we're gonna have to walk you through those rope runs again. WALK."

We spent a good 45 minutes getting me used to one of the most basic things in wrestling again. Learning the ropes was a term as applicable to pro wrestling as it was to sailing.

"That's it Casey. That's where I want your feet when you hit the ropes" Jerry said. "Now I want you to try hitting them a little faster." I ran at them this time, using FOUR steps instead of my old three and hit the ropes successfully, bounced back and did it again, and again, and again. "That's good Casey," Jerry cheered. "We'll be doing the universal spot by the end of the day at this rate. Let's do this for another three minutes, then we'll move on to the latigo spot."

The latigo spot, or Mexican whip, was a wrist lock chained into a hip toss, which you were expected to roll through and end up back on your feet. We'd lock back up into the collar and elbow and then apply it again, taking turns throwing and being thrown. Jerry, to his credit, actually had a lot of gas in the tank for a guy his age, but I was already destroyed. I was huffing, and puffing, and doing whatever I could to get air into my tiny lungs. "Ca... can't bre... breathe," I huffed.

"That's what the blowup drills are for Casey," he responded.

"I'm ima......"

"Okay Casey, one more minute of this then we'll work on figuring out the bumps problem. You're rolling well so far."

I managed to somehow stick it out through the last minute and at the end collapsed on the mat furiously sucking air. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt so wiped out. It was like my lungs were actually too small, my chest wouldn't expand. I felt like my ribs had been crushed.

"Alright, up," Jerry demanded, but I just lay on the mat huffing. "We're gonna have to work on your wind. Come on, I mean it get up, let's work on those bumps, unless you want to do another minute on the latigos."

I struggled to my feet reluctantly.

"Okay, like I said earlier, your center of gravity is lower and your back is... well, it's less... flat, so you need to throw your legs up more in the bump," Jerry explained. I twisted around and tried to get a look behind myself. It probably wasn't a good sign that I could see the edge of my own ass. They had told me that I would inherit the Zeeg hips, which were larger because they were born with bigger heads. They grew up and died with bigger heads too from what I'd seen. But the point was, I was definitely gonna be pretty thick around that section. Hell I already was. "Come on now. Give it a shot," Jerry clapped.

Still slightly gasping, I dipped forward a little bit then threw myself backward again, making sure to tuck my chin and slap the mat like usual, but this time throwing my feet up in the air further than what was normal for me. It didn't hurt this time.

"Good," said Jerry. "Now kip up."

I pulled them up again and rolled back onto my shoulders, put my palms to the mat behind my head and pushed off. My feet landed flat on the mat, but I was a long way from upright and I fell to the floor again with my feet folded under me.

"Maybe we'll save the kip up for another day!" Jerry relented.

This was so humiliating. Not only did I no longer look like myself, I couldn't do anything right anymore either. There were things I used to be really good at. I used to be a top level performer in the ring, but now I flopped like a green trainee on the first week in school. I used to be good in bed too, I was a real lady killer and now I didn't even have working equipment. Not that I'd be interested anymore if I did. That brought on a dark thought, and I scrambled to my feet and threw myself into another bump. I had to work, I had to do something physical to run away from the realization I'd just had. I got up and threw myself into another bump.

"That's a good idea," said Jerry. "Just focus on the bump right now. Give me another 50."

I went back to my hotel room that night, tired and sore. I didn't dare use the gym shower and I was delighted to find the shower in my room worked pretty well. I stripped down, turned on the hot water, and looked at the “girl” in the mirror. She was a looker for the most part I had to admit in all truth. She had pretty green eyes with short red-brown hair, short because gynospores don't do anything to the hair, what with both Zeeg men and women being bald up top.

She had fuller lips than I would have expected already. She was a little curvy too, towards the bottom anyway. Didn't have all that much to speak of up top but that was slowly changing. All things considered, except for the bits and pieces still down stairs, I would have given her a poke back in my day. She did nothing for me now sexually. Not even a stir, if the thing still worked at all. But it was more than that. Yeah, she was pretty, but that was academic. I knew what pretty was from observation, from comparison. This meets this standard, this one doesn’t. It was all about just rationalization.

I had no SENSE of pretty, so I had to try something. I went back to the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed, still naked as the day I was born, and I pulled my phone out of my bag. I got on the internet and went to some of my bookmarks. Porn. I’d browse through porn to find out.

