Campus was abuzz that afternoon, with parents dropping their children off at various dorm buildings. The rolling of wheeled carts filled with hampers, plastic trunks and cardboard boxes were everywhere Jim Thompson looked. His folks were right; it was a good thing they got here early. All his stuff was already in and set up.
“So I suppose your mother and I will head back home now. It’s a long drive, and it’ll be getting dark out soon.” His father said reaching into his front pocket. “…here, take this. Just in case you need it.” He said, offering his son a small bill fold that added up to about $200. “In case we missed a book, or you need a pizza. Not for beer and drugs.” He said, only half joking. “Oh and one last thing son…” he paused.
Jim rolled his eyes and thought, ‘oh boy, here it comes.’ They’d been through ‘the werewoman talk’ more than once, and he knew what his father was going to say. “…dad, I know. Just because it hasn’t happened yet, doesn’t mean it won’t.” Jim said mildly irritated. “I just… at this age I think it’s safe to say, it passed me by.”
“Well that could be the case, but do you remember your Uncle Tony and Aunt Tonya? He was 19 when it happened so it’s not unheard of for it to strike a little later on.” He explained.
Jim crossed his arms. When they’d first had this talk, when Jim was 12, he was excited at the prospect of turning into a woman a few times per month. But as he grew and entered high school, he thought about it less and less. One night, a long time ago when he was only 14, he thought he felt the change happening. But instead of going with it like he’d been trained to, Jim panicked and fought back against the sensation. It happened a few other times throughout his high school career, but Jim was always able to halt and reverse any changes.
‘I’m not a werewoman. I’m not going to change. I can beat this!’ It was his mantra on those nights when ‘she’ tried to tempt him. But that hadn’t happened for over two years now. ‘She’ seemed to have vanished from his DNA entirely. His father’s reminders about the family curse were something Jim would not miss. To Jim, all that werewoman business was already in the past. He’d planned his life out as a regular Joe down to the last detail.
The ‘Uncle Tony’ example is one his father had been referencing a lot over the past couple of years when he talked about the family curse. He wasn’t a blood relative like Uncle Mark, but Jim had met them both at a pack reunion ages ago. Still, for all Jim knew, his ‘late blooming’ story was a load of bull. All his cousins had turned by age 14.
“Got it, I’ll be careful.” Jim vowed. “And thanks for all the help moving in… and for the cash.” He said, quickly changing the subject. “I’ll stay outa trouble and promise to get good grades.” He continued, hugging his mother and shaking his father’s hand.
“See that you do.” His mother said, fighting back tears of pride and empty-nest sadness. “Come on dear. It’s time.” She said turning to her husband before turning back to Jim. “Make sure to call at least once per week. And we’ll see you on parent’s weekend in a month or two.” She said, reassuringly as she closed the door to the van, still choking back mother’s tears.
A moment later they were pulling off into the early afternoon sun, and Jim was officially a college man. As relieving as his newfound freedom was, he also found it rather perplexing. What was he to do now? A decent sized college town to explore, a campus he’d only seen on the tour last year waiting to be rediscovered and thousands of new women to meet. What would he do first?
Walking back into the sterile décor of the dorm lobby, he took the stairs up to his floor and navigated the maze of people and blue plastic pushy carts until he was shutting his door behind the racket. Of all the things he could be doing, Jim chuckled when he found himself playing Titan Fall alone in his dorm.
But the weeks passed and James made better use of his independence. He’d made friends, been to off campus house parties and even become a regular at the bar in town notorious for serving under-agers. He dated, and while he didn’t have a serious girlfriend, Jim had managed to hook up with quite a few of his female classmates.
As the fall wound on, the days grew shorter and the temperature in the air dropped considerably. Parent’s weekend came and went, more money passed from father to son, and Jim was staring midterms in the face.
And that’s when things started getting weird.
Maybe it was the pressure of these huge and important seeming tests. Maybe it was everyone else and not him at all. Had his guy friends gotten grosser over time? Perhaps, Jim mused. Or maybe it was just his reaction to their antics which had changed. When Todd pulled his sack out of his zipper and quipped, “Damn, I sat in gum.” Last week, Jim had countered with, “Grow up dude. Gross.” Loud beer burps at parties now elicited eye rolls where once they’d been cause for congratulations. Jim was paying more attention to hygiene lately too, and had taken a few shopping excursions to the nearby mall to ensure he was the best dressed in his group.
Most disturbingly though were the daydreams he had in class. A few days ago, he found himself staring at Genevieve, the amazingly hot blonde girl in his public speaking class. She was a sophomore, and for all Jim knew, totally out of his league. As he stared at the back of her pretty head two or three rows in front of him, Jim found himself thinking about her clothes as opposed to what was underneath of them.
This evening he had that same class again. And as his eyes wandered from place to place around the room, he found them drawn to Genevieve and what she was wearing. ‘Cute shoes.’ He thought when his eyes met the expensive looking pair of designer heels on her feet. ‘And I loooove that skirt! I wonder what material that is?’ his bizarre inner monologue continued. ‘But she’s so put together, so trying too hard. Maybe it’s to catch the prof’s eye?’
The thoughts came before he really realized it. Jim tore his gaze off of the pretty blonde and his eyes automatically settled onto another female classmate. ‘Boring sneakers. But I like how she does her hair braided like that.’ Chirped Jim’s inner monologue without missing a beat. ‘She’s probably going to the gym after class; she has that toned sporty look. Right on sister! Girl power, yay!’ He shifted his eyes down and stared at his desk for a moment. As Jim drew a deep breath, his friend Doug leaned in.
‘Psst, you OK dude? You look a little pale.” He said slightly concerned.
Jim composed himself, forced a smile and responded. “Fine. Fine.” He lied as he could feel the sweat begin to break the surface of his skin. Attempting to refocus on the professor, Jim looked up at him and froze as the inner voice cut in again. ‘Totally plain, and those glasses, ack! I wonder what that blonde sees in him? He can’t be the reason she’s all dressed up.’ Jim thought, noticing Genevieve stealing glances at another hot girl in class, Jessica a few seats to her left. ‘You don’t think…’ the voice sounded almost hopeful as it rang in Jim’s subconscious.
A bead of sweat ran down the bridge of his nose, and tumbled off the end onto his note paper.
Looking at the desk again, Jim put an index finger on the fallen bead of sweat to wipe it off. But as he made the motion, he saw something that startled him. Was his fingernail longer? Was it growing still, as he watched? It seemed to be, but why? Fingernails don’t grow that fast unless… unless it’s part of a bigger change…
Standing, Jim maneuvered around a concerned looking Doug and made for the exit door. A few heads turned to look at him as he left, but as the door swung shut they returned their attention to the professor’s lecture.
In the empty hall, Jim navigated to the bathroom. It too was empty, he could tell. Standing in front of the mirror, Jim was shocked to see green eyes staring back at him in the mirror. The rest of his face was normal, but his irises had gone from boring brown to an almost luminous green.
Examining the back of his hands, Jim noted that yes; his nails were much longer now than they’d been throughout the day. Turning on the tap to cold, Jim splashed himself with cold water. ‘This can’t be! The curse passed me over. All my cousins changed by the time they were 14, but not me. I’m not like them. I’m not a werewoman. I’m a normal, average guy. I’m not ready for this… I can beat this.’ He told himself as his heart at last stopped racing in his chest.
‘I’ll… be… back…’ A small but fading part of Jim assured him.
Another splash of water, and when he looked into the mirror, normal, brown eyed Jim was staring back at him. A glance at the back of his hands confirmed that his nails were at their normal length as well. Relief washed over him as he wiped off his face and dried his hands with a paper towel from the dispenser on the wall. Sighing with contentment, Jim quietly returned to class.
The rest of the lecture passed uneventfully. Jim took good notes and knew what to study for the upcoming test. As he went about packing up his things when the class was dismissed, he’d almost willed himself to forget about his early in the class freak out. ‘A hallucination. Must be. From all this midterm stress.’ He convinced himself as he zippered up his book bag and stepped outside the building.
Jim was still in a daze as his feet clopped along the sidewalk. He was still trying to put the events in the bathroom behind him. It had to be an illusion, because if it wasn’t then it could only mean one thing… ‘she’ was coming back again. And Jim had spent enough time trying to forget about her. Far too long to let her just take over like that.
Doug came up along side of him as they walked towards the dorm. “Did you boot in there? When you got up to go to the bathroom, I had my money on puke. You looked way better after though. Are you sick man?” he asked as we made our way.
“What? Eww no. I just had to get some air is all.” Jim countered.
“You were sweating like a beast when you left, and your eyes man, they were weird. All greenish and bright. What sickness changes a person’s eye color?” He asked rhetorically with a chuckle. “As if that could even happen, I must be seeing things.” He said as we entered the dorm lobby.
Jim’s heart skipped a beat when Doug mentioned his eye color. But he maintained his composure and chuckled back, “Right man, should I be asking you if you’re OK?” Jim asked playfully with a wry smile.
“Well then, it’s settled. No more smoking crack before class. And that goes for both of us.” Doug laughed at his own joke as he separated from Jim in the direction of his own dorm. “Good luck on that test man!”
“You too!” Jim called out, his voice breaking slightly on the second word. Semi-embarrassed by the hitch in his voice, Jim rode up in the elevator and hustled through the hall to his dorm.
The living space itself was three main rooms. In the middle was a common living room with a small kitchenette. This was shared between Jim and his roommate Chris. On either end of the common room was a bedroom with bathroom on-suite. Nothing fancy, just a 10 by 10 room with a door leading to a closet of a bathroom with a sink, a standing shower stall and commode.
As he entered into the common room, Jim could hear the sounds of Call of Duty erupting from the TV across the room. The scent of stale pot smoke and dryer sheet blow-tube hung in the air like awkward dance partners forced onto the floor together. Hours old Mac and Cheese sat mostly eaten in a bowl on the table. The pan it was cooked in rested in the sink, still cheese-coated and getting kinda gross. Jim fought back the urge to say something about the mess, not quite sure when Chris’s griminess started to bother him. Until fairly recently, Jim had also been a bit of a slob.
“Dude… You want in?” Chris asked lazily from the couch, holding the player 2 controller in his hand.
“No thanks man. Not tonight. I hafta study.” Jim said distractedly as he entered his bedroom, closing and locking the door behind him.
Alone in his room at last, Jim dropped his book bag and took a seat on the edge of his bed. ‘Could it be? Why is this happening now?’ he thought. For a long time as a teenager, he’d sat with his cousins every full moon, waiting to feel the change. And one by one, each of his cousins changed in turn. Mike first, Alan a few months later, and then in the same year Jeff turned too. Back then, Jim wanted it to happen and it didn’t.
But when the time finally did come, Jim just panicked. In that moment, Jim wanted to be ‘normal’ like his friends at school. So he fought it back with everything he had when he felt the changes begin. He was rather surprised when the transformation halted, then reversed, forced down by his iron will.
Suddenly, for the first time since his father sat him down and explained the curse, Jim felt like he had a choice in the matter. And he chose not to transform, a decision he stood by all these years. It was difficult at first. Reversing it the first time was tough, but it got easier and easier until the changes stopped coming altogether. Why they were back all of the sudden, he could not explain.
Jim needed answers.
Should he tell his parents? Heck no, Jim reasoned. For one, they’d be excited about it, they’d probably get the pack together and make a party out of it. Jim chuckled at the thought. And they’d probably be a little worried too, want me to come home and all. Jim had become quite fond of his independence since beginning college a few months ago, and wasn’t in a big hurry to re-invite his overweening parents to intervene in his new life.
Jim considered his other options, and realized they were few.
Hopping on his computer, he goggled out the werewoman site he knew of and started reading. It’d been years since the last time he checked these boards, and the site had been through upgrades. He was happy to still remember his username and password.
‘JamieMoon’… and, ‘Girlout1’… the credentials worked, and in a moment Jim was in.
On the newly designed site, there were polls, surveys, questionnaires and videos posted by werewomen and their significant others. Jim started with the surveys.
The, “When did you change for the first time?” thread had a ton of information. Most of the respondents clustered between ages 13 and 15 with less and less falling in the years outside of that range. Jim felt relieved as he poured over the data. But the small cluster of outliers in the 18-20 range concerned Jim deeply. “Looks like that uncle Tony story wasn’t bull after all.” He said as he continued to scan the site.
As he browsed along, a message window popped up on his screen.
Luna1996: “Glad to see you’re back! It’s been a while ”
Jim smiled as a memory came to him of his old pen pal. Back when he was 12, his father had sat him down and revealed that he was a werewoman, and Jim himself might change one day. He’d introduced Jim to this site and told him it was a safe place where he could talk about werewoman stuff with other werewomen. So he registered and read some posts and made a chat buddy through the site’s then primitive chat feature. He’d logged in often for a few years after, but given up and forgotten about the site after his ‘close call’ at age 14.
JamieMoon: “Yeah, haven’t thought about WW stuff in a while. I take it since you’re still here, it finally happened for you?”
Jim recalled them chatting together, analyzing every possible clue, real or imagined, that their change was just around the corner. But then logging on after the next full moon, they’d admit that again, nothing happened. ‘Luna’ seemed to have wanted it so much more than ‘Jamie.’
Luna1996: “Yeah, I finally turned in the summer between Junior and Senior year in high school. Talk about late bloomers, I was almost 17! HBU?”
JamieMoon: “Naw, it never happened. I kinda gave up on it a few years back. I guess you could say I’m reminiscing.”
Luna1996: “Cool, and what brought that on? I mean, it’s a full moon and all tonight, but it’s been YEARS!”
JamieMoon: “Nothing really, I was just studying and decided to pop over her for a break.”
Jim lied, not wanting to really get into what promoted his visit.
Luna1996: “Alright, if you say so. It’s just, last time we talked, you seemed so sure it was gonna happen.”
JamieMoon: “Yeah I was wrong.”
Jim lied again, not wanting to admit he’d been fighting it this long.
Luna1996: “Cool, if you say so, but if you ever want to talk about it, you know I’m here.”
JamieMoon: “Thanks Luna.”
A moment passed, and then a notice popped up on screen asking Jim to accept shared pictures.
Luna1996: “In case you want to see how I turned out ;-)”
Jim clicked onto the notice that led to a small photo sharing album. He flipped through a series of side by side photos, one of Luna’s male side, and the other of a stunning woman with midnight black hair and a devilish grin. ‘Lucky!’ Jim thought despite himself. ‘she turned out wayyyy hot.’
JamieMoon: “Very nice Luna, you turned out pretty hot!”
Jim’s mind wandered through the process of making the male photo slowly feminize into the female version and found himself getting aroused at the prospect.
Luna1996: “I got a video up too, check the section. It’s kinda cheesy, just me and a couple of pack sisters letting our hair down last summer, if that’s of interest ;-)”
JamieMoon: “Sweet, I’ll have to check that out. Thanks hun!”
Jim realized how girly that sentence looked as he hit enter.
Luna1996: “Haha, you’re welcome sweetie. I gtg now, heading out with some sisters. Good to see you back on here too, even if it’s just as an observer. But something tells me I’m not getting the whole story here… keep in touch?”
JamieMoon: “Will do.”
Jim rested his head in his hands, elbows folded on the desk. He stared down at the keyboard as he tried to wrap his head around his situation. Was he changing? He remembered hearing about ‘false starts’ from his family. That’s when the change would begin, only to suddenly reverse itself long before completing. It was a sign that the first transformation was near. ‘But why now? Why again, after all these years?’ he wondered.
But even putting aside tonight’s events, there were other signs this time that weren’t around all those years ago. For instance, the way he’d been acting around his friends lately. Or why he was finding it easier to talk to women all of the sudden, and taking an interest in what they were wearing. This was all new territory.
According to the posts he devoured that night, all these signs pointed to the same thing. Jim’s long denied birthright, the curse of the werewoman, was starting to kick in. And while part of him considered that possibility with dread, a dull throbbing sensation in his groin alerted him to a 4 alarm stiffy.
As if on auto pilot, he navigated over to the video’s section and clicked on the one from Luna1996. The grainy webcam showed a room full of boys wearing white cotton bathrobes and sitting in a semi circle. As the seconds ticked by, Jim watched with anticipation as the boys began wiping sweat off their brow, and tugging gently on their robes.
Jim watched, eagerly pounding away as each of the boys changed in turn. As it happened, they were playing with themselves, moaning and feeling themselves up. It seemed so sensual, watching them change from hard bodied alpha males, to soft, yielding female forms on the screen. The entire metamorphosis had taken only 5 minutes to complete.
The girl in the middle, now completely disrobed, crawled towards the webcam. Her breasts swayed gently as she moved towards it, pulling herself up off the ground and looking into it eye to eye. “Thanks for watching, werewoman.com! And feel free to add comments or PM me at Luna1996 if you want to cam or chat!.” She switched off the webcam and the screen went dark.
Jim grabbed a paper towel and cleaned himself up. Suddenly he felt ashamed to be on the site and he wanted nothing more than to forget about all this werewoman nonsense again. Washing his hands in the bathroom sink, he put on some gym shorts and a t-shirt and opened the door to the common room. The sounds of ‘Modern Warfare’ greeted him as he stepped in.
“Tag me in homie.” He said to Chris, who looked up smiling.
The rest of the night was a blur of MP5’s and frag grenades as the two slackers played late into the night.
The rest of the week wound down plainly enough. Some stray thoughts that could safely be described as ‘girly’ filtered through Jim’s mind when he wasn’t focused, but between studying, video games and drinking, he’d managed to stay busy most of the day. It’d been about 2 weeks since his freak out, and he’d almost put it behind himself completely.
Midterms had come and gone, Jim was pleased to see the results posted the following week too. Straight A’s. Even though his parents had come to expect the high marks from their bright son, Jim put a lot of pressure on himself to achieve them. The relief he felt was palpable when he revealed the good news to his overjoyed parents.
Chris on the other hand was resolved to double down on studying harder and playing less video games. If he wanted in to the MBA program, he would need to really apply himself in undergrad, he reasoned. He’d been more or less of a book worm since the mid-term C’s he was awarded.
Many of Jims friends took a similar approach, and there were less beer benders, video game marathons and trips to pick up women at the bar. With the slower pace becoming the new normal, Jim went about his business as usual, cured from his case of pre midterm jitters and werewoman delusions.
Or so he thought.
Jim was eating in the campus cafeteria when he noticed her again. Genevieve from Public Speaking. She was sitting alone, the other girls jealous and the boys outright intimidated by her smoldering looks, he reasoned. Mustering up his courage, he took the seat across from her at the lonely table. “This one taken?” He asked, coming in for a landing.
“What? Oh no. You can sit there.” She said, not quite dismissively but without any real enthusiasm. “Joe from Public Speaking, right?” she asked, looking to Jim as he took his seat.
“Jim. But yeah, we have Public Speaking together with Dr. Jarvis.” He said with a smile. ‘Holy crap, she is gorgeous today! Look at those eye lashes, and how’d she get her make-up like that…?’ the female voice from last month kicked in again much to Jim’s dismay.
“Oh right, sorry Jim.” She said in a more welcoming tone. “I’m just surprised that someone still actually wants to talk to me is all.” She said somewhat sadly.
“Really?” Jim asked in disbelief. “Why wouldn’t anyone want to sit here with a gorgeous little thing like you?” He continued in genuine disbelief.
“Well, the girls all think I’m stuck up, and the boys don’t come around anymore since I came out.” She went on.
Jim’s heard skipped a beat when she said ‘come out.’ “How’s that then?” he asked. “Came out?”
“Yeah as in, I’m a lesbian, I like other women. Even though I look like date rape Barbie, I’m just as much into pussy as you.” She said, somewhat annoyed as though I’d run off after realizing I had no chance.
But Jim planted. “Really? That’s cool.” He found himself saying casually. But despite his calm exterior, inside, a part of Jim he’d never felt before was elated. ‘She likes girls! I knew it, I knew it! That’s why she kept looking at Jessica.’ Jim’s inner voice boomed. “I can’t believe people would be so uptight about that in 2014.” I continued on, eating plainly. “I guess that’s what ya get in a red state though.”
Genevieve smiled at my reaction, “So you don’t have a problem with it?” she asked in quasi-disbelief.
“Not if you don’t.” Jim said, gobbling down his tater tots. ‘I bet she’s a good lover too.’ The alien stream of thoughts continued to race through his mind. ‘I can’t wait to find out!’ Jim played it off as he moved onto the container of pudding on his tray. “I just always found you interesting is all.. . I love your style, shoes and all. And your make-up.” Jim blurted out before cutting himself off. “And that speech you gave on the financial bailout, so impassioned.”
Genevieve smiled broadly at the compliments. “I uh, thanks. Guys don’t usually notice that stuff I guess. And the speech… yeah I’m sick to death of those fat-cat banksters getting away with robbery. Just because they use a Mont-blanc fountain pen instead of a handgun doesn’t make it any less wrong, ya know?”
“Toats,” Jim began before clearing his throat. “I mean, yeah… totally.” He said a bit more mannishly as he blushed. ‘Gawd could you just back off a little and let us chat?’ the voice was back, ‘we’re really hitting it off and you’re gonna blow it for us!’ it pleaded impatiently.
“Well anyways, I’m glad at least someone was listening.” Genevieve said. “I’m glad you liked it.” She continued sincerely. “I liked your speech too, about how the Canadians will never win another Stanley Cup until they develop or sign a decent goaltender.” She added with a wink. “Betcha didn’t know I liked hockey.” She giggled.
Jim’s heart was aflutter as she spoke. “Yeah, I almost forgot about that assignment. I’ve always been a big Habs fan, we have some extended family up in Montreal so I kinda grew up watching them play with my cousins.” Jim explained. “So I just kinda went with the topic I felt most comfortable discussing.”
“Well you did really good up there. And I totally agree with your thesis. Since Patrick Roy left, that franchise has been in the cellar.” Genevieve stated correctly. “A decent goalie would get them through the first round of the playoffs at least. I’ve always thought that was the most important position in sports period, hockey goalie that is.”
“Samzies!” I chirped cutely before calming myself down. “I mean, how long can the fans watch drek before they migrate over to the Ottowa Senators?” Jim asked lamely. ‘Ugh, fine. I’ll pipe down for now.’ The voice said resignedly as Jim continued his conversation about hockey.
After lunch, Jim and Genevieve exchanged numbers and agreed to hang out over the weekend. They’d see each other in class later that week, so they could plan a night out then.
Jim found himself thinking about that encounter more and more. His fantasies in dreams and during masturbation featured him and Genevieve, but in those scenarios he was a woman himself. The voice began commenting again too. In a trip to the mall the day after his lunch with her, Jim found himself oogling the female clothes on mannequins.
‘I’d look hot in that!’ she’d say about the matching bra and panties on display at VS. ‘Cute top!’ she thought about the blouse at F21. He found himself wanting to go into the stores, but instead his friends dragged him around to Game Stop and the food court. For some reason though, it felt like torture to ignore the impulses to shop. “I’ll meet you guys back on campus.” He said to his friends around the table who were standing to clear their trays.
As they left with their new games and a couple hundred deep fried calories heavier, Jim tossed out the remains of his salad, topped with light ranch dressing into the can and headed back into the mall on auto-pilot. He was looking at a mannequin outside VS admiring the stitching on the bra when the voice popped in again.
‘It’s too small sweetie. You’re going to need to ask for that in a 34DD.’ She cooed in the chamber of Jim’s mind.
In a trancelike state, Jim found himself completing the transaction with a bemused sales lady handing him a bag.
“I know this is for your girlfriend and all, but no returns if she tries it on and doesn’t like it.” Said the store girl as he walked out.
‘Small chance of that!’ Jim thought as he wandered down the hall.
The lady at Forever 21 was more incredulous. “You pick out your girlfriends clothes?” she said mystified as I picked out an outfit from the rack. “And she hates shopping for herself? She’s not like most women I know!” she said playfully completing the purchase.
“Different strokes I guess.” Jim said humbly as he walked out f the store bewildered at what he’d just done.
Feeling slightly ridiculous, Jim dragged himself home and entered the dorm through his private bedroom entrance. Setting the bags down in the back of his closet, Jim shut the doors to it and resolved to forget the experience. The door to the common area was locked, but through it the muffled sounds of machine gun fire and explosions coupled with deep voiced laughter and taunting announced that there was a video game tourney in progress.
But Jim was feeling worn down. Ignoring the inner monologue of girly thoughts, and not letting them slip out accidentally in conversation, had been quite a challenge. The shopping trip was still defying his attempts to explain or justify it. He felt mentally exhausted, and decided to keep to himself that evening. Rather than join in the mass slaughter of digital enemy soldiers, he fired up his computer, pulled up his browser, and stopped. ‘What am I looking for?’ he asked himself.
His fingers answered the question as they typed out ‘werewomen.com’ and hit enter. He sighed as the page loaded, and debated logging in as JamieMoon again. As the site graphic loaded, he felt himself getting aroused. ‘This is madness!’ he whispered gruffly to himself. ‘I’m not a werewoman!’ he insisted.
‘Well, not yet anyways.’ Said his inner monologue weekly with a giggle.
“Not ever.” He said defiantly as the login completed.
Clicking on the video links again, Jim combed through the page watching change after change, becoming harder and harder as he watched the transformation play out on screen. As he absently fondled himself, an impassioned moan escaped his lips, similar to the ones he heard on screen.
He was interrupted by a message from Luna.
Luna1996: “Back again for more videos?”
JamieMoon: “I’m not browsing videos. Just checking the place out again.”
Luna1996: “It’s cool dude, I’m a moderator here. I can see your activity. Not judging, just saying maybe there’s a reason you’re getting in touch with your wereside?”
JamieMoon: “Look I don’t know. Last month, I think I started to change.”
Luna1996: “Whoa really? That’s good, right?”
JamieMoon: “I fought it back again. I think I can control it.”
Luna1996: “I don’t think it works like that, but you know I support you either way. Full moon’s tomorrow, so I guess we’ll see.”
JamieMoon: “I know, thanks Luna. I’ll let you know what happens. Hopefully nothing.”
Luna1996: “Thanks Jamie. Happy browsing and keep me posted. It’s just like old times!”
Jim signed again and resumed his video watch-a-thon. He couldn’t tear himself away as orgasm after orgasm washed over him. In video after video, the men on screen slowly, erotically changed into beautiful women. Working his manhood, he clicked link after link until one time, when attempting to click, he yelped at the sensation of his fingernail bending backwards slightly. Looking at his index finger in distress, he noticed the bent nail was a good deal longer than he normally kept it. All of his fingernails were!
‘Oh God, no!’ a frightened voice inside of him rang out. ‘Not again!’ he let go of his engorged shaft and ran towards the bathroom, flipping on the light.
Like last month, the reflection he saw was his own, save for unmistakable green eyes, longer fingernails, and hair that appeared to be shaggier than usual. It was the same color red, just thicker, more voluminous and silkier than it had ever been before. “What the…” He said, running his fingers through the mop of crimson locks. “…this can’t be happening!” He said in a voice an octave or two higher than usual.
‘Oh but it is. You’ve known this day would come.’
Splashing cold water on his face, Jim again repeated his mental mantra. ‘I’m a guy… not a werewoman. I’m not like my cousins. It’s not in me…’ he said to himself as the water cooled him off, running down his face and soaking into his t-shirt.
‘Would you just let it go?’
‘No. I can beat this.’ Jim reassured himself again.
He watched with relief as the longer hair receded, his fingernails returned to normal, and his eye color even faded to a dull brown.
‘So…. Close. This isn’t over yet…’
Even as his feminizing features faded fully, Jim could read the handwriting on the wall. Another false start. Another step closer to turning. But Jim wasn’t going down without a fight. “I can beat this.” He told himself with bravado. “I am so NOT girling-out.” He said for hollow reinforcement.
Why was this happening to him now? He wondered. What brought these urges on? When it didn’t happen, moon after moon, Jim had pretty much resigned himself to living his life as a fixed gender male, and he’d done pretty well at it. But that life he prepared for was beginning to seem less and less likely now that these strange thoughts were popping up so uncontrollably.
For the rest of the night, until sleep claimed him at last, Jim poured over the internet using various search terms. He used ‘werewoman cure’ and ‘how to prevent a werewoman transformation’ plus a million similar terms. Either he got no hits, or sites pointing out that there was no way to stop it, then advising nervous posters to get used to the idea of periodically shifting genders. Very few hits on cures, and what few there were seemed to be bogus too.
‘Waste of time if you ask me. You know what you are, might as well accept it.’ The inner voice teased.
‘Who asked you anyway?’ he thought, refocusing on his efforts at ‘curing’ himself.
When sleep did come at last, Jim found himself lost in a sexy dream about Genevieve where both of them were female.
Although not at all unpleasant, Jim awoke from his slumber with a start the next morning. Had it really happened again? Was it another false start, or his overactive imagination? He couldn’t be sure. His browser history, the bags of clothing in the back of the closet, it all pointed to the same conclusion.
‘I’ve resisted it before, I can resist it again.’ Jim reaffirmed in his mind. So he showered and prepared for another lazy Saturday.
After toweling off and getting dressed, Jim glanced down and saw his computer was still on. Knocking the mouse to bring it out of sleep mode, he closed one window, then another, until the banner for werewomen.com was up in front. The message of the day read, “Full moon tonight ladies! Be ready for it, and be careful out there.” “Oh I’m ready” a small part of Jim replied as he clicked the X button. ‘No time for such nonsense’ he scolded himself.
In the common room, Chris was pulling morning bong hits in his usual way, clad in PJ bottoms and a lived in t shirt. “Want… (cough)… some.. dude?” he asked, exhaling into the dryer sheet-stuffed zoom tube which was supposed to cover the smell. It didn’t.
“Naw dude. Maybe later.” Jim said groggily, making for the coffee pot. “Fresh?” he asked, gesturing to the machine.
“Made it like, an hour ago man.” Chris said, unpausing the game he was working on. “U want ins?” he gestured to the controller. “This game is SICK!” he bragged through his stoner grin.
“Sure.” Jim sat beside him and seized the controller, sipping his coffee and setting it down gently. ‘Ugh, I hate these dumb boy games.’ Part of Jim objected
When the action cut on, the images flickered across the screen in vibrant bursts of color. For some reason, Jim found it somewhat disorienting as he stumbled into a virtual wall, then got himself stuck in a corner.
“Dude grenades!” Chris said, but all too late. Jim’s character went hurtling through the sky and in a moment he was waiting to be reborn. “Noob.” Chris teased.
“Oops.” Jim said. “I got this.” He said, adjusting his position on the seat and going in again. This time, he was out for a kill. But as soon as an enemy present itself, Jim panicked and pulled back on the joystick. His character in game was looking straight up at the sky, and walking around in circles. ‘I told you these games were silly.’
“Downpad- R2!” Chris exclaimed. “Come on buddy! You’re getting us pwned out there!” he gestured through the screen to the 3d world on the other side.
“Right. Sorry, maybe I’m still too tired for this.” Jim said in his own defense. In reality he was just sick of these types of games. ‘Silly boy toys.’ A small voice inside of him said discomfortingly.
“Too tired for Gears of War? Damn man, what’s up with you lately? You’ve changed brah” He said in his Pacific Coast surfer voice.
“Whatever man, sign me out after this one. I like the old one better I think.” Jim usually found that new games came easy to him, and he typically mastered them pretty fast. They’d been working on Call of Duty all semester long, and he’d even sucked at that lately! It was like his hand eye coordination was suddenly at novice level.
“Alright man, we’ll start on a new game soon enough, no worries if you still suck at this one.” Chris said, it was about as sensitive as the California Coolguy ever got, so Jim took the backhanded compliment in stride.
As the afternoon began, Jim and Chris began to discuss their plans for the evening.
“Actually I was thinking about just staying in and laying low.” ‘Good girl’ the voice cut in. “I got a project to work on and stuff and I…” Jim began but was cut off by Chris.
“Dude! It’s fucking Saturday!” he said in disbelief. “Staying in, working on a project? You should be out raging with us brah. I’m going up to the Delta house, they’re having a mixer and you know they get the best sticky icky buuuuddds.” Chris said, drawing out the ‘u’ sound for effect. “One of their brothers is setting me up with like a lid, and he said I could come down the house during their mixer tonight, bring a friend, and stick around for the Lay-diesss!” he intoned emotively.
“I don’t know man.” Jim hesitated. “What time you going?”
“I was thinking we go like, early evening. You know, a little early so we can take care of the biz.” Chris said looking at his watch. “I wanna make a good impression yo, I’m trying to get a bid there.”
“I don’t know man…” Jim stalled in his objection. ‘Just tell him you can’t go. You’ll be too busy changing into a gir!l’ “Delta House? I hear they’re kinda grimy.”
“Dude that’s the point.” Chris cut in again. “I mean, check me out in my sweatpants and t-shirt. It’s perfect for me dude! Come on, do I have to invoke the bro-code on you? Be a bro, dude.”
“Funny, you don’t strike me as the frat type, but whatever. Guess I’m in.” Jim agreed. ‘Not like they’ll mind another girl at a frat house, eh?’
Chris never stood from the sofa except to microwave a burrito for lunch as the afternoon wore on. Jim paced nervously in his room, half upset at himself for frittering away the day. As the afternoon turned to dusk, Jim found himself becoming aroused as he got ready in the shower. Genevieve was racing through his mind. The dreams he’d had about her, the feel of their smooth, soft bodies colliding in passion.
‘You know, those dreams could happen in real life, if you’ll only stop fighting me.’ Jim blushed at the thought. ‘No deal.’ He answered firmly from the jittery male corner of his mind.
There was no time for relief either, Jim reasoned. And with that, he dried himself off and got dressed. But even in his party clothes, he couldn’t get his arousal to go away. It was as hard as a broom handle, and he wanted to do something about it.
“You’re sporting wood, dude.” Chris teased as he entered Jim’s room. “You might want to take care of that before we go.” He said puckishly as Jim’s face reddened.
“Whatever man let’s just get going.” Jim said, wiping a bead of sweat off his brow.
“And dude, you JUST showered, how do you look so sweaty? Room’s set to 69 dude!” Chris said with a chuckle. “69.. ha.”
“Ugh! Grow up dude!” Jim said defensively as he felt slightly off balance and grabbed the corner of the bed to keep from falling.
“Oh great, and you’re already stumbling drunk too. Bad form, homie!” Chris chuckled, almost seeing Jim almost fall over.
He recovered from the momentary loss of balance gracefully, but Jim felt flush all of the sudden. Underneath his clothes, he could feel his skin burning, chafing, wanting to be free from the stifling garments. Jim fought it back with concentration as best he could. “Chris…” he managed with some effort. “I think you should leave here without me, OK?”
Jim prepared his mind and body to make it’s stand against ‘her.’ ‘This can’t be! The curse passed me over. I’m not a werewoman.’ Jim frantically thought in a loop. ‘I can beat this. I’m not like my family. I’m just a regular guy.’
‘mmm, it’s too late for that dearie. You can’t hold me back tonight. I’ve been trying to warn you.’ A force within Jim intoned in growing force.
“Seriously dude. Are you OK? Chris asked, stepping towards Jim with a concerned expression.
Jim flinched backwards. The heat was slowly returning to his body due to the lapse in concentration. With the ritual mental exercise not working, Jim could feel a wave of tingles washing over his body. The false starts had been one thing, but the feelings welling up inside him tonight were different. Goosebumps covered his body, although covered by his clothes, Jim could feel them there despite his soaring temperature. The hair on the back of his neck, even the top of his head stood on end. This could be the ‘Big One’ he’d been dreading all month. “Just... ah … just go Chris.” He said again with urgency in his trembling voice.
“Dude…should I call someone?” Chris asked concerned. “Holy shit… your hair. What the fuck is going on?” Chris asked, gesturing to longer red locks cascading into view around Jim’s head.
The meditation wasn’t helping this time. Jim had to cool down, and fast. Without so much as acknowledging Chris, he began to strip. “Not now, not now…don’t change… Please God, don’t let me change.” He said in a softening voice as he stepped out of his boxer shorts.
“What the fuck? Don’t change? What are you talking about man!” a freaked out Chris demanded. “And since when do you shave your legs?”
“I ah… I’m a.” Jim said awkwardly in a breaking voice, looking down at his now smooth, hairless legs. Stepping into his bathroom, he closed the door and locked it. “Not now Chris. Just go away!” He said, alarmed at how high his vocal register sounded to his ears now.
‘Reverse it! I have to reverse it again.’ Jim thought to himself.
‘Fraid not hun, not tonight.’
“You can’t hide in there all night, dude. Look just tell me what’s going on. I’ll understand I promise.” Chris pleaded through the door.
‘He’s right you know, you can’t hide in here all night.’
Turning the tap on to cold, Jim ducked behind the shower curtain, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the back of the door. His eyes had an emerald hue about them that deepened by the second. As the cool water hit him, he felt it soak into his longer hair, now touching his shoulders and tickling the back of his neck. ‘I’m not a werewoman. I can beat this…’ Jim thought in vain as his fingernails pushed out to rounded tips. ‘Reverse it, reverse it!’ he pleaded silently to the invisible forces wracking his body.
‘Sigh. Earth to Jim! Not gonna happen, captain. You’re changing. Deal with it!’
“NOOooo.” Jim cried out, his body trembling as the muscles behind his smooth skin began to recede. He was losing height, and his manhood throbbed in time with the beating of his heart. Reaching down to grasp it, Jim jumped at the sensation it provided as his manhood began to wither away more quickly. There was nothing he could do to stop it this time, all his tricks had failed. As his shoulders crunched inward, Jim let go and stopped numbing himself against the sensation.
‘This isn’t a bad thing Jim. Think. Genevieve. That can happen now. So cheer up, will you?’ The thought was directed at Jim’s male side.
‘I guess I… I guess I don’t have a choice. At least… it doesn’t… hurt…’
Jim watched in mute fascination as the features on his face morphed into softer, rounder and more delicate copies of themselves. His green luminous eyes went wide at how beautiful the woman staring back was becoming. A quick glance down showed the tip of his retreating manhood settle in the pink folds of a rapidly forming orifice.
‘There, that’s better.’ Jim thought, sitting up as his hips splayed apart. “Oh my!” he said daintily as his rear end inflated underneath of him. Glancing down, Jim confirmed her femaleness as he felt a throbbing behind his nipples. The areolas and nubs themselves came alive, inflating as the tissue beneath pushed them off of the chest wall. The cone shaped protrusions inflated steadily as the new woman reached up to turn off the shower tap. It had felt like an eternity, but Jim had only been in the bathroom for about 4 and a half minutes.
Jenny saw the knob on the bathroom door turn and Chris burst in, his face awash in concern.
“You’re lucky I know how to do that!” he called out, credit card/lockpick in hand. “Jim?” He asked, his eyes on the shivering buxom redhead on the shower stall floor. “How did you get in here?” he asked, scratching his head in disbelief.
“It’s me dude.” Jenny said in a silky, high voice. “I uh… I changed. I’m a werewoman.” She looked down, eyes briefly widening at the large mounds hanging off her chest, and the flat almost featureless area between her legs.
“A wha.. A werewoman?! Since when dude?” Chris asked in disbelief. Like most people, he’d heard about werewomen in the news over the past few years, but had never met one until tonight.
“Well, since tonight. First time.” Jenny said, standing up off the floor of the shower stall and holding up her index finger like a number one. “Could you hand me that towel?” she asked hopefully, gesturing over his shoulder.
“Uh, sure.” He stammered, handing her the soft, dry towel on the rack behind him.
A moment of awkward silence passed as Jenny toweled off. Chris stood still in the doorway, looking puzzled and deep in thought.
Jenny wrapped the towel around her body, covering up her breasts and mid section as she stepped out of the shower stall. “Jesus Chris, you’re awfully quiet all of the sudden. Would you please say something?” she pleaded at the man in shock standing in her bathroom doorway.
“What? Oh sorry. It’s just that this is so… so…” Chris blathered while Jenny braced for the adjective. “…friggin COOL!” he continued. “And it’s really you in there dude?”
Jenny flashed a relieved grin. “Well I’m glad you think so. Me, I’m not so sure yet. And yes, it really is me ‘in here.’” She said, gesturing at her curvy body.
“That’s why you’ve been acting so weird lately, huh?” he asked.
“Thanks for noticing.” She said wryly, stepping around him and going for the bags at the bottom of the closet. “It wasn’t easy for me, no. But I’ll manage I have a feeling.” Immodestly, Jenny dropped the towel, letting an awestruck Chris gawk as she gracefully slipped into the hot little number from VS. Daintily positioning her breasts within the bra cups, Jenny then went for the Forever 21 bag. “Bra’s a lil tight.” She said looking in the mirror. “And the skirt is a little high cut, but I think it works.” She said gleefully.
“Yeah dude, it’s like you don’t even have make-up on and you’re this hot!” Chris said encouragingly.
“Thanks man!” Jenny chirped happily as she took Chris by the hand. “So you’re really OK with this, I mean, you’re taking this awfully well.” She said.
“I think I’m still in shock. It’s big news brah.. er sis.” He blushed a bit. “But yeah, whatever man, live and let live right?” Chris said sincerely.
“Well, I’m glad you feel this way. I think it goes without saying that we keep this a secret, at least for now.” Jenny said, turning and examining her hemline on the wall mirror.
“Sure dude. Can do. One condition though.” Chris said with a sly grin on his face.
Jenny braced for it again. ’Please be something easy.. please be something easy.’ She thought. “Sure, and what’s that?” she asked.
“You’re definitely coming with me to that Delta party tonight dude! Showing up there with a hottie like you on my arm, they’re gonna let me in for sure!” Chris said earnestly.
TBC?
A somewhat angsty tale set (mainly) on a college campus in anywhere, USA. Jim Thompson struggles with classes, dorm life and a family curse that may or may not be catching up with him at last.
“Well, I’m glad you feel this way. I think it goes without saying that we keep this a secret, at least for now.” Jenny said, turning and examining her hemline on the wall mirror.
“Sure dude. Can do. One condition though.” Chris said with a sly grin on his face.
Jenny braced for it again. ’Please be something easy.. please be something easy.’ She thought. “Sure, and what’s that?” she asked.
“You’re definitely coming with me to that Delta party tonight dude! Showing up there with a hottie like you on my arm, they’re gonna let me in for sure!” Chris said earnestly.
“I don’t know Chris…” Jenny trailed off. She kind of wanted to be alone tonight. “Would you really tell everyone?” she asked with a glint of fear in her eyes.
“Look man, err… what should I call you?” Chris asked ponderously.
“Jenny works. For now.” She answered.
“OK Jenny, if you do this for me, I’ll never forget it. I’ll keep your secret for free, but if you come to this party with me, even just for a little while, I’ll make it up to you I swear. I’ll owe you a huge favor.” Chris pleaded, dropping to one knee and cupping his hands.
Jenny felt bad for him suddenly. He’d been talking about pledging Delta in the Spring since the end of their first week of classes. She couldn’t say she didn’t have anything to wear, and looking in the mirror again, she found herself thinking that it could be fun. Like going to a party in costume, only nobody could tell. “Alright fine, I’ll go…” Jenny began, “But only for an hour, then I’m out. Introduce me as your girlfriend from back home or whatever. Oh, and fair warning, I’m holding onto that favor, and when I call it in, it’s going to be a epic.”
As they walked down the campus sidewalk in silence, Jenny looked up into the night sky at the moon overhead. ‘Thanks a pantload’ she directed her thoughts to the moon, ‘as though my life weren’t complicated enough already, now I gotta watch out for you too?’
The graceful swivel of her hips, the way her arms swung from the elbow instead of the shoulder and the gentle sway of her breasts in motion all crept into Jenny’s consciousness. ‘Weird. Not unpleasant, but different.’ She thought. Passing a storefront window on the main street of town, Jenny could see herself gliding gracefully in her new body, her motions were quite natural looking. She knew so little about being a girl, but she had instincts to go on. Besides, she only had to pretend to be one for a short time tonight.
The run-down, dilapidated structure known as Delta House stood before them. In better days, it had served as the home of a local businessman and his large, prosperous family. The Victorian style manse, complete with wrap around front porch and a wrought iron gate at the sidewalk must have been truly magnificent then. Its current state, 90% peeling paint and rust, had clearly been the product of years or even decades of neglect.
“I can’t believe I’m going in there.” Jenny said as Chris opened the squeaky gate leading up to the main entrance. “I mean, this place is in shambles! Don’t they have pledges to fix this stuff?” she asked rhetorically stepping over a gap from a missing board in the front porch, heading towards the front door.
“I don’t know, looks pretty cool to me.” Chris said knocking loudly. “Like a post apocalyptic ‘Stately Wayne Manor.’ And these guys aren’t your preppy, douche bag frat guys like some of the other frats, they’re way chill.” He explained. “You’ll see man… I mean Jenny.” He blushed.
Jenny lightly swatted her roommate in the back of his head. ‘And here I thought that I’d be the one to blow it.’ She thought as a scruffy faced, tie dye sporting pale kid with dreadlocks answered the door.
“Sup man. You’re here for Marcus, right?” he asked, flashing a sense of faint recognition at Chris through blood shot, half shut eyes. “He upstairs, third… no fourth door on the left.” He said, smiling at Jenny as she passed by with Chris.
“What the fuck is wrong with that guy?” Jenny whispered to Chris when the tie-dyed stoner was out of earshot. “Did you see the way he was looking at me?” she asked incredulously.
Chris grinned. “Dude, Jenny… look at you! You’re a stone cold fox! He didn’t mean nothing by it, I’m sure.”
Jenny blushed as she remembered suddenly her current state and appearance. “Well… it’s weird. That’ll take some getting used to.” She said, folding her arms in front of her as they stood before Marcus’s door.
Chris knocked.
“Who is it?” a booming voice bellowed from within. Chris and Jenny flinched slightly in the hallway.
“Uh, it’s Chris, we met last week at Old Pete’s Tavern.” Chris answered.
“Just fucking with ya, come on in.” Marcus opened the door and gave Chris a fist bump. He was a large man, 6’2 or 6’3, tanned and sporting a shaved head. He wore a sleeveless t-shirt, exposing a couple tattoos on his muscular arms. He looked more like a gang banger than a frat brother, with an intimidating, square jawed countenance.
“Thanks man, this is Jenny.” He said, pointing to Jenny.
“Sup, broham?” Jenny asked, going in for a fist bump too. “I mean, nice to meet you.” She squeaked.
“Nice! I love a chick who fist bumps.” Marcus said reciprocating. “She’s cool man, so how do you two know each other?” Marcus inquired.
“She’s my girlfriend from back in Springfield.” Chris answered. “We’ve been going out for what, 3 years now?”
“Yep, three years!” Jenny said with a smile as they entered a messy room that smelled similarly to the common room she and Chris shared back at the dorms.
A loft bed hung off the wall to the left, suspended from the ceiling by chains anchored into the ceiling jousts. Underneath there was a couch, half covered in laundry and presumably empty pizza boxes. A beer can or two were visible amongst them. Pictures of women in varying states of undress littered the walls, some vintage centerfolds and a couple a bit raunchier. An old-school, tube TV played at a low volume. It rested on a dusty entertainment center, and was tuned to a college game being played on a division 1 campus far away.
“So.” Marcus began, shutting and locking the door behind them. “Make yourselves at home, and we’ll get right down to business.” He said as he turned to open his bi-fold closet doors. A pile of dirty clothes got in the way, and he leaned in to pick them up.
Chris plopped himself down on the clean spot on the sofa. With nowhere else to land, Jenny casually straddled the arm, oblivious to the visibility of her panties as she sat, legs apart. Chris tapped her on the arm lightly as Marcus fumbled with the pile of clothes, his back still turned.
“What are you, Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct?” Chris whispered.
Jenny’s face reddened as she suddenly realized how she was sitting. She quickly crossed one leg over the other and adjusted her posture, leaning in and placing a hand on Chris’s shoulder.
“Okay, it’s $350 a lid normally, but for you I’ll do $325 this time. And it’s good. Even better than the last one, I promise you that.” Marcus said, emerging from the closet with a hockey bag that was most certainly not filled with hockey equipment. Nevertheless, it did look damn near full. And quite heavy.
Jenny’s eyes went wide, from the site and from the smell that came when the bag was finally opened. “$325 sounds a little high, do you think that you can do $300?” she asked demurely, batting an her eyelashes. Instantly she decided that Jim would be proud, as he was always a tough negotiator. Chris just looked at her like she was insane. He even lipped it.
But Marcus chuckled. “Wow I knew you were awesome chica. Sure, why not? See that Chris, you’re getting the hot girlfriend discount my man. I think we’ll call her the Negotiator.”
Jenny blushed at the compliment. For his size and intimidation factor, coupled with his bag-o-felonies, this Marcus seemed rather affable to her.
Chris looked relieved and shot Jenny a grateful look and thumbs up as Marcus pulled out a scale and set about weighing out the purchase. When it was bagged up, Chris handed him the money and took the bag, placing it in his jacket’s inner pocket. “Thanks man, I appreciate the hook-up.”
“What can I say, I’m a sucker for the pretty ones, and I like it when they smile.” Marcus said. “So let’s go downstairs and get some drinks. Mixer should be starting soon.” Marcus said leading the way down the hallway lined with pictures of brothers long since graduated. As they rounded the corner at the bottom of the steps, another door opened onto a party room lined with lights, speakers and two functional looking bars complete with tap handles. “Guys, this is Chris, he’s going to be one of us some day. And this is Jenny, she’s his girlfriend and chief negotiator.” He joked as the group of guys at the back bar passing a blunt offered an obligatory, “sup?”
Jenny noticed a few of their eyes light up as they set upon her, slightly disturbed that she knew exactly what they were thinking about her. As she and Chris approached the bar, the tie dyed stoner from the front door encounter offered her a peach fuzzy navel wine cooler. “Fuck that.” She said on instinct, reaching past him for a cold beer from the ice bucket.
A chorus of “Ohhhs” erupted from the gathered brothers as the tie dyed stoner plopped his offering back into the cooler. “Can she pledge with him?” one of the Delta’s said as Jenny cracked open her beer.
“You’re a lucky man, Chris, you should bring her around more often.” Marcus said, pointing to Jenny with a friendly smile. “Fill up some pitchers, Jonsey. We’re going to play some pong with our guests. Crash, get some cups.” He said, as two of the brothers obediently broke off to prep the table.
There was little doubt in anyone’s mind who was in charge at Delta house. The brothers seemed to hang on his every word and command. As Jonsey and Crash set the table, another random brother approached and whispered something into Marcus’s ear. “Got it. Be right there.” He said back before turning to Chris and Jenny. “Duty calls, but don’t worry. Goofy, Otter, get over here and play some pong with our honored guests.”
As the tie dyed stoner and another, more hipster looking kid approached the table, Jenny leaned to whisper in Chris’s ear. “Am I missing something here? Your getting the VIP treatment. You’re blowing Marcus aren’t you?” she joked.
“Good one Tits McGee.” Chris fired back. “That’s what happens when you show up with a stone cold fox on your arm I guess. It’s a first for me too.” He admitted. The volume of the music rose sharply and a few moments later, people began filing into the basement. Another fraternity and two sororities were invited to the event, and before long the large party room was filled to capacity, smoky and noisy.
The plastic ball flew off Jenny’s hands towards the cups across the table, and plopped into her opponent’s last remaining cup. “Haha! What motherfucker? Drink up bitchezz!” She said cockily, flexing her biceps menacingly across the table like a pro wrestler would at his newly vanquished foe. The tie dyed stoner and his partner shuffled off and merged with the crowd. “Who next?!” she said, strutting around her end of the table like a wide receiver in the end zone holding the ball.
“Uh Jenny, you know how it’s like, good to lose to your boss at golf and stuff?” He asked semi-rhetorically. “We need to apply that principle to this situation and maybe not thrash the people who get to decide if I can join or not.”
“Awe come on, they can take it.” Jenny protested. “Just a little ball busting is all.” She thumped her fist into his arm in a friendly but bro-like gesture. A moment later, the next on the list appeared. “Hopefully these guys don’t suck as bad. I’m getting thirsty over here!” Jenny quipped.
A few games later, Jenny was still on fire. But the few beers she’d consumed to that point seemed to have an amplified effect on her. Jenny, for all her cockiness, didn’t hit a shot in her final game. And without realizing it, had stayed well beyond her obligatory hour. Stepping aside after the loss, Jenny felt a good buzz kicking in.
“So are you having fun?” Chris asked as Jenny as they stood together at the end of the bar.
“Yeah, surprisingly I am. I mean it’s weird, getting ogled like this, but it’s flattering in a way I guess.” Jenny said, adjusting her bra straps casually. “And my tolerance is crap. I’m cutting myself off now.” She added, setting down her half full beer.
Chris put away another 3 cold ones as he chatted with Jenny and a few of the brothers for a while longer.
“Chris, I think I’m ready to go now.” Jenny said after some time had passed. “It’s getting late.”
Chris agreed without hesitation.
They started to leave quietly, most of the guests focused on getting drunker yet. As they passed, Jenny felt most of the lustful looks she was getting from a few of the Alpha Theta brothers they brushed by. But she most definitely felt every bit of the hand that reached up her skirt and grabbed her butt when she was about halfway across the room. “What the fuck!” she exclaimed, turning around in disgust to see a tall pretty boy in Alpha Theta letters drunkenly grinning back.
Acting on instinct, Jenny pulled back and socked him in the nose. As he stumbled back, a few of his brothers gathered around him. “C’mon you want some more?” Jenny said, before suddenly feeling small and vulnerable. She half expecting him or his buddies to rear up and swing back.
“What the hell?! That bitch broke my nose!” he exclaimed in disbelief as blood ran from each nostril. With that, he turned to the bathroom and his backup looked at one another and shrugged, unsure about how to react.
Jenny’s knuckles hurt, and she shook her hand at the wrist and inhaled sharply. “Tell Gropey McFeelyhands there that grabbing people’s asses isn’t cool.” She said, turning and strutting towards the door.
The crowd murmured softly for a moment, and as she walked out in a huff, Jenny could hear the sorority girls giggling and saying things like “Right on girl!” and “Serves him right.”
On the sidewalk, Chris was grinning ear to ear.
“So, was I a good ‘date?’” Jenny asked ironically. “Keep in mind that you’re not getting any tonight.” She joked.
“Hells yes!” Chris declared. “But man, I gotta say, you suck at being a girl! Fist bumping, sitting spread eagle, talking smack at beer pong, flexing at dudes! Then you go all Bruce Lee on that pretty boy’s nose. That was epic!”He laughed loudly. “I thought he was going to cry! It really is you in there, I’m sure of it now.”
Jenny smiled pridefully. “I thought he was going to kick my 5’3, 115 lb. ass though. It’s kinda scary being this small.” She admitted. “I guess it’s something I’ll have to get used to now.”
“I would have stepped in, not that you needed me too.” Chris observed. “And thanks too. For doing this for me. I really owe you one for helping me make a big impression.” He added with sincerity.
“Don’t thank me yet, because there’s no telling what I’ll ask you for in return.” Jenny giggled as they entered the dorm building. “Hey what’s up Doug?” she asked, passing by her neighbor from public speaking in the lobby.
“I’m good.” Doug said automatically, looking up at an unfamiliar female walking past. A puzzled expression washed over his face. ‘Who is she? How does she know my name?’ he wondered as she sashayed past into the elevator.
“Holy shit dude!” Jenny said as the elevator door shut behind her and Chris. “He doesn’t know me like this, how could I be so stupid?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Chris cut in. “ He’s probably just really happy that a hot chick knows who he is, period.” He joked. “But yeah, something else you’ll have to watch out for I guess. Bummer.”
Entering the common room, Jenny sat on the couch and leaned back, closing her eyes. “No idea what I should do about this man. It’s sooo weird, right?”
Chris took the seat next to Jenny, loading up his favorite bong and picking up his gold, player 1 controller. “I know what I’d do.” He said pausing to inhale.
“Oh yeah, what’s that?” Jenny inquired.
Chris breathed out a stream of thin, white smoke. “Two words dude. Girls shower room. Shoot. Three words.” He coughed lightly as the Xbox kicked on and he went about loading a game.
“Ha, very funny man.” Jenny said, at once realizing the value in his suggestion, and the futility of gaining his full understanding. The familiar sounds of the digital massacre began a moment later.
“Should I tag you in?” Chris asked hopefully.
“Naw, I think I’m just going to chill in my room for a bit.” Jenny said standing. “Oh and Chris… she turned back to him and waited as he paused the game. “Thanks. For everything tonight. I appreciate you not freaking out, and I actually had a good time at Delta. Hand pain aside.” She shook out her punching hand again.
“No doubt, what are friends for?” He said with a warm, half-baked smile.
Back in her room, Jenny flipped on the computer and took a seat at her desk. A moment later, she found herself on werewoman.com entering in her credentials. Once in, she opened up her profile and officially changed her name on the site. ‘JennyMoon’ she entered confidently.
When she created the account long ago, she’d assumed the female name Jamie. But tonight, after the change, she decided Jenny felt right. Plus it was further off of her male name, James, and would better disguise her identity, at least in theory.
Luna1996: “You’re on! And a new name, huh?”
JennyMoon: “It kinda came to me earlier tonight.”
Luna1996: “Does that mean what I think it does?”
For some reason, Jenny hesitated before realizing that she had far more to gain by being truthful about her situation.
JennyMoon: “Yeah, it finally happened.”
Luna1996: “Better late than never.”
JennyMoon: “Says you, me I’m not so sure yet.”
Luna1996: “Yeah it’s a big adjustment, that’s for sure.”
JennyMoon: “Yeah, so far the verdict is I suck at being a girl.”
Luna1996: “You know what they say, practice makes perfect! And you’ll have plenty of opportunities for practicing too ;-) ”
JennyMoon: “I guess. There’s what, three full moon nights per month?”
Luna1996: “Yup, tomorrow and the following night. Plus it tends to slip out between full moons sometimes. You’ll see what I mean.”
JennyMoon: “Yeah I remember my dad saying it’s hard to control it at first, but he’s settled into changing on the moons and about once per week in between.”
Luna1996: “That’s a pretty accurate prognosis, it was the same with me. But one you get the hang of it, you can control when you change outside of the full moon nights. Could be every other week, every week, twice a week. Any more than that though, and you really run the risk of getting stuck in girl mode for good.”
JennyMoon: “Oh shit… that can happen?”
Luna1996: “It’s been known too. But relax, it’s rare. And the folks I know who it’s happened to, they all seem to prefer it that way.”
JennyMoon: “How am I gonna deal with this Luna?”
Luna1996: “Do like the rest of us, and live with it. One day at a time. Get as much enjoyment out of both halves as possible, and find a balance between the two that works for you.”
JennyMoon: “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”
Luna1996: “You’re welcome, and feel free to hit me up anytime. I’ll be here for you.”
JennyMoon: “Í appreciate that.”
Luna1996: “I know. So, are you gonna show me how you turned out, or do I have to beg? ;-)”
Jenny adjusted her webcam downward to account for her shorter stature, and checked the angle of the screen in the monitor. Once satisfied, she sent a request to Luna. She smiled nervously and waived when the feed started broadcasting.
Luna1996: “Whoa you turned out smoking hot! And that outfit, wow! I half expected to see a frazzled chick in a men’s t-shirt and boxers.”
JennyMoon: “Haha, thanks, I got these last night, it was like I was on auto pilot.”
Luna1996: “Yeah it pays to stay out of the malls when the moon is close to full like it was last night. You’ll end up buying all sorts of girlery!”
JennyMoon: “Yeah I just got a couple outfits and some essentials from Vicky’s.”
Luna1996: “A good start, but make some room in that closet of yours hun.”
JennyMoon: “I guess it gets pretty expensive being a werewoman huh?”
Luna1996: “Worth every penny, you’ll see. Your folks know yet?”
Jenny sighed and bowed her head.
JennyMoon: “No. Not yet. I don’t know how to tell them. I know my dad will make a big deal out of it, want to do a shopping trip and hold a pack get together to welcome me in a hyper-supportive way. I don’t think I’m ready for that.”
Luna1996: “That actually sounds kinda nice if you think about it. Besides, you can’t hide it from them forever. You could try, but Easter falls on a full moon night next year, so the jig is probably up at that point.”
Jenny thought for a moment, telling her folks would be a good way to grow her wardrobe…then she giggled when she envisioned trying to hold back the change at Easter dinner.
JennyMoon: “Well, maybe tomorrow or Monday. Definitely not tonight.”
Luna1996: “Let me know how it goes hun. I’m sure you’ll do fine. So how’d you spend your first night as a girl?”
JennyMoon: “Long story there. First, I stupidly agreed to go to this party with my roommate. Then he sees me change, right before we left thank God. But after all that, I still end up agreeing to go to this frat house.”
Luna1996: “Frat house? On your first night? You’re bad! I’m guessing your roommate didn’t freak out then?”
JennyMoon: “Yeah he took it surprisingly well. That’s why I agreed to go to the party. It was kinda fun actually. I met some people, played beer pong. Oh also on the highlight reel: Some dick grabbed my ass and I busted his nose.”
Luna1996: “It’s funny how that can happen too, like if I wasn’t paying attention I’d forget I was female at first.”
JennyMoon: “Haha yeah, I was acting like Jim in there. It was quite a scene.”
Luna1996: “That may be the best first night I’ve ever heard of before. Most of us just freak out, maybe cry and then explore the new equipment and stuff. Not my Jenny ;-)”
Jenny blushed as she realized that she hadn’t really taken any time to explore her new body. The notion was at once appealing and embarrassing to think about.
JennyMoon: “I didn’t really have time to do either of those things tonight. So far”
A request to accept Luna’s cam feed came across.
Luna1996: “We’ve got plenty of time before sunrise, if you’re up for it ;-)”
‘Oh what the hell, why not?’ Jenny thought hitting accept as her screen filled with Luna’s feed. She was wearing a tank top and pajama pants, a window open on the full moon in the background. It’s silvery light shimmered off her onyx tresses in a delightful way. A true beauty of the night.
Luna1996: “You have a beautiful body Jenny. Let’s start exploring, shall we?”
As she finished typing, Jenny watched as Luna peeled her grey tank top over her head, revealing the white lacy bra underneath. She deftly slipped down the shoulders, pulled down on the band and spun the clasps around to the front, unfastening them as her bountiful chest tumbled out. Jenny felt a damp warmth deep within her loins as she watched and followed suit, pulling off her own top and bra. Jenny relished the sensation as the weight of her breasts redistributed itself from her shoulders to her back and chest wall as the garment fell away.
Luna1996: “That’s good, what are you, a DDcup? They’re perfect. So perky, yet soft and inviting.”
Jenny blushed as she reached up to tease a nipple. A shiver of pleasure shot through her as she gently squeezed, pressing inward on the pillowy flesh beneath. “Ohh.” She cooed involuntarily.
JennyMoon: “Yeah, good eye ;-)”
Luna1996: “Atta girl, it’s pretty great having your own set isn’t it?”
Jenny felt flush as she continued to fondle her breasts, kneading them with both hands as Luna on screen followed her lead this time.
Luna1996: “That’ll help to warm the oven, but wait until you see what you get from down lower...”
On screen, Jenny watched as Luna leaned back in her seat and wriggled free of her silky pajama bottoms. As they fell away revealing her bare womanhood to the camera, she smiled slyly. Her pubis was hairless, save for a ‘soul patch’ centered like a bullet point above her clit.
Jenny fumbled with the buttons on her skirt as she watched Luna begin to rub in a circular motion around the apex of her outer lips, arching her back and panting visibly. As she tossed aside the skirt and dropped her panties to her ankles, Jenny imitated shyly reached a hand down, making contact with a gummy mound, slick with musk.
Jenny gasped audibly as she began to slowly circle her clitoris with one hand. The other greedily pawed at her breasts, gently squeezing and tugging, hardly believing that these wonderful masses were attached to her. As the pleasure built, Jenny found herself mewing and moaning in passion as she arched her back and spread her legs farther yet.
And just when she thought that the pleasure had reached crescendo, Jenny’s wonderful new body would transport her to another level of ecstasy again and again. Her eyes still glued to the screen, Jenny watched in wonder as Luna’s stomach seemed to cramp up, her hand motion slowing as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. She leaned back, swooning with passion as her hips bucked wildly against her hands.
A moment later, Jenny felt a similar contraction. Her busy hand detected a vibration coming from within her, as suddenly her body started to quake involuntarily. Slipping in two fingers, she felt a wave wash over her. “OH GOD! Yesss!!!” She said loudly, moaning as her inner walls gently clenched and unclenched against her probing fingers. Her breasts heaved as her hips bucked, forcing her fingers deeper and deeper into her slick, smooth pocket of womanflesh.
A glistening wetness dribbled across her inner thighs as her hand went idle from pleasure overload. Her vision blurred as she cried out in sheer bliss. The pleasurable internal contractions reverberated throughout her body for what felt like an hour, but in reality was probably about ten seconds. When her eyes refocused on the monitor, a seductively smiling Luna stared back at Jenny.
Luna1996: “Much better on this end, huh?”
JennyMoon: “That was… incredible…”
Luna1996: “Haha that’s the spirit! We so have to get together one of these nights ;-)”
JennyMoon: “For sure. Where are you located these days by the way?”
Luna1996: “I’m at Tech, loving it so far.”
JennyMoon: “You’re kidding? That’s only 30 miles from me. I’m at State!”
Luna1996: “I’ll have to come up next month, make sure you stay out of trouble and learn how to not suck at being a girl!”
JennyMoon: “Haha very funny. But on the reals I could probably learn a lot from you. I’d like that.”
Luna1996: “Then it’s a date! See you then kiddo, I’m heading off for now. Oh, and welcome to the club ;-)”
JennyMoon: “Thanks Luna, sweet dreams hun.”
A few moment’s later, Jenny was climbing into bed. She slept naked, not wanting to risk destroying her modest collection of girlery when she shifted back to male mode when the sun came up. Her father said that you’re almost always asleep when the reversion happens. Your girl side will wear out, settle down for a snooze, and you’ll wake up fully male again. And as fun as tonight had ended up being, part of Jenny was looking forward to going back.
As Jenny drifted off to sleep that night, she dreampt of Genevieve. Their bodies intertwined in a loving embrace, moans of passion mixed with squeaks of delight as they explored every inch of the other’s body. Playful looks and coy smiles were exchanged as the women gently rocked together, locking lips and swirling tongues giving way to more sensual vocalizations. The dream was vivid, and in sharpest detail, yet as it happened, Jim had the sense that he was dreaming.
The urgent throbbing of his erect member was the first waking sensation Jim felt the following morning. Hopping out of bed, still fully undressed, he checked himself over and noted that every aspect of his familiar self was present and accounted for. Relief like he’d never known washed over him, until he realized that this reversal was temporary. He’d change again tonight, at moonrise.
It was 10:14AM according to the clock on his wall. Jim checked werewoman.com for the precise time of moonrise that night. 5:23PM. That left t-minus seven hours, nine minutes until girl out. ‘(Yawning) sounds about right’ Jim rolled his eyes at the sleepy sounding girl voice within.
‘That’ll leave you with time to wash my stuff and get it ready for tonight.’ She said cheerily.
‘We’re staying in, Jenny. I have to study.’ He thought back at her from his male brain.
‘Study female anatomy, maybe!’ she retorted with a raspberry sound at the end. ‘Plus, I have to wear something don’t I?’
Jim groaned and tossed the garments from last night into the hamper as he set about getting ready. Showering and dressing for the Sunday ahead, Jim emerged into the kitchen. ‘GAME OVER’ flashed across the television screen as Chris snored prolifically, his head resting on the arm of their couch. Scooping in the grounds and filling the tank, Jim prepared a pot of coffee, knowing how much Chris liked it first thing in the morning. As quietly as he could manage, Jim set about making breakfast.
“Huh? Oh word! You’re back dude!” Chris said, suddenly leaping up and rushing towards Jim. He wrapped Jim up in a tight bear hug, lifting him off the floor before setting him down gently. “So what was it like broseph?”
“What was what like?” Jim asked somewhat embarrassed.
“The change dude, being a girl. How was it?” he asked again. “Oh and by the way, I heard you having fun with it in there last night. Even over the sounds of battle.” He said with a wry grin.
Jim reddened a few shades more. “It was… good man. Just good.” He lied, not wanting to go into too much detail.
‘Mmm, damn right it was!’ Jenny purred from within.
“Well, even though it’d be weird and stuff, if you ever… and I do mean ever… need a hand with that when you’re in Jenny mode, I got your back.” He said with mock seriousness. “You’re a good friend afterall, and that’s what friends are for.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Jim replied flatly. “But one thing you should keep in mind too, it’s contagious during the full moon. One night with me and you’ll be sprouting tits of your own.”
Chris’s mouth went wide, his expression aghast. “Shit dude, you serious?” he asked.
“Fraid so champ.” Jim said with a conciliatory pat on the shoulder. “Besides, I think Jenny’s into girls.” Jim admitted.
“Awesome…” He said with a dumbstruck look in his eye. But the wheels were turning in his head, and his face contorted into the, ‘I have an idea’ look that Jim had come to recognize by now. “Do you think I could”
“Hell no Chris.” Jim cut him off. “You can’t watch me with another woman. Boundaries dude.”
“I wasn’t gonna ask that, what do you take me for brah?” Chris said defensively. “I wanted to film you with another woman.” He said playfully emphasizing the word film.
Jim rolled his eyes. “I wish you’d stop breaking my balls about this already man. This is a big change for me, I’m still getting used to it.”
Chris looked apologetic. “You’re right man. I’m sorry. You really did me a solid last night, and the least I can do is be supportive.” He said contritely.
“It’s OK man. Water under the bridge.” Jim shook Chris’s extended hand.
“So tonight, I was thinking after we’re done studying, maybe have a Halo night?” Chris said hopefully. “Now that things are back to normal until next month, it’ll be good to have a bro night.”
“About that.” Jim said matter-of-factly. “The moon is full enough to force me to change for three nights in a row each month. So Jenny will be back in…” Jim looked to the clock on the microwave… “six hours, twenty one minutes. Plus, apparently it can happen at other times too. Outside of the moon’s influence. Jenny could pop out a couple times between, I don’t know… I’m still kinda learning the ropes.”
“Right on, Jenny’s cool with me. She was way fun to be around last night.” Chris said as he poured out a fresh cup of coffee. “So you really think she’ll be around more often?”
‘You bet she will!’ chirped the squeaky voice in Jim.
“I don’t know man. I don’t think so, not too often. But tonight for sure.” Jim added. “I can kinda feel it. It’s weird, hard to explain. Look I gotta do some laundry and study for now, but we can have a bros night next Sunday.” Jim promised.
“Sounds good.” Chris said, heading to his room to pour over his Accounting 101 notes.