I started off with softcore and solos. Every girl on there was the picture of sex, and I got nothing from it. I moved on to masturbation pics and vids, nothing, all the same. Then I went on to lesbian stuff, nil. Then to straight sex….and boom. We had a winner that got to me. I suddenly had butterflies in my stomach watching a busty brunette getting plowed by an eight inch cock.

Nothing stirred between my disturbingly smooth thighs, but my nipples tightened up and poked out like the thermostat had just bottomed out. Something climbed up my throat as I listened to her moan and a troublingly similar sound emerged out of my mouth. I clicked it closed immediately. There were still experiments to be done however. I looked up the same model, made sure I found her doing softcore solos, masturbation, and lesbian stuff. Nothing happened, not even a flicker.

This didn't gross me out per se but it was akin to watching two jell-o molds slap together. Then I did another test. I quickly found the male model from before, and took an adventure to the edge. I found a video of him laying pipe in the butthole of another guy and hesitantly I clicked it. That butterfly feeling was back, not as strong as before but it was there. I closed it again. I spent a good half hour then looking through things, and recollecting what I had been told. What I had feared seemed to have come true. I could get aroused on some level, but a necessary factor in that arousal was guys.

Seemingly I couldn't have any sexual reaction anymore to anything but men. I tossed my phone back into my bag and I walked into the bathroom. I slumped down inside the shower stall and then reached over to the nobs and switched it from hot to cold.

When I woke up the following morning I found my boxers were even tighter around my hips and there was enough on my chest to move about when I did. They were real boobs now, still small but unmistakable. I'd heard of girls sprouting overnight but with the rate of these spores it was literal. It was supposedly even faster with v-rays to feed the metabolism. I made sure to dress this time before Jerry came to pick me up, the clothes fit even worse. I laced up the boots I hadn't returned from the day before, having left my own shoes behind instead as a trade. Even these didn't fit as well as the day before.

There came another knock at the door. "Come on, we're burning daylight" I could hear Jerry calling through. I opened the door, my clothes hanging off of me, and then locked up without a word. "Did you have breakfast yet?" he asked. "We have a long day ahead of us."

"Any chance I can hit the weight room today?" I pleaded.

"Nope," was all he said as he headed toward the parking lot

We got back to the gym, and obtained another ring to ourselves. "Okay," said Jerry. "Your training partner is supposed to meet us in about an hour. You got your bumps down pretty well yesterday so let's get back to blow-up drills."

"I wish I could get my 'bumps' down," I grumbled under my breath.

"What was that?" questioned Jerry. "Come on, let's go......... waist lock and break. We'll do some rotations. Start in the collar and elbow."

We centered the ring and tied up, which was harder than it should have been, since Jerry was much taller than me at this point. I wasn't supposed to lose so much height, but I had. I put my hands on his shoulder and inner arm, he did likewise to me, and we pushed against each other, or at least we pretended to. I took my left arm, pushed up his left arm, and slipped under around his left side, stepping behind him locked my hands around his waist and dropping my stance low.

He grasped my wrists, drove forward, appearing to pull me forward, but I was actually following his lead, until he caught the ropes, bouncing off of them at the chest, and pushing me off where I did a back bump on the mat, then rolled through and back to my feet. He turned and we tied up again. Now it was his turn to lock, and mine to break.

He pushed my left arm up, you always go to their left, and he slid around behind me. It was harder for him because he had to go comparatively lower. He cinched his hands at my waist and pulled, I felt him impact against me, and I felt......something poke me.

I hit him with a stiff back elbow to the side of the head.

"Ow!" he yelled rubbing his face beside the eye. "What the hell Casey? That's not the reversal."

"Drop your weight and clear some space god dammit!" I berated. "I don't want to feel that on me!"

"Okay, I get it," he admitted. "But that is not an appropriate reaction," He was right of course. It's not the first time I'd been poked by a dude in the midst of a close grapple. Hell it was even worse in real collegiate wrestling, but at that time I wasn't feeling the most secure with my sexuality and I overreacted.

"Who taught YOU to waist lock dammit?" I continued. "Bend your knees, get low, make a gap for Christ's sake."

"I know," he confessed. "It's a bad habit. My main move was always the waist lock takedown though. You've got to pull up with it," again he was right. His move had been sloppy, but then if you showed me a wrestler that didn't have at least one bad habit in the ring, then I'd show you a pink unicorn. "Just run the ropes for a while," he instructed. "I've got to go check on something."

He rolled out of the ring and walked off. I sighed and began starting to bounce back and forth across the canvas. I was still more winded than I felt I should have been, and I was getting a lot of jiggle in places it disturbed me to get jiggles, but that wasn't my most immediate concern.

I'd been going for a good five minutes when I somehow stepped on the inside of my sweat pants and smashed face first into the mat, my pants around my knees, my underwear, thankfully still on. The noise of the gym changed. It was the only sound worse than laughter, the sound of people pretending not to laugh.

"Those don't fit right," I heard a voice say from ringside.

"No shit," I answered. A feminine body climbed into the ring and a dainty, dark skinned hand reached down and offered itself to me. I took it and she helped me up. She was a little shorter than me, with wild, black hair, in sort of a loose afro. She was wearing a high cut singlet over a set of color coordinated tights. Her expression was one of bemused pity.

"You're Casey right?" she said. "I'm Cassidy."

"We've actually met," I responded, pulling my pants up.

"Yeah, I guess we have haven't we?" she realized. "You look different."

“No shit Sherlock” I replied sarcastically.

"Anyway I'm supposed to practice with you," she said. "But first though we got to find you something that fits you, and gives you some support."

I looked down at my boobs knowing precisely what she meant.

"I'll be right back," she declared, and she was gone as quick as she'd shown up, off doing I hoped not what I thought she was.

While she was gone I noticed the gym go quiet, and there in the doorway was a booker's assistant reading the night's card. Jesus. Had it really only been a week? Seven days? It felt like an eternity since I'd heard this last, right before James Phoenix dosed me. Everything, EVERYTHING had been so different then. What's more, it marked only roughly the half-way point in my transformation. The more outward changes were supposed to slow down now, but the more private alterations would speed up.

"I'm back," I heard Cassidy announce. "Did I miss anything?"

"Uh, yeah," I answered, still half-way lost in thought. "You're doing the job to White Tiger in the last match of the dark show tonight."

"Oh man," she said. "I hate the dark show, I hate losing too. Anyway, come with me a minute," She held up a bundle of yellow and metallic silver cloth that scared me to think about.

"Nooo..." I said.

"Fine, keep falling out of your pants. Just get down here," she insisted.

"Dammit," I cursed. "Fine, but let's make this quick."

I followed her out of the gym and into an adjacent locker room where she handed me the material and I went behind a tile partition near the showers.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" I exclaimed as I unfolded it and saw what it was. "I can't wear this!"

"It's all I've got that'll fit you," I heard her echo back. "You need something elastic right? Something that shapes better to you, right"

"This wasn't exactly made with my anatomy in mind," I insisted.

"Wait," she said. "I thought you..."

"Not yet!" I answered.

"Oh," she said quietly. "Then I guess it IS gonna look funny."

"No shit," I called back.

When I did return, it was with me struggling to get comfortable with the clothing she’d loaned me to wear. "How do I even get this thing on?" I “did” actually know how to get it on, so I didn't know why I even said that.

It was a singlet, I'd worn them before, but this one had a more open neck than most. "Aww, man," I moaned as I stood in front of her red-faced. I was now wearing a yellow sleeveless singlet along with a pair of integrated metallic silver tights. It was cut in an 80’s workout fashion design with the hips of the leotard raised super high and it rode up my butt like a drill-sergeant on PMS.

The neckline was very low too, peaking down near my solar plexus. It was still a little loose up top. Cassidy had bigger boobs than me. The most or debatably least disturbing part, was the little bump that poked out where they were designed to display a flat smooth valley between the legs. "I can't wear this. It's almost indecent exposure!"

"What choice do you have?" she asked, choking back a giggle.

"I don't..." I looked at the bundle of my gym clothes in my hand. "Cassidy, go find me some scissors, please."

She came back almost ten minutes later and handed me the scissors she'd found. I took them and made some hasty alterations to my grey sweats and ended up creating what amounted to a pair of little almost legless gym shorts. I didn't know why I cut them as short as I did. It just went with the rest of the outfit better I guess. I pulled them up and tugged the draw-string tight, so now neither my front junk nor my silver clad ass were poking out quite so noticeably. I held up my hands and looked down at myself.

Cassidy kissed her hand and made the 'OK' sign. "Let's get back to the gym, I've got to do our set and then I gotta go talk to Asano (White Tiger) about our match," she said.

I reluctantly followed her back to the gym at a creeping pace and made it back to the ring where we found Jerry waiting.