Jim went into his room and dumped out his bag. ‘A novel to read for Literature Appreciation, or calculus problems?’ he pondered before diving into the calculus. Hours ticked by as he worked the problems one by one, deriving satisfaction from problems that were solvable, unlike his own. Jim made sure to show every step of his work, so as to get full credit on the assignment. He was on a role, suddenly he remembered his laundry. Quickly finishing the last problem, Jim scooped up the novel and his hamper and headed down to the laundry facility in the basement.
‘T-minus 2 hours and eighteen minutes until girl-out.’ Jim calculated in his mind, looking at the clock. ‘Should leave me with time to spare.’
The dull track lighting reflecting off of the front glass windows of the tumblers, and the faint scent of dryer sheets greeted his senses, coupled by the sound of a washing machine on spin cycle. Someone else’s wash was going, but nobody seemed to be around. So Jim swiftly tossed his things into an empty machine, careful to conceal his Jenny items.
As the machine filled and gyrated, the other patron’s washer came to a halt. About a minute went by, and Jim noticed another person entering the facility. A female, in a baby t and high cut underarmor shorts “Genevieve?” He said as she smiled back. “How are you?” He asked as she set her hamper down next to her machine.
Over the past few weeks, Genevieve and Jim had become closer. They traded texts, sat next to each other in Public Speaking, and had dinner together twice since their cafeteria encounter. Genevieve trusted Jim, and valued his company and Jim harbored his secret crush for her, suffering in silence as they bonded as good friends.
“I’m good.” She smiled. “Just doing a story for my creative writing class.” She said, holding up a slim, stylish Macbook. “It’s a story about a female werewolf.” She revealed. “It’s was a horror themed assignment, and I’ve always kinda dug werewolves.” She went on. “What have you got there?” She asked, pointing to the novel in Jim’s hand.
“Things Fall Apart, a novel by a Nigerian author. So far it’s pretty good.” Jim said, “but I’m only about a quarter of the way through.”
“Yeah that’s a great book. I read it when I was a freshman too. Sad ending though.” Genevieve said moving her things into the dryer and taking her seat beside me. “We should hang out again soon. Want to get dinner tomorrow?” she asked pleasantly.
‘Tomorrow…full moon night… no good.’ Jim thought, wracking his brain for a feasible excuse. “Oh tomorrow? Ahh I can’t. I have a thing.”
‘Swing and a miss. You can do better than that!’ Jenny interjected into Jim’s stream of thoughts. ‘Tell her your parents are visiting.’
“Uh, my parents are visiting, taking me out to dinner and I won’t be back until really late.” Jim lied convincingly. “How about Tuesday?” He asked hopefully.
“Ah Tuesday’s no good for me. I have volleyball practice and I’m usually exhausted afterwards.” Genevieve sounded slightly bummed. “Well there’s always Wednesday.”
“Wednesday works.” Jim agreed. “It’s a date… Well… not a date, but two friends, hanging out and getting food at the same time, in the same place and stuff.” He sputtered nervously.
‘(giggle) do you hear yourself sometimes?! I swear. Real smooth Don Juan.’ Jenny teased playfully.
Genevieve smiled. “I know what you mean, it’s cool.” She said as Jim’s washer buzzed. Turning to her Macbook, she began to type away gracefully working the keyboard as text populated the empty space in her screen.
Jim stood and went to switch his load into the dryer. Upon opening the lid, he saw his VS bra staring back at him at the top of the heap of clothes. ‘Crud. I hope she doesn’t see this.’ He thought, casually bundling his stuff into the basket and carefully arranging it so Jenny’s things hit the bottom of the pile. As Genevieve focused intently on her writing, Jim slipped the damp mass of fabric into the dryer and hit spin.
For the next hour, they chatted off and on between immersion in their studies. When Genevieve’s buzzer rang for the dryer, she stood to fold her things. Jim watched as she delicately folded each bra and rolled up each pair of panties, secretly examining them for style and material.
‘That’s a nice one. And all her stuff is top end. Is that A D&G shirt? True religion jeans? Wow her folks must be loaded. Girls got taste.’ Jenny marveled in Jim’s mind as Genevieve went about her work. ‘I can’t wait to meet her face to face. When you gonna tell her what you are?’
‘When the time is right.’ His male side admonished. ‘So don’t go getting any funny ideas, hear?’
A second buzzer a few moments later brought Jim back from la-la land. He glanced at his phone.
‘T-minus 19 minutes to girl-out.’
Standing, he used his body as a shield and quickly flung his laundry into the hamper, careful to ensure his girlery was covered.
“Aren’t you going to fold and separate?” Genevieve asked. “I can help if you want.” She added with a smile.
“Oh, no, thanks I got this. I usually just fold it before I put it away. Plus these pants here… Gotta iron these babies.” Jim said in reply.
“Suit yourself, Jim.” She said as they set off together for the elevators. Stepping on, they pressed their respective floor numbers and rode upwards. “So until Wednesday then?” She said as the car neared her floor.
Jim was about to agree when the elevator suddenly lurched to a halt and went dark. “What the…” Jim trailed off. “Why did we stop?” he said nervously.
‘Not good… not good dude.’ Jim’s male and female minds agreed for once.
“Oh shit.” Genevieve said worriedly. “The power must be out. This happened last year when the transformer blew. The kids in the elevator then ended up being trapped in there for like, 4 hours or something.”
“Four hours?” Jim repeated incredulously, reaching for his phone as the emergency lighting in the elevator engaged.
‘T-minus 14 minutes to girl-out’
“Yeah, hopefully it wasn’t the transformer. I don’t want to be in here all night.” Genevieve said looking mildly panicked.
“Look it’ll be OK.” Jim said reassuringly as he maintained a calm exterior despite his inner dread. “I’m sure they can get us out of here before then.”
‘But not before showtime.’ Jenny observed.
“I hope you’re right.” Genevieve said, sitting in a corner of the elevator and placing her head in her hands.
Jim nervously shuffled his feet before taking a seat in the opposite corner and tried to remain calm. Looking at Genevieve, he noted how even in the faint glow of the emergency lighting, she was a sight to behold. Her platinum blonde tresses betrayed no signs of peroxide bleaching or dye. It hung in a loose pony tail that bobbed behind her head as she nervously rocked herself slowly, back and forth.
The delicate features of her face, even when distressed by their sudden confinement, radiated a soft and comforting beauty. Pouty, full lips in a cupids bow shape, arched eyebrows, perfectly tended and sculpted. A button nose complimenting her highly placed cheekbones and atop it all, slightly tanned skin, smooth even in the absence of make-up. She was a goddess of feminine beauty, Jim thought with a smile.
‘And you’ll be one soon too.’ Jenny warned.
“It’s OK Genevieve. Everything is going to be OK.” Jim reassured her again, suddenly feeling a rising warmth radiating outwards from his abdomen.
Outside, the sun was sinking quickly in the late afternoon sky. As the pinks and oranges of dusk faded into the purples and deep blues of twilight, a pale moon crested the horizon, ascending slowly into the darkening sky. As the world slowly turned, its silvery glow crept ever closer to a blacked out dorm building. And Jim could feel it coming.
In the second installment, Jim finds himself adjusting to his new reality. How will he cope with coming into his werewoman heritage?
I’m not sure how my curse got started.
Odds are innocently enough with a normal amount of online porn in my formative years. All I know for sure is that I fell into porn addiction around age 18. A few years later, I managed to find a few other porn addicted men like me online. Brad was the oldest at 27, then there was Mike, and Joe, both of whom were 23. I myself was 21. We chatted a bunch of times online, and since we lived in the same city, eventually we all met up in person at a local bar. I didn’t know what to expect when Brad suggested we all gather at his house after. He had a state of the art media room that was perfect for a live gooning session. Nobody objected, and we even ended up making it a weekly thing.
I know that may seem odd behavior coming from a couple of self proclaimed hetero dude-bros. But we had a strict ‘eyes on the screen only’ policy, which made it all seem less gay. Still, it was odd for me the first couple times. Doing something as private and personal as masturbating with a few other men around my age wasn’t something I ever planned on doing. Though I gotta admit, after a few epic edging sessions, it all felt pretty normal. That’s when things started getting truly weird.
At first it was little mind-fucky things.
A few times, I found myself staring at my buds pounding on their goonsticks instead of watching the porn on screen. I noticed their cocks were bigger than my own, especially Brad’s, and watching them seemed to excite me more than the smut on the screen. Especially when I knew they were about to cum. Watching their cocks spasm, twitch, throb and spew out sticky white ropes of cum made me lose my edge and cum more than once.
But I was here to look at the pretty girls on screen, or so I told myself.
Not long after these weekly meet ups started, when gooning solo at home, I found that women just didn’t work for me like they used to. They stirred up powerful emotions in me, just not lust. I was getting into harder stuff, pun intended. Blowjob gif’s where girls with pretty faces sucked on porn cocks. Bukkake scenes where one woman is surrounded by several hard cocks, glazing her face with their sticky loads. Shemale’s jerking off and sucking on each other. I’m sure you can see the pattern emerging. Porn cocks, multiple cocks, and shecocks. I tried to delude myself into thinking it was the pretty girl or shemale involved that was arousing to me. Eventually, I figured out the powerful emotion the girls made me feel was jealousy, not lust. I even began to eat my own load after I blew it, gross as it sounds, and found I enjoyed the salty-sour taste quite a bit.
If only I’d stopped myself there, maybe things would have worked out different for me.
But I didn’t. I just kept my confusion to myself, and kept gooning with my buds, and sneaking peaks at their cocks. Usually we gathered online, but I lived for those Saturday’s when Brad had the whole gang over. One time at Brad’s, I accidentally let out a totally sensual, decidedly feminine moan just before cumming. My buds all looked over at me like, ‘dude… wtf?!’ I played it off as a joke, of course. An impression of one of the female performers on screen. In reality, it just kinda slipped out. I had no idea why, or how, or where it came from. It was odd. Of course, it wasn’t as funny the next time it happened… or the time after that.
By then, I had other things to worry about than moans.
I think it was a few days after that initial moan that I started ordering women’s clothing online. Porny stuff. Sexy lingerie, skimpy dresses, wigs, shoes, makeup, even false breasts made of super soft, space-aged silicone. I placed the orders while gooning out solo, when my porn addled brain was barely functioning. I later regretted the order and the money spent, but thought I might as well use what I ordered once before I bin it. Get my money’s worth, and get whatever the hell made me order all this out of my system.
A few days later, when the stuff arrived in the mail, just holding it made me feel naughty and excited.
I took my time getting ready, showering, shaving my body and face. I’d queued up a few YouTube makeup tutorials and videos on how to attach a wig, and followed those instructions carefully. The bra, falsies, and panties were next, and I took my time carefully positioning each. At long last, it was time for the black sheer satin mini dress. It took a little over an hour to get everything just right, but when I did… tingles. Goosebumps at the site of ‘girl me’ looking back in the mirror. Suddenly without warning, a throbbing four alarm erection tented my sexy little black dress. Overcome with arousal, I giddily stroked and edged my cock for hours. Eventually I came so hard, my mind went totally blank for a minute or two.
I was in gooner Nirvana that night, feeling as though I had become porn itself.
So much for binning it. Any delusions I’d harbored about getting something out of my system lay shattered before me. A small part of my brain objected, ‘What am I doing? Am I turning into some kind of sissy faggot? Dressing up like a girl, jerking off to cock. What’s happening to me?’ it was shame like I’d never felt before. I decided it would be best to not tell my gooning buds about my new crossdressing habit. I doubted they would understand as they all seemed so cis and hetero. But despite the shame and that increasingly enfeebled part of my brain objecting, I kept on dressing up in secret during my solo goon time.
And kept on accidentally moaning during the Saturday goon-a-thons at Brads.
Mike and Joe made fun of me a few times. All I could do was blush. They said I sounded like a goonette, whatever that was. They even teased me for stroking like a girl, noticing the reverse grip I’d recently started using. When I objected to them watching me stroke instead of watching the screen, they backed down. Brad didn’t comment, but I could tell he knew something was up. More than once, he saw me staring intently at the other guys as they stroked their decent sized cocks. And he smiled when he caught me staring at his monster porn-cock with awestruck eyes one day. I moaned like a girl and almost lost my edge and blew my load right there, but he didn’t make it awkward, he just kept pumping as I watched.
Like I said, it was all kinda mind-fucky stuff at first.
Then I woke up one Sunday morning and saw something disturbing in the bathroom mirror that should have given me pause. My nipples looked darker, wider, bigger. Like a girls. Immediately, the gooner part of my brain was triggered. The erection was immediate and throbbing like never before. I stroked my cock in the shower, tweaking my suddenly sensitive, feminine looking nipples as I pounded. The sensation was incredible. Not as strong as when I stroked my cock, but powerfully, deliciously arousing in an exciting new way.
I dressed up good and girly, and gooned my entire Sunday away.
Monday morning, I woke up with the coppery taste of stale cum on my palette. I was dressed in a skimpy nightie, and covered in my own jizz. Several tabs were open on my browser, a massive, cum pumping cock in every goddamned window. In the mirror, I noticed my feminine looking nipples, my smooth, hairless skin and the party clown looking make-up smeared on my face. And that small, still masculine, defiantly heterosexual part of my brain reasserted itself. ‘Look at you… look at your nipples. Are there a little bump behind them? Are you sprouting tits? This is not normal. Something is seriously wrong here…’
Looking back, it was likely already too late, but God help me, I tried to pull back.
Disgusted with myself, I got a cardboard box and dumped all my crossdressing gear into it. After cocooning it with tape and tossing it in the back of my closet, I felt a little more in control. I got on noFAP, researched deporning and committed to the program. I sailed through the work week, never once logging into my porn accounts, or looking at any porn at all. To keep busy, I played video games, read books and watched tv. Triggers were literally everywhere, but I managed to resist my urge to goon out. I was proud of myself on Friday at bedtime, when I realized I hadn’t cum in a full 5 days!
But then Brad called on Saturday morning.
The guys had missed me online, and wanted to see if I was ‘cumming’ over this Saturday. I rationalized accepting his invitation in the following ways. I was horny… really horny. I don’t think I’d gone this long without pumping out a load since my first time jerking off! Surely I deserved this session. Besides, what harm can it do? If I’m responsible and jerk off only once per week at Brad’s, it’s not really an addiction. I won’t be dressing up and gooning all day, gobbling cum like some greedy goblin. It’s just a few hours of porn on a Saturday evening. No biggie.
I had so many excuses that cleared the way for me to go.
I wore a baggy black hoodie to conceal my perky and excitable nipples that day. Despite being porn deprived for 5 whole days, a big accomplishment for me, I had trouble getting myself going. It wasn’t until I snuck a peek at Brad, gracefully handling his colossal cum cannon, that I stiffened up. I discretely pawed at my engorged nipples beneath the baggy hoodie to keep my edge. Brad clearly saw me cupping my chest as I stroked, and smiled and winked at me.
We stroked for hours as usual. I could feel my goon stick throbbing in my hands, hard as a rock, but was it… smaller? No, it had to be my imagination. At the end of the session, I came with the rest of them. Unlike their thick, manly loads, erupting as though shot from a skin toned volcano, my wimpy load was a thin gruel that dripped out of my cock like a leaky faucet. Why did it still feel so amazing?
When I awoke on Sunday, after dreaming of Brad’s big goopy load yesterday, I was still in goon mode.
So when I saw my nipples, now perched atop tiny twin cones of subcutaneous fat, my cock and my nipples hardened instantly. I looked like a transfemme 6 months or so into HRT! This triggered me instantly. My body went on autopilot as I dug through my closet for the box, cut the cocoon of tape around it, and freed my feminine finery. After carefully dressing up, I logged into all of my raunchiest porn accounts, toying with my nipples and feeling my cock twitch with anticipation. Within an hour, I was at it again, fully femmed out, pounding away at my suddenly smaller cock, and gripping up my smallish new teats. And that’s how I spent my entire Sunday… again.
Monday morning, my shame returned.
I was getting ready for work, trying not to look at myself in the mirror lest the site of my small tits trigger me again. I could feel them there, jiggling around slightly as I moved. But it wasn’t until I tried to pull on my pants that I noticed something new. The cuffs of my slacks were dragging on the ground, like the inseam was too long. Was I shorter? I also felt how tight my trousers seemed to hug my hips and ass. How loose they were in my diminishing waistline. My receding male essence piped up again, ‘This is not normal….You need to stop before it’s too late.’ I really wanted to heed this warning.
But I surprised myself by calling in sick to work instead, promptly removing my tight pants and icky boxers, and drinking in the sight of my nude reflection.
Girly nipples stiffened on my chest, sitting atop full on A cups. My ass stuck out further behind me, each cheek a supple, shapely bubble of feminine flesh. My hips seemed wider, as though my pelvis had broadened. My shoulders appeared narrower too, and my arms thin and lithe, devoid of any musculature. I had thicker thighs, a stubble free face with puffier dick sucking lips, and my hair even seemed thicker, slightly longer. I saw my cock, significantly smaller than usual, but harder than rocket science at the sight of me. Within moments, I was fully dressed, aside from the silicone breastforms that I no longer even needed. I had my own real tits now, and the look and feel of them filled my gooner brain with joy.
I wasn’t expecting Brad’s call that evening when it came.
He asked if he could come over to talk to me, and said it was important. Despite the attraction I felt towards him, I wanted to say no. My apartment was littered with girl clothes. I was fully dressed and made up. And I was mortified that he would see me… like this! So why was I desperate to say yes to him? But that’s exactly what I did. The instant he was off the phone, I set about cleaning up my girly clothes. Washing off my makeup. Putting away my wig and everything else. I put on a pair of loose old sweatpants and the now considerably baggie black hoodie, noticing how big and ill fitting they were on my smaller frame.
But I was back to boy mode when Brad knocked, or at least as close as I could manage given recent… developments.
I was nervous as I opened the door to let him in, arms carefully crossed over the chest to conceal my lady lumps. Longer, thicker hair hidden by an old ballcap. I lopped myself on the sofa to hide my height loss. Brad entered energetically and wasted no time explaining why he was here. It would have sounded ludicrous to anyone, unless they were going through what I’d been going through.
“Have you ever heard of the goonette curse?” Brad asked point blank.
Of course I hadn’t, but he wasted no time explaining. Occasionally, in a goon gang like ours, the weakest, lest masculine member will start to go through certain… changes. It happened to a ‘guy’ in Brad’s first goon gang, years ago. First, his sexual orientation changed. Then, his mind and body feminized gradually. It was like… he was leaking masculinity and absorbing femininity with each goon session. At first, he tried to hide these changes, but eventually he began to flaunt them. He started showing up dressed like a girl and ‘helping his buds’ during our weekly goon sessions. He was tugging and sucking their cocks, slurping their cum and loving every second as the curse irreversibly changed his body and mind.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is, the guys and I have discussed it… and if you ever want to ‘help out your buds,’ it’s OK with us.” Brad said with a trademark smile and wink.
“What do you mean?” I asked meekly, looking down at the floor. My heart was pounding in my chest, my temples whooshing. I was so humiliated, yet totally flattered, aroused and confused all at once. Could I have this curse myself? I couldn’t bring myself to deny it, or tell him he was wrong. I was actually fairly intimidated by Brad, who towered over my diminished frame. Plus, what he said, it made sense given what I’d experienced.
“You know what I mean. We’ve all noticed that you’re turning. The moans, the smaller cock and nipple play is a dead giveaway. At least admit that your body is changing. Look at you! Going goonette is nothing to be ashamed of.” Brad said comfortingly, taking a seat beside me on the sofa. “You can be yourself around us, we want you to know that. Besides, it’s not gay if you’re actually turning into a girl.” He added stoically.
“What happened to your friend?” I inquired nervously.
Brad did better than tell me. He pulled up an Only Fans page for a model named ‘Thirsty’ Kirsty Coxxx on his phone, and explained that this was her. They still met up in person once in a while. In due course, she’d fully feminized, and now made her living doing porn. In effect, she had become her addiction, transformed into porn itself. They maintained their relationship, though obviously the nature of it had changed. Just like the nature of our relationship would inevitably change, just like my body and mind were in the process of changing. It was a lot to think about after he left.
Why did the very idea of turning into a goonette and becoming porn turn me on so much? Why did I keep fapping to my feminizing body, and loving every second of it? Why did I squander what little remained of my waning masculinity instead of fighting for it, pulling back? Why did I even join this little goon gang in the first freaking place? And why the hell couldn’t I quit? I didn’t have any answers to those questions, but realized Kirsty might.
I got her attention on Only Fans, and told her about what Brad told me. I confessed what was happening to my body and mind. I admitted to being scared, confused and also undeniably excited and aroused. I even asked if there was a way to stop the changes and reverse the curse. To go back to being my old guy self.
She giggled at the last question, telling me I was too far gone for that already, and asking why I would want to go back anyway. Didn’t she look happy, living as a porn girl, helping real men all over the world get off? Wasn’t the thought of it happening to me exciting, liberating even? She then asked me to imagine a world in which I would actually get paid well to be what I loved most. To become porn. To her, it wasn’t a curse at all, but a blessing to be thankful for. Kirsty even offered some advice…
“If anything, you’ll want to speed up the process by cumming away the last of your masculinity, not that there’s all that much left.” She said matter of factly.
According to Kirsty, the more cum I pimped out or consumed, the quicker my body feminized. My cock would keep shrinking, my tits and ass would keep inflating, and eventually, I’d become as female as her, pussy and all. One sure fire way speed things up was to suck a real man’s dick. An alpha porn cock. And it just so happens she had the perfect guy in mind. I could come over to her house, and her friend big dick Nick could cum all over me.
I felt possessed as I made my way over to her house. It was even nicer than the one Brad lived in. Kirsty helped me get ready and called Nick. I was nervous when he arrived and looked at me like I was a meal to be consumed, a body ripe for plunder. Even with Kirsty there to encourage me, I was shaking like a leaf when I dropped to my knees in front of him. It quickly became apparent that he deserved his nickname when he popped out his massive cock mere inches from my slutty face.
Feeling it’s weight in my dainty little hands made my little shecock snap to attention. Inhaling the musky scent had my mouth watering. The little voice in my head I’d all but learned to ignore pleaded with me. ‘Don’t put it in your mouth. Don’t be a faggot… you might get turned on, you might like it too much…’ but it was too late. The salty taste of his tool under my tongue was already registering in my brain, and in my loins.
My lips parted, Kirsty cheering me on as I bobbed my head, worked the shaft with my free hands and felt Nick’s dick throbbing in my warm, wet mouth. I felt my cock twitch and leak. Kirsty encouraged me to relax, explaining how to open my throat, suppress my gag reflex. What began as a nervous, sloppy blowjob became more confident, smoother and professional in that pornographic sense of the word. It took close to 30 minutes of me sucking and stroking and bobbing my head for Nick to cum. He did so without warning, and I could feel my eyes going crossed as he pumped rope after rope of salty-sour alpha male jizz down my throat. When a little spilled out of my cheeks and dribbled onto my little breasts, I eagerly lapped it up.
I was a natural.
Waking up at Kirsty’s house the next day, I took in the changes that Nick’s load had wrought upon my still changing body. My tits were at least a B cup, my cock a tiny nub. Flared out hips, a thin waspy waist and a thicc girly ass graced my midsection. My face was unrecognizable, looking girlier and pornier than ever before. And as elated as I was, I started to cry. It was the last of my masculine essence accepting defeat. I knew right them and there I would never go to work again. I would never be able to pass for the man I once was.
Kirsty heard me and came in to find me sobbing. She understood. There was nowhere to go but deeper into girlhood, severing the final attachments to my male life before. She was there for me when I called in to quit my job. She promised to help me create my own Only Fans page to make up for the lost income. She even arranged to have me drain Nick’s balls each day remaining in the week, which forever severed that last thread of masculinity I possessed. My cock was officially gone by Friday, replaced by a pretty pink pussy. My tits ballooned up to bouncy, full DD’s. And as much as I loved my girly new bod, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be seen as a girl by my gooner buds.
When Saturday arrived, I found myself knocking on Brad’s door.
Brad looked disappointed when he answered the door for me that afternoon. I was in the same baggy clothes and ballcap as he’d seen me wearing on his Monday evening visit. But he welcomed me in and I took my place amongst the guys. Little did he know (or maybe he suspected) that underneath my sweats, I was now fully female. A sexy pair of pink panties covered my flat, smooth crotch. With Kirsty’s help, I’d binded down my new DDcup tits with an Ace bandage. The ballcap covering my longer, lustrous hair also shadowed my pretty face. Concealed in the middle pocket, I’d brought enough make-up to give myself an impromptu makeover in the bathroom, and a bra that matched my pink panties too.
We started gooning out not long after I arrived. The fellas treated me like one of the guys, unaware of how much effort I had put in to sustain the illusion. Their manly cocks were out, but my girly hand was down the front of my pants, jamming away at my clam, focusing on the super sensitive clit. Until a day ago, when it shrank down and tucked itself away between my pussy lips, it had been my cock. Maybe it wasn’t ever as big as the other guys, but I couldn’t help but felt like a fraud as I watched them pump hard as I diddled myself gently.
Stifling involuntary moans, I gently tugged and rubbed my minuscule clitty bean with two slim, girlified fingers. Pawing at my binder encased tits enhanced the experience for me too. But an hour into the session I was losing my edge. Even looking at the fellas with their fat, juicy cocks in hand wasn’t enough to get me off. So I excused myself to the bathroom quietly, their porned out brains not noticing me slip out.
I had a conflicted dialogue with myself in the privacy of the bathroom that went a little something like this… “Am I ready for this? To be seen as a girl by them?” Realistically, I knew my male disguise would not hold up to even basic scrutiny for long. Only the distraction of porn was preventing them from seeing what I had turned into. “If I sneak out quietly now, maybe I can delay coming out to them for another week.” But really, how much longer could I put it off the reveal? “If I go out like this, our relationship will be forever changed.” I said quietly to myself as I stripped to my snug fitting pink panties, unbound my soft tits and put on my lacy bra. “I won’t be able to control my urges, and end up being their girly little goonette, just like Brad said I would.” I mused, removing my ballcap, brushing my long hair out into a neat pony tail the way Kirsty had taught me before applying my makeup.
Slowly, the doubt evaporated into lust. The conversation with myself turned into a pep talk. “Come on girl. I already know I love sucking cock thanks to Nick…” I admitted, pouting my lips to spread my electric pink lipstick out evenly. “And I’ve been fantasizing about helping my buds for a while now.” I recalled all the dreams and jerk off fantasies that landed me in this new and unfamiliar body. “And they won’t think it’s gay now, since I’m a girl…” I reasoned. “Face facts, girl. You don’t have to do this, you want to do this…”
Almost as if to reassure myself, I gazed into the mirror to check myself over one last time.
Tressed of long, flowing hair cascaded bound up in a pony tail tickled the back of my shoulders. Perky DD cup tits encased is a pretty pink bra looked positively alluring. Broad, feminine hips that swiveled when I walked and a narrow, sunken in waist begged for a real man’s attention. A bubbly girl butt bounced along behind me everywhere I went, and was fully on display in these skimpy panties. My curves and assets were sure to get noticed now. A smooth, flat crotch adorned with nothing but a tight, vertical slit down the middle proved I was no longer a man at all. I deemed myself ready for cock.
I emerged from the bathroom, full of nervous excitement.
I sauntered quietly into the room, where my buds were totally fixated on the screen closest to them. The delighted at sight of my friends, pumping away, the salty sour smell of precum in the air, the sound of porn ringing in my ears. I took a moment to enjoy it all unseen. I approached Brad first. He didn’t notice me until I spoke in a soft, high, unmistakably feminine voice.
“Need a little help, bud?”
(The goonette curse is becoming more and more common these days. Who will be it’s next victim? Could it be you?)
The dry mixture of Nevada dust and loose gravel stirred loudly under the heel of my boot. Stepping out into the neon lit parking lot and abandoning the relative safety of the car has me feeling uneasy. It wasn’t my idea to come here, out to this remote part of a mostly empty state. We were far from the well policed boulevards of the Las Vegas strip. And hindsight being 20-20, maybe it would have been better had we just continued on down the highway to Sin City, and spent our evening at some strip club. But that was too vanilla for Mikey and Pete, my two best friends and roommates. Their tastes were a little more, shall we say, exotic?
And on this night, we were men on a mission. A mission men our age embark upon almost every evening. We were like King Arthurs Knights of the Pound Table, on our never ending quest for the Holey Tail. Only compared to my buddies, a pair of Lancelots if you know what I mean, I was Sir Galahad the Chaste. It had been a little over a year since my long term girlfriend had dumped me. We dated all through college, but ended things when she moved far away after graduation. And I had no game, none whatsoever, when it came to hitting on women at the bars near our place. I had been out of circulation for so long, I no longer knew how to chat up women! Mikey and Pete joked that my virginity was definitely going to grow back if I didn’t use my cock soon.
So tonight, our quest had carried us out of our cozy California apartment, across a state line, and deep into the dusty Nevada desert. Here, no game was required. Only cash. To help me out of my slump, all three of us were fully prepared to enter into the ranks of men who had utilized a fully legal, rural Nevada brothel. But not just any fully legal, rural Nevada brothel. No, that would be too pedestrian, no better than visiting that hypothetical Vegas strip club. Mikey and Pete wanted to go even more decadent and debauched than the standard Nevada prostitute. So thats how we came to find ourselves strolling through the parking lot of The Moonblossom, perhaps the most famous ‘all werewoman’ brothel in the state. It was their website’s claim to fame, But, for all I knew, it was the only one.
By now, everyone knows what a werewoman is. School children learn about them in health class these days. We all had heard the lesson in our own time at school. A werewoman is a man who transforms into a lusty woman during the full moon at night, or whenever something triggers their change. With enough practice, a werewoman can transform whenever she wants to really. Though on a full moon night, the change is forced. It is a rare genetic condition that affects a small percentage of the world population. Stories about werewomen have existed for hundreds or thousands of years, but only in the last few decades has their existence been definitively confirmed by science. Since then, it’s been public knowledge. And once that story broke, it was only a matter of time before some smart cookie figured out that werewomen make great sex workers.
Werewomen tend to be outstandingly beautiful when transformed, and incredibly skilled at seduction and making love. They were known to be immune to virtually every STD and venereal disease known to science, and pregnancy was not an issue for them either. Furthermore, a lot of werewomen report feeling a powerful lust, and a hunger for sexual release, when in female form. Last but not least, all those rumors that sleeping with a werewoman might infect a man with their curse, turning them into a werewoman too, had been debunked. Something like 99% of all men were naturally immune to the werewoman curse, and infection was super rare. And what is Nevada all about if not gambling? Here, for a change, the odds were remarkably in our favor.
I had had never used the services of a brothel before, or paid for sex. I was nervous as we marched across the gravel parking lot. Only intense desire moved me forward. It had been way too long since my last sexual conquest, and carnal need was overriding my better judgement. My mind began reeling in justification mode. This was a legal and licensed establishment. It had excellent reviews. Pete said his cousin had an incredible time here once upon a time. Nothing bad was going to happen. We three grown men know how to handle ourselves. Reassured at last, my doubts faded like last summers tan.
The glow of the full moon above outshone the humming neon signs on the front of the building, bathing the serene desert landscape in its silvery light. Besides the buzzing neon signs on the faded glory building, it was a tranquil scene all around. I drank in one last glimpse of this peaceful, hilly desert environment as we made our way inside the neon oasis. My trio glided nervously towards the beautiful woman behind the hostess stand near the entrance. Her red dress, red lipstick, firey red hair and blazing smile greeted us as she went through the required formalities.
“ID’s guys. Gotta make sure you’re over 21 and stuff.” She squeeked as we produced the rectangular sheets of government plastic from our wallets. “First time here?” She said breazily, less a question and more a statement on her part, but we found ourselves nodding as she slid our identification back across the counter once her examination of them was through. “Ok so like, welcome to The Moonblossom, Nevada’s premier all werewoman brothel!” She said in a cheerful tone. “Bar is through here.” She explained, leading us down a corridor and through a red door at the end.
When she opened it, the thundering beat of loud techno music spilled out, filling the narrow hallway with its sound and subtle bass vibrations. Our hostess spoke louder as we entered the bar space. “This is where you can meet the girls, have a drink, buy them a drink, and select Ms. Right for the night.” She added with a wink and a nudge. “Cutie pie here won’t have much trouble.” She added with a giggle, teasingly touching my hand with hers as she smiled at me. “So have fun, and if you have any questions, I am Destiny, and the bar tender is Luna. We are both happy to help in any way we can.” Our gorgeous red headed minx of a tourguide offered. We nodded in response as she departed back to the hostess stand.
Drinking in my new surroundings, the overall vibe coming off this place was decidedly seedy. But show me a non seedy brothel, and I will show you a place I can’t afford to visit. A shimmering mirrored disco ball was overhead, spinning and casting reflected lights against the walls. Most of the walls themselves were painted up to look like a desert under the full moon light. Mirrors covered a side wall near a small, uninhabited dance floor. Most of the gyrations here happened elsewhere, horizontally no doubt. A series cracked and peeling red pleather upholstered booths surrounded us, looking as though they had seen better days. A row of stiff, metallic stools ringed a rectangular wooden bar jutting out from the center of the room. Some soft sofas with end tables adorned a quiet, dimly lit corner where a few couples were openly making out, macking on each other hard.
And amongst it all, some of the most positively gorgeous women I had ever seen worked the crowd. Some stood at the bar, chatting with each other, with the other patrons, sipping drinks and smiling as they met my probing gaze. Most sported skimpy stripper outfits, a few, (werewoman patrons maybe?), actually wore mens clothing over their obviously womanly bodies. And of course there were more than a few ‘normal’ men like us, there to score. It didn’t take long until the sharks smelled fresh blood in the water, and swam towards us for the easy kill.
“Hey cutie.” Said a busty, olive skinned brunette.
“Looking for a good time honey?” A raven haired goddess with pale skin inquired.
“Hey stud, wanna get a room with me?” Asked a perky and eager blonde in a valley girl accent.
“I will rock your world, pretty boy.” Declared a petite red head with a pouty expression and sinful green eyes that sparkled like emeralds.
The women were presenting themselves to us, or more specifically, to me. My friends usually drew more girls, so this attention was somewhat new to me. And well appreciated too! Maybe they smelled my desperation? Or how backed up I was. Whatever the case, I was a hit with these ladies. Mikey and Pete barely got a word or a glance from our supernaturally enhanced hostesses. They all walked straight up to me, calling me cutie and sweetie and other silly pet names as they made their flirtatious introductions. As we oogled and broused and chatted our way through the selection of eager babes, buying a drink for a few thirsty girls, I was starting to appreciate Pete and Mikey for insisting on this destination.
One thing was for sure, what they said about werewomen is absolutely true. Each one was more gorgeous than the last. In the back of my mind, I knew that all of them had been guys, and would be guys again, but they are all woman right now, and all stunningly gorgeous. Thats all that mattered. Just being in their presence was making me ache with desire, and my cock was already tenting my jeans as we explored this unusual space and it’s incredible offerings. Besides their perfect appearances, honeyed voices and soft touch, the delicious bouquet of exotic perfumes wafting off of these flawless women had our trio intoxicated with lust. We had been there for a little over an hour when the time came to make my selection. Mikey and Pete insisted I choose first, it was my night, after all.
After a second glance over all of my beautiful options, I chose Amber, a leggy blonde haired girl with a great caboose, tits that I estimate were in the C or D range, and the friendliest smile I had seen in a while. Her icy blue eyes shone with sapphire brilliance under the club lights. Her silky, shear pink teddie left little to the imagination, obscuring her sex and bosom alone. There were no wrong choices here, but Amber felt right to me. Her angelic grin grew steeper yet when I picked her.