"Where the hell have you be..." he began but he trailed off and his eyes widened at the sight of me. "... ahm. Um... Don't uh, well just don't run off like that during practice again," His face turned red.

"She had a wardrobe malfunction," Cassidy said. My heart skipped a beat and crawled up into my throat. "She" That was the first time anyone had called me that, and it hit me harder than I would have thought. Truth told, it triggered the realization that people had almost been avoiding calling me that for a while now, avoiding gender pronouns whenever possible in reference to me.

"Well, um," Jerry began. "You two get in the ring and work on some sets."

Cassidy warmed up a bit as we did some drop down rope runs. Basically one of us would run the ropes while the other kept dropping to the mat and standing back up, forcing the one running to leap over them. It was pretty basic but good for breaking a sweat. We were actually working pretty smoothly together when Jerry called and interrupted us.

"Alright, you're doing really well" he said. "You’re finally starting to get your legs under you again. Let's give you a test though. I want you two to give us a few rounds of the universal spot."

The universal spot was a bit of showmanship that pretty much every professional wrestler the world over knew and practiced, hence the name. It was a tad complicated, but it was drilled so much pretty much any real pro could do it in their sleep. It involved a lot of the drop down rope runs with other moves thrown in. The sequence was, rope run, rope run, hip toss, rope run, rope run, shoulder block, rope run, body press, and throw off.

We came off of opposite ropes. I’d duck under her as she leaped bounced off the ropes, then she went under while I leaped. We bounced off the ropes, I’d hip toss her, she’d go to the mat, then I ran the ropes, she went under, we then ran the ropes together, I went under, we bounced off the ropes, she stopped mid-ring and planted her shoulder into mine, I did a back bump, she ran the ropes, and dove down on top of me for a pin, I pushed up on her, and she rolled off.

Smooth as silk, the next set would be the same thing but in reverse. We came off the ropes, she ducked, we came off the ropes, I ducked, she hip tossed me, I went down, she came off the ropes, I went under, we came off the ropes, she went under, but when it came to the shoulder block I stopped short and didn't make contact. She still bumped out of habit, but it looked terrible and the whole sequence ground to a halt.

"What's going on?" asked Jerry. "You were doing great. Are you feeling sick again?"

"I don't know," I said sheepishly. I wasn’t sick, but I realized I couldn't hit her, even fake hit her. There was a time when men and women could be matched against each other, but the sports commissions had really cracked down on that, years before (Why they get to oversee boxing as well, I'll never understand) so I'd never had to do it. It still happens in wrestling schools pretty commonly, but there weren’t any women in my school when I was learning. "I uh, I don't think I can hit her," I mumbled.

"What?" she said amusingly astonished as she crawled up off the mat. "Are you acting all chivalrous for me? Come on lay into me bitch!" She steadied herself in the middle of the ring, ready to take the impact. "Come on," I stood still. I could see the irritation growing on her face. "Well you're going to have to get over that," she insisted, and she hit the ropes.

She came back at me and landed a solid shoulder check, actually putting force into me. I didn't bump but I stepped back, she had legitimately pushed me backward which kind of surprised me. She did it again and again. I just took a step back. "Come on dammit!" she yelled, actual scorn showing through, and she slapped me across the face, stiff, hard.

I don't know what I was thinking, I wasn't thinking, but I slapped her back; it wasn't a semi-closed wrestling fist, but an open handed slap, actual contact. It was a typical lady wrestler exchange. I stared at my stinging hand, shocked. "You feel better now?" she questioned.

"Not really," I admitted.

She shook her head incredulously, then like a flash she had hooked my inner thigh, grabbed me around the shoulder, tucked my head in and deposited me back first onto the canvas. She had body-slammed me. She had LIFTED me, unassisted! A body slam was generally a team effort, done with both parties working together, it was called posting. It would have been impossible at my rightful weight. Even the strongest girl on the roster couldn't have done it, but by now I'd lost all mass. I just lay on the mat, dumb struck. "Come on, I haven't got all day," she said standing over me.

"Cut Casey some slack," Jerry demanded.

"Cut ME some slack," Cassidy retorted. "She's cutting into MY time. I’m supposed to be helping her, when I’ve already got to prep for a match tonight, then I haveta get dressed, DO my damned match, shower, get dressed again, then take a 250 mile trip to the next show in Toronto."

She? Her?

I got to my feet and stood in front of her. I'd had enough of this crap. I slapped her again, stiffer this time, harder. Did I do it intentionally? ..........Unquestionably!