To my everlasting surprise, I definitely heard a few groans of disappointment coming from the other gals present in the sexy line up. It was flattering, really. Maybe it was just an act, or perhaps Mikey and Pete paid extra for my kind treatment, but I was beaming pridefully as Amber took my hand. Never before had I felt so wanted, so desired. Can anyone blame me for basking in it?
Hand in hand, Amber and I made our way out of the bar, ducking through another red door towards the back. A brass plaque adorned the crimson portal, the word ‘Heaven’ was etched into the shiny metal. Amber led me down long corridor behind, itself lined with doors. Each door sporting a similar plaque bearing a woman’s name. ‘Candy’ and ‘Celena,’ ‘Jezebel’ and ‘Mercedes.’ Noms de Guerre most likely. And as expected, the door my perfect hostess led me through read ‘Amber.’
The bedroom was about 11 by 11, dimly lit by a single floor lamp, and the moon shining into its one window. The walls were painted pink with white flowers stenciled in. A fan creaked rhythmically overhead, hanging from a familiar looking white popcorn ceiling. There was a king size bed made with fresh white sheets taking up most of the space along two edges. A closet with bifold doors took up most one free wall. The other featured the sole window, sporting a fine coat of dust.
I was a little surprised when Amber produced some paperwork from a bedside table. And here I thought this particular transaction would be different from all the others! How naieve I was, being new to commercial sex and all. The first form was a waiver of liability in case of STD, or infection with the werewoman curse. Amber wasted no time explaining this was nearly impossible anyways. It hadn’t happened in 10 years or so, to hear her tell it. Just a formality required by the estimable Nevada board of health, since the establishment doesn’t insist on condoms. The second form was a pricing sheet, sexual acts listed alongside dollar amounts, most of which I had heard of, a few of which I am ashamed to say I had not. For example, “W.T.F. is a Polish Bikeride?“ I found myself inquiring of my belle du jour.
“If you have to ask, you can’t afford it.” Amber said with a giggle and an impish wink.
Priced at $2500, she wasn’t wrong. And so after making my somewhat affordable, vanilla selections, I was handed her hourly rate contract to agree to in writing as well. Nothing says foreplay quite like county paperwork! She even handed me copies with a receipt, which I absently slipped into my back pocket. Not that I wanted a record of this transaction per se, but rules were rules, and I was too polite to toss them into the wastebin by the side table with her looking on.
As soon as the formalites were out of the way, Ambers brilliant smile returned as she slowly undressed. I did the same, though clumsily, and far less sexily than Ambers smoking hot strip tease. Her body fully revealed was truly marvelous. My eyes started at her long, shapely legs. They were toned and smooth, silky and creamy in the dim light of the moon pouring in through the dusty window. A perfect waist hip ratio at her mid section conjured images of a slender Victoria’s Secret lingerie model. Her womanhood, strongly suggested by the tight knuckle peaking out at the bottom of her tapering inverted delta, looked flawless and taught. A narrow waist gave way to a slim and short torso, adorned by twin breasts I could now clearly see in all their glory. They were full D cups without that pretty pink nightie pressing down upon them. Topped by rosy pink nipples that grew erect when exposed to the night air. I savored the sight of her feminine perfection. Inhaled her delectable perfume. Felt my cock stiffening in response without so much as a touch from her as I stood beside the bed.
Amber sniffed at the air in my direction. She was like an animal now, a shewolf in heat lustily staring at my cock while laying spread eagle on the bed, toying with herself and mewing softly. Inviting me silently with her eyes to come and claim my prize. I lined myself up atop her, feeling the wonderous sensation of her breasts pressed against my chest. She guided the tip of my rock hard cock towards her beautiful opening and I leaned into her with my weight. Ambers eyes went wide as I entered her, and she moaned sensually as I bucked up and down, pushing her into the mattress with each stroke. “Yesssss....” she moaned as her pussy gripped my shaft tightly, working it like a dairy farmer works an bovine utter.
For the first fifteen minutes of our hour together, I pounded her into the bed with my feet still on the floor. Amber lay back down on the edge of the bed, her spindly feminine legs set atop my shoulders, legs splayed apart. She felt incredible, and I am amazed I lasted as long as I did before cumming into her hard as she cried out lustily under me. But the hour wasn’t up, and Amber was not nearly done with me. We switched positions. I was still impossibly hard somehow. As in, zero refractory period. It reminded me of the time I had fooled around with Viagra with my girl back in college. And I went with it.
For the rest of agreed upon hour, she rode me like a rodeo cowgirl. Her tits bounced wildly as she persued climax after climax perched atop my proud pole. In the course of all her rhythmic bouncing, I found myself cumming powerfully again and again and again. Before I knew it, I had tossed four loads into Amber, and in a little less than one hour! Amber seemed satisfied with it. You know I was. I recall her using the words “cock drunk” at one point as she lay her sweet head against my chest. Whatever that meant. She was giggly, giddy, basking with me in the afterglow of our tryst until the timer snapped us back into reality.
“Want another hour hun?” She asked hopefully. And I did, but consulting my old friend Mr. Wallet, who was looking a lot thinner as of late, I politely declined. After tipping Amber as generously as possible, I went back to the bar to look for my friends.
Mikey was already out there sipping a beer, looking relaxed, well pleased, definitely in a state of post coital bliss. Pete emerged from the corridor of red doored rooms a moment later, sporting the same cat that ate the canary grin. We had gotten what we came for, and then some. We finished our beer and made our way out past the hostess stand. “Ya’all come on back real soon now!” The cheery red headed hostes, Destiny if memory serves, smiled at us as we floated passed. I saw her winking at me as we made the briefest of eye contact.
We piled into the car, grinning ear to ear like, feeling like lottery winners all. Tonight we hadn’t a care in the world. Sure, it had been expensive, but inarguably worth every penny. Money spent was the furthest thing from our minds. Mikey and Pete went first, describing their experience with their werewoman prostitute in explicit detail. They described every centimeter of her physique, and all of us agreed that they each and every one of them looked like fully airbrushed playboy models with zero visible flaws. They described their technique, missionary, doggy, pile driver, and how their women (werewomen really) reacted to their skill. Once finished, both begged me for details. I think I told them it was incredible, but the paperwork was a little odd.
“What the price sheet? The hourly rate?” Pete asked.
“Yeah, that and the waiver.” I replied.
“Waiver? Ha. You’re funny man.” Pete said with a chortle. “I didn’t have to sign away no rights.”
“Me neither. Just the payment sheets.” Mikey said with a yawn as he reclined in the passenger seat.
I just raised my hands up as if to say ‘whatever’ as I slipped the aforementioned paperwork from my back pocket into the center console. Apparently they hadn’t been made to sign a waiver? “Maybe my girl was pre law or something.” I quipped. Doesn’t matter, I told myself.
Taking turns at the wheel was the plan as we drove home silently through the night. Wending our way through the winding desert highway, I felt triumphant. Mikey and Pete snored away, but I was so invigorated, I just kept on driving. The sun was rising, a beautiful new day dawning, the memory of my conquest from last night was fresh. I was on top of the world as I pulled into our parking garage at last, though tired from driving the whole stretch. And of course the previous nights activities. When I crashed out safe in my bed at home, I dreamed of Amber.
I dreamed of her quite a bit over the next several weeks. Dreams of our night together. The hour of bliss we shared. I dreamed of The Moonblossom and some of the other girls there. They seemed so happy, doing what they were doing out there in the desert. And why shouldn’t they be? They had a good thing going. A legal trade that made them decent money. A safe place to ply that trade. No shortage of willing customers, and a way to sate that infamous werewoman lustfulness that was part and parcel to their unique condition.
I wanted badly to go back for more. For Amber, or one of her sister werewomen. But Mikey and Pete seemed satisfied with the local bar scene, so I kept it to myself. I didn’t want them teasing me for falling in love with a working girl, and a werewoman nonetheless. But I wasn’t naive, my night with Amber had been a service in exchange for payment. And as worth it as the whole experience had been, I couldn’t afford to splurge like that too often. Someday though...
Besides, in the weeks ahead, I had even managed to talk to a few women on our local bar outings. I even managed to get a phone number or two. No hook ups though. It didn’t feel strange when I found myself in conversations with women about fashion, their lives, their work, how so and so was being catty about this or that. Friendly chats that didn’t lead to me scoring. But there was less awkwardness, and I felt at ease conversing them. My game with the ladies seemed to be getting back on track, slowly but surely. As far as Mikey and Pete were concerned, their third ‘muff-keteer’ was back in action, ready to bury his sword, and almost skilled enough to find an opening. My time would come. The injured falcon had healed, and was being released back into nature to hunt.
But we weren’t out chasing tail every night. We needed break nights too. Bro nights. Nights where we drank beer, ate pizza, played Madden. And for me, a night like that is just what the doctor ordered. Work had been busy lately. Deadlines and editors and a huge workload had me chasing my tail. I had been sleeping less too, dreaming about Amber, waking up horny in the middle of the night. I found myself staring up at the darkened popcorn ceiling, creaky fan and all. Ruminating on its resemblance to Ambers ceiling, I would find myself wondering what her life must be like. What did she look like as a guy? Did she like being a werewoman? How did it feel to change? How much time does she spend in each form? How did it feel to fuck, to be fucked? Which was better? Odd but titilating questions like these just popped into my mind when I was alone as the days and weeks rolled past.
I do recall feeling strangely that Saturday morning, wanting to stay in and not go out and spend another small fortune at the bar. So I was happy Mikey and Pete agreed to have a good old fashioned bro-down for a change. After waking up late, masturbating quietly while recalling a particularly hot Amber dream, I showered, thought about shaving my scruff before deciding not to, and went out to the living room. “I got next.” I declared, plopping myself lazily on the sofa in between the two well worn lazy boy recliners Mikey and Pete luxuriated in.
”Glad you could join us, I was afraid I was going to have to beat up on pitiful Pete here all day.” Mikey said. He greeted me without looking away from the screen. His 4th Quarter lead grew with another touchdown, run in on a quarterback sneak. “Mahomes ya’all!”
“He cheats man. Using the Chiefs, they’re overpowered this year.” Pete protested.
“Please, I’d beat you with the Miami Dolphins bro.” Mikey jabbed.
As the afternoon progressed, the odd but horny feeling just increased. I hadn’t managed to win a single game of Madden all afternoon either, and I was typically the best out of the three of us. To be honest, my heart just wasn’t in the game today like it usually was. It seemed stale and boring and trivial even. Maybe it’s because my timing was awful, even my hands felt a bit less coordinated than usually was the case. I couldn’t focus, my thoughts kept drifting back to The Moonblossom night, and my lost puppy, hopeless crush on Amber.
Mikey was on fire though, schooling myself and Pete, winning again and again. It was on my third game against Mikey when afternoon silently turned to evening. Darkness crept over the world outside as the sun vanished over the horizon. And no one took much notice as we played and traded friendly insults and barbs about our Madden superiority, and our opponents lack of skill.
It was nearly half time in my latest game when I felt a little jolt pass through me. It was a sensation that had my whole body buzzing. My body reacted as though I had just been mildly electrocuted, though it did not hurt one bit. It felt good. So pleasant, my cock stirred at the sensation as I buzzed like a PS4 controller on vibrate. The sensation was intense, though brief, just distracting enough to cause me to miss a tackle. “Dammit.” I said as Mikey’s guy marched in for another touchdown. Inhaling sharply, my nostrils were treated to a sweet aroma coming from the direction of my companions. My slovenly, unkempt roommates smelled good for a change today.
“You suck tonight bro.” Mikey said teasingly, pointing at the scoreboard on screen.
“Whatever bro. You’re going down in the second half.” My voice cracked slightly as I spoke the last word, causing Mikey to chuckle. His team was kicking off, and I was back to receive when the second buzz passed through me. My hands tensed around the controller, and I gasped aloud. The sensation again had felt amazing, indescribably pleasurable in fact, but fleeting. It left me stunned for a second or two.
“Everything ok over there, bro?” Mikey asked, suddenly sounding serious for once.
“Fine.” I replied, somewhat edgily as my player on screen fumbled the ball, Mikey’s team recovered it. The musky smell I had enjoyed earlier was back too, the smell arousing me even further.
“Hopefully you’re feeling better than you’re playing.” Mikey said, resuming his normal assault of friendly taunts.
I didn’t feel ill, but I wasn’t entirely fine. I was starting to feel a little uncomfortable, flushed and warm. My cock was inflating, a chubby which had started with the first buzzing hardened into a five alarm stiffy as I breathed in that amazing aroma. A wonderful yet strange tingle was spreading all over my body now. The tingle had less intensity than the brief buzzes, but stayed with me constantly instead of hitting intermittently. A bead or two of perspiration appeared on my brow. My lips felt thicker, like I was having an allergic reaction. I scrunched my nose when the tingle spread there, Mikey and Pete’s scent coming in stronger than ever now. The odd feeling even spread to my jaw line. But despite these distracting sensations, this surge of horniness, I forced myself to maintain focus on the game. There would be time for mister happy later, I reasoned.
But on the very next play, another buzzing sensation hit me. It was stronger still than the first two. This time, I dropped the controller in response. I even moaned a little due to the overpoweringly awesome sensation coursing through me. It felt sensual and sweet, but the fact that these pulsations kept on coming, less than a minute apart, had me a little concerned. As did the fact that I wasn’t able to push this feeling aside, deal with my need to cum later. It was hard to ignore my tingling cock, and my scalp, which was tingling even more intensely than the rest of my body now. I came out of this overpowering jolt of pleasure just as the plastic PS4 controller crashed against the coffee table.
“Fumbling in game and in real life, are we? Be careful with that, you’ll break...” Mikey stopped speaking mid sentence and stared at me quizzically. “Dude, you look... different. Did you shave when I wasn’t looking or something?”
“What?” I asked, trying my best to act casually in my suddenly creaky voice. My hand brushed my smooth, scruff free jaw line. “I shaved earlier today I think”. I cleared my throat to combat the hitch in my voice. Of course, I didn’t remember shaving, I clearly recall not wanting to bother with it, and deciding to be scruffy. But I felt clean shaven. And like it had been done recently. So I must have. I reached for the controller I had fumbled. It felt different in my hands now. Bigger even. “Game on dude.” I pointed at the screen impatiently, towards our game in progress. My level of arousal was making me uncomfortable under their gaze, and I was eager to get their attention off of me and onto the game once more.
“And your eyes. Have they always been blue like that?” Pete asked, scratching his mop of brown hair. He was leaning towards me now, examining me like I was a specimen on a microscope slide.
My voice was shaky as hell when I spoke. “Oh great, you too now?” I cleared my throat again, and lowered my voices pitch somewhat artificially. “Very funny guys. Blue eyes, I wish. They’re brown like always. And I’m like, totally fine. Quit staring at me, unpause our game, bro.”. I said to Mikey. Even in my broken, wavering voice, the tone of desperation was apparent.
“Yeah that’s weird...” Mikey said examining my eyes. “Contacts?” He asked.
“You dorks are starting to freak me out now.” I said in an unbreaking, higher pitched, slightly squeaky vocal register. No sooner had I said it when another tremor erupted in my abdomen radiating outwards, causing me to again drop the controller, and moan in an unmistakably feminine manner. My body shook with rapture, sensual moaning in a feminine voice caused me to clasp my hands at my tingling throat. I was unable to believe the sounds had come from me. Mikey and Pete saw the whole episode this time. Their eyes widened in shock.
There would be no turning their attention back to the game now. Thanks to this latest episode, I was the undisputed center of attention in this living room.
Recovering from the tremor, I felt an odd tickle hit the back of my neck. On instinct, I moved my hand back to swat at the bug or tag sticking up from my t shirt, whatever was causing the tickle. But instead I found only locks of wavy, soft strawberry blonde hair. “Ouch!” I squeaked, as a gentle tug confirmed these silken tresses were attached to my scalp. It was my hair, a shade or two lighter than it normally looked. And I could feel it, growing still under my nervous grip and confused gaze. Pulling my hand away in shock, I glimpsed its slimness, delicateness, and beheld my protruding fingernails, nails that grew longer and shapelier as I watched them. In utter confusion, I looked to Mikey and Pete.
If eyes could say “Help me!” My pleading eyes were screaming it. But a severe tickle suddenly engulfing my throat temporarily robbed me of my ability to speak the words aloud.
In a panic, I tried to stand up from my perch on the sofa. But another, even more powerful tremor sent me tumbling onto my knees, moaning and mewing softly. My body was tingling all over now. My cock bobbed and twitched and began to leak a small amount of seed into my tented out boxers and pants. My eyes were peeled wide open, my body alight by some tingly, orgasmic sensation that seemed to move and spread, intensifying here, receding there. And as I watched in shock, the hair on my now much slimmer arms began to vanish into the follicle, leaving behind smooth, soft, hairless skin.
“Guys...”. Mikey and Pete were standing now, out of their lazy boy recliners a few feet away. They were watching me curiously as I writhed on the floor in front of the sofa. “Guys help me!” I begged pitifully, sounding scared in my new voice. But as I clumsily attempted to crawl towards them, they stood, eyes locked on me, and backed away from me like my hair was on fire. From across the room, they stood next to one another, watching me, wearing expressions that oscillated between mute fascination and concerned confusion. They were unsure how to help me, and truth be told, so was I. Was I dying? Was I sick? None of us had any medical training to my knowledge. Even if they did, what sort of medical attention did I need?
That’s when Mikey’s eyes lit up. His head turned to a window. If he were a cartoon, this would be the frame where the little light bulb in his thought bubble went ‘on.’ “It’s the moon! It’s full. You don’t think?” Mikey said, looking at me, his face awash in concern. “You caught something from the brothel?”
“Holy shit!” Pete added unhelpfully.
I groaned. “No... Can’t be. I’m not.. (ahem) not a...”. My voice sounded much higher yet, totally feminine now. Clearing my throat hadn’t helped deepen it either this time. The sound hit my ear oddly, causing me to pause. “I’m not a fucking werewoman!” I protested incredulously in my new mezzo soprano voice. Despite my denial, I could feel my body reshaping itself and shrinking under my clothes. It was supposed to be impossible. Well, maybe not impossible, but very, very rare for someone to become a werewoman like that. If I recalled correctly, only feminine men carrying a dormant gene were at risk. How was I a carrier?
I knew myself. I wasn’t feminine in any obvious ways. OK maybe I was a bit gentler and more sensitive than a lot of other guys. Less aggressive for sure too, even my ex girlfriend complained how I never seemed to take the initiative during sex. Those things sure, but why this? I suddenly felt humiliated. Why me? Why was I the one changing? Why not them? And why did they smell so fucking good? I didn’t ask for this, and I didn’t want it! As good as these changes felt, I was determined to resist the full moons light, and maintain my maleness at any cost.
“I think you are...” Mikey said. “...no other explanation.” He was doing his serious voice. “Try and relax...”
“No Mikey.” I cut him off. I couldn’t accept this. I would expend every effort to fight back the change. I attempted to focus my mind and body on anything except the immense pleasure bombarding both. “I can... fight it... just have to... uhh... to focus.” I said meekly in my girlish voice. But another buzzing sensation swept through me again, and the pleasure was just too extreme to contain. Squirming and yowling like a fish out of water, I reached a hand down to my crotch to make sure everything was still in place, determined not to lose my cock. “Oh God... I’m cumming...” I found myself admitting.
It was still throbbing and erect, although my cock felt smaller under my daintier hands when I gripped it gently through my boxers and pants. My manhood had just finished emptying itself, and the sticky, wet goo soaking into the fabric so uncomfortably made me want to strip them off. But as much as I wanted to shed them, I was afraid of what I might see, and what Mikey and Pete might see, if I were to do so. I’m not a turning into werewoman, I told myself. Fight it, fight it, must resist... it was my inner mantra as I felt my cock shrinking in my grasping hand. As I tried to focus on my breathing, the overpowering musky aroma radiating off of my friends had me quaking with lust.
My nipples suddenly felt irritated by the sand papery t-shirt covering them. Groaning in frustration, and without thinking it through, I ripped my raggedy t-shirt from neck to belly, baring my chest to the whole room. At once, I was shocked to see my wider, darker areola and erect pink pebbles puffing out at the center. “...Oh fuuuuuck...no!..”. I cooed at the sight of my feminized nipples poking out. Feeling the stares of my roommates, I covered the growths, half in shame, and half out of a sense of modesty.
I could feel my pectoral muscle tissue, still hard and flat. But I was aware of a building tightness behind each nipple, which soon began to lift the sensitive pink targets right off of my chest wall. Under my hands, the buds were blossoming into cushion of subcutaneous fat and connective ducts. The plump masses took the shape of twin cones, pressing tightly against my hands, plumping up bigger, slowly but surely. “Nonono...” I pouted in my whiny feminine voice as I tried to hold back the twin mounds developing under my hands. “*I can’t... I can’t stop it!*” I announced to no one in particular. My efforts at resisting the change collapsed.
It was hitting me fully now, and the gravity of my situation was heavy indeed. From this night forward, the transformation from male to female was to be a regular part of my life now. This was just the first of many changes to come for me. I was a werewoman now, and that this curse would change my life forever. It had me appreciating Pete and Mike in new ways already. I was no longer an average member of the herd, one of the guys. I was different now. One of ‘them.’ An outsider.
Mikey was right, and it was obvious to all three of us by now. However implausible, I was transforming into a werewoman, and I knew that there was no stopping it. I blushed hard, not wanting my roommates to see me like this. Transforming into a lusty little beauty like the ones we went to see last month at the Moonblossom. My foray into this niche porn genre was supposed to have lasted one night, not become a life sentence. But hiding my pleasure wracked body was not an option. Moving was not yet an option for my quivering mass of softening flesh.
I could see the moon for myself now, taunting me from on high. Its incipient rays still hard at work, assaulting my skin with pleasure, reshaping my body. The space between my legs grew wider. In my hips, I felt an odd but not unpleasant spreading sensation taking hold. Being stretched sideways. My back arched as my pelvis twisted slightly foreword. Along the tightening seat of my pants, I could feel my ass beginning to chunk out further. I found myself rooting for it to turn out like the feminine bubble shape I adored on Amber last month. Between my silky, hairless thighs, the sensation of my moon withered cock and emptied ball sack retracting, and presumably forming into my femaleness, made me gasp in ecstasy.
All the while, my breasts pushed up and out, making a mockery of my petty attempt to conceal the new growths behind my slimmer more feminine hands. I let them drop, feeling a light tug on my shoulders as they drooped slightly. While still appearing perky, and holding their shape quite well, the soft mounds hung off me like ripened melons. Twin badges of my newly assigned gender. I felt proud of their ample size and appealing shape. And acutely aware of the way they moved with my body.
Invasive thoughts bombarded my mind. “Nnnaaaahhhh” I half growled, rubbing my temples as thoughts of sex with men, women, any willing partner in my new body, raced through my head. Vivid depictions of me on my back getting pounded, on my knees sucking cock, munching box, licking tits and having my own pair played with flooded my brain. I needed release. Both to have my own release, and enjoy someone else’s.
In a few short minutes, the change was over. The pulsating buzzes ceased. The barrage of mental imagery receded. The tingle subsided. The pleasing aroma pouring off my friends remained, and was joined by another scent, a flowery one seeping out of my pores. It reminded me of Amber. Somehow, despite the odds being astronomically against it, I was now a werewoman like her. My night with Amber had left me with far more than memories. Mammaries for example. Sensitive, plump and soft, hanging off my narrow shouldered frame. DD cups at least. All was quiet for a moment, allowing me to catch my breath.
Taking advantage of my comrades stunned silence; I cautiously began to examine myself as best I could without a mirror. I found myself standing, slipping off my sticky, wet boxers and pants. I beheld the flat, inverted pyramid between my legs for the first time as they fell away. A tight, gummy mound, incapable of penetration, but receptive to it, met my eyes. I gently tugged at my perky DD cup breasts, and marveled at the sensation produced. Circling the sensitive nipples with my thumbs sent a shiver down my spine into my nether regions. Running my hands gently along my broadened hips, up my plunging waistline, then back down and around to cup my bubbly butt cheeks, my lips curved up into a devilish grin.
And as I finished my cursory self examination, feeling proud and satisfied with my beautiful new female form, I found myself staring at Mikey and Pete through new eyes. They looked... hot? Oh fuck. Why did they look so damn hot? Visions of passion flooded my mind. Suddenly, I became aware that I could smell their arousal intensifying. See their cocks bulging against their jeans. Maybe at the sight of me, naked, female, beautiful. Or possibly it was because of the werewoman pheromones radiating off my beautiful body. No matter, their heady masculine scent fueled my own arousal as I sniffed wildly in their direction. Like a shewolf in heat. Just like Amber had sniffed at me last month. I was like her now, and I loved it. My need for release was so strong I just couldn’t help myself.
My bros continued staring, minds clearly blown. It felt like an eternity since they had made a sound. Mikey spoke at last to break the awkward silence. “Hey bro... shit...” he began by biffing my new pronoun. ”I meant, hey bud, are you alright?” He asked as I met his gaze.
I paused for a second to contemplate. I felt fine. Better than fine actually. I felt fantastic. And even though we had just crushed a pizza, I was acutely aware of a growing hunger deep in my abdomen. But more food didn’t seem like the answer. My hunger felt different. “I’m feeling pretty great, surprisingly!” I said in a cheerful tone. “A little hungry, but otherwise great.” I went on, smiling warmly with a predatory look in my eyes. “I mean, it was pretty intense. And very unexpected. But... how do I look?” I inquired, giving them a twirl to see me front and back.
”Beautiful...” Pete said sincerely. His eyes studying my every curve. “I can’t believe that’s really you in there.”
”Perfect.” Mikey added nodding without taking his gaze off me. “It is still you in there, isn’t it?”
I pondered the question briefly,”Yeah, I think so. Who else would I be?”
“Good point.” Mikey said. “So what now?”
I considered his question. “Well, you two are... looking pretty good yourselves.” I blushed at the admission. My mouth began to salivate, and a warm, moist feeling in my nether regions began to intensify. “In fact, you both look positively delicious.” I found myself adding, licking my plump Cupid bow shaped lips and sashaying towards them. “And since we already know you two are immune to the curse... how about helping out a new girl in need?” Mikey and Pete didn’t hesitate to comply.
Everyone remembers their first. The first werewoman they fuck. Their first change. Their first feeding as a werewoman under the full moon’s silvery light. It all came so naturally, too. I was suprised by that as much as i was by the transformation itself. Werewoman instincts are powerful, I learned that first hand on that night. But wow did it feel good to be a woman. To inhabit a soft and curvy body, and experience all of its sweet pleasures.
I am still friends with Mikey and Pete. They are very supportive of my new condition, protective of my secret, and sensitive to my new bodies needs and appetites. I might not be able to bro down with them like I used to anymore, though there are certian nights where we become friends with benefits. It took some getting used to, but i came to love being a werewoman, as most of us do. And Mikey and Pete, well they aren’t complaining either.
***
I’m a journalist by profession. Being a werewoman has not changed that. Though now my features are a bit more niche than the mass appeal articles I penned before being turned. I am even working on a series for my editor now that focuses on The Moonblossom. A profile of sorts for the business. There are some interesting people and stories there for sure. Stay tuned for future installments. And if you’re ever in central Nevada, stop by for a visit! What have you got to lose?
“Welcome To Nevada, The Silver State.”
The dark blue letters set against the white background alerted me to just how far I had driven. And how much further I had yet to go. What would I say when I got there? Just what was I doing, driving all this way today? What did I hope to achieve by going ‘back there?’ Answers, of course. But what were my questions exactly? Could they even help me? That part still eluded me.
I’d awoken several hours earlier that morning. Daylight peeking in from around the edges of my blackout curtains. My tired eyes focus slowly on the plain, white, familiar looking popcorn ceiling. I lay there in my comfy bed for a moment, somewhere between dreamland and cold, hard reality. Its hard to describe the feeling I had, awareness of my dream was fading, and my waking mind was still booting up. But for those few seconds, I had a foot in each world. Its the only time I really felt right all day.
And it was a fleeting feeling.
Registering the time, 6:57AM per my bedside alarm clock, it was too early for me to get up on a Sunday morning. Yet even at this early hour, I was far too awake to go back to sleep. What did I get into last night? I didn’t feel hung over, just… off. Foggy. And yet somehow, also highly energized, physically well and mentally alert. I just could not seem to access the memory of last night.
Until suddenly, there it was. Mental reboot complete. Awake mode fully engaged.
My mind was flooded with vivid memories of the previous evening. Sitting in the living room. Playing Madden, game after game. Having an off day at it too, losing a lot, and feeling… odd. I proceeded chronologically through the events of the day right up to…
Early evening. The transformation. I could clearly recall the pleasure it brought. My body, feminizing under the pale moonlight. The feeling of helplessness I experience at being completely unable to slow it down, or stop it. How frustrating, but also devastatingly arousing the whole ordeal had felt. But the worst memory of all came flooding back next.
Once I was done changing, I remembered the intense feeling of arousal coursing through my sexy, new, 100% female body. The longing I felt for Mikey and Pete, and how… fucking good they smelled. I remember acting on impulse, like I was running on pure sexual instinct or something. Memories of me dropping to my hands and knees, working Mikey’s fly. Him saying, “Dude... what? Are you sure...?” as I worked at his zipper with my delicate hands. I remember reacting in delight as his long, thick cock flopped into view. My mouth watering at its musky scent. The excitement my new body felt, the anticipation in that moment, and knowing exactly what to do with it.
”No...” I said softly, unable to believe my own memories. But the image of me… girl me… tugging at it gently, feeling his cock come to life in my hands broke through my feeble denial. I clearly recall opening my jaw, my lips wrapping around his cock, it’s salty taste and smooth feel. So warm, so smooth, so BIG... 8 inches long with a decent girth. I remember Pete too, coming up from behind me, and me offering him my pussy without missing a beat. I could not forget Pete entering me, his similarly sized cock threading it’s way up inside me, past densely packed coils of nerve endings. Or him rhythmically thrusting into me, the sensation of being stretched and filled as my womanhood gripped his manhood tightly, encouraging his thrusts. The feeling of fulfillment, joy and purpose consumed me as they came into, and even on me, again and again.
We swapped positions a few times. I distinctly recall being on my back, legs spread wide, facing Pete as he pounded me into the center of the sofa. Then later, being bent over the arm of the same sofa, dominated by Mikey, who was drilling me from behind. Finally, I vividly recalled riding Pete as he squeezed and batted at my ample, bouncing bosom. He came, one last time, before passing out too. We had gone at it for a couple hours, and they seemed fully spent, Pete snoring away next to Mikey, both passed out on the sofa.
Afterwards, I remember feeling giddy, intoxicated... cock drunk. I had heard Amber reference the term last month after our encounter. At the time, I hadn’t understood. Now I was getting it. It was a feeling of utter, complete satisfaction. Like, when you eat or drink the exact thing you are craving to the point of being stuffed. But without the bloated, sluggish feeling. Instead, there was a giddiness, a lightness, a euphoria that washed over me completely. I could not stop grinning.
With the guys out cold, I was left to my own devices. I remember slinking down the hallway towards my bathroom. Seeing my feminine reflection in the mirror after flipping the light switch on was confusing for a second. I looked so… different. So beautiful. Smiling at how pretty my features had turned out, how toned, smooth and curvy my new female body looked. How natural and amazing it felt to be a woman.
The mirror experience itself seemed surreal from the vantage of the morning after. I recalled how, even in the moment, I didn’t quite believe the site of my own reflection. So I smiled at my gorgeous new feminine body. She smiled right back at me. I blew her a kiss, and she blew one back. I waved to her. She waved right back. It really was me in there, after all! Inside this soft, curvy, elegant feminine form. I felt ecstatic.
For a moment.
Then I saw the glob of half dried spluge, clinging to my silky, strawberry blonde hair. I cringed, and the woman in the mirror cringed back. Then we used our fingers to scrub it away.
Continuing my scan even lower, I stopped to examine my tits. Protruding at least 4 and 1/2 inches off of my chest wall, they hung proudly, holding their teardrop shape well. I had felt and seen them from above all night long. How they moved when I moved, flopping around and clacking together. Being pawed at and kneaded like dough by my lovers, a feeling I greatly enjoyed. But here, in their stillness, they looked positively flawless. I beamed with pride, noticing how symmetrical they appeared. How each was adorned by the perfect sized areola, and crowned with delightfully pale-pink nipples. I gave them a light pinch, and delighted in the electric shock of pleasure that resulted. I marveled at how the twin points on my chest seemed connected, via direct link, to my slick and sensitive womanhood below.
My eyes travelled ever downward. Past my tapering, wasp like waist. Wide around the flared edges of my widened hips. There was a musky stickiness in the center, near the slit at the bottom of my feminine pubic triangle. My inner thighs glistened too, like the glaze on a fresh doughnut, left to sit under the vanity lights. It was a fine mixture of my own feminine juices, with some seed from Mikey and Pete mixed in. Nothing a hot shower wouldn’t fix.
After a long, steamy shower, full of self exploration and more than a little moaning, I toweled off, brushed my teeth clean, double rinsed and went to bed, satisfied at how I had spent my first evening as a woman. Dreaming of the new experiences and possibilities that being one part-time promised to bring. My silky sheets even felt better against my smoother and more sensitive skin. I fell asleep grinning at how incredible tonight had been.
“Fuck...” I said softly to no one, sitting up in bed. How different thing looked in the bright light of day. “Fuck... This is crazy. It has to be a dream.” Again, I said it aloud as if that would reassure me. It didn’t. ‘I can’t be a werewoman… this is all a bad dream…‘ I told myself.
Tossing aside the covers, I could see for sure that I was fully male again. But the relief was short lived when I realized that werewomen change back into men the morning after the full moon. If I am one, the change, the hunger... it would be back. If last night really happened, if my memories are accurate… I am a werewoman now. And last night was just the first of many, many changes for me. The memories were fresh, and undeniable as my rock hard cock, sticking out proudly.
How could I possibly be aroused by these memories, or the realization about what it meant for me from now on?
Uncomfortably, I made my way down the hall to my bathroom, still nude, cock still harder than trigonometry as I went. I felt the damp material of my recently used towel. Saw a small clump of long, strawberry blonde hair near the shower drain. I felt disappointed, as though examining my bathroom, and finding a dry towel and no signs of girlery about would disabuse me of this unwanted werewoman delusion. It only served to confirm what my clear and vivid memories had already reported. There was no denying it now.
I wanted to cry.
After putting on some cast off clothes and listlessly making coffee, I devoured a bowl of cinnamon toast crunch cereal. I found myself staring blankly into the bottom of the empty bowl, deep in thought. What have I done to myself? What is my next move? How would I deal with this curse? How would things between my roomies, Mikey, Pete and myself, go with this new werewoman wrinkle? Was there a cure, or something I could do to stop my changes?
I went to grab my laptop. The internet had a lot of confusing, contradictory information. So many different sites focused on different werewoman related topics. More than a couple results were in the internet porn category. Apparently, there were quite a few men, and even some women, who enjoyed watching werewomen go through their change. It was troubling that I found that so arousing now too, having never before given it a thought. But I focused my searches, looking for any information about a cure, or a way to stop the changes. Everything I saw seemed to indicate that the condition was incurable. Werewomanism is for life, and there is no stopping the transformative cycle once it had commenced, as mine had last night.
Scouring the web was getting me nowhere. And I needed concrete, reliable information. Not web speculation. But how would I get it? And from where? Wracking my brain, I couldn’t think of a single werewoman I knew personally. It hit me suddenly. I had met a bunch of werewomen last month. The girls from the Moonblossom. It was a long shot, but perhaps I could find some answers there.
I had wanted to go back there ever since we left last month, just not for the reasons I had found myself heading there today.
I hastily showered, put on a fresh t shirt and jeans, then scribbled a note to stick to the fridge.
‘’Mikey and Pete,
That was some night we had. I honestly don’t know what came over me. Or how, or why. But I need some answers. So I am heading out to see our friends in Nevada. Hoping to figure out wtf is going on, and how to make it stop. I should be home later tonight.‘
The note was as light on specifics. But it would have to do. The thought of facing either of them now filled me with a sense of foreboding. Going to Nevada would put off the inevitably awkward, ‘So I guess I am a Werewoman now...’ conversation for a little while. Now, all I needed to do was exit quietly, and hope they were still asleep.
As I exited through the living room, I saw Mikey and Pete, still passed out side by side on the sofa. I breathed a sigh of relief, they were out cold, sleeping in later than usual, even for a Sunday. To my amusement, Mikey had changed positions in the middle of the night. Where once they had sat side by side, Mikey ended up face down in Petes lap, Petes left hand resting gently on the back of Mikey’s head. It would have been worse yet if they hadn’t remembered to get their pants on before passing out.
I chuckled aloud. It was a picture perfect ‘blackmail’ moment under normal circumstances. Pulling out my phone, I snapped a quick picture to show them, and bust their balls about later on. Not that I had much room to bust balls after my ‘performance’ last night. But an opportunity like this was too good to pass up. It was almost a shame that I was going to miss the look on Mikey’s face when he awoke to realize he was using Pete’s crotch for a pillow.
As I left, I recalled thinking that, If I am truly lucky, maybe they will wake up and think they fucked each other last night.
The pine coated hills of Western Nevada finally gave way to a long barren stretch of desert. The change in landscape heralded the approach of my destination. It had taken hours to make it here, and the afternoon sun fell slowly from it’s apex in the sky overhead as I turned off at the exit. The dangerous looking gas station, so menacing at night, looked sad in the light of day. A few evenly spaced rows of surprisingly well-kept, double-wide trailers sat next to it. And I could see the Moon Blossom looming behind the trailers. Their parking lot looked totally deserted compared to the packed lot I encountered last month.
Parking near the entrance, I stepped out of my vehicle and squinted at the brightness of the cloudless day. The sound of gravel shifting under the heel of my boot brought with it an eerie sense of dejavu. I was uncertain about going in here last month, and I was less certain it was a good decision on this visit. Even the bright afternoon sun illuminating everything was of little comfort.
The door was locked. And knocking lightly had no effect, nor had knocking louder. No one seemed to be in. A ‘closed’ sign hung in the window, as if to confirm this fact. I was left unsure of what to do next. Wait until they open? Head home and think about another way to get the information I needed? But where else will I find a werewoman to talk to…
“Can I help you.” A woman’s voice rang out from behind me.
I spun around to greet her voice. She was coming from the clump of trailers that sat between the worlds saddest/scariest gas station, and the brothel. “Oh, hello. Yes. I was just here for the… ahh.” I didn’t want to offend whomever this was. She looked attractive, thin and toned judging by the way her designer floral print sundress clung to her willowy curves. Her face sported dark tinted, black framed sunglasses, they looked expensive. But her chestnut brown hair was slung up in a loose pony tail, bobbing side to side as she approached from across the lot. Did she work here? Live near by? I didn’t want to upset her by choosing the wrong words. ‘Hello. I’m here for the hookers?‘ Nope, thats all wrong. ‘Pardon me, miss, do you work at this here brothel?‘ no way. I was speechless. Instead, I blushed a silly looking shade of pink and continued struggling mightily to complete my sentence.
”If you’re here for the girls…” she looked up towards the sunny sky. “They ain’t exactly girls just yet.” She winked. “If you know what I mean.” she cupped a hand over her eyes, like a visor, and got a better look at me, and my car, as she drew close. “California plates. Musta been some drive. I suppose you can come in, wait it out. No harm in it. We open soon. I’m just here to get her ready for another wild night…”
”Thanks, and yeah. I’m here for the girls, but I can wait… I appreciate you letting me in.” I said honestly. Indeed I had come a long way. The drive was a little over 5 hours. And it was really, really hot and bright out here in the Nevada desert today. I had only been standing outside of my air conditioned car for about 10 minutes, and a few beads of perspiration dotted my brow.
“ID first…laws the law.” She said, blocking the entrance and waiting as I I retrieved my license from my wallet, and allowed her to inspect it for a moment. She nodded. “Old enough. And L.A., cool city. You really are a long way from home.”
I followed her into the bar area as she switched on the lights and flipped the sign on the door from closed to open.
”Have a seat. I just have a few things to take care of in the office first..” she gestured for me to sit at the bar, and walked into the back, leaving me alone and taking in the scene for several minutes. Being empty, it hardly seemed like the vibrant place that I visited last month. Of course, back then, I was a ball of excitement and frenzied sexual anticipation. Today, I was a messy cocktail, one part bitter angst, one part hopeful curiosity.
The same stage I saw last month still graced the corner by the DJ booth. The bar space itself glowed, bathed in neon lights promoting various brands of beer and booze. The worn in furnishings, scratched up tables, dinged up chairs and a scuff marked dance floor, it was all the same. The only thing that changed between my first and second visits was… me.
A few moments later, she came out of a door in the back, and took up position behind the bar. She poured two glasses of water using the bar soda gun and slid one across at me. “Looks like you could use a glass.” As she took off her black sunglasses, her emerald eyes sparkled brightly in the neon lit atmosphere.
My attention was stolen away by the sound of the front door swinging open. Looking over my shoulder, I saw three middle aged men enter together, taking up seat near the stage. I acknowledged them with a head bob, and they looked past me, waving to my hostess behind the bar.
”Hey fellas, I’ll have a bucket of cold ones right out.” She said, excusing herself to fill a metal pail with ice and a few bottles of suds from the cooler. She sauntered over to them and made quiet small talk for a moment before returning to me, the intensity of her gaze at once mystifying and intense.
“Lilith’s the name. Owner and operator of this little piece of paradise.” she verbally captured a feeling of ironic pride perfectly as she sipped her cool glass of ice water.
I introduced myself in turn, thanking her for the water as I emptied half the glass in a couple of gulps. “It’s a beautiful place you have here Lilith. My friends and I were out here last month, and wow. We just had the best time here. Your girls are really amazing.” I said.
”Aren’t they though?” Lilith’s lips curled into a wry grin. “So amazing, that they got a California boy to drive all the way out into the middle of the Nevada desert to see them again the following month?” She winked at me and set down her glass, continuing to look me up and down.
“hehe… pretty much…” I chuckled nervously.
“But today, it’s just you, one lone wolf. Your friends aren’t along for the wild ride this time?” it wasn’t disappointment in her voice, but she seemed to want a reason for me showing up all alone.
”Yeah, they are back in Cali, sleeping off a wild night.” It was true, but I didn’t want to get into the scandalous details. I took another sip of cool, refreshing water and felt slightly discomforted by the memory of last night, and the sparkling intensity of Lilith’s lingering gaze.
“If you are coming in from LA, you must have left early, before lunchtime, huh? Good for you, mister early riser.” She clinked her water glass against mine. “Cheers, to the early bird getting the worm, I guess. And after a full moon night too. Gets wild in here during the full moon. Was last night a wild one for you too?“ She asked with a smirk.
I blushed briefly at her question, but composed myself before answering. “I’m pleading the 5th.” I said nonchalantly.
“Oh, you’re no fun.” She chided me. “Besides, I think I already know how last night went for you.” She said, matter of factly.
”You do?” I asked incredulously.
”You doubt me, and I probably would too, in your shoes. But one can’t help but learn a thing or two when you spend so much time in a place like this.” Lilith looked slightly tense, or just uncomfortable as she paused and leaned in closer, cupping her hands over her mouth. “You changed last night, didn’t you?” Her question came out in a breathy half-whisper. Her eager eyes fixated on me the way a hungry dogs eyes would lock onto a T-bone steak.
My eyes went as wide as dinner plates, and my cheeks reddened at the accusation, which just so happened to be true, of course. “I uh… what? No…”. I stammered, then lied, taken off guard by her question.
“Yeah, you say that, but I know that look, mister L.A..” Lilith wagged her slender, well manicured finger at me. “Don’t be so bashful! I love weres. Some of my best friends are werewomen.” As if on queue, Lilith a cast a glance at a small group of anxious looking men who trotted through the bar and disappeared behind the door to Heaven, where Amber had ‘entertained’ me last month. She waved at them as they went. “Speak of the devils…” she smiled impishly. “But anyways, don’t like, freak out or nothing, your ‘girly little secret’ is safe with me. Scouts honor.” Her hands formed into the two fingered salute.
I met her gaze eye to eye. She just read me like an open book. Her grin only deepened as I sat there mute. How could she know? Was she having a laugh, or was she being serious? I gave her a look of obliviousness. “You think I’m…” I stammered.
”A werewoman? Yep, pretty much. You know, it’s not a dirty word, especially around here. You can at least say say it. See… it’s easy. Repeat after me. Wear… woman…” She rolled her eyes.
“Well I’d hate to disappoint you…” I admitted sheepishly. “So what if I am a werewoman?”
“Is that a yes? Haha, I knew it. You can tell me I am right, I never get sick of hearing about me being right.” She was still smiling, despite the fact that my face wore the gravest expression I could muster.
She was teasing me now. “I should get going … maybe … yeah … I think I should just go.” I stood up from the bar and took a few steps back.
”Go where, back to LA? You’ll never make it hun.“ She held her voice low and gestured for me to sit back down. “Full moon’s gonna rise again this evening. Even if you leave now and speed the whole way...” She gestured to her own generous rack jutting out in front of her chest. “…you‘ll be pushing out a nice pair of tits yourself, well before you hit the California state line…” She trailed off…
”The full moon was last night.” I said somewhat defensively, still on my feet and preparing to make my exit.
“Well it’s true that the first night of the full moon was last night. But… I’m pretty sure that a werewoman changes 3 nights in a row, when the moon is at her fullest. Last night was just the first full moon of this cycle. And moonrise hits tonight in an hour and a half. Two hours, tops...” she said, checking her watch to confirm. “So… you’ll never make it back in time, see? And driving while changing genders, they don’t mix. But hey, what do I know? I only run a werewoman brothel and know a couple of dozen werewomen quite well. You’ll probably be just fine out there all on your own.” her words dripped with venomous sarcasm.
A feeling similar to panic arose when she mentioned the three night rule. And it showed on my face. I found myself sitting back down instead of heading for the door. There was a fair bit of arousal mixed into the weird panicky feeling too, I must admit. I knew so little about werewomen, the rules governing the curse. And if what she said was true, I would be going girly again, and soon. Even tomorrow night as well. “So tonight and tomorrow…”
“The full moon will make you its bitch.” She stated solemnly. “Well, it’ll make you a bitch. Not just you, every single werewoman under the moon too.” She said softly. “Don’t look so scared, you’ll get used to it. They did.” She waved as another gaggle of nervous looking gents skittered across the bar room, disappearing back into Heaven. “You sure do have a lot to learn about being a werewoman. Is that why you came back tonight?”
“Yes. I have a ton of questions.” I did indeed. “How did this happen? Isn’t it just… incredibly rare … for the curse to be passed on like this?” I asked the first question that popped into my head.
As she considered how to answer, another patron entered, and sauntered over to the bar. “Dos Equis.” He said to Lilith, who nodded in response and sent him away with his beer. He sat near the stage with the others.
When he was safely away from the bar, Lilith resumed speaking with me. “Not as rare as you think, but yeah, pretty rare I guess. And it only happens to guys who have a genetic predisposition to werewomanism though.” She answered.
”A genetic predisposition?” I was confused.
“Some men have the werewoman gene, but it’s dormant. And… Unless something activates their werewoman gene, it stays dormant. They never end up transforming, becoming a full blown werewoman. But a night with one of my gals can be enough to flip that genetic switch from dormant to active, as you probably figured out last night. It doesn’t always take, but here we are.” She spoke gently, softly, and with some lightheartedness to address the sensitive nature of the topic she was covering. And to make sure the growing crowd of patrons didn’t overhear. I was grateful on both accounts.
“Guessing I am one of those men?” I asked, somewhat dejectedly.
”You were. Before you came here. By the time you left, you were in what we call the incubation period. The time between the gene going active, and the first transformative episode. What we call a ‘werewoman-in-waiting.’” Lilith certainly knew more than I did. She continued on in professor mode while I listened intently. “Now, since your first change last night, you’re just like any other werewoman. An active gene, at the mercy of the transformative cycle, feeling the hunger and the urge to feed.” She sounded sympathetic.
It was a lot to take in. And it sounded like the risk was greater than I had known. “So… why not make it a point to warn the customer? I don’t remember being…”
“Amber had you sign that waiver last month, I assume?” She interrupted, seeming to enter lawyer mode. “You remember. The one absolving the house of any and all responsibility for… bringing about certain changes in you?” She poured herself another water and filled mine back up too. “Please tell me you at least read it before signing…”
”I didn’t…” I admitted. “She said it was just a formality…”. I explained.
”Why does no one ever read those those?” She asked rhetorically. “And it is a formality. She is right about that. Men with the dormant gene put out a certain vibe. She picked up on it with you, and she had you sign the form as a precaution. It’s what we train them to do. Not reading it and signing it, that’s on you. If you would have read it, you may have learned that she was picking up a dormant werewoman vibe from you. Advising you to wear a rubber, or else you might… you know. End up girling out yourself.” Lilith explained.
”Still, I thought it was like, super rare? Like, one in a million or something. I thought everyone signed one…” Though I now recalled that Mikey and Pete had not. “Amber even told me that no customer had been turned here in 10 years…”. I remembered her saying that, and how it put me at ease.
”No one has complained about being turned here in the last 10 years or so. Since about the time I took over as owner. But every couple of months we end up getting a guy like you. Usually they want it though. To be turned by one of my girls. A few even begged for it.”. Lilith replied. “And even when it happens to an unwary man, like you, they tend to um… like the new them. Didn’t you?“
“Did I like me…as a girl?” I had indeed. “No comment.” I was not prepared to admit to it. “And you mean to tell me that there are people actually want this… this whole… werewoman thing?” I was shocked to hear this.
”Like I said, it’s rare. But yes, a lot of guys like you, they know they have the gene. They know the risks. They want to know what it’s like. Most always have, to some degree. Changing, being girls, fucking as a girl… you never got off on that fantasy before?” she asked. “And they come here willingly, hoping to get infected, hoping for a chance to do all that girly shit. Maybe Amber thought you were here for that reason?”
“I think everyone has had that fantasy once or twice.” I protested.
“Only once or twice?” She had this, ‘come on man… you expect me to believe that BS look on her face.
My face reddened in shame. “Fine. Once or twice… a week.”
“Thought so…” she sipped her water after speaking. “Most of the wannabe werewomen do…“ her voice had an accusatory tone.
“It wasn’t like that, I swear I only came here because my roommates insisted…” I pleaded my case.
“Your roommates who are like, conveniently not here to confirm this?” She asked, giddy in her triumph of getting me to admit some pretty embarrassing shit about myself, and totally outlawyering me.
“Ok, ok, I get it. You don’t believe me. But I don’t really need you to.“ I conceded. “You know I came here for answers.” I tried to get the conversation back on track. “Say, for example, a werewoman wanted to… stop being a werewoman. And go back to being a regular ass dude, or at least not transform into a chick? Total hypothetical, asking for a friend.”
My attempt at sarcasm made Lilith giggle. ”If I had a burger for every time I heard that question, I‘d be McDonalds. But I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, sweetie. Sorry. There is no cure. It’s nothing that needs curing, really. And there’s no stopping the changes either.“
“So I’m stuck changing… 3 nights per month… into her?” It was not what I had wanted to hear.
“The full moon will trigger the change, and the hunger can do it too, many times, between full moons.” Lilith explained. “Like, go too long without a good feed? Bam. Changing. Get a really good opportunity to feed? Bam. Changing. Just feel like having a girls night in, or going out shopping one evening?”
I cut her off, “Bam. Changing.”
“Exactly.” She smiled brightly.
“How often will this happen?” I was aghast.
“Yeah it’s kinda different for every were. Newbies tend to go girly about once a week. Maybe twice a week. And the full moon nights too.” She was killing me, this new information hit hard.
”And you are positive, there is no cure, no way to stop it?” She had already confirmed this, but I was desperate.
“Every new girl asks that after the first change. So believe me, if there was a cure, I’d know all about it.” She added with a disconcerting certitude. “It’s like the old folks say, some bells just can’t be unrung.” Her folksy wisdom seemed sincere.
”So what am I supposed to do?” the rising tide of panic was evident in my speech.
”Well, my girls here, they just take it one change at a time.” Lilith added, somewhat unhelpfully. “They try to make the best of their whole gender bent situation. I know that’s probably not what you wanted to hear though.” She shrugged. “Just try and stay calm, and keep your voice down too.” She replied, gesturing to her patrons across the room. “Speaking of which... I got some new orders to take. To be continued...” And with that she was off to tend to her newly arrived patrons.
The area near the stage was filling up nicely, a few patrons joined me at the bar, keeping a few vacant seats between other patrons and myself. Some of the tables now had guests sitting around them too. Lilith gracefully rolled from one patron to the next, taking orders. Smiling at the customers flirtatiously, waving, smiling and winking her way through the sea of faces. Her establishment seemed to be springing to life, even the DJ arrived. He was setting up shop in the booth and playing some country jams for the time being. The music was a nice change of sound from the hum of the assembling crowd. Lilith finished passing out drinks and came back to me at the bar.
”Filling up fast. Should be a good night.” she said leaning in to be heard over the loud music.
“That’s easy for you to say… you aren’t going to turn into a cock crazed moon-slut in a couple hours…”. I bemoaned my situation.
“In… a little less than an hour, actually.” She gestured at her watch, and noticed the look of terror on my face. “Fills up early here on a full moon night. We get a lot of customers who just like watching the girls transform.” She explained. “Especially new girls…” she added with a wink. “Might be that new talent of yours will make you a some money. Turn lemons into lemonade…”
”You can’t be serious…” I thought it audacious of her to suggest that, but there was also a feeling of deep seated arousal that came with the realization that she was totally serious.
Her wicked grin communicated that to me as she saw my little inner conflict. “Raincheck. It’s all so new right? The exhibitionist streak hasn’t become a thing for you, yet.” She teased. “Let me know, if you change your mind before the moon changes your body.”
“I won’t change my mind on that.” I meant it too. After my humiliating performance in front of Mikey and Pete, it was the last thing I wanted. Even if a very engorged, very aroused part of me wasn’t totally opposed to the notion. Pre change jitters maybe?
“Well regardless, you’ll need a safe place to change. And since it was one of my girls who got you into this pickle, I feel obligated to help.” Lilith said breezily. “Tell you what… I’ve got an extra room in the back. Some clean clothes in the dresser should fit your new body, after moonrise. End of the hall on the right. You can use it for the night. Change in it. Sleep in it. Stay back there all night for all I care, or even come out to the bar and hang out, drinks are on the house tonight, if you are so inclined. Tomorrow morning, you can head on back to LA.” It was a sincere offer, and a kind one.
”Thanks. I appreciate your hospitality.” I said, recognizing how much worse everything could have been if she had not offered me a safe place to ride out the change tonight. Or let me leave, only to start changing on the way back.
“Least I can do, all things considered. And this one’s on the house too.” She gestured to a freshly opened lager she set down in front of me. “Just head back there to Heaven whenever you need to. I have to take care of some business for now. But nice meeting you, L.A., do try and have at least a little fun tonight. No one here will judge you for that.” She said, smiling and winking over her shoulder as she headed to care for the other patrons surrounding her ever more crowded bar.
Pulling out my phone, I saw a bunch of missed texts from Mikey and Pete. They were generally sympathetic and supportive in tone, ‘We understand, and hope you can find the answers you are looking for. Let us know if you need anything. We are here for you.’ Stuff like that. It brought a smile to my face as I idly sipped my beer. Not a word about our escapades last night. That had been a kindness.
I thought of how to respond. ‘Thanks guys, staying overnight tonight, be home tomorrow.’ The less details the better, for now I figured.
The bar had fully come to life around me, the stage and table seating was at capacity. The disco lights on stage, on the dance floor came on flashing, spinning, completing the transformation of the place from daytime mode to nighttime mode with a final flip of a final switch. I recognized that my internal switch would soon flip too, initiating my second moon driven gender transformation. But instead of unease or dread, I found myself not entirely hating the idea of my imminent womanhood. It did feel good last night, the change and being in that sexy body. Tonight, there would even be some clothes to try on! Could I really be looking forward to moonrise?
It was then that the house DJ came on the PA to make his opening announcement.
“Alright ladies and gentlemen, and gentlemen who will soon be ladies, welcome to another full moon night at the MoOOon Blossom! We have taken all of your change show needs into account, so put your hands together for Brad, AKA Brandi, who will be changing for us on the main stage…”
The whole place errupted in applause as an average looking male in a shirt and tie strolled up to the main stage and took a bow.
“And over here, on the dance floor, we have Stan, AKA Sandy, getting ready to dance herself into womanhood when that moon rises, so give it up for Sandy!”
Chants of, “Sandy! Sandy! Sandy!” Shook the walls with their force as another fairly average looking man in a breakaway track suit strutted out onto the dance floor, waving and smiling at the crowd.
“Of course if you have arranged to watch your favorite Moon Blossom girl transform back in the privacy of Heaven, you should head back there now. Because ladies and gentlemen, as of…. This moment... We are officially at …. 10 Minutes to Moonrise!”
A few patrons howled wildly, clapped loudly. But all I heard was ten minutes to moonrise… ten minutes until the change. And unlike Stan and Brad here, I didn’t want to make a public spectacle of my metamorphosis. So it was time to head back to Heaven myself.
Men were starting to line up outside the door, and a bouncer was vetting their tickets and letting them enter with directions about which door to go to. The aroma coming off these men was already perceptible, and a couple times, while waiting, I found myself glancing nervously at my hands, to make sure they were not shrinking away, or my nails were not starting to lengthen. I was relieved to see nothing out of place each time. But I was light headed, sweating quite a bit too. It only took a few minutes for me to get through the line. I didn’t have a ticket to a private change show, but the bouncer took one look at me and sent me back. Hell, I was my own private change show tonight.
”Last room on the right, rookie.” He barked as I made my way down the long corridor of doorways.
I passed door after door, each with a gold nameplate. Phantom memories of being here last month ran through my mind. I even saw Ambers room, the site where I was turned last month. A man was in there, sitting on a chair whilst another, decidedly more waifish looking man paced nervously by the window. He looked vaguely familiar. When his eyes met mine, briefly, there was the faintest flash of recognition. A knowing smile formed on his face as I walked on down to my destination. Did she remember me? Did she know I was… like her now? I couldn’t say.
As badly as I wanted a word with her, my focus on getting to the last room on the right was of paramLunt concern. I knew my change would begin any moment. I could feel it. My cock strained to be free of my jeans, surging with supernatural horniness. The environment seemed to be getting the better of me. I was aroused despite myself at the prospect of changing into a woman again. Aroused when I detected the smell of horny men all around me. Eager to get it over with. And even… looking forward to another sensual transformation.
The door at the end of the hall on the right had a nameplate too. “Lee.” This was the spare room Lilith had directed me too. The room was just like the one I shared with Amber last month. A creaky bed, a small night stand, a chair and a dresser. I opened the drawers to the dresser and thumbed through the finery inside. Lilith had mentioned there were clothes in here for girl me. Silky slips, sheer wraps, a few brand new bra and panties sets, all in various sizes. The looked so small… but in a short time, I would be too. And my eagerness to show off my femmy bod in these silky garments was building as the change drew nearer yet.
“I wasn’t sure which size to get…” Lilith’s voice captured my attention yet again. “So I made sure to stock a good variety. Keep whatever fits, you’re going to need it, girly man.” She stated.
“Thanks, they’re beautiful.” I blushed.
“I can’t wait to see them on you. They should fit just right soon enough.” She winked and closed the door without leaving. “And I know you wanted to be alone tonight. But it’d mean a lot to me if you … let me watch you change.”
There was something about her presence that seemed to relax me in the moment. I didn’t want to be alone. And a small part of me was actually eager to show off, be seen for what I am. I nodded yes. “Just stay on the chair…” I said calmly.
”That’s my girl.” She play punched my shoulder in a very dude bro fashion.
“Ouch!“. I rubbed the place where her playful, yet forceful blow had landed. “Take it easy Lilith. You, chair, sit, now…” I instructed her before crossing the room to the bed. I sat down at the edge, kicking off my shoes. The change was close. My body quivered with anticipation of the inevitable transformation to come.
“Sorry, I just get excited… before the change.” Lilith apologized for the punch, and went to her corner of the room, removing her sundress with one deft motion and draping it onto a hook near the door. Now fully nude, she had taken up position on the chair as asked.
“I‘ll live.” I blurted out casually, still rubbing the spot gingerly. My heart beginning to race, my cock throbbing as I peeled off my socks and fumbled with my belt buckle and fly. My eyes were on the window, eastward facing, and focused on a nearly risen moon outside.
“You seem almost eager to change again now. It’s cute. No more boo-hoo, poor me, just woo-hoo, girly time. A lot of weres get that way just before it hits.” Lilith commented casually. “Hurry with those clothes… I don’t want to miss anything either. I want to watch every part of you feminize tonight. It feels close, doesn’t it?” She purred lustily.
“Yes…” I admitted, stepping out of my pants, leaving them pooled on the floor near the bed. “It’s how I felt last night… just before…”. My throbbing cock poked through the fly hole of my boxers, before they too were cast off.
“Just before you lost your manhood for the first time. All 7 inches. Not too shabby, BTW.” She winked at me as I continued to disrobe. “Tell me, what are you feeling right now?” She asked.
Nervously, I removed my t shirt, and carefully sat down on the edge of the bed. Fully naked, on display for my new friend Lilith. “Feels so right… being naked. And I can feel something building up inside me. A powerful lust. It’s like…”. I paused as I felt a jolt of pleasure pass through me… “mmm… fuckyeahOmg … it’s that feeling. I… I think it’s starting!” My whole body vibrated for a second, a powerful jolt like the one that made me drop the controller last night. Tonight I was ready for it though.
“Mmmm… yessss….it’s happening…” Lilith mewed, I could see her rubbing at her clit and teasing her nipples with a free hand. “She’s coming, L.A., can you feel her, aching to get out?” Lilith asked, herself seemingly overpowered by the erotic scene unfolding across the room from her. “Embrace it. Embrace the feeling. It’s OK to like it…”
Holding my hands out in front of me, I could see my nails pushing out, fingers slenderizing, shrinking down to female size. “Oh yeah… it’s… haaA…Ppening, alright.” I said, another jolt of pleasure passing through me. Peeling my eyes off of my transforming hand, I look at her across the room. The sight of her, naked, beautiful, pleasuring herself brazenly… it encouraged me to give into my own burning urge and stroke myself, which only drove her more crazy.
“That’s it. Stroke it girly man. Stroke that little cock before you lose it, you little… moon-slut … fuck toy … bitch boi!” Why I found her onslaught of werephobic slurs so arousing is a mystery I may never solve. “You fucking love it too, don’t you? Losing your manhood to the moon. Feeling the slut taking over. Knowing that there is nothing you can do to stop her!”
“Yes…I can’t … I can’t fight it. I don’t want to. I want to … need to be a girl again.” I managed to blurt out as the change began to take me as it had last night. But I kept stroking myself, smaller hands tipped with lengthening nails notwithstanding. My cock, for the time being, felt bigger in my girly little hand, which only heightened my enjoyment. And that of my guest. Lilith’s encouragement keep coming, between bursts of sensual vibrations that I recalled dealing from last night, during my first transformative episode.
“Ooohh, your eyes.., they’re blue now. So sparkley. And your hair! A sassy strawberry blonde. It’s growing out so beautifully. But the rest of you, all hairless… like a little twink. You’re barely a man at all at this point, sweetie. So skinny! But keep tugging that dick, girly man, while the moon works it’s magic .… ahhhfuckyesss… on you …”
Lilith was definitely getting herself off, narrating every detail of my change as she saw it from across the room. “Look at those nipples. So cute! Not like those little boy nipples you had a minute ago… I bet you can’t wait until your tits sprout. Think of all the cock you can attract when you have big, soft tits of your very own! You’re such a girl, I bet they are even bigger than mine when they grow in.”
”Cock…mmmyes…” I stammered. “Need to get cock… so bad…” I trailed off, just thinking about cock was so exciting in my partially feminized, rapidly feminizing state. And I was so self absorbed, watching every detail of my change, that my own powerful orgasm blindsided me completely. “Oh fuck… I’m… cumming…”
“Whoa, look at it go… Twitching, spurting cum. Thinking about cock made that happen, you know that, right?” Lilith teased as my cock errupted, throbbing in the moonlight while I moaned loudly, feeling it begin to retract. “So hot, watching a new girl, cumming to the thought of cocks. You should see your face right now…”
The expression I was was befuddlement. And it must have looked adorable on my daintier feminine face. “No…”. I protested feebly.
“Oh yes, m’dear. Look at it shrinking away like that… like a frightened turtle into its shell. Like it just can’t wait another minute to be a pussy. To get stuffed and filled.” There was something about her voice as she continued to comment on my changing features that snapped me out of my self absorbed, examine every detail mindset. At least for a moment. Her voice sounded raspier. Deeper even.
Another buzz broke me out of external thoughts, back into self absorbed mode. I felt a tightness in my pectoral region. Both hands shot up to my still flat chest, massaging my feminine nipples, causing me to moan in a higher pitch.
“That’s it, play with them titties girl ... they come in so fast for ya’ll. Took me… FuckyeahAhh…. years to grow mine!” It sounded like she was grunting now. “Damn, girl… bet that bitch ass of yours is shaping up nicely… huh?” Lilith asked, noticing my hips flaring out, and me rising off the bed as the cushiony new ass inflated under me. “The moon is making you so pretty. You’ll be a regular cock magnet once she’s done blessing you.”
Bowing my head, I nodded. My eyes and roaming hands confirmed my tits were beginning to cone up. The bit of squishy flesh around the nipple increased in mass and diameter. I thrust my mosquito bite looking chest out proudly, as my cock completed it’s retreat. It’s remnant formed the head of my clit, and my balls settled into their new position, as ovaries. between my legs, my vulva took shape fully, and I was a girl now, officially.
So… fucking… hoooot…” Lilith bellowed from her corner. “Such a pretty little kitty… meow…”
And the moon was not done with me yet, there were just a few more finishing touches left… I could feel my breasts filling out, my ass still bubbling up under me. But of all the things my felt, it was something I smelled that stole my focus. I was detecting the faintest scent of cock, hardly surprising in a brothel like this. But my ears reported something strange too. The masculine edge to the voice coming from Lilith’s corner. I looked up at her, for the first time since my transformation began.
“Holy shit…”. My eyes went wide.
Where once, a long haired brunette, slim, toned and definitely female Lilith had sat opposite of me, there was now a very different, very masculine figure. Her shoulders and chest had broadened considerably. Her tits and hips had deflated. Her arms rippled with still developing muscle. She had… body hair. Everywhere a man should. On her arms, her flat masculine chest and her powerful, well muscled legs. And I swear, I smelled her emerging cock before I saw it. ‘She’ was gently stroking it, as witnessed by my own blue eyes. “Lilith…”. I said, astonished at her appearance. “What are you doing?”
“I go by Lee, actually.” He said in a stabilizing baritone register. “And what I am doing is… uhhhOmgyes…basically the opposite of what you are doing. Turning into a wereman.“ He said, his disarming stare never leaving my developing breasts, which filled out tremendously towards the end of my change.
As did Lee’s cock, near the end of his own change.
I would swear it grew to be nine and a half, ten inches before his change ended. It was thicker, juicier, and harder than Mikey or Pete’s had ever been. And dribbling with precum.
Instinct kicked in. I could not tear my widened, awestruck eyes away from it, salivating as the aroma of cock, one far superior to the one I just lost at moonrise, filled the small room with it’s salty tang. I could not stop myself from licking my lips. And I could not manage to stop myself from crossing the room, hips a swiveling, tits a-clacking with each step as I approached Lee. I ran my hands across his firm, muscled chest before falling to my knees to see his monster of a cock up close.
”Good girl.” Lee said confidently, as I took his rigid manhood into my slobbering maw. “You’re right where you belong tonight, darling. Let me take care of you, the way only a wereman can.” He encouraged me by running his fingers through my hair, as I slurped and suckled his throbbing member. Further and further, my lips travelled down his shaft. “Wow, you’re a natural… just keep following those werewoman instincts.”
It was all the encouragement I needed.
Chapter 1: What is a Werewoman? Many people know a werewoman is a man who transforms into a woman during the full moon. But there is so much more to it. Chapter 1 examines the werewoman lifestyle, both the good and the bad.
Chapter 2: How Does One Become a Werewoman? Some men are born predisposed to becoming werewomen; others become weres after being infected by existing werewomen. In chapter 2, learn the many ways to trigger this condition.
Chapter 3: Early Symptoms of Infection. So you think you're becoming a werewoman? Chapter 3 covers the symptoms experienced by werewomen during incubation, the period between contraction and their first transformation.
Chapter 4: Your First Transformation. Will it hurt? How long will it take? When will I change back? The first change can be confusing if you're not prepared, Chapter 4 addresses some common questions surrounding this rite of passage.
Chapter 5: Learning to Read Your Body. Your new body, its shape and size reveals much about a new werewoman. In Chapter 5 learn to read the signals that your new body is sending, and learn what to expect from your present condition.
Chapter 6: The Lunar Cycle and You. All werewomen have varying degrees of control and sensitivity, but only 1% can resist the call of the full moon. In Chapter 6, the role of the moon in our transformation is discussed in detail.
Chapter 7: Changing Outside the Moon. Why am I changing when the moon isn't full? Chapter 7 focuses on transformations that occur at times when the moon is not full. Learn how to prevent an unwanted transformation, or cause one for fun.
Chapter 8: Conclusion. There are different types of werewomen, and this book tries to cover them all. In Chapter 8 we revisit what we've learned and put it all together to answer the question, “What kind of werewoman am I?
What is a werewoman?
Everyone has heard of werewolves, people cursed to undergo a horrific transformation into a strong, savage beast under the light of the full moon. The legend has permeated literature, film and the internet, telling countless tales of those cursed (or blessed) with this supernatural condition. The word originates from two Germanic root words, ‘wer’ which means, ‘man’ and, ‘wolf’ which means… well… yeah. So if the literal translation of, ‘werewolf’ is, ‘man-wolf,’ you probably already know how to translate ‘werewoman.’
And if you are reading this book, than you are most likely a werewoman yourself. Well, maybe you’re not one yet, but you probably will become one soon.
So what does being a werewoman mean?
That’s the million dollar question. It can mean a lot of different things depending upon the individual affected. You may not find a description in this book that matches your own were-personality to the letter. You may even find yourself identifying with several different ideas of what a werewoman is, or is not, but that’s okay. To lump all men or all women into a single, mono-bloc entity to which sweeping generalizations apply is mission impossible. Pigeon-holing all werewomen is no different.
So if we’re all so unique and different, like genderific little snowflakes in a blizzard, why even bother trying to classify werewomen at all? The answer is this: Although we are all so different, there are some basic rules that apply to all werewomen. Describing these commonalities will be the main focus of this volume.