She stood there slack jawed, a redness welling up in her cheek. She wanted to hit me back, I could tell. "Are we done with this shit now" was all she said.

I did a rebound off the ropes and shoulder checked her, stiffer than was my custom. That was my answer.

"Alright," said Jerry with strained patience. "Let's try this again please" and we did the spot.

Chapter Seven

Practice ended early that day, as it often did on show nights. We had to give the road crew the opportunity to tear down the gym. I pulled my t-shirt on over the gear Cassidy had given me and headed to the car. We went back to the hotel, where I showered and re-dressed while Jerry checked me out of the room. It was a hot shower this time, no more experimenting, ever. Then I gathered my things and headed to the car. I obviously wasn't performing in the show so we could get a head start to the next town. Toronto was a good market. There were a lot of die-hard wrestling fans in Canada, and after Toronto, and maybe a couple of other spots up north, the tour usually took us into New England. New York was a huge venue, the gate was always immense, it would almost be a shame to miss it.

It was about a four hour drive between Detroit and Toronto, that is, when it's a straight shot. With food, gas and still very confusing bathroom breaks, it took us five. It wasn't so bad for me since I slept most of the way, completely gassed (slang for exhausted). The real pain in the ass was at the border. I didn’t exactly match my passport photo anymore so we had to sit there in a pull away zone waiting for fingerprint verification and a consultation by the officials with my doctor over the phone. As soon as I hit my hotel room I stripped down and collapsed in the bed.

I woke up early the next morning and I didn't want to wear that thing Cassidy had foisted on me again. So I produced some cheap scissors I'd bought at a gas station and made some modifications to my own gear. Snip here, a cut there, a tie here.

"Sam come on, hurry up" I heard as Jerry banged on my door. For kayfabe reasons Jerry had to call me Sam in public. I was grateful for it. It kept who I really was out of the public’s knowledge. What I was less grateful about was having to cut up one of my own expensive workout shirts instead of one of the free Ts the company gave me because those all had my picture on them.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming," I called and I threw the door open. Jerry was more red faced than the day I came out almost naked.

"What are you wearing?" he asked.

"What I absolutely have to," I answered with a sigh. Again, I'd modified a pair of my track pants into a set of little shorts, completely without underwear I might add. And now, in order for it to not look like a night gown, I had to slit one of my shirts up the middle and tie it below the chest, exposing my whole midriff. The knot pressed up on my boobs, bigger again today, and made them stick out.

"You know its Canada right?" he questioned.

"And it HAD to be summer" I replied. "Believe me. If I had any other clothes I wouldn't trip over in, I'd be wearing them. This thrills me less than you."

"We could send one of the temps out to get some stuff, we do it all the time," Jerry suggested.

"I'm a shrinking boy Jerry," I responded. "I don't even know my sizes and even if I did, they'd be different by the end of the week. Let's just go now, please."

When we got to the gym I headed straight for the practice ring, Jerry lagging well behind. I actually heard a wolf-whistle as I crossed the floor. Whoever it was must have had a thing for the murderously pissed-off look. The two low-card nobs from the other day were in there again.

"Hey assholes, out of the ring," I demanded.

"Whatever you say ma'am," said douche-bro the 1st, with a condescending grin. I curled my lip and walked around the ring as they climbed down and I headed over to the wall of the gym. I found a stack of aluminium folding chairs and took one, as the guy hopped out of the ring I swung it across his back as hard as I could, bringing out a noise that brought the whole gym to a halt. I jumped up on the ring apron and held the chair up.

"The next shit stain that so much as looks at me wrongly, gets it across the knees!" I shouted out.

"Jesus Casey what are you doing!?" pleaded Jerry as he helped the loser up that was writhing on the floor. There was a right way to hit somebody across the back with a chair, and I didn't bother.

"I don't want to be here, I don't want to do this, but since I have to, I'm not taking any extra guff from anybody for anything!" I yelled. "I have had the shittiest week you can imagine and I don't need it getting any shittier! Do you get me?" The question was addressed to the assembly more than Jerry personally. Without instruction I got into the ring and started hitting the ropes, hard.

It was another 20 minutes before Cassidy showed up, and by then my anger had burned through a bit, I was stewing now instead of exploding. Jerry figured working on my stamina was good and all, but I needed to keep the rust off as far as coordination went, so he had Cassidy and I work on a few basic moves and spots.