A good place to start is with the fundamentals of being a werewoman. What separates a regular man or woman from a werewoman? For starters, your garden variety person spends their entire life in one gender. Boy becomes man OR girl becomes woman; either-or. Not so for a werewoman. We change genders frequently; although some more frequently than others.
When do these changes take place?
All werewomen transform into female form under the full moon. That’s probably why we share the same prefix as werewolves. So on the three nights of the full moon each month, our metamorphosis from male into female is a command performance. It doesn’t matter how much you bench-press or how tough you think you are; if you’re a werewoman, the full moon will change you. It will usher out your inner woman, and there’s no stopping it. Older, more experienced werewomen can delay the change for a little over an hour before it’s forced upon them. Less experienced werewomen usually transform almost immediately after moonrise.
So you may be thinking, ‘Three nights per month, I grow breasts and my male equipment will shift into the female configuration? Ha! Is that all?’ Well I’m afraid there is more to it than that. See even when in male form, our wereself is just below the surface, able to influence your thoughts, actions and emotions. Our inner women will actively seek out opportunities to re-emerge outside the full moon’s influence. Some of our ‘inner girls’ are stronger than others, and tend to have an easy time forcing their way out. Others have a very weak femme side and as a result seldom feel the need to change outside the moon.
In most cases, a well trained werewoman can hold back the changes that happen between moons. They aren’t forced upon us like they are on full moon nights. Thank goodness for that, or we’d transform every time we walked through the mall past Victoria’s Secret. Proximity to certain items does have a way of getting your were-side’s attention, causing her to compete for control of the body she shares with your male side. If your girl side sees something she wants, she may try to come out and take it. It could be the adorable dress in the shop window, or the cute guy at the food-court that gets her all revved up. So even as a man between transformations, you will still feel a woman's needs. Most experienced werewoman force the change to happen between full moon nights to keep things on an even keel. Doing so allows them to better control when, and equally important, where they change.
Chances are you’ve never heard of a werewoman before picking up this book, and there is a good reason for that. We keep our condition a secret from the public, and few non-weres have ever witnessed a transformation.
Think of your girl side as a boiler that needs to be dumped once in a while. The pressure inside the furnace keeps rising and rising, and if nobody comes to open the valve and relieve the pressure, the boiler will explode. A werewoman who allows the change to take hold a couple times in between moonsets is responsibly managing the boiler, dumping it at regular intervals to avoid the promised explosion. Werewomen who ignore their urge to change and let it build up often find that eventually, their girl-side explodes to the surface with all the urgency of a full moon-induced transformation. Avoiding the change when your body is craving it can be dangerous due to the unpredictable nature of our condition. It could cause a shift at the wrong time and place, which could lead to exposure.
So give into the urges and 'girl-out' often, for safety’s sake; for the sake of our secret.
At first some werewomen resent ‘losing’ to their femme side so often. Over time though, we get used to losing that battle and come to enjoy the defeat. The observed trend is that the longer a person has been living with the condition, the more time they tend to spend as a woman. As a werewoman ages, the frequency and duration of their voluntary transformations seem to increase, and their feminine persona becomes more dominant.
It may sound scary, but it really isn’t anything to worry about. When that time comes, you’ll be ready.
There are plenty of benefits to being a werewoman too. We live way longer, healthier lives than most people. It’s not unheard of for a werewoman to live for several hundred years without aging a day. But with long life and permanent youth and beauty come some unforeseen risks. After living in the same spot for many years, friends, neighbors and co-workers are bound to question your continued youthful appearance. You will watch friends and loved ones shrivel up and die of old age long before your time comes. And you’ll never have anything to fear from illness or injury. The werewoman immune system and regenerative capability see to that. Fall down and break an arm? Watch as the bones heal in seconds. Worried about flu season? You could bathe in flu germs and come out without as much as a runny nose. Cancer? AIDS? Nothing you’ll ever have to worry about as a werewoman.
So with all this information, let’s now attempt to answer the question asked at the beginning of this chapter. What is a werewoman?
A werewoman is a man, forced to change into a woman on the nights of the full moon, who usually transforms at several points between full moon nights as well. A werewoman is an individual free to choose their own path, capable of making good decisions and bad. A werewoman is honor bound to keep her secret and manage her condition to the best of her ability. A werewoman is a man who has a strong feminine side that will continue to grow stronger throughout their lifetime. I am a werewoman. You are a werewoman.
I have no doubt that you and I are very different people, but let’s now look at some of the things we have in common.
How does one become a werewoman?
If werewomanhood were a destination, there would be two roads leading towards it. Travelers on the first path inherited the condition from werewoman ancestors. Those on the second road became infected with werewomanhood after being born, ‘normal.’
Let's start with the hereditary brand of werewomanhood. A person born to werewoman parents has a chance of manifesting the condition themselves. If one parent is a werewoman, there is a 50% chance that their male offspring will become werewomen too. Say both parents are weres, I’ll explain how later, there is a 100% certainty their offspring will become a werewoman too. Maybe only a grandfather in the ole family tree was a werewoman, but not your father or mother. There’s still a 25% chance that you’ll take after good ole gramps and receive regular visits from the gender-fairy.
But hereditary weres won’t be transforming in their cribs and nurseries. Until the first transformation, called the ‘quickening’ by were-kind, the future werewoman will be indistinguishable from a regular genetic male. During this period of dormancy, a soon-to-be werewoman will not exhibit any outward signs of his condition. And why would they? In most cases, a future werewoman has no idea what’s in store for them unless they are prepared by their parents.
The first shift usually occurs during puberty, but has been known to happen earlier or later in some cases. Typically, a born weres first change is preceded by a period of heightened interest in all things femme. This is really the only warning sign that a transformation is on the horizon. This heightened interest can take many forms; take for example the exhibition of traditionally female thoughts, behaviors and emotions. These are often accompanied by persistent transgendered fantasies, crossdressing and/or dreams of being female.
Guess what?
If you are a teenage male reading this book and experiencing these symptoms, get ready honey, because you’re going to change soon! Don’t worry, there’s no need to freak out. At least you’ve been forewarned by this book, unlike so many others who experienced the run up to their first transformation with no warning about what comes next. Relax and accept that there isn’t anything that can be done to prevent or even delay the coming transformation. It’s out of your hands. Read this book, absorb its lessons and learn to make the best of being a werewoman. Remember, this is not a curse that has to ruin your life. With the proper balance and the right attitude, it can positively enhance it for the better.
You may still even have a shot a ‘normal’ high-school or college experience, because being a werewoman seems to come and go at first. In some cases, a year or two after the initial transformation, the affected individual may enter a period of remission. This period can extend from the late teens into the early twenties. While in remission, the full moon has no effect and the urge to transform between moons seems to abate altogether. Female thoughts and behaviors seem to disappear. But sooner or later, the woman inside will reassert herself, and the familiar lunar routine will begin anew.
It’s important to remember that last bit. Your lunar transformations, and those in between, will eventually happen again. So many werewomen who go through this period of remission mistakenly believe that they are, ‘cured.’ There is no way to predict when the transformations will resume, but they will be preceded by a period of heightened interest in all things femme, very similar to the one experienced before the first transformation.
The other way to become a werewoman involves being infected. Amongst werewoman this is called, ‘being turned.’ A man can be infected by having unprotected sex, or being bitten, by a transformed werewoman under the full moon. When the moon is not full, a werewoman bite, or unprotected intercourse with her female form will not transmit the condition.
After the bite, for a period of about a month, the newly infected male will begin to experience a period of interest in things femme that culminates in his first physical transformation. It’s strikingly similar to the symptoms exhibited by a hereditary werewoman before their first change. The only difference is the timing of it all. Hereditary werewomen could remain in the period of heightened feminine interest for several months on up to a year or more. A man who is turned has the luxury of knowing that he will transform roughly 30 days after the initial infection, when the next batch of full moon nights hit.
So if you went to bed during the last full moon night with a lovely lady, and woke up alone with a copy of this book on your night table, guess what? You’re going to be a werewoman soon, sweetie! If you’d like to know just how soon, take a look at a calendar and circle the next full moon. You’re probably experiencing some strange thoughts and behaviors by now, but it’s all part of the count-down to femininity. We'll cover what’s to be expected in the next chapter.
This has to be the worst day ever. I start out by running late for work with no time for breakfast. I'd been kept awake all week by strange dreams, and today it caught up to me. I underwhelmed a valuable client, my boss and some co-workers during a really important presentation because I felt so distracted. All day I just couldn't focus on my work, and every time I tried my thoughts wandered back to those dreams.
Arriving home, I noticed that my front door was wide open. “Great now I've been robbed.” I thought as I cautiously pushed the door fully open. My place looked fine, and taking inventory of my valuables it appeared as though nothing was missing or out of place. That's when I noticed the note on the coffee table by the remote.
P.S. If I were you I'd stay in tonight
It's Heather from last month, remember me?
Well after tonight I promise you'll never forget.
Now don't you worry, I didn't steal anything.
I broke in to give you a gift, believe it or not.
It's on the bed in your room, now run along
and claim it.
Of course I remembered Heather, I had been dreaming about her all month! I dreampt of two women making love, one of them Heather, the other unidentified. At some point in the recurring dream I realized that the girl opposite Heather was me.
Still I hadn't heard a thing from her since, and the meaning of this note was rather puzzling. I half expected her naked on my bed and waiting as I entered my bedroom, instead all I saw was a big book with a black cover. Written in big white letters across the cover, New Werewoman Handbook.
Opening it up to the table of contents, I read through the chapter titles to see if I could decipher any meaning. Each was followed by a brief description.
___________________________________________________________________________________
Many people know a werewoman is a man who transforms into a woman during the full moon. But there is so much more to it. Chapter 1 examines the werewoman lifestyle, both the good and the bad.
Some men are born predisposed to becoming werewomen, others become werewomen through fluid exchange with an active werewoman. In chapter 2, learn the many ways to trigger this condition.
So you think you're becoming a werewoman? Chapter 3 covers the symptoms experienced by werewomen during incubation, the period between contraction and their first transformation.
Will it hurt? How long will it take? When will I change back? The first change can be confusing if you're not prepared, Chapter 4 addresses some common questions surrounding this right of passage.
Your new body, it's shape and size reveals much about a new werewoman. In Chapter 5 learn to read the signals that your new body is sending, and learn what to expect from your present condition.
All werewomen have varying degrees of control and sensitivity, but only 1% can resist the call of the full moon. In Chapter 6, the role of the moon in our transformation is discussed in detail.
Why am I changing when the moon isn't full? Chapter 7 focuses on transformations that occur at times when the moon is not full. Learn how to prevent an unwanted transformation, or cause one for fun. Chapter 8: Conclusion
There are different types of werewomen, and this book tries to cover them all. In Chapter 8 we revisit what we've learned and put it all together to answer the question, “What kind of werewoman am I?”
___________________________________________________________________________________
I finished the table of contents laughing out loud, this had to be some kind of joke. I've never heard of a werewoman, and this book seemed to imply that I am one. What a crock, some present, the day just keeps getting worse. I carelessly set the book down on my shelf and headed towards the kitchen.
Removing my blazer and tie, I hung them on a kitchen chair and undid my top collar button. Starting my oven, I tossed in a frozen pizza for dinner. 'Should be ready once I'm out of the shower.' I thought as I headed towards my bedroom.
Thumbing through my closet I settled on some sweatpants and a clean t-shirt. Tomorrow being another big day, I really needed to relax this evening. Turning towards the bathroom, the fading light of a setting sun caught my eye through the window. It reflected off the glossy cover of that strange Werewoman book I had set down earlier.
Gliding down the hall towards my bathroom, unfastening my belt and kicking off my shoes as I went, I felt a faint arousal building within me. The feeling seems to be different than the usual urgent need for relief centered around my penis. Instead it covered a million little points all over my body. “Heh, probably a drug flashback from my partying days.” I quipped. That could explain why I was so out of it at work today.
Spinning the knob in the direction of 'hot' I finished disrobing and stepped through the curtain. The pleasant feelings I had experienced in the hall intensified as the hot water hit my comparatively cool skin. Moaning in response, I found myself making a noise I never had before and it frightened me a bit. As I lathered up with the soap, the pleasure increased. Running my sudsy hands across my body, I became aware of how smooth my skin felt compared to normal. This development would normally alarm me, but I found myself not caring.
I was rock hard now, and even though I had not touched myself in that particular spot my arousal continued to increase. I found myself circling both palms around my nipples, for some reason it felt really good. Then I remembered the pizza. I had to get down to business here, get clean and get out or it would burn. Mustering my willpower, I peeled my hands off my chest and reaching up to grab the shampoo.
Wait a tic? Reaching up? Usually I reached down to get my hair product. Taking note of my surroundings, I noticed that the ceiling seemed farther away from my head, looking down, the floor seemed closer too. That confirmed it, I'm shrinking fast, something strange is happening to me, and the pizza can wait.
My body now tingling in places I never knew existed, I let out another series of involuntary moans of ecstasy. The tingles centered around my erect member, and that's where my eyes went. It began to throb and shrink as I watched in horror.
Reaching a hand down to confirm what my eyes registered, the pleasure overload nearly made me jump out of my skin. Pleasure like I'd never known coursed through me the second my hand brushed against it. This only seemed to hasten the shrinkage. In a moment it was gone.
As lost in pleasure as I was, memories of the strange book came flooding back.
“A werewoman is a man who transforms into a woman during the full moon.”
“Some men are born predisposed to becoming werewomen, others become werewomen through fluid exchange “
“So you think you're becoming a werewoman?”
The passages I'd laughed at earlier flooded my memory as if to mock me in return. Then I remembered the Heather's note.
Ripping open the shower curtain, I exited the comfort of the hot water for the cool air outside. The pleasant feeling continued unabated, if anything increasing in response to the new environment. Glancing in the mirror, I could see that I was much shorter and my skin far softer and entirely hairless. Where once my manhood had been, there was nothing but a vertical slit atop a subtle mound. It appears that I am now a 'her.'
Stumbling forward towards the door, I could feel my hips widening as my waist pinched in giving me an hourglass figure that became more pronounced with every step. Balancing was hard. By the time I reached the door my inflating ass jiggled behind me each time my foot hit the floor. And still the pleasurable feelings washed over me like rolling waves.
Twisting the knob, I spilled out into the hall landing on my hands and knees. I felt my chest wobble, and another strange sensation as my newly enlarged nipples stiffened in the cool air. “No God, pleeeeassssse No, not breasts!” I protested to the almighty. My girly voice stunned my ears, and my left hand cupped my mouth in disbelief. My lips felt fuller beneath my small and dainty hand.
I knew the lumps on my chest weren't going to get any smaller. They were going up and out, tugging ever more on my chest and back. I crawled helplessly towards my bedroom door, my hair beginning to tickle the back of my neck. As one hand led the other down the hall, my enlarging breasts wobbled up and down, to and fro. They seemed to move with me. I entered my bedroom to see a newly risen full moon staring through my window, I was mesmerized by it's beauty.
The intense arousal coursing through me reached crescendo as I suddenly became aware of the moisture beading up on my new womanhood. It dribbled down the side of my inner thigh as my new equipment erupted in pleasurable contractions. Right there, in the middle of my first female orgasm, I realized that the New Werewoman Handbook I had received from Heather was no joke.
As I recovered from the change, I realized I'd be referring to the Handbook quite a bit in the immediate future. Gathering my strength I stood up in front of the mirror, well pleased by what I saw.
My self exploration was suddenly cut short by a scent I was none too happy to inhale. Burning pizza...dammit.
What happens next?
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...
Chapter 1 had a ton of information. It began by saying, “Chances are, if you are gazing upon this book, the information within applies to YOU.” Check.
I began knowing almost nothing about werewomen, and by the end of the first chapter I knew what they were. Or rather, what I am. The author did a great job explaining our origins, and some basic history. It was interesting to read about how far back the documented cases went, more interesting still was the small section of famous werewomen throughout history.
One name in particular stood out, Ru-Paul. I knew it!
There was some mention of the powers possessed by werewomen, nothing fantastic like flying or invisibility (drat), but if the book was right I'd never be hurting for a date ever again. In either form, we werewomen seemed to be gifted with animal magnetism. I chuckled remembering the 'Kavork' episode of Seinfeld. “Great, all I need is a Latvian Orthodox priest and I'm cured!” I joked to myself. It worked for Kramer, why not me?
I was particularly fascinated by the story of the first werewoman, our Alpha mother Luna. She was the daughter of a very powerful witch at a time when practicing the black arts could get a person burned at the stake. In fact, her mother suffered this fate at the hands of the Inquisition in the seventeenth century. Luna sought a way to disguise herself, apparently she also felt the heat bearing down on her.
To accomplish this end, Luna created a spell that would disguise her as a man. After all, males were far less likely to be branded a witch. But to become a man full time would force Luna to part with her witchly powers, a sacrifice she was not willing to make. So on the nights of the full moon, when black magic is said to be most potent, Luna would don her female form and wield black magic against her oppressors.
The tale of Luna carried over into Chapter 2...
To further disguise her true identity, Luna took a wife in her male form. Her chosen bride was another witch, and their male offspring inherited their 'father's' allergy to moonlight. And so it passed from father to son over centuries uninterrupted. Occasionally, a new werewoman was 'made' by sexual contact between a male and a transformed werewoman. I reckoned that's how I came to be one. The one night stand with lovely Heather had doomed me to this life. A life that, according to the book's estimate, was only shared by about 50,000 individuals worldwide.
With no copyright date it was impossible to tell how much time had passed between that estimate and the present.
The chapter also explained another werewoman power, reading auras. Every living being has a faint energy field surrounding them. Werewomen unlike regular humans are able to gleen information from a person's aura. The readings werewomen are capable of interpreting focus on gender. Ninety percent of the time, a woman would radiate a pink aura, a man blue.
But the other ten percent of the time, the aura would read opposite. Blue for a woman, pink for a man. These readings usually came from folks that identified as trans-gendered. The book went on to describe another aura color, purple. A man or a woman with a purple energy field surrounding them was a fellow werewoman, and this information was useful for identifying ourselves to each other.
To test he information out, I approached the mirror and used the focusing technique described by the author. Incredibly, in a matter of seconds I began to perceive a faint purple glow around me. Losing my concentration, it quickly faded to nothing. 'Cool' I thought to myself, that might come in handy!
I started Chapter 3, but a few lines in I felt myself not comprehending the words on the page. I was beat. Try as I might to read on, my heavy eyelids had other plans. Within moments I drifted off to sleep, knowing the alarm clock would soon ring...
A million bright ambassadors of morning, taking the form of sun-beams, filtered through my thin bedroom curtain. Quickly recalling the events of the previous night I sat up with a jerk, patting down on my chest. It felt muscular and hard, the change must have reversed in my sleep. Any sense of relief I experienced proved to be very temporary, as a glance at the alarm clock confirmed that once again I was running late for work.
Had I not set the alarm?
'Another day, another presentation,' I thought to myself as I rushed to prepare. I was like a beheaded chicken fumbling for everything I needed for my day. I wished to God I could just call in sick, but doing so would definitely cost me my job.
Storming through my living room in the direction of the front door, I spotted a piece of paper on top of my coffee table. Another note from Heather...
It's Heather again, I stopped by late last night to check on you. You looked so cute curled up in bed with the 'gift' I brought over! I was so happy to see you reading it, and I couldn't bring myself to wake you up. I'll be by tonight about an hour after sunset. Any earlier and you'd only recognize my aura. See you tonight! P.S. You should really be more careful in the kitchen. It smells like you nearly burned this mother down!
What the hell! Not only was I being stalked by a werewoman, but it appeared she was a cat burglar to boot. How did she keep getting in here? As if being cursed wasn't bad enough, I had to deal with this mysterio nonsense. Crumbling the note, I shut my door behind me and rushed out towards work. I didn't even bother locking the door this time. There didn't seem to be much of a point...
What Happens Next?
Work was a total drag. Once again I was way off during the presentation, and it was embarrassing. I couldn't get my mind off the book, last night, the change...and tonight. If the book was accurate, and it had been so far, I'd be changing into a woman again at moon rise. Try working with that in the back of your mind!
On top of that, my scheduled confrontation with Heather that evening was being scripted by my brain's writing staff all afternoon. What was I going to say to her? Besides the obvious, “Why me?” and “Is there a cure?” there were other things I wanted to ask. Burning questions such as, "How did you get in and out of my apartment without leaving a trace? Twice!" also entered my thoughts. I just couldn't figure out how to word everything.
At one point near the end of the day, I found myself thinking about...aura's of all things. Remembering the focusing technique I learned, I stared out the interior facing window of my office and locked in on a group of co-workers. Pinks and blues outlined my subordinates. And what's this? It appeared that one co-worker, Jerry had a secret! His aura read pink as a newborn baby-girl's nursery. No wonder he was so good at conversing with women and never related to sports talk. Snappy dresser too. If anything that was a high point in my day, realizing that some people would probably kill to be in my shoes right now.
But I left the office with my heart in my throat, knowing my special time drew near. The afternoon sun didn't have far to travel as I pulled into my lot. Fumbling with my keys, I bumped the door and open it flew. Right. I didn't bother locking up. Upon entering, I glanced at my coffee table. No note was there this time.
The sky was darkening as I disrobed in my bedroom. At least tonight I would be prepared for the curse to take over. I laid calmly on my bed waiting for the inevitable, determined to watch every second of my metamorphosis. I didn't have to wait long. The moon crested the horizon, and the vague arousal throughout my body, the same feeling that enveloped me last night, returned.
I moaned and giggled as the tingling increased. I could feel the bedsheets moving beneath of me, or rather me moving over top of them. They felt softer against my now smooth and hairless skin. I was shrinking as I watched, I could tell because my feet were getting further and further from the edge of the bed. Looking down at my little warrior, I saw him stand at attention. Almost as if to salute his general one last time before retiring for the night. I mock saluted back as the words, 'soldier, you are dismissed.' crossed my mind.
“Why not lend a hand?” I thought, remembering the sensation produced by touching it last night. And just as I had many times in the past, I began to flog the old dolphin as it shrank. It felt incredible, and I was grunting like a cave-man. At first.
Before long, my vocalizations took on a female porn-star quality. It appears that my voice and my male package vanished at the same time in the process. I felt my pelvis rearranging itself, and my midsection began to elevate as my female ass filled in.
I was rubbing my hands over my nipples now, and I could feel them perking up and getting bigger beneath my palms. This was the part I was really excited about. Whereas last night I was screaming, “No God, pleeeeassssse No, not breasts!” tonight I was giddy. “Yessss! Yes! It feels sooooo good!” I declared. The tiny lumps blossomed quickly, it was amazing to watch, and even better to feel. Cupping them in my hands, I felt the soft flesh expand and spill through the gaps in my dainty fingers.
Chestnut brown locks tickled me about the neck and shoulders, and I knew what came next.
Sweet release left me squirming, and produced a wet spot in my bedsheets. It was sheer bliss, the transformation was even better than last nights. Staring at the full moon, now fully risen outside my window, I figured being bathed in it's light must have produced that effect. Maybe the book could confirm that.
But I had company coming over, and I smelled like sex. I had to clean up first, and get dressed. Showering as a female took far longer than as a male, but it was definitely time well spent. I enjoyed it thoroughly, and took advantage of my new body's sensitivity to the wand massager shower-head. Looks like I killed two birds with one stone!
I dressed in the smallest t-shirt and sweat-pants I had afterwards. The material from the shirt irritated my nipples slightly. A thought popped into my head, a bra might prevent that, plus if I strap them down they will jiggle less and look better.
'Where the hell did that thought come from?' I wondered. I was taking this whole scenario far better than I probably should be. Still it wouldn't be long before Heather was due over, and with that in mind I took a seat in my living room.
The knock came 5 minutes later, and took me by surprise even though I knew it was coming. Looking through the peephole, I saw Heather standing in the hall. She wore a red and blue floral print sun dress, a wide derby hat, and a pair of over sized sunglasses, and she looked exactly as I remembered her. Exactly how I pictured her in my dreams. She looked hot.
I opened the door still somewhat embarrassed. I was absolutely swimming in my over sized, made for my male self sweatpants and t-shirt. I was in my own living room, and way under-dressed for the occasion. Ironic.
Heather entered with a smile and a hug. “Look at you my dear, welcome to the sisterhood. You must be positively bursting with questions!” she said. And she was right. “I'm glad to see you aren't angry with me, but I had a special feeling about you.” she continued, raising her delicate brow. “I would have arrived earlier, but the transformation can be a very...how can I put this... personal time for a new sister.” She winked.
I wasn't sure how to take that, but I had a pretty good idea what she meant. My voice stank of nervousness, “Thank you, and yes I have many questions for you. To start with, why did you do this to me?” I asked, holding back tears. I hadn't yet fully adjusted to my feminine emotions, and just seeing Heather seemed to place me on an emotional tilt-o-whirl.
As if sensing my fragile state, Heather made the 'big move' from her chair opposite me over to the love seat. She sat down beside me and took my hand, a welcome gesture of support. “How far did you read into the handbook last night?” she asked
The tears came now, there was no holding it back. I felt like I had so much to tell her, so I began to speak. “I only made it to chapter 3, the beginning of it. I was so tired last night, and I didn't have time to read it today, even though I really wanted to, but it was such a busy day, and I couldn't focus on anything, and...”
“Hush my child, give me a hug.” Heather interjected. I was babbling, and probably not making a heck of a lot of sense. “That's good enough for now. Like I said in my note, I was elated to see you reading it last night.” Her words were soothing, and as we hugged my tears seemed to magically dry up.
“So,” Heather continued, “ you didn't get to the really cool stuff yet?”
“I thought that reading people's auras was way cool. I tried it at the office today.” I protested.
“Oh honey, that's only the tip of the iceberg!” Heather said excitedly. “Check this out!” Heather tensed her face for a split second, and then let out a wicked, “Hissssss!” as she opened her mouth revealing two sharp, vampire-like fangs. Then a second later, they shrank down into normal, everyday human canines.
“Whoa!” I was shocked, Heather giggled in response to my reaction. “What the hell were those?”
“A deterrent against aggressors, something to show if you're ever backed into a corner. And also a way to pass the curse, albeit a painful method. Combine that with our unusual strength, and it's quite an effective self defense system.” Heather remarked.
“Unusual strength?” I inquired.
“Yes my child, all werewomen possess the strength of a full grown male body builder in our female form.” Heather smiled with pride as she spoke, “I can lift more right now than I ever could in my man-skin.” She pantomimed a Venice beach meat head posing in a variety of weightlifter poses. It was hard to tell by the rail thin girl arms she was flexing at me, but I guessed she was telling the truth. I wasn't about to ask her for a demonstration in my own home. That's how stuff gets broke.
I was awed by her revelations, but like a skillful politician she had evaded my original question. “All of that is wonderful, but that still doesn't explain why...why me?” I said trying to get us back on topic.
“Well...” Heather paused “You read the bit about the Aura's?”
I nodded...we'd been over this.
“At the bar that night last month, I'd had a few too many. I was sitting with a sister of mine...ours” she corrected herself and I blushed a little. “And I read your aura.” There was a longer pause. “Aaron, your aura was pink.”
What happens next?
“How can that be?” I asked, fearing her answer would match the one in the book. I remember reading something about opposite readings. I thought about Jerry at the office today. Then a sudden flash of recall. The tiny courtroom stenographer in my mind read back last night's transcript, 'These readings usually came from folks that identified as trans-gendered.'
Heather shifted uncomfortably in her seat next to me. She composed herself for a second before speaking. “You know the answer, you read the aura section Erin.” Her use of the girls pronunciation for my name struck my ear like an 18 pound sledgehammer.
“But...I'm not...” I was blushing a bit now, our conversation was heading in the direction of interrogation.
“Listen it's OK, you don't have to lie or hide that from me.” she interrupted. “Our stories aren't that different. Let me tell you something about yourself, stop me the moment anything I say doesn't sound familiar.”
I agreed with a subtle affirmative nod.
“You've admired women's beauty all your life, and are well aware of it's powers.” stated Heather in a matter of fact voice.
I didn't object.
“You've never felt comfortable in your own skin, and you couldn't seem to put your finger on why.” she went on.
Silence from me.
Heather continued “You've felt disconnected from other men your whole life, faking your way through male bonding experiences. And quite well too I might add.”
Again, I had nothing.
“And all your life you've been terrified that someone might pick up on the fact that there is something different about you.”
If I had a lawyer, he or she might have objected at this point. But I couldn't.
Heather was right on the money. I didn't keep a diary, but if I had I'd accuse her of reading it. I found myself nodding 'yes' like a broken witness on the stand in some television courtroom drama. 'The prosecution rests,' I thought as Heather fell silent.
I pulled myself together wiping a lone tear out of my eye. “How could you know all of that?” I asked in a squeaky, strained soprano still new to my ears.
Heather broke eye contact and averted her gaze to the corner of the room. “When I saw you at the bar that night, I saw a sadness in your eyes. You and your friends kept looking over at my sister and I, but you looked at me differently than they did.” Her voice had a far-off quality to it. “Where your friends just wanted to be with me, you wanted to be with me and to be me.” Heather's voice trailed off.
There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment. Then Heather started once more, “Once my sister and I recognized that quality in you, it was my...duty.” Her head went down in shame.
“Your duty!” I said angrily. “What duty?” I asked frustrated beyond logical expression.
Heather was looking in my direction once more, and clearly agitated by my outburst. The interrogation ended in confession, but not in the usual way. “Before you get all upset let me ask you a couple more questions,” Heather half pleaded. “When you changed last night, how did you feel when you gazed upon the body you desired for so long? Did you feel the calm?” Heather asked.
Dammit she was right again. I acknowledged by bobbing my head in agreement.
“Did you absolutely love the way your body moved? The way you looked and felt? Was it as though all the wrong in your life had suddenly been made right?” Heather was on a roll again. "And did you look forward to the change when it came this evening?"
Like a bobble-head doll I kept nodding yes.
“Tell me, this morning when you went back to being a man, did you miss your breasts, your curves?” Heather gestured to her own considerable assets as she asked.
“OK, OK...All of that is true, now explain this bit about it being your duty.” I asked, waving an accusatory finger at Heather. For the first time in our meeting tonight I felt like I was holding some of the cards.
“Look I didn't particularly enjoy it, but our pack had to expand. We only recruit people who will take to their new condition well, and...oh God...it was my turn to initiate a new member.” Heather looked embarrassed. Elbows on knees, red face buried in her delicate hands.
“Your turn? Your pack?!” I was flabbergasted. “And what do you mean you didn't enjoy it?...could have fooled me!” I was insulted.
“Look don't flatter yourself. You look far better to me now than you did last month. I'm a committed lesbian. But when your turn comes up, you do what you must for the good of the pack.” Heather's tone was defensive. “Some look forward to the task, plenty of werewomen out there can't keep their hands off men. They just have to use protection and avoid swapping too much spit with their lovers.” Heather's voice grew softer. “But for me...perhaps if I hadn't drank so much...”
“Great so now I'm a member of a pack? A pack of werewomen?” I was enraged and visibly so. “All because you were drunk and had an eye for me?”
“Oh wow this isn't going well.” Heather commented. "It's not like that..."
“Well I'm sorry I'm not making this easy on you.” I sneered.
Heather looked hurt. “Trust me I know this can be a lot to swallow, but someday soon you'll thank me.” Heather said in a parental tone. “As far as the pack goes, you will meet them all tomorrow evening.”
“I don't think so! Tomorrow is Saturday night and I'm going...” I didn't get to finish.
“TO TURN INTO A WOMAN!” Heather shouted, completing my sentence as she rose from her seat. Her frustration was clear. “There are three nights of the full moon per month, and like it or not you'll be transforming on all of them.” She was pacing in front of me now. “And who knows? With breasts that large, probably a couple times in between full moons too.”
“What?” I inquired in a defensive manner.
“Look it up, it's all in the book. I'm leaving now, but if I were you I'd finish reading it by tomorrow. I'll be here at the same time as tonight to pick you up. That's when your training truly begins.” Heather fumbled with her over-sized purse. “Wear this.” she said stoically handing me a small floral print sun dress.
Then she turned and walked out the door, leaving me speechless and holding a dress. What had I just done?
What happens next?
I cried myself to sleep that night after Heather left. I felt horrible for lashing out, but I was still upset with her for turning me into this.
I awoke the next day at mid-morning, fully male with no trace of my female self. I was starving, and my first thoughts were of breakfast. I was eating cereal when I noticed the sun dress slung over the chair near the door. It was right where I set it last night after Heather took off. Well, to be technical, it was not 'I' who had set the garment down there, it was 'her,' that strange woman I turned into. I couldn't help but think of 'her' as a different person entirely.
I picked up the dress as I headed towards my bedroom. I didn't want any visitors I might have to see it laying about. I had planned on tossing it in a heap inside the closet hamper, but something stopped me.
The feel of the fabric on my hand was delightful, and I began to wonder how the material would grab other, more sensitive areas of my body. Then I caught a glimpse of me holding the dress in the mirror mounted on my closet door. It looked amazing and I couldn't resist holding it up to my shoulders to see how it fit. I'd seen women do it this way while dress shopping. If the reflection cast back at me was any indication, my dress was way too small for this male frame. Did I just refer to this thing as 'my dress?'
I blushed as I saw my preening reflection in the mirror, and renewed my resolve to get this dress out of sight. But rather than toss it into my hamper, I hung it carefully. 'Why ruin a perfectly good dress, especially if I might need it later?' I couldn't believe I just had that thought, even having been through the last 2 nights. Speaking with Heather and reading that book had really done a number on my head.
Right, the book. It was sitting on my nightstand waiting to be read some more, but I'd had enough. Without giving it much thought, I pitched it into the dark corner of my closet. The door now shut tight, my dress and that awful book were hidden from view. You know what they say, 'Out of sight is out of mind.'
As I showered and prepared to face the day, I made a decision. All this werewoman nonsense was in my head. Sure, maybe I'd imagined myself turning into a woman the last two nights, maybe I had a new imaginary friend named Heather, but it was physically impossible for a man to change into a woman without years of surgery and medications. Even though the experience had been incredibly realistic, it simply had to be an illusion or a dream. So no matter what Heather said last night, nothing unusual was going to happen tome that evening. I decided then and there to live my life as though this were the case, and to plan my day accordingly.
My attitude adjustment and out of sight out of mind strategy was succeeding As I washed up and threw on some jeans and a t-shirt, I felt like myself again for the first time in days. The only thing on my mind was, what to do with my day off? See, for me Saturday's were akin to a personal religious ritual. It was the one day of the week that I could relax and do whatever I wanted to do. Today, I rather felt like a trip to the mall for some video games and music shopping.
The Game Stop store at my local mall was a 'dude's paradise.' Because I made a decent living, I allowed myself to purchase a game or two a month so I was here often. I knew what I was going to buy before I went in, but I spent hours looking anyway. I left with the latest edition of 'Gears of War' and plans to buy the new FIFA 2010 when it goes on sale.
As I said before, the video game store is dude central. Sausage city. A village with no women. The place positively repelled them. The music store, on the other hand, was a more balanced environment. I noticed half the patrons were women, and a few were rather good looking. I discretely checked them out while I browsed the new releases.
A hot 'blonde' wearing tight designer jeans and a flattering top was checking out Lady Gaga's latest. Her breasts were rather large, and she was sporting deep cleavage rather shamelessly. I liked that. I stole a glance at her backyard when she reached down to pick up something that fell out of her purse. It was perfection, filling out every nanometer of her skin tight jeans. I felt the strong feelings of attraction towards this beautiful stranger, yet in the back of my mind a tiny, high pitched, squeaky voice was ranting. I couldn't help but tune it in and listen...
“First of all, I'd look WAYYY better in those clothes than her. Plus that hair! Who does she think she's fooling? Blonde?! Hah! Her roots are so grown in, it looks like a tiger's stripe! Her purse is totally (I imagined myself fake-gagging) with those shoes. How bout those grande titone's on her chest? They probably sag like crazy when that industrial strength, concrete reinforced bra isn't supporting them. And another thing...I cut myself off.
Where the hell did that come from? I seemed to be attracted to and jealous of that girl all at once. It was a strange feeling, but I was abruptly snapped back into reality. The pretty faux blonde was staring me down. I'd been leering at her with one hand on my hip, a very catty posture, the entire time I was pondering my inner monologue.
“Can I help you?!” she said, clearly annoyed.
“Umm, no.” I nodded.
“Then why are you looking at me so weird?”” she half demanded.
“Uhh...Lady Gaga blows, get a clue.” I responded, turning and storming out of the store. I'm not a Lady Gaga hater, but it was the only thing I could think of to say that would leave her speechless and allow me to get away from that awkward confrontation. And it worked. She didn't say a word as I left the store.
I felt a little flush as I resumed my stroll through the mall. At first I chalked it up to embarrassment, but it didn't let up. I seemed to be especially aware of the multitude of women's clothing stores I passed on my way towards the movie theater, the tiny voice from before critiquing the window displays I passed. At the ticket counter, I purchased one admission for a movie. I didn't even know which show because I was on auto-pilot.
I had an hour to kill, and I sat down at the food court for a late afternoon lunch. The mall felt warm as I ate, and I began to glisten with sweat. Devouring my burger and fries, my mind wandered to people watching. I'd done my share of people watching in the past, but today it was totally different. Like yesterday afternoon in my office, tiny aura's surrounded the people that strolled into my field of vision. The women were draped by a faint pink light, some shining more brightly than others. The men who I saw were surrounded by shades of translucent blue light. Some shades of blue were deeper than others.
Where yesterday I had to focus to see a person's aura, this afternoon it seemed to be happening all by itself. My cell phone alarm derailed my train of thought, I had a show to catch. Even if I didn't know which one.
Handing the ticket to the taker, I was directed to theater 7. The title above the door read Couples Retreat. I'd gone to a bunch of movies by myself, but never a romantic comedy. I didn't even appreciate that genre, unless I had a date who was interested. Then I pretended to like this sort of movie. I took my seat in a mostly empty theater, this movie has been out for a while, and it's drawing power has clearly diminished.
I almost preferred this, there was a lot of space between myself and the few scattered teenage couples in attendance. I could just sit and enjoy a movie, just to take my mind off the events of the past couple nights. It was like being in my own living room, but the screen was way better and the chairs were less comfortable. I eased in and focused on the coming attractions clips while the feature started.
The first 30 minutes or so were actually very funny, I was playing close attention to the movie while the couples around me only paid attention to each other. But somewhere around that thirty minute mark, I felt my body temperature shoot upwards. Simultaneously, I began to tingle all over. Somehow I'd managed to lose track of time. By now it was dark outside and the moon was up. Just like Heather explained, it's fullness would force me to change into a woman. I was pouring sweat and extremely uncomfortable, the tension I'd felt the last two nights at moon-rise was returning and it filled me with dread. There was no time to run or hide, I would have to resist the pull of the moon. And quietly too, there were people around.
The physical changes started in my face, I could feel my features softening and rearranging themselves slightly. A tickle on my neck betrayed my growing hair. Shielded from the full moon by the building around me, the change would happen more slowly. I remembered that from reading the manual. But I would be forced to undergo my transformation none the less. It was underway. I grimaced silently and put my hands up to cover my changing face. Hair draped my neck and touched my shoulders. I could feel my face as though it were alive and squirming beneath my shrinking hands. No amount of concentration could slow the progression.
I didn't want this tonight, I'd spent all day trying to deny it would happen and now I was presented with incontrovertible evidence that this event was unavoidable. I began to fight the change the only way I could think to, by tensing every muscle in my body at once in a vain effort to hold my shape. But just like the first time I changed, my large frame melted away, my hard lines faded to soft curves. Hairiness was replaced with smooth silky skin, my body wracked by this maddening tingling sensation squirmed in place. I was positively swimming in the jeans, t-shirt and hooded sweatshirt I'd worn. My body was still shrinking, one part more rapidly than the others. My mind demanded that my body stop this immediately, but to no avail.
I was aware of the emptiness in my crotch. The change was complete where it counted now. I could feel my pelvis tensing up and placed my smaller, dainty hands upon my hips. I was pressing inwards, trying to prevent their widening even as they defiantly exploded outwards. My buttocks were inflating beneath me too, and where once I was shrinking, getting smaller in my seat, I now seemed to be growing upwards. Soon, I was sitting atop a plump, soft, womanly bottom. At the same time, I could feel my narrowing shoulders and rib-cage cinch inward to form a tapered waist. My hourglass figure was in full effect. Well almost.
The fabric of my t-shirt was irritating to my enlarging nipples. They stiffened and engorged in response to the rough touch. The flesh beneath was beginning to soften too. I placed my hands upon my melting pec's and already felt the soft tissue plumping up around my nipples. In moments I had cones large enough to fill my feminine hands. My beautiful twin hanging fruits were ripening. Despite my fondest wish to see them vanish, they were getting bigger. I watched in horror as my mind raced, still desperate to reverse the tide. But it was no use. I felt the tingling feeling recede and I knew I was stuck like this until the morning.
I collected myself and glanced around the theater taking in my surroundings. The process had taken about 15 minutes to run it's course. I was quiet during that time so as not to draw attention, but totally self absorbed while I attempted to resist the change. All the dopey teenage couples were busily making out and didn't appear to have seen a thing. Finally, I catch a break! But I suppose I am lucky in another way. Had it not been for my large size as a man, my shirt would have ripped at the chest and my pants would have split at the hip. But as luck would have it, I completed my transformation clothing in-tact. I was female once again, and significantly smaller. Though my male clothes still covered my body, it was clear the rags didn't fit my frame.
I needed to get home, I couldn't walk around like this in public. Plus when the movie ended and the house lights went on, my fellow movie-goers would notice a girl wearing boy clothes sitting where a regular guy had once been.
Slowly I stood up from my seat, and as quietly as possible made my exit from the theater. The door shut behind me, with all the other shows in progress the halls were empty. I left the theater attached to the mall, and made a beeline for my car. No doubt Heather would be upset that I'd broken my date. She'll probably have a cow when I tell her about changing right there in the movie theater. It was a close call, but I got away with it. In fact, why even tell her at all?
Starting my car, I began to drive home, wondering whether or not Heather would await my return there.
(moments earlier in the theater)
“Holy shit Kev, did you see that?” asked 19 year old Kelly Huchins.
“Yeah that was freaking weird Kel.” answered 20 year old Kevin Jones. “I'd swear that weird guy by himself just changed into that hot chick.”
Kelly slapped him playfully as he finished his remark.
“Oh I mean, you're way hotter baby. C'mon gimme some sugar.” Kevin leaned in for a kiss, all the while thinking, 'Damn I'm smooth.'
I found myself fighting back tears on the drive back to my place. Questions sprang to mind, 'Why me? Why should I have to put up with this curse?' but no answers came. Pulling into my lot, I saw an unfamiliar car in my reserved parking space. Could it be Heather?
My front door was unlocked, I knew she was behind it. She looked up at me as I entered the apartment, I must have been a sight to see in those over-sized boy clothes. I expected her to be angry with me, but she seemed more concerned. That's when the tears came.
I shut the door and locked it, then burying my face in my hands I spoke first. “Heather I'm sorry about what I said last night.”
“Don't worry, it's I who should apologize for doing this to you.” she said in a soothing tone. “Where were you when it happened tonight? Not driving I hope.”
I sniffled a little and nodded no.
“That's good, operating heavy machinery and undergoing our change don't mix.” she said half seriously and half joking. “As long as nobody saw you change, your secret is safe. Nobody saw you, did they?”
I nodded no again, my sobbing was under control now. “I'm sorry I didn't wait for you tonight.” I said at last.
“It's OK, we can still meet up with the pack. They'll be waiting for us at the usual spot, I told them we'd be late.” Heather explained. “It's always a cause for alarm when a thrall goes AWOL, but I knew you'd come around. You can run and hide from this new part of you all you want, but it won't do any good. You might as well get used to being one of us now, so go get dressed.”
Her instructions were firm but not bossy, and I instantly knew what she meant. I wobbled into my bedroom stripping out of my ill fitting clothes as I went. By the time I reached my closet, I was naked. The ends of my lips curled into a smile as I glimpsed my form in its feminine glory reflected in the mirror. It was the first time I smiled since leaving the Game Stop store.
Reaching into my closet, I pulled the sun-dress off it's hanger and held it against my shoulders. The last time I engaged in this exercise the garment looked ridiculous against my male form. This time around, it appeared to fit like a glove. The flares at the hip matched my own curvaceous bod. The bumps on my once flat chest lifted the material perfectly. I was excited to put it on.
As I slipped into the dress, I instantly became aware of how complex getting one of these things on can be. The zipper ran up my back, and was impossible to reach. I pulled the straps onto my shoulders, and attempted to work the zipper. I was reaching back to grab it at full extension, my body strangely contorted in the effort. That's when I noticed Heather standing behind me.
“Let me help dear.” she said. Gliding over she took the zipper from bottom to top. “There you go.”
Now fully zipped in, I became aware of the elastic band which seemed to be cupping my breasts. The dress was tight all over, but especially snug in the chest. It seemed to lift my bosom ever so slightly from the bottom while hugging my breasts tightly at the sides. The effect produced cleavage very similar to the woman in the music store earlier. This instant was like any other time I admired a pretty girls rack as I gazed down, but the tit meat was all me this time. “Damn...” I half whispered aloud.
Heather was giggling. “I know that's quite a rack of lamb honey. I may have skimped on the built in bra.” she hooked her thumbs under the chest opening of my dress, and tugged softly as I felt my breasts bounce a little. “Well it should be good enough support-wise, I just have to make it a little larger up top. I didn't expect they'd be quite so large!”
I blushed. I had always been a 'breast man' when admiring women's bodies. Now I could admire my own several nights a month.
“Now follow me into the bathroom girl, we gotta get Cinderella ready for the ball.” Heather gently commanded. I obeyed.
Once in the bathroom, Heather produced a small bag from her purse. Make-up, oh great.
“Oh no, no, not that I don't think so.” I protested waving an index finger in her direction.
“Look it's not much, just a little to bring out the pretty.” Heather countered.
I wasn't going to win this argument, so I caved in. Heather brushed on some foundation, and proceeded to add lipstick, eyeliner, blush and a spritz of perfume. It didn't take her long, she was clearly an expert, but as I watched Heather work it was with a growing sense of satisfaction. Whatever she was doing, whatever she was transforming me into, I liked it. Watching my reflection getting prettier and prettier by degree was quite a thrill, but when I saw the finished product I nearly fainted.
I was a knockout. Even before the impromptu make-over I was a beauty but now I looked positively modelesque. “Is that me?” I asked hesitantly. I didn't recognize my own reflection.
“Yes darling, that's all you. If I didn't know any better I'd say you're happy about the way you look right now.” Heather teased. I blushed again, still unable to force the smile from my face. “Now lets get going, you're ready to meet your sisters now.”
Strolling to Heathers waiting car, the night air against my bare shaved legs gave me somewhat of a rush. My posture, my gait, my appearance and my voice all identified me as a member of the female gender. Even a stranger at 100 paces would see, hear and possibly even smell girl. I couldn't help it, and I didn't really mind for the moment at least.
Conversation on the way to wherever we found ourselves going was thin. Of course Heather knew where we were going, I however had no idea. We passed through the central business district, Chinatown, the warehouse district, and at last the waterfront. We ended our drive clear across town from my humble abode. We parked Heather's car and walked a short distance to a seedy looking door, a nightclub on an otherwise empty street.
But however dead the street was, the club was lively. Heather and I sashayed past the doorman and into the lobby. The dance floor was packed with youthful gyrating bodies, 20 something males and females. My kind of place, except my perspective on the matter was considerably different now. Heather took my hand and led me through the crowd, vibrations from the bass working their way up my legs as we went.
As we passed the dancers, I could see some of them looking up. Men eyed me up with lust, and though that was sort of revolting it also felt empowering. The girls I passed regarded me with envy or passive hostility. They held their male dance partners more closely as I passed them. They thought I was fishing fir a man, and being blessed with ample bait made me a formidable adversary to them. I glanced down at my bulging breasts pridefully. It was my first glimpse at the power a magnificent pair of knockers possessed. And they were mine! Strange as it may seem, it felt good to be a pretty girl at a nightclub.
On the other side of the club stood a lonely door with a sign overhead that read, 'VIP's only!' We went right in.
The room fell silent as the door swung shut behind us, an odd contrast to the noisy club behind it. Inside the room was adorned by plush looking furniture, tasteful (well for a nightclub) artwork and nick-nack's. Bottles of overpriced night-club champagne, glasses with mixed drinks all littered the small tables ringing the room. The overall effect was pretty cheesy, I'd never been in a VIP room before, and even now I didn't feel like a VIP.
Oh yeah. One other detail I left out regarding the VIP room: it was filled with beautiful women.
“Ladies, meet Erin, Erin, this is the pack.” Heather smiled as she gestured to the room full of women, or more accurately werewomen.
Glancing over a sea of faces, I could see some women smiling at me, others glaring indifferently, while a couple were clearly undressing me with their eyes. I was flattered, offended and a bit turned on all at once.
“We meet here on the last full moon night of each monthly set.” Heather explained. “It allows us to plan pack activities for the next moon set, share developments from the previous changing nights,support one another and keep each other company. Is everyone here?” Heather asked no one in particular.
“Everyone except the day-walker.” someone towards the back revealed.
“She's always late, we can start without her. Lets just go around the room and introduce ourselves one at a time.” Heather seemed to be in charge here.
Before anyone else could speak I blurted out, “Sort of like werewoman anonymous.”
“God, I get so sick of hearing those corny thrall jokes.” barked a raven haired woman immediately to my right. I hadn't expected that reaction.
“Easy Vanessa,” Heather warned, “not everybody has the advantage of being born a pure blooded werewoman.”
“Pure-blood?” I said with a quizzical inflection.
“Pure blood, as in my father was a werewoman and I was born a ticking time bomb. I grew up a normal red-blooded American boy, then one evening in my teens the full moon triggered my inherited werewoman gene out of dormancy.” She seemed defensive. “Great job Heather, your thrall doesn't know shit about her new condition. Didn't you give her the book?” said Vanessa. I was beginning to think I didn't like this woman...err werewoman...whatever she was.
“Relax, it's her first moon set and she hasn't finished reading the manual. I spoke to her last night and told her the important stuff she needed to know immediately. Still she's having some trouble adjusting.” Heather was defending me and criticizing me all at once.
“That's OK, we all do at first.” chimed the pixie-like blond seated in the corner of the room. “I remember after I was bitten I thought I was going insane. Even with Becky helping me through my first moons, I just couldn't accept what I was becoming.” she explained.
“Thanks Rita, that's exactly the case with Erin. She just needs some time to let this reality sink in.” Heather displayed the coolness and calm I'd come to expect from her once more. Vanessa seemed to shrink back into the crowd. “Tonight she learned that you can't run from your moons, they'll catch up to you no matter where you are.”
Things seemed to be calming down in here, and I was thankful for Rita immediately. Finally, a person who could relate to my experience with this curse. I felt relieved to know that someone out there had been through what I was going through now. I wanted to pull her aside and talk to her in private then and there, but she continued on her own.
“I guess for me the turning point came when I accepted that I was going to change whether I wanted to or not. Physically changing under the full moon was not a choice, it was a mandate from my body. Once I realized this, I saw there was a choice to make between fighting my new nature and being miserable or embracing the change and trying to have a little fun with it.” Rita's words had really struck a chord within me. "If I'm going to be a girl sometimes, I might as well enjoy it."
'F*&$ing A right Rita. Simple but beautifully put,' I thought to myself.
“Since that day,” Rita went on, “I've never let my condition make me miserable again. On that day I went from cursed to blessed and all it took was a little self examination."
I was running over her epiphany in my mind when I heard the thudding bass of club music fill the room once more. In through the open door behind me stepped a beautiful blond wearing skin tight jeans and a designer top.
“Sorry I'm late girls! I got caught up at the mall.” she said upon entering.
“Oh great, the day-walker is here at last.” said Vanessa sarcastically.
It was about that point that I put two and two together. This woman they all referred to as 'day-walker' was the same woman I had seen earlier in the music store. I knew her on sight, but did she recognize me?
Did she recognize me? Well she walked right past me and took a seat without a word so I guess not. Now that the matter of her recognizing me was settled, I felt compelled to ask. In a shy, frail voice much higher than the one I was used to, I found myself saying, “You guys...what's a day-walker?”
“Oh for Pete's sake Heather, you said you covered the important stuff.” belted Vanessa. “And with melons like hers,” Vanessa stood and gestured to my ample breasts, “that should have been the first chapter you told her to read.”
“Vanessa that's quite enough.” Heather looked angry for the first time tonight. Composing herself she continued. “All in good time, it's a lot of information and it should be taken in small doses.”
“Says you.” said the one they called 'day-walker.' “Look she has a right to know, it's a distinct possibility that she might end up like me.”
“Like what? Or, who? Heather what are they talking about?” I asked fearfully.
“OK you asked for it. Try not to blow a gasket when I tell you though.” Heather said swallowing hard. “A Day-walker is a werewoman who can transform any time, day or night, and totally at will. They have control over their form to the point where even the full moon can't force them to change.”
“But...look, she's a...a girl.” I protested
“It's totally voluntary hun. Just wait and listen, she's getting to the good part.” said the still nameless 'day-walker.'
“It's like she said, the only reason she's female now is because she wants to be. Most day-walkers stay in female form year-round. Our Emily is no different.” At last, the 'day-walker' had a name. Emily.
"Once you discover a little more about being a woman, you'll quickly realize that it beats being a man hands down.” Heather was on a roll. “What separates us from the day-walkers is, they can change under the light of the sun. Even an experienced werewoman like myself, or Vanessa there can't pull that off.” Heather sounded sad.
“So how does one become a day-walker?” I inquired.
“It's complicated.” Heather admitted. Big surprise. “It's a combination of training and genetic potential. With a little practice, most werewoman can force a change during a night when the moon isn't full. Most of us simply don't want to, 3 nights is enough, sometimes more than enough. But for some reason, day-walkers gravitate towards spending more and more time as women. They'll force it more and more, until eventually the woman inside spills over into daylight hours.” Heather revealed looking somewhat red-faced.
“So like, they become addicted to femininity?” I asked sounding rather like a valley girl.
“Bingo.” Heather acknowledged my correctness. “Now like I said, for most werewomen this isn't possible. Believe me I've tried to live in one gender, as a woman, and I simply can't hold my form under the light of the sun. The only way I could do that is to get pregnant.”
“To get what-now?” I was scared.
“Pregnant dear, and yes before you ask it is a slim possibility.” I gulped as Heather went on. “If a werewoman gets pregnant, they stay female until the full moon following delivery. That's when their new curse begins, they become weremen.”
“Weremen? Is that what I think it is?” I asked.
“If you think it's a woman that becomes male on the nights of the full moon, than yes.” Heather answered. “And so the person continues to live between genders no matter what. Only now they have a child to care for, a child that will probably inherit the curse during adolescence.” Heather trailed off. “Only day-walkers like Emily here can live in a single gender.”
“And once you get to chose between male and female...well it's a no brainer you'll see.” said Emily.
“I will?” I asked somewhat defensively. “How come you're so sure?” I was pointing with my left hand, my right rested high on my girly hip. Noticing my posture I corrected myself and struck a more gender neutral pose.
“It's the tits darling. Remember what your weremommy Heather said about genetic potential? Well you've got it in spades kid.” Emily's words cut me like a knife. Scanning the room, I saw many b-cups, quite a few c-cups, and even a pair or two of small d-cups. But my maguppies were larger than all of theirs, a solid d or even a double. Though still somewhat smaller than Emily's pair, that was little comfort to me. “But don't worry, you have a long way to go before you can be like me.”
Emily's speech reminded me of something Heather said the night before, ““There are three nights of the full moon per month, and like it or not you'll be transforming on all of them. And who knows? With breasts that large, probably a couple times in between full moons too.” Heathers parting words had new significance now.
“So you're all in agreement, I could end up like her?” I asked. Seeing her in the mall earlier today, totally immersed in her femininity I envisioned this to be my future. I was trembling at the thought.
“Yeah isn't it cool?” asked Emily light-heartedly.
I said nothing.
“While it's not inevitable, it is probable.” Heather said in a serious voice. “You may not become a day-walker, but only you can decide that.” she said. “And besides, the path of the day-walker is a gradual biological progression. If that's the road you travel, you'll walk down it at your own pace.”
“Now then...” Heather was shifting gears in the conversation. “If we're all done trying to scare the new girl, we can get back to introductions and have a good time.”
Right. A good time indeed. Just when I think adjusting to 3 nights as a woman will be tough I face the prospect of a permanent magical sex change. What would I do? Where would I live and work? With no credentials or identity for my female self, the prospect of becoming a day-walker scared me to death.
Heather M.C'ed the remaining introductions but I hardly heard a word. I was too busy thinking about this day walker business. At one point towards the end of the introductions, I found myself staring at Emily. She was fumbling through her purse, but then she looked up with a smile and wink. It was as though she knew something about me that not even I knew. She may indeed.
When the introductions ended, all twenty three women and I stood up and clinked glasses in a toast, “To the new sister of our pack.”
At that point some of the sisters left, the pack business having been completed. Others went out to join the dancing. Heather and I stayed put.
“Don't let Emily scare you, she's actually a really nice girl. And that whole day-walker thing, just don't worry. If it's meant to be it's meant to be.” Heather said.
“I'm not scared, it's just that I can't see myself living as a woman all the time.” I admitted.
“Than it probably won't happen hun. Just be aware that the longer a person lives with this condition, the more it changes them. You might not notice it for a while, it won't be overnight, but one day you'll look at this werewoman thing very differently than you do now.” Heather had a thoughtful expression. “So don't be surprised if what you want changes over time.”
I nodded in agreement. “Look I need a drink.” I stood up and walked out into the club. Heather didn't follow.
Sliding up to the bar, I ordered a Bud to the shock of the male bartender. He poured it though. While I was waiting for my glass to fill, I saw another woman enter my peripheral vision. It was Emily.
Before I could object, or get my beverage, she was pulling me out on the dance-floor. “Lets see that hot little body of your in motion!” she said excitedly.
I'd never been a good dancer, but I found my hips swaying to the bass beat while my arms moved about in time to the music around me. 'I'll be damned' I thought, 'dancing really is instinctual to women.' My expression must have read amazement as I moved my body like it never had before. I felt my hips popping as I swayed, my long hair dusting my neck gently, and my breasts bobbed with every motion I made. I could even feel the jiggle of my ass bouncing around with every step.
Emily smiled as she moved around me, contorting her body in a seductive dance of her own invention. We made eye contact, erupting into a fit of giggles periodically. As the only two werewomen on the dance floor, we had a private joke to share.
We danced for an hour, at one point colliding breast to breast. I'd never been hit in the breast before,and it hurt a bit in a strange sort of way. Emily laughed at my reaction to the new sensation. “Thralls are always so much fun to hang around. I wish I could remember the nuances of femininity but living it every day is great.”
“I'm glad you feel that way.” I said over the loud music. “I just don't know if I could manage it.” I saw Heather sitting alone at a table near the back. I thought she was keeping an eye on me, or maybe I just hoped she was.
We continued to cavort around the dance floor, and I relished the erotic sensations of being an object of desire. I didn't know whose desire, but that didn't matter. “I'm starting to get sweaty.” I said to my companion.
“Women don't sweat dear, we glow!” replied Emily cheerfully. We continued dancing in close proximity, and at one point had what can only be described as a moment. Our eyes locked, and I leaned forward to kiss her on the lips. This music and our proximity was beginning to affect me. At the critical moment when our lips were about to meet, I backed off.
“Whats the matter? Too soon?”Emily shrugged as the music began to change. “I suppose I'll let you get used to womanhood before I try and make a lesbian out of you.” she winked. Just hearing the word lesbian roll off her tongue made me blush. I'd always appreciated movies where two women got together, now I could star in my own if I wanted. And I sort of did.
I could tell the DJ was mixing in a smaple of a new Lady Gaga club mix, and I rolled my eyes in response.
“Let's go have a seat, Erin.” Emily took my hand and led me towards an empty table. “Only a person who didn't have a clue would jam out to Lady Gaga.” she said locking eyes as we sat. “What, you thought I didn't recognize you from the music store earlier?”
I blushed, unsure how to answer.
I didn't know how to answer her question. I found myself saying, “But, how? I looked totally different this afternoon.”
“When I saw you standing there, checking me out, I noticed your aura. I assumed you could read mine too, at first.” Emily said. “But then, after you said what you did and walked away, I knew better. You heard 'her' voice while you were looking at me, didn't you?” she leaned in close after asking.
“Yes, she was...I mean, I was critiquing your appearance. Your fashion choices, your hairstyle...” I admitted. “I heard it for the first time after looking at you, but it kept creeping into my brain as I walked past the department store window displays. It was even louder later on as I checked out other women.” I wondered what the significance of this was.
“That voice is your inner girl, you heard it tonight because your transformation was close at hand.” Emily said. “It's sort of an early warning of an impending change. And as the change draws nearer, the voice grows louder and more dominant. Once you begin to hear the voice, you've only got a couple of hours until it begins.” Emily was in professor mode. “It's just your inner-girl taking over, forcing 'her' way out. 'She' may even maker her presence felt in other ways as the change grows near, like making strange decisions or reading aura's without even meaning to.”
The more I thought about it, the more I related to what she was describing. I'd first heard the whisper of my female side in the record store, just a coupe of hours before I transformed in the theater. Even though I didn't see Emily's aura at the time, later on in the food court I was seeing them on everybody. And the voice did seem to grow louder all the while in between. When I purchased the ticket to see that crummy romantic comedy, it was as though my male side was on vacation.
“That's how we mentally prepare for a shift, kind of like our minds changing before our bodies.” Emily was making a lot of sense. “If you're like the rest of the pack, you'll only hear 'her' speaking around the full moons. It might happen a couple of other times, but in fairly predictable pattern.”
“Like the nights before and after the full moon nights?” I asked. I seemed to remember reading something about that in the book.
“Yes, some of the girls you met tonight gender-shift a total of five to seven nights each month. They don't have a choice in the matter, it just happens. Others only change for those magical 3 nights in the middle when the moon is at its fullest, like you did this month.” Emily confirmed. “That's how it starts with all of us who feel the pull of the moon, some just feel it more strongly than others.”
“And all that depends on how strong your female side grows?” I asked.
“Yes. And like Heather and I said earlier it's a combination of desire to be female and genetic potential.” Emily seemed to have a lot of answers. “After living as a werewoman for about a year, your sensitivity to the lunar cycle should be pretty well known to you. You'll know by then if you're a three nighter, or a full weeker, or whatever in between. Unless you're like me.”
“How did you become like you are?” I'll have to admit, I was dying to know.
“I was a regular guy with a great job, a young family and all of that. But I hid the fact that I was a cross-dresser from everyone.” Emily confessed. “I found myself getting deeper and deeper into the lifestyle, and I couldn't get enough. I sneaked around and planned some fake 'business trips' to dress up alone in a hotel, but that was it for a long time. One night, during one of my fake business trips, I felt I just had to go out.
I went to a TG friendly bar, and that's where it happened. I crossed paths with a young thrall like yourself. A newly turned werewoman with no idea what she was doing. All it took was one lapse in judgment, one infidelity and I ended up a werewoman.” Emily looked pouty.
“I felt as though I was hypnotized. One minute I'm having a ball at a crossdressers bar. Then I meet a genuine girl too beautiful to believe. Before I knew it, we were making love. I remember her riding me on the bed of a cheap motel room. It all felt so magical until these massive fangs slid out in front of her canine teeth, and she leaned down and bit me.” Emily gestured toward her shoulder.
“You can guess what happened to me a month later.” Emily said as she cleared her throat.
I was fascinated to hear about her past, but I had to know more specifics. “So when did you know you were different from other werewomen?” I asked
“That's a good question.” Emily thought for a moment before speaking. “About 6 months after I was bitten, I learned how to force myself to change at night without needing the full moon. I did it a few times for fun, and after a couple of months I started doing it more often.”
Emily looked slightly embarrassed but she continued. “Then it started happening on it's own. I'd be leaving the office when the whispering started, by the time I got to my front door I was fighting back the shift with all I had. Once I was inside and the door was locked, it just sort of took over. Half the time I couldn't even get my suit off fast enough. Girl time started taking up all of my nights.”
For a second I thought she was finished speaking, then she began again. “It was kind of scary how fast it happened. Within two and a half years of becoming a werewoman, I could force a shift and hold it any time, day or night.” she revealed. “Although a shift could force itself on me at any time too.”
I broke eye contact with her for a moment and reflected on all the experiences I had that evening. As fascinated as I was with Emily, I felt like I was missing an opportunity to bond with Heather. The dread I experienced earlier today seemed to evaporate as soon as I met up with her. As the evening wore on, I found myself having a lot of fun because of her. Heather had helped me with my make-up, made my introduction as comfortable as possible, defended me when I needed a champion. She wasn't even angry that I was late for our meeting tonight. As my thought turned to all that she'd done for me, I found myself scanning the room looking for her.
“I think your weremommy went home, kid-o.” Emily said. “But don't worry, I'll get you where you need to go.”
I was upset by Heathers departure, but she'd left me in good hands. Still I couldn't help but feel that there was something wrong between Heather and I. How could she leave me here without saying goodbye? I was on the third and final night of my first set of changing moons, I was sure I wouldn't see her for a while. She was responsible for turning me, and she just splits! What nerve. The more I thought about it, the angrier it made me. Despite myself, I felt like a lover scorned.
“OK lets leave, it's getting late.” my voice sounded slightly annoyed.
We strolled out to her car, and as I entered the passenger seat, she asked, “My place or yours?”
“Where do you live?” I replied with a question.
“Not far.” she answered.
“Your place it is.” I said. It was just past two in the morning as we began our drive. It was a quiet ten minutes, but as we pulled into a condo community in the business district Emily spoke.
“Home sweet home.” she stated proudly
“Swanky!” I jested. But in reality this place was really nice. Ultra modern design signaled it's new construction, in fact Emily mentioned that the complex was only 2 years old as we rode the elevator to her floor. We entered her condo, and I was astonished to see the stylish furniture and classy décor. This place was not only a primo location, but well appointed too.
“Back when I was living in a 'man's world' I managed to make a pile of money in the market.” Emily volunteered as if to she anticipated my question. “After I was turned, I quit my job at the brokerage house and went out on my own. I knew nobody at my office would understand or want to deal with what I was becoming. Still once you're trained to pick a winner in the market, it becomes second nature so I still do alright.” Emily was all smiles.
“It shows!” I said, marveling at the opulence around me. “Is this Italian leather on your sofa?” I asked enthusiastically.
“Yes, nice eye for detail.” said Emily
The living room also featured a fire place, above it was a framed picture of a family. “Yours?” I asked cautiously pointing.
“Yes and no. It's complicated.” Emily looked guarded. “At first, my wife was supportive when I started changing from 'Emile' (she pointed to the man in the photo) into 'Emily' (she pointed to herself). We became close girlfriends. She tried to understand it for a while, but when it really intensified and I started being Emily more and more, my baby decided she couldn't handle it. She left and took my two daughters. It was a bad time for me, but in the end surviving it allowed me to emerge as the happy woman you see today.” She smiled contentedly.
“Do you miss them?” I asked.
“Every day.” She replied. “We parted on good terms, and I support my children and ex-wife financially. I see her once in a while, but never the kids.” she sounded sad.
“Why is that?” 'Am I prying?' I thought for a split second. 'I hope not.'
“Not long after we separated, it became clear that 'Emile' was never going to resurface. So I faked his death and built an identity for Emily. I'm doing much better now but at the time I had a family to support and no job. So I killed off 'Emile' and my wife became 'his' widow. As such, she was entitled to a large sum of insurance money.” I was struck by her honesty. “Meeting my ex for lunch once or twice a month and hearing her talk about my little angels is as close to being a parent as I'll ever get again. Still maybe it's better that way.” Emily trailed off...
As I listened to her speak, I could feel Emily's pain in all the personal details she revealed to me. I'd never felt so empathetic towards another human being. Somehow I felt her suffering was mine. Perhaps it was another side effect of my present femininity, but one I was rather enjoying. There seemed to be no shortage of perks to the female condition, and tonight quite a few had revealed themselves. The compassion I felt for Emily's loss had somehow strengthened our bond and made us closer. But what to say?
“I understand why you did what you did, but I think your daughters deserve the truth. Maybe someday when the time is right....” I paused. Perhaps I'd overstepped my bounds, but I couldn't stop the honesty. “You obviously love them very much, and if you and your ex can be girlfriends after all that you went through, maybe there is a chance.” Damn my big mouth, Emily looked to be on the brink of tears.
“Thank you for listening. I didn't expect you to say that but I'm kind of glad that you did.” Emily wiped a lone tear from her eyes. “I've been thinking about them a lot recently. We've been apart for years now.”
“Better late than never.” I don't know why I default to chicle's at times.
“So tell me about yourself, Erin.” she asked smiling again now that the emotional moment had passed.
I told her about myself, where I grew up and went to school. My job and my hobbies, all the things that made me the person I am. It was going on three in the morning, but I felt energetic as I revealed personal details about my life to my new companion. It felt a strong connection to her, and even though I couldn't explain why, it was as though we'd know each other for years.
We talked late into the night about a range of subjects until at last we ended up in the bedroom.
Face to face on the King sized bed in her master bedroom, for the first time since the dance floor we were close enough so that I could feel her warm breath on my skin. We kissed tenderly, hugging one another close. I felt a growing warmth emanating from my midsection and within moments the symptoms of feminine arousal began to manifest. My nipples stiffened, visible through my dress and built in bra, I felt weak in the knees. I relished the sensation of my labia swelling as my inner walls began to lubricate themselves. I could feel Emily's hand rubbing on my inner thigh in small circles, getting closer and closer to my magic box.
Suddenly I could feel a tugging sensation on the bottom of my dress. In an instant the material encased my face, Emily was stripping it off of me. I wasn't wearing a bra or panties, and I found myself naked before the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. I wanted her clothes off too.
As if she were a mind reader, she tossed off her shirt and fumbled with the strap in the back of her bra. My earlier claim that her knockers would sag to the floor without a bra to support them proved patently false. They defied gravity without having the appearance of being silicone-enhanced. They were similar in a lot of respects to my own pair, just ever so slightly larger. Magnificent.
We resumed our face to face position on the bed, fondling each others mammeries as we kissed passionately I could feel the intense hardness of my large feminine nipples contrast with Emily's soft cupid bow lips as she took the tiny pink length in her mouth. Gently sucking upon my chest produced a sensation throughout my body that felt like an electric shock. It was as though a new connection had been established between my nipples and the smooth flat womanly crease between my legs.