I threw a clothesline, which she ducked and took me into a waist lock, much better than Jerry's. She threw my arm over the back of her neck and gripped me under the knee; I knew what this signified. She lifted me up high off the mat, a feat which still astonished and disturbed me, and brought me down in an atomic drop. Typically an atomic drop is supposed to look as though the victim lands crotch first onto the attacker's knee, but you really plant your feet early and leave space so nothing gets squashed. I would have liked to blame Cassidy for not being used to delivering atomic drops on guys, but the truth is I didn't yet have a good enough grasp on the length or strength of my legs.

"SON OF A MOTHER FUC...!" I screamed, as I writhed and smacked the mat hard with my palm repeatedly to signify a genuine injury, tears streaming down my face.

"Somebody get an EMT over here!" Jerry shouted as he sprang into the ring.

A couple of guys in the blue medical uniforms ran over carrying a stretcher and jumped up into the ring as well. "What happened to her?" the first EMT asked.

"Him," Jerry corrected.

"What?" the tech returned.

"Him," repeated Jerry. "Him. This is the talent with special medical needs. You should have been briefed."

"Right," the tech realized, still a little put off. "So what happened?"

"I think he squashed his nuts," Cassidy interjected.

"What?" the tech questioned again as he leaned over me.

"Testicular trauma," the other tech clarified.

I just nodded my head vigorously with my eyes sealed tightly shut. They put me carefully onto a hand stretcher and took me to the infirmary where they put me on a table.

"Okay, um, Casey was it?" the tech questioned.

"Yes," I answered.

"I'm going to have to cut these shorts off, is that okay?"

"Yes!" I screamed, still in a ton of pain.

He took a pair of little crooked scissors and cut along the leg of my shorts and peeled them away. Even in my distraction I could see the confusion in his face. He waved the other tech over and they whispered to each other, both while looking down between my legs.

"What is it?" I demanded.

"Um..." the tech hesitated. "Casey are you sure you impacted your testicles?" he asked.

"Pretty damn sure Doc," I insisted. "Why?"

"Um... because... I'm not seeing any testicles."

I tilted my head up. Then I saw spots…………….. And then it all went black.

I spent the remainder of the day, and much of the night in the hospital, first waiting several hours in an emergency waiting room, then even longer waiting for a specialist. Thankfully the pain pretty much subsided on its own before we even arrived at the hospital. As it turned out it wasn't all the consequence of the botched move. The pain was sure, but as far as the damage done it had just helped the twins along on a trip they were already taking. They were inside me now, migrating to a new home and transmuting themselves along the way. While I was there I inquired about something stronger than the anti-depressants I was already taking, but they wouldn't give me anything.

So things continued on this way, my body changing, the tingling in my stomach slowly subsiding as it did, the shape of me slowly settling in to a new norm. About halfway through week two I got a real start, as things began to open up. It was pretty sickening if I'm being frank.

As the second week went, and we moved on to Buffalo, the tingling stopped, my flesh and bone had settled in, and the rest was history. The only good thing was I wasn't so damn hungry anymore. I knew what the spores were and what they were meant to do, but that didn't explain why they had to take all my muscle. Some girls, on the roster particularly, were pretty toned in their own way, and I felt a little gypped in the exchange. All in all, I had a decent shape to me though. Soft yes, curvy though, at least around the bottom. I had those unmistakable Zeeg hips and thighs, not altogether unlike Cassidy's, and she was known for them. I wasn't quite as stacked up top though, I was smaller than her upstairs and she wasn't the top heaviest girl in the locker room by a long stretch. I was short too. Not short for a woman, that's not it, not even short for lady wrestler who average taller than the norm, but I was about average for them, which is still a bigger drop than what was typical for gynomorphs, from my understanding.

Adult gynomorphs tended toward the tall side, so I had missed out on that. The silver lining was I could finally get some clothes that I wouldn't shrink out of any time soon, though I had every intention of putting some muscle back on in short order.

We had been running through a routine in the gym, just like normal. "Alright good," said Jerry kneeling beside the ring apron. "Let's move on to some corner rolls."

"Uh-uhh," Cassidy responded. "We're done today."

"Hey now what do you mean?" Jerry demanded.

"We got things to do, and she’s got to shower," she pointed to me. "And I know she doesn’t want to use the shower with everybody else. So we have to get an early start."

"What are you talking about?" I questioned incredulously.

She took me by the arm and led me toward the ring ropes. "Come on Girl," she said.

"Please stop calling me that," I begged, and not for the first time.

"Alright," said Jerry. "I'll cut you some slack today. But eat some protein because since your body structure has stabilized, we're using the weights tomorrow."

"Yes!" I pumped my arm.

"You happy now" Cassidy asked? "Come on, move it or lose it Girl."

"I got some clothes for you to wear," Cassidy called to me from outside the shower.

"What is this about?" I demanded, soaping myself. God this still felt so weird. My body moved funny, and the water felt so much more ticklish running over it. I almost felt dirty touching myself this way, and I was only being as thorough as necessary.

"You're all done right?" she yelled over the running water. "So you're moving into the bus tomorrow. If you gonna be rooming with me, you need some clothes."

"No" I insisted, but knowing full well she was right.

"You gonna need some new workout gear, and some new walking around in threads. Maybe even some clubbing outfits."

"HELL no," I responded.

"Suit yourself. But you’ve at least gotta get something that fits."

"Fine," I said emerging from the shower with a towel wrapped daintily and probably incorrectly around my chest. "But I'm shopping at the sports wear place, not the boutique."

"It's your money Honey," she said presenting a folded heap of dark blue-grey denim and pale pink cotton.

"What is this?" I pointed.

"I'm borrowing you some clothes," I picked up the shirt. It was pale pink, matching Cassidy's ring boots. There was a picture of her doing a leg drop off the top rope on it, while the background was a stylized picture of a tiger that matched a large tattoo that she had covering her right thigh. Personal tattoos are frequently used as branding in this business.

"It's not my color," I insisted.

"Hey, I posed for the thing, I didn't design it," she said. "If I'm borrowing you something it's one of the free ones, not my good stuff."

I dressed while she took her turn in the shower, which was longer than I'd taken by a good bit. These clothes felt so strange, they fit weird. I'd never worn jeans this tight in my life. They were girl jeans obviously, but at least they were jeans. I could have done without the floral pattern in the stitching though. The shirt was odd too. It was weirdly tight around the mid-section, leaving the area just below my bellybutton exposed. It was also looser in the chest though, due to my smaller bust. It wasn't really a t-shirt, there were no sleeves to speak of, just some really short protrusions over the tops of the shoulder that gave the vaguest impression of sleeves.

"Shit," I cursed.

"What's the matter?" Cassidy popped her head around the tile wall.

"My tattoo is exposed," I pointed to my right shoulder. My star was kind of squashed and it was supposed to fade some, but that hadn't happened yet and it was still pretty recognizable. "I'm not supposed to show it in public. And remember to call me Sam," I reminded her.

"Well I don't wear sleeves," she admitted as she stuck her head back into the shower. "Except for my winter jacket and I don't even have that with me," She poked her head out again. "But I might have an idea."

We walked out into the parking lot and I couldn't help but try to cover myself with my arms. Cassidy led me to one of the tour buses and pulled the side door wide open.

"They moved us in here last week" she explained, "shuffled the whole arrangement around just to get you in here for tomorrow." She climbed up the steps and leaned in. "Violet, you here?" she called. The silence told me everything. "Must still be at practice, come on up."

I stepped in. The layout was the same as any of the tour buses we rode in. Driver and passenger seats were up front, den area behind that, with couches, tables, a TV, etc, closets behind that, bunks behind that, and a tiny bathroom in the back. The decor was decidedly different though, and it smelled a hell of a lot nicer.

Cassidy started digging in one of the closets. "This is Violet's stuff," she explained. "Not that you'd want to wear it any more than mine, probably wouldn't fit as well anyway, but that's not what I'm looking for," She pulled a little case out and placed it on the table. "Ah, here it is. Sit down a minute."

She opened it up to reveal a small makeup case. "What the hell are you doing!?" I panicked.

"Relax you big baby. It's just to cover up that ink on your arm," she reassured me. "I can't use mine, because it wasn't made with your skin tone in mind," She began to sponge some cold gooey stuff onto my shoulder. "Hers isn’t either I guess." Violet still had a slightly paler skin tone to me. "Oh well, it'll look like a birthmark," She popped back to the bunks and emerged a moment later with a purse. "Come on, let's go”.

"I didn't bring my wallet to training," I offered embarrassingly.

"Shit," she replied. "Okay, it's on me. But you're paying me back the moment I drop you off back at your room. Plus, I get a say in what you buy obviously."

We took a taxi to some local mall and I was still nervously covering myself for the entire trip. We made our way to one of the sports gear shops, stopping three times along the way so Cassidy could sign autographs for approaching fans. It was clear now why she actually had me wear that shirt, she was easier to recognize walking next to a shirt with her picture on it. Autograph hounds were a thing I'd had to deal with frequently in the past, but obviously not today, and I was not for the first time, thankful for it.

When we did get there I found myself very tempted to go into the men's wear section but I knew how childish and pointless it would be. The women's section was like another planet. Nothing there looked or felt right to me, and a ton of the garments were cut similarly to what Cassidy had had me wear the week before. The truth was most of them were. It was what was in fashion at the time, very throwback vogue.

"Hey, those might actually fit you this time," said Cassidy returning from a vanishing act I only now realized she had pulled. "You know, without any weird bulges."

"You saw to that," I grumbled. "Where did you go anyway?"

"I was picking up these," she held out a couple of plastic packages, women's undershorts and sports bras. "They look about your size."

"Oh God," I moaned, my knees feeling wobbly. "I don't think I can do this."

"Well you don't want me doing it," Cassidy remarked. "I was being gracious with these, but if you make me pick out your wardrobe, I'm going have fun with it."

"I can't wear any of this stuff," I complained. "It's not exactly neutral. Even if that wasn't a concern none of its sports casual, so I can't exactly wear it in the street."

"There are other places Sam," Cassidy pointed out.

"This is the only sportswear store in the mall," I objected.

"That's not what I'm talking about," she said.

"No, I already said I'm not doing that," I insisted.

"Come on Girl, there's no need for that. There's plenty of perfectly ordinary, plain ass stuff that'll fit you."

"PLEEEASE stop calling me that," I actually begged. Tears started running down my face. I still wasn't master of my own hormones.

"Huh," Cassidy sighed. "Okay... Okay. You go sit outside in the plaza. I guess I'll take care of this."

"Please don't buy me anything weird," I pleaded like a little girl.

"Don't worry. I ain't a bitch," she said.

I sat outside the food court, looking through a planter full of ferns, watching people eat. I was still rubbing the half-dried smear off my face and struggling not to scratch my shoulder. You never have an itch like the place you know you can't scratch, but I didn't want to reveal the tattoo.

I felt such a burdensome weight of frustration. It was just like that itch I couldn't scratch. My whole life had been turned upside down and dipped in dog shit and the worst part was I knew there was nothing to be done about it. I was swimming in it and there was no land in sight. They had told me the anti-depressants were a temporary measure that I'd adjust to as part of the process. Not just a normal adjustment, but like the thing with my orientation. The spores were supposed to alter my brain as well as my body and I'd settle into it. I felt like there was about as much chance of that as there was of a cruise ship suddenly sailing out of my butt.

"Hey, you about ready" I heard Cassidy say. I hadn't noticed her walk right up beside me. It had been bugging me what was taking her so long and I figured it out when I saw she was holding shopping bags from three different stores.

"How much did that cost?" I asked, not really all that interested.

"Didn't cost me a thing," she said. "'Least not once we settle up."

We made it to my hotel and I gave her a couple of bills without really counting. I threw the bags on the bed and sat down. I picked up an ad from the lobby, called in a delivery for a chicken dinner. It wasn't as much protein as a steak, but it was cheaper and I was more in the mood.

I decided I might try to work out some frustration. I got down on the carpet and started on some pushups. God they were hard. Before all this I could do a set on the fingertips of one hand, now the regular kind were way harder than I could ever remember them being before. I did a couple of sets before I realized they weren't serving the purpose I started them for and gave up. I sat down on the bed and turned my attention over to the shopping bags. Inside I was relieved to find some pretty plain, mostly white t-shirts and jeans.

Again, they were women's styles but were observably less girly than what Cassidy had had me wearing all day, and I still was for that matter. There were also the sports bras as well as boy-shorts and regular cut women's panties. I'd often tried to get into them but this was not the meaning of the phrase.

In one bag there was, of course women's workout leotards. Three sets. I couldn't really blame Cassidy. There wasn't much to choose from and at least she'd chosen less appalling colors. There were even a couple of pairs of tennis shoes. Trying them on I found they were close enough to a proper fit to work with. She had a good eye for sizes it seemed.

A knock at the door caught my attention, and looking through the peep hole I saw it was the delivery boy.

After I ate dinner and let it digest, I engaged in a little aerobics and took another shower. I fell asleep that night wearing a set of grey boy shorts and a sports bra.