Emily ground her womanhood against my body, her sense of urgency apparent. I could feel the heat emanating from deep within her as she pressed her delicate flesh into my leg.. I kissed her marvelous breasts, and planted a trail of kiss-lets down her body until I reached her midsection. Teasing her for a while, I could feel her squirm beneath me. At last I dove into her hairless lotus patch head first. Swirling my tongue in a circle, I could hear my lover moan in ecstasy between breathy encouragement.
“Oh my God that feels good...Yes right there...You're so f*%#ing GOOD at this!” Emily was boosting my ego big time. Several intense minutes passed. More pillow talk, though increasingly incoherent, poured out of my mate. “You don't... even know.....I...Ahhh...Don't stop, don't you ever stop!” Emily squirmed wildly beneath my grasp, orgasm washing over her like a tsunami wave.
I guess I hadn't lost my touch!
Soon it was her turn to reciprocate. She was no slouch either. As her tongue flickered across the surface of my tender folds of female skin, I panted and bucked my hips wildly. Pangs of passion fired off in various parts all over my body. Emily sped up her pace, and I could feel a powerful force building withing the walls of my new girly organ. The pleasure increased to the point of being unbearable, and seemed to explode all over my body at once.
I was moaning and convulsing as muscles from my stomach to my finger-tips contracted in pleasure. And unlike the pumping, diminishing feeling of the brief male orgasms I'd come to know, I felt a gentle clenching and un-clenching in my loins and throughout my whole being. The pleasurable sensation lasted much longer and felt truly amazing in comparison. Waves of pleasure coursed all over my shaking body.
But Emily didn't let up. “Ready for another? Oh yeah, you are.” she said briefly. Then she buried her head in my lap once more and the awesome feeling continued unabated. I was on the brink of cumming for the second time in quick succession when I passed out. My body couldn't handle the pleasure Emily was inflicting upon it. But as I drifted off to sleep I couldn't help be pleased with the latest and greatest perk of my new condition. Better, and more frequent orgasms.
As I slept I dreamed of my male self. It was a strange dream, one in which I watched myself from outside my own body. It was as though someone was showing me a film of my life.
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I watched myself walking into one of my favorite bars to meet up with some friends from work. I observed in the third person as I took my seat amongst them. We began to drain some beers and chat about the office and sports. It didn't escape my attention that I looked sort of bored and deflated. That's when I noticed my eyes kept wandering off of the conversation and onto to a woman at a table near the back. It was Heather.
It instantly dawned on my dreaming self that this was a replay of the night I'd met her, a night I remembered none too well. I saw myself stand up from my table as though hypnotized and move in the direction of Heathers table. Seated across from her was a woman I now recognized as Vanessa, the grouchy pack sister I met earlier. Vanessa stood and offered me her seat as I approached, saying, “Hold on tight now, Skippy.”
What a jerk.
I continued dreaming, and watched myself take Vanessa's seat across from Heather. I was clearly entranced by her. “How's it going?” I said in my pleasing baritone. “Do you come here often?”
“I don't want to talk to you,” said Heather in a direct uncompromising tone. “Let me speak to the girl within.” Her eyes locked with mine.
“This is she.”I could hear myself say in a voice a pitch or two higher than normal. I looked possessed.
“Tell me sister, how is your boy treating you?” Heather asked
“Not well.” I sounded sad as I answered. “He doesn't acknowledge my existence.” I continued in my strange hypo-voice. “He refuses to accept that I'm a part of him, and every time I try to emerge he immerses himself in macho activities or work.” Who was saying this? I don't ever remember having this conversation but here it was playing out in front of me.
“It's alright sister, I can help you.” Heather reached across the table and stroked my bare fore-arm. I was wearing short sleeves that night. “Do you know what I am?” she asked.
I watched the phantom of past-me nod yes before speaking. “You're a werewoman.”
“Do you know what I can do for you?” Heather and I were holding hands as she asked.
“You can set me free. You can make me whole.” Whatever force was speaking for me continued. “You can change me.”
“Is this what you want?” Heather sounded serious.
“Yes, more than I've ever wanted anything before.” It was like I was under her spell.
I was horrified as I watched myself being victimized. I started screaming at myself, “Don't do it! You don't know what you're getting into!” but it was no use. I felt like Ebeneezer Scrooge during his ghostly visitations in Charles Dickie's, A Christmas Carol . I was standing right there in the moment but I couldn't affect the outcome. I was a spirit in this dream, one who could not be heard, seen or felt.
Heather led me by the hand out the door and past my stunned co-workers. Their fellow worker bee was leaving with the hottest girl in the bar. I walked out behind 'myself,' on the way catching a glimpse of Vanessa kicking game to the female bartender on duty. As much as I wanted to see how that went, I was not here to be a ghostly voyeur. I had to see how this ended.
I followed myself home, planting my spectral rump in the back seat of Heathers car as she drove. When we reached my house, I watched my phantom self and Heather go into the bedroom together. I entered behind them.
After some kissing and feeling each other up, Heather began to strip. I followed suit. Soon we were naked before one another, rolling on the bed in a tight embrace. The moment of penetration approached, and Heather began to speak.
“What am I?” she demanded in a dominatrix tone.
“A werewoman” I answered obediently as Heather climbed on top. She was now straddling my washboard stomach.
“What do you want to be?” Heather pinned my arms down to the bed and hovered her opening just out of my erect members reach.
“I want to be like you.” I said half-heartedly.
“Say it like you mean it!” Heather demanded, getting in my face as she shouted.
“I want to be a werewoman, I want to change and be free like you.” I said with surprising conviction.
This seemed to satisfy Heather, and she smiled wickedly. I watched from behind as she bent her knees, easing my shaft inside her. As her pink lips slowly slithered over my manhood, I saw myself gasp. Heather continued to smile a knowing smile as she rose and fell, gently riding me to a girly doom.
I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I sat in the corner of my room, watching my former self consummate a curse it's giver had made me beg for. It seemed as though the entire time, I was under her spell, intoxicated by her charm, unable to resist. It was like watching a predator with it's prey. I was playing the role of the defenseless herbivore.
On top of it all, I suffered the rare indignity of actually seeing my own 'O-face.' As Heather cavorted on top of me, my eyes rolled into the back of my head, and I twitched ever so slightly. My face was contorted as though I'd had a stroke and simultaneously suffered a grand mall seizure. So that's what all the women in my love life saw staring back at them in the most intimate of moments. Creepy.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Tears were streaming down my face as I awoke with a startling wail. Emily was laying next to me and sprang up when I shouted.
“What is it dear?” Emily begged.
“A dream, about Heather and I last month. Oh God Emily... I feel sick!” A wave of dizziness overcame me and I began to drip sweat.
“It's alright Erin, the sun is rising and your beginning to revert back to your boy self.” Emily sounded calm.
“What, no...I...” Quickly standing up, I felt a full on wave of panic. “Don't look at me!” I shouted as my body began to tingle all over. As much as I didn't want to change the previous evening in the movie theater, that's only a fraction of how much I didn't want to change back now. Emily looked concerned.
“It's OK, just try and relax. We usually sleep through this part. It's only natural that your girl side is reluctant to relinquish control, chances are she won't reemerge until next month.” Emily guided my trembling body to a laying position as the tingling I felt reached crescendo.
As I convulsed on the bed, Emily pulled me up into her lap. My breasts bounced as I shook, but less and less as they began to shrink and whither away. Soon they were completely flat and my nipples seemed to deflate as immediately afterwards. I was grunting in a deepening voice as my hips crunched together to form a slim male profile. I could feel my plump feminine rear melting away and hardening as my rib cage expanded. My shoulders ballooned outwards, forcing Emily to widen her grasp to accommodate them. My clitoris stiffened and seemed to grow as my labia fused together. I could feel my ovaries inside my abdomen sliding their way towards the pouch of loose skin formed by the fusing of my outer lips. Soon the familiar male configuration was back for another term as 'mayor of groin-town.' My frame grew to its normal size and any evidence of my femininity vanished without a trace.
I was crying, my head buried in Emily's lap. It wasn't the least bit painful, I just didn't want to go back yet. Even though she'd seen me as a boy in the music store, I felt ashamed of my maleness in front of Emily right now.
In an attempt to comfort me, she said, “Hush now it's alright. Erin will be back soon. Your special time of the month will be back before you know it.” She was running her fingers through my short boy hair which was both soothing and embarrassing at once.
'Next month' I thought to myself. 'What an awfully long time to wait.'
Emily fed me a large breakfast and drove me home a little later that morning. On the ride back, as I drifted into and out of dreamland, Emily explained why I would feel tired for the next day or two. It's something all werewomen experienced. The strain of transforming so rapidly and dramatically finally catches up with a person on the morning after their last forced shift. Today was my hangover from a weekend of femininity. It would be the first of many to come.
I was so spent, she had to help me down the hall to my door. I was like a rag-doll, but luckily she was plenty strong for both of us. I remembered Heather's comments about having the strength of a male body builder. If she wanted, Emily could probably throw me down my hallway. When we got to my door, Emily assisted me with the key and then kissed me on the fore-head before saying goodbye. She left her number in my pocket, I'd written down mine for her as well. Once inside my castle, I dragged ass to the couch and plopped down, exhausted despite my racing mind.
As a day-walker living full time as a woman, Emily didn't experience these exhausting after effects because her body was no longer forced to endure the metamorphosis. Lucky her, I thought as I drifted off to sleep.
It was the middle of the afternoon when I woke up again, I still felt tired but incredibly hungry too. I raided my fridge and pantry, pigging out on junk food until I was topped off. After I was done feasting, I flipped on the afternoons football game but only half paid attention. Somehow, memorizing every detail of the game to regurgitate in conversation later in the week seemed less important to me than ever. Soon I was asleep again, and before I knew it my Monday morning alarm was ringing.
Work was a drag, I still felt drained from the weekend. My mind kept returning to that strange dream about Heather and I. Something didn't seem right about it. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being manipulated but I hated to think of Heather in such suspicious terms. I was used to feeling conflicted by now, so I just forged on ahead with my work.
I was half asleep at the desk in my office when a new instant message alert chimed in through my PC speakers. Snapping to attention, it appeared Heather was contacting me.
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From-sisterHeather: How is my favorite thrall feeling today?
To- sisterHeather: Drained. Spent. Where did you go Saturday night?
From-sisterHeather: On Saturday I had other business to attend to. Besides Emily and you didn't seem to notice.
To- sisterHeather: You could have said goodbye :(
From-sisterHeather: I'll make it up to you next month.
To-sisterHeather: I had a dream about you and I...the night we met.
From-sisterHeather: O really? Was it good?
To-sisterHeather: Heather, what did you do to me that night? I looked like I was hypnotized.
From-sister Heather: In a way yes. Let's just say you were unable to lie.
To-sisterHeather: It wasn't me you were talking to, it was Erin. You channeled her somehow and she took over. Whoever asked you to do this, it wasn't me speaking!
From-sisterHeather: You're still thinking about Erin as a separate person...
To-sisterHeather: She is!
From-sisterHeather: ...and that is why you fail.
sisterHeather has disconnected
User logged out
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I fail? Who did she think she was, master tap-dancing Yoda?! I was fuming mad.
As the days ticked past on my calendar, I found myself somewhat withdrawn socially. I'd taken a big step back from everybody I was close to, everyone except Emily. As the days turned into weeks, I spent many an hour sitting on her Italian leather sofa confiding in her like she was a close relative. I told her everything I was feeling, including the details of my dream about Heather.
Emily didn't know what to make about the dream, and she seemed to change the topic whenever it came up. The one thing she said that stuck with me was that our dreams can sometimes reveal subconscious desires otherwise hidden from our waking self. It sounded like Sigmund Freud psychobabble, but Emily had no shortage of deep and thoughtful insights to offer.
Never in my life had I engaged in such emotionally enriching banter. It was a departure from my old self that I noticed happening in real time, but didn't struggle against. It was liberating to talk about my feelings with a kindred spirit.
But as the weeks rolled by, there were other subtle differences in my demeanor. Once or twice, I found my bodies posture changing from regular masculine to very feminine. I kept correcting myself when I noticed it happening and wondered how many times I had done it without taking notice. The swing of an elbow while walking, the hand on a hip while speaking, I even noticed myself crossing my legs in the typically female way on a few occasions. This is one change that I am not comfortable with.
Of course I told Emily, and she regarded it as perfectly natural. To her it was my girl side stepping in to assist my male self, integrating into my personality. According to her, all werewomen go through the process of balancing. My inner-female bleeding over into my male life would make shifting genders less jarring. According to Emily and the handbook, the transformation event itself would become less dramatic as this process advanced. Soon it would feel as natural as breathing. I still had my lingering doubts, but it was encouraging to hear that I was 'normal,' at least by werewoman standards.
In addition, during my male weeks there were several nights that I simply flaked out on plans to hang with my work friends. Instead of drinking and carousing, I sat at home alone and read the manual. I was just about finished with it now. In a way I missed the good times I could have been having with the guys, but I seemed to relate to them less and less since my run in with Heather. All they seemed to do was talk about sports and argue politics. It always devolved into a booze fueled ball-busting session. A pissing contest. Whose team had better pitching? Which candidate was more likable? None of it mattered because none of us agreed on anything. We were a younger version of the 4 old putz's that sat around the barbershop and argued in Coming to America.
I flashed back in my mind to a scene from that movie. “Joe Louis always lied about his age. He was 117 years old when he fought Rocky Marciano.” It sounded like something one of us might say. My group was a reduced in stature to a caricature of 1980's comic relief. But it was a fact.
The only other skill we possessed was collectively evaluating hot women in our vicinity. Ladies who they could not summon the courage to actually speak with. I never had a problem talking to women, it just came naturally. To me, watching my peers flounder their way through failed pick up attempts was the real entertainment. But now, I found their lack of confidence disturbing instead of merely amusing. Didn't they know that was a serious turn-off?
I was sort of neutral to developments concerning my friends. I seemed to be losing and gaining so much at once, they were just disappearing in the shuffle. There was no dramatic break, no 'F-you' moment between us, just a widening chasm with me on one side and them on the other.
But all of this was nothing compared to the most serious and alarming change. It happened about seven or eight days before I was scheduled to change into Erin again. I found myself at the mall, and before I could think my legs were moving in the direction of the Victoria's Secret store. No Game-Stop, no music store, I did not pass 'Go' or collect $200. I went straight into Victoria's Secret as though I belonged in there. I always liked to look at their catalog and window displays, but today I was drawn in.
A friendly young saleswoman in her late teens or early twenties approached me. “Hi My name is Kelly, can I help you?” she was chipper and cheerful.
Still unsure about my purpose in the store, struggled to find an answer. As my mind went blank in the face of her query, I found myself saying, “I'll need two body by Victoria braziers and a push up bra, all size 34-D. I'll also need a pair of No-line panties and two pairs of Intimisimi style panties, all in size four.” I guess a part of me knew exactly what it wanted, and even knew which sizes and style to ask for.
“You got it sir! Your girlfriend is a lucky woman to have you spoil her like this. Most men don't know the first thing about lingerie.” Kelly led me around the store handing me the garments I'd requested as we went. As the bra's and panties piled up in my hands, I fought the burning urge to hold them up against my body to check the style and fit. 'Later! Not here.' I found myself compromising with...myself. It was difficult to resist but somehow I managed.
As we approached the register, I handed my treasures back to the friendly sales associate so she could ring them up. Kelly was chipper as ever as she wrapped up my purchase 'gift style.' I didn't bother stopping her. Girlfriend, right. That's the ticket. Little did she know I'd be wearing this stuff in a few short nights, and it would fit like a glove.
The total was a bit higher than I'd expected. I knew women's underwear was expensive but wow. I only bought three days worth, and it set me back well over $100. Suddenly I missed buying packs of tighty whitey's and boxer briefs for $10. Being a woman sometimes was going to get expensive.
I hit a couple of other stores, and the same phenomenon repeated itself. I would stumble into the women's department, with no idea about what I was doing there. A female sales associate would approach me and ask what I needed and in which sizes. They were all very helpful, and upon hearing the sizes I requested all remarked about my 'lucky girlfriend.' Most of them commented on my purchases too, the lady at Anne Taylor even came onto me. She said something like, “I hope your lady knows how lucky she is to have a handsome man with good taste buying her pretty things. I know if I was her, I'd be very grateful.” She was holding me tightly by the arm as she spoke, making full on eye contact for each syllable. It looked like the 'irresistible to women' part of my condition was working now.
My arms filled up with bags as I wandered back to the entrance of the mall, winding my way past the Victoria's Secret store again. Cheerful Kelly was standing near the entrance with a co-worker, both were looking out towards the food-court as I passed them. Kelly smiled and waved to me as I passed, I returned the gesture even though I had to shuffle bags between my hands to pull it off. 'What a nice young lady' I thought to myself as I left the mall.
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A young lass named Kelly Huchins watched the strange male customer from earlier pass by the store front once more. He'd been friendly in the store and all, but there was something about him she couldn't quite place. 'Better wave and smile, he's good business after-all' she rationalized.
He was waving back when the realization hit her. He was the man from the movie theater a couple weeks ago. She and her boyfriend had seen him there. But there was something else, something memorable about him that night. Kelly focused her mind on remembering what it was.
While he definitely walked in to the theater behind them, he appeared to be alone. Later on in the movie, she looked back again and saw his girlfriend getting up to leave, no sign of him what-so-ever. What's more, when his girlfriend left, she was wearing the same lame clothes that the strange man had worn into the show. Her boyfriend Kevin had said something about him too. What the devil was it?
Unbenounced to me, Kelly's mind was on the brink of making a connection that could blow the lid off of my werewoman secret. The lights were coming on within her mind, but then suddenly a tap on the shoulders stopped her in her tracks. It was her ironically named co-worker, Victoria.
“You want a pretzel or something?” Victoria asked. “I'm going on break for a few minutes.”
Kelly nodded no. Whatever she was just thinking about was important, but now the thought was gone. Victoria headed off into the food court and Kelly re-entered her store to assist a customer.
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There have been so many little changes over the weeks, it's hard to talk about all of them. Emily was right about a lot of things, but especially correct about the time in between moons flying by. My next transformation was going to be soon, and I still hadn't heard from Heather. I was tempted to ask Emily if she knew where I could find Heather's male alter ego, but I didn't want to go stalker on her. I knew nothing about her male life, and there might be a good reason for that. So I focused on my work instead. Worst comes to worst, I'd see her at the pack meeting later in the week.
It was a Monday morning, I'd be transforming for the first time that month on Saturday evening. I had an interview scheduled with a hopeful employee to get through first. A youthful lad named Mr. Kevin Jones came to my office in a suit and tie, looking smart as he entered.
But as he looked at me seated behind my desk, an expression of faint recognition crossed his face. Come to think of it, he looked familiar to me as well. But I could not place his name or face. After the brief awkward moment at the start of the interview, it turned out this kid had all of the skills we were looking for. And a smooth personality to match. Plus being young, unmarried and childless with no experience, I could get him for a small salary. I decided to give him the job then and there, though I didn't say so directly because I had to clear it with Human Resources.
As he was leaving my office after the interview, Kevin turned to me and said, “I got it! You were at the movie theater a couple weekends ago, that's how I remember you! God that's been bugging me this whole time.” He was smiling, clearly proud of his detective-like memory. His right hand was out for me to shake.
I was mortified for a second until I pulled it together. “Yeah I was there the other weekend. We'll be in touch about the position.” I smiled rather weakly. He left my office without another word. How much of his movie-going experience did this kid remember?
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A young lad named Kevin Jones strolled through a parking lot after nailing a job interview. Everything had gone astonishingly well, and he even managed to impress his prospective employer with a feat of memory. All he was thinking about was telling his girlfriend, Kelly as soon as he got home. Whistling a happy tune as he strode, Kevin couldn't help but think to himself, 'Damn I'm smooth.'
It felt like I was floating on air as I carried my make-up kit into the bathroom. I also brought along some products for my soon to be long and silky hair. I spread them about automatically, adjusting them as the strengthening girl voice in my head commanded me to. I even slung the push-up bra and a pair of no-line panties I wanted to wear after the change over my bath towel. Erin was preparing my house to suit her needs knowing that she would be unleashed again very soon. Aaron, on the other hand, was growing weaker as the day progressed. Somehow, knowing that the coming transformation was unavoidable allowed me to accept it.
It was getting near the end of the day that Monday, and Jerry sat anxious in his cubicle. It wasn't because the other males in the office treated him like an outcast. Being a crossdresser as far back as he could remember, he'd gotten used to being left out of 'guy talk.' Not that it bothered him. Jerry didn't even mind the fact that the women at the office, who he got along with so well during the day, weren't calling to hang out after work. It did bother Jerry that as a crossdresser in a place where it was none too common, he thought he was desperately alone in what he did. So he hid his feminine alter ego from everyone he knew as 'Jerry.' He'd met friends on line and done a couple conventions in places like Las Vegas and San Fransisco, but in daily life he had nobody who was capable of understanding his feminine side. But all of that changed in an instant the other night at the mall. The day would soon be over, and Jerry had done little other than replay the scene from last Friday evening in his mind.
Jerry recalled standing in between the food court and the Victoria's Secret shop in the mall. He'd come here to shop this evening, dressed as his female self, Jenny. This was something he'd done many times before. But this time something seemed off, call it woman's intuition. As Jenny relished the sound of her high heals clicking off the tile floor, she suddenly saw a site that made her freeze in her tracks. A man she recognized as her macho, arrogant boss, Aaron had just walked right past. The sudden shock brought Jerry's panicky persona back to the fore...
He thought to himself, 'Will he recognize me? Am I passing? How will he react if he sees me like this? Is my make-up good? What about my wig?' All of these thoughts processed in the instant it took Aaron to stroll past without a word or any acknowledgement. A feeling of relief washed over Jerry. Jenny had passed in front of a man her male alter ego saw almost every day.
But that relief was temporary, it was quickly replaced with a sense of wonder. His boss had just wandered into Victoria's Secret. One of the sales girls was leading him around piling up bra's and panties in his hands. In a moment, he was paying for the package and exiting the store. It was gift-wrapped but something seemed odd. Jerry had been in Aaron's office dozens of times, and never saw a picture of a wife or girlfriend. Come to think of it, every time he heard his blow-hard boss speak of romance around the office, he was bragging about a new conquest. To Jerry's knowledge, Aaron never had a girlfriend long-term enough to buy lingerie for.
Jerry reminded himself that he wasn't spying as he followed Aaron down the hall to the Anne Taylor boutique. He wanted to get close enough to hear the sizes being asked for, but couldn't for fear of discovery. But Jerry watched as 2 dresses were rung up, folded and placed in a bag for Aaron. And he continued towards another feminine clothing store. Then another. He bought something at each retailer he entered, and topped it off with a visit to Macy's make-up counter. Judging by the volume and content of the total purchases, it appeared his boss was a cross dresser on a binge, perhaps returning from a recent purge.
'That has to be it' Jerry told himself, 'there's no other explanation.'
And that lingering thought persisted throughout the weekend, and even managed to consume his Monday. The feeling of lonliness and desperation Jerry felt before was now replaced with uncertainty. How was he to proceed from here? Jerry had been careful to insulate his male life from his female persona, but these two worlds seemed to be colliding. As the day wound to a close, he realized that he'd hardly managed to get any work done.
Jerry was preparing to go home for the day when Aaron walked past on his way out. Before he could stop himself, he found himself smiling as he said, “Have a good night, Aaron.” He wanted to say more, but as the two locked eyes he fell silent.
(Back in Aaron's office moments earlier)
I spent the rest of my day working, not really paying any mind to the interview I had just conducted. I was anticipating the full moon and my change dates over the weekend. Saturday October 3rd, Sunday the 4th and Monday the 5th at moon-rise I'd become Erin again. I thought about using sick time next Monday to avoid a close call with my change, the days were growing shorter after-all. I might even take off Tuesday of next week to recover from the inevitable feminine hang-over. So I convinced myself to work ahead to ensure I could take the days off without falling behind. As I left the office walking my familiar route, I strode past Jerry's cubicle.
“Have a good night, Aaron.” Jerry said, spinning around in his chair to face me and smiling.
“You too, Jerry.” I said in my normal boss-like voice. We made eye contact briefly, and for a second I saw a faint pink light surrounding my subordinate. I thought about our brief exchange on the way to my car, and I realized that it was the first time Jerry had ever told me to have a good night at the end of a day. We'd been working together for a couple of years now too. I didn't dwell on the thought though. I had more work to do at home.
When I reached my apartment that evening, I opened up my new day-planner and began to mark off the dates of the full moons ahead. Just like the manual suggested, I marked several years off ahead of time. According to the full moon forecast device I just created, New Years Eve this year, 2009 to 2010, would be an interesting day. I would wake up that morning as Aaron, but ring in the New Year as Erin. It was fitting and somewhat ironic. Looking further ahead, I giggled about the gifts I'd want on Christmas in 2015. It dawned on me that I would have to miss quite a few family holiday's in the future in order to keep my secret. Unless of course I tell my family about my new condition, but that didn't strike me as being a wise move.
The rest of the week passed in a blur, and still no word from Heather. Every night when I got home, I looked out my window at the moon. Each evening it appeared slightly larger than it had been the previous nights. Before I knew it, Friday arrived and I was driving home from the office intent on a quiet night of rest. If this coming moon set was at all like last month's, I would need all the energy I could muster.
And I slept like a baby on Friday night. I didn't wake up until nearly noon on Saturday.
I immediately ate a large breakfast and although I knew what tonight would bring, I felt rather like my normal self. Emily called to ask how I was feeling. It was kind of her to call, and I was happy to report that I felt as good as ever. We agreed to meet up later that evening at her house, once I was good and prettied up. It wasn't easy to admit, but I was looking forward to moon-rise.
As the day wore on, I gleefully noted the subtle mental changes that preceded my physical transformation. My posture was positively feminine. Out of habit I corrected myself when I noticed it happening, but it was a lost cause. I gave up trying to sit, walk and stand in a masculine fashion. Just after two in the afternoon, as I blankly watched my television, the image of a beautiful woman on screen drew a litany of comments from the female voice in my head. It was Erin reemerging as though a finger were flipping a light switch.
An hour or so later, I found myself in my bedroom rummaging through the feminine finery that I purchased at the mall. Everything from heels to lingerie and make-up was spread out all around me. Without even thinking about what I was doing, my hands began to match the different items together. I was delicately hanging my beautiful dresses and blouses on hangers, and placing the undergarments into my top drawers, neatly folded. Everything was put away with care, except for one of the Anne Taylor dresses which I gently spread out on top of my neatly made bed. It didn't bother me in the slightest that I was looking forward to putting it on. On the contrary, I could hardly wait to feel the material's snug fitting grip against my svelte form.
It felt like I was floating on air as I carried my make-up kit into the bathroom. I also brought along some products for my soon to be long and silky hair. I spread them about automatically, adjusting them as the strengthening girl voice in my head commanded me to. I even slung the push-up bra and a pair of no-line panties I wanted to wear after the change over my bath towel. Erin was preparing my house to suit her needs knowing that she would be unleashed again very soon. Aaron, on the other hand, was growing weaker as the day progressed. Somehow, knowing that the coming transformation was unavoidable allowed me to accept it.
After the bizarre ritual I had just engaged in was over, I made myself comfortable on the couch in front of the television. My curtains were drawn tightly and I didn't notice the sinking sun outside my windows. But as the moon began to rise to prominence in the night sky, I could feel my magic moment drawing near.
I was on my feet and heading in the direction of my bathroom when my pores began to open up. I was dripping sweat as I plugged my tubs drain and ran the tap to the 'hot' position. My hand reached out and grasped a bottle of what looked like shampoo. It said 'bubble bath' in delicate pink letters. I didn't even remember buying it, but Erin knew what she wanted. I emptied some of the bottles contents into the warm swirling torrent of water, and observed the pink gel mix in and beginning to bubble. It made the room smell like lilacs.
I lit a few candles I acquired over the past couple weeks, it appeared Erin was rather fond of candle light. As I shut off the regular lighting and closed the door, the flickering candles illuminating the room seemed to transform my surroundings. I wasn't in 'my' bathroom, it was 'Erin's' bathroom tonight. The tub continued to fill behind me and although I could not see the sky outside, I knew the moon was very close to the magical, transformation inducing angle.
I remembered earlier that month, I was wondering what about the full moon forced a werewoman to shift. The book explained that the combination solar radiation reflected off the moon and gravitational extremes threw the process into motion. The gravitational force of a moon in full phase had tidal implications all over the world. Throughout the month, high tides and low tides came and went, but during a full moon the high tides were higher and the low tides lower than average. It was a time of extremes for sea-levels worldwide, but also impacted cellular tides within the human body. Just like the tides, reflected solar radiation was present all month long too, though in varying quantities. As the surface of the moon crept out from behind the shadow of the earth becoming fuller, the radiation levels gradually increased. On the three nights per month when the moon was fullest, levels of reflected radiation were sufficiently strong enough to burn away any trace of masculinity on a person like me. So gravity plus radiation with a dash of magic made the whole process possible, rather inevitable for a werewoman. I reminded myself that the show would begin any moment now.
Stripping off the grubby t-shirt, jeans and boxer shorts that I had worn all day, I tossed them carelessly into the hamper. My skin was warm to the touch, but as I cautiously dipped my toes into the hot bath the waters seemed soothing. Lowering myself into the tub, I could feel the familiar tingling sensation slowly beginning take hold. It started in my belly and groin, and gradually crept outward. I was beginning to feel the effects of stronger than average lunar radiation and the tidal extremes combine. The change has been triggered.
The handbook explained the tingles I was experiencing, and I remembered reading that passage as they continued to wash over me. The sensation I felt when changing was a result of every cell in my body beginning to femanize. See, women have a genetic advantage over men, it has a lot to do with the double X pairing of their sex chromosomes. As a result of this combination, every cell in a woman's body is symmetrical. An identical copy of the X chromosome is present in each cell. So when one side of the cell dies, the other side can carry out it's intended function uninterrupted before succumbing some time later. Men have an XY pairing at a chromosomal level. So when one side of a male cell ceases to function, the other side is not able to compensate and the cell as a whole dies off. Superior cell structure partially explain why women outlive men in virtually every society on earth. And right now, each cell in my body was simultaneously purging itself of every male component, replacing these with female equivalents.
I suppose it was reflex, but as my skin began to squirm and the first physical signs of my change began to appear, I started grunting like an angry cave-man. I was tense but shaky as the water surrounding me splashed about, some of it leaving the tub. But something inside of me screamed to relax, to let go. As much as I wanted to think it was 'Erin' telling me to calm down, deep down I knew it was 'Aaron's' idea to surrender to the change willingly. It was as though my boy side had given me permission to enjoy what was happening to me. My body went still and the splashing died down. The tingling I felt increased in intensity all over, and for the first time I reveled in the pleasurable feeling of becoming a woman.
I relaxed my whole body as my face quivered and contorted in sharp but pleasant spams. The sand-papery feeling of my stubble ridden face smoothed over as I ran my hands across my chin. The hard male features softened to a more feminine configuration a moment later. I could feel my nose shrinking as my lips inflated and my jawline became less prominent all at once. It was hard to keep up with all the changes wracking my body. The tub grew larger around me as I my height and weight diminished. Hard muscles softened, rough skin smoothed out all over. A more slender and delicate hand reached down into my lap and gently handled my shrinking manhood. The pleasure I felt increased dramatically.
My eyes were closed tightly, and I was moaning in ecstasy in a voice several octaves higher than it had been moments before. The desperate, urgent need for relief in the male sense of the word diminished as new erogenous zones began to beg for my touch. Roaming hands wandered freely across my changing form, pleasure coming from innocent places that now seemed deeply erotic. Shaking my head side to side gently, I thoroughly enjoyed the wet strands of long brown hair clinging to my neck. Soon this lengthening tangle of hair touched the tip of my slender shoulders. My penis had completely disappeared into my body at this point, leaving behind something far better.
I gasped a dainty feminine gasp as my skinny boy-hips splayed outwards approaching child-bearing proportions. At the same time I could feel the remaining fat cells in my body beginning to migrate. I usually carried my extra weight around in the stomach and face, now it seemed to be redistributing itself to my hips, rear and chest. It accumulated in those places at an astonishing rate, changing the shape of my tiny androgynous frame into something recognizably female.
A tickle behind both nipples signaled the start of my most fascinating change of all, one I found myself looking forward to as tonights transformation event unfolded. The tiny twin pink nubs on my chest stiffened as they grew in size becoming more sensitive with each heartbeat. Suddenly the area surrounding my thickening areaola began to itch. I scratched lightly, pausing to tease my growing nipples. I was imagining Emily gently drawing upon them with her puffy lips the way she'd done last month. I was getting myself really worked up again, the sense of erotic urgency seemed to be returning. I could sense my labia swelling and my inner moisture building up within the soft pink folds of my femaleness. My breathing became erratic as the mounds of subcutaneous fat behind my erect nipples pushed ever upwards. The itchiness subsided, but my growing breasts burned oh so slightly as they gradually blossomed to their full size. Soon they were too large for my girly hand to contain. They spilled out of my dainty mits as I cupped them, massaging the fleshy masses seemed to ease their growth. The changes stopped at this point, and the tingling sensation began to subside. I was a woman again, head to toe, body and soul.
And I was incredibly turned on to boot.
End of Part 11
To Be Continued...
I giggled, laughing out loud in uncontrollable bursts. Erin was just so happy to be complete once more. As thrilling as it was, lust like I'd never known overcame my senses. I couldn't resist touching myself. My fingers knew exactly where to go and what to do as I focused my mind on the encounter with Emily last month. Somehow, the passion I felt at this moment was different. With Emily, my arousal built slowly and rapture overtook me little by little. Emily looked so beautiful to me, I wanted that moment to last forever. But back in the present, I knew that getting off was the only imperative. So I worked fast, and in a few intense minutes my nether lips clenched tightly around my probing finger. My womanhood throbbed, and my whole being began to tremble.
All the amazing feelings that accompanied orgasm seemed to linger as I lay motionless in the tub, snorting a little as I resumed laughing like a hyena. The euphoria and joy I felt was indescribable, I was just so happy Erin was back. The lilac bubble bath covered the surface of the water in a thin film of suds. The layer of bubbly white foam concealed my altered form beneath. But I could feel the warmth around my new, curvaceous bod. The plumpness of my feminine rear pressing against the hard ceramic tub crept into consciousness. It provided a better cushion than my bony male rump. As I scootched down lowering myself into the warm water, I became aware of a difference in the articulation of my wider hip joints. As I moved, my nipples broke the surface of the warm water, responding instantly to the cold air. I cupped them in my hands, grinning ear to ear as I re-submerged my sweater torpedoes.
In a word, I felt marvelous. Shifting itself was an amazing process, entirely painless and somewhat quick. I figured it must get easier each time it happens. I'd even gotten through tonights change faster than the ones I experienced last month. And the end result was just as wonderful. Last month, I was caught off guard by something new and terrifying. Armed with the knowledge that it was going to happen again tonight, the event was less traumatic, but no less unsettling. In a way, it reminded me of baseball practice as a kid. When the time came to go, I never wanted to and I made up excuses to get out of it. But in the end, I always wound up being forced to go only to have a wonderful time once I got there. I liked baseball, I was friends with my team mates and instead of serious drills and scrimmaging, we usually ended up just goofing off. My situation now was the same but different. I loved having a female body, I liked my new pack-mates, and it seemed increasingly likely that I'd enjoy the time I was forced to spend as Erin. Since the manual indicated there was no cure for being what I am, my options were to embrace it or let it drive me crazy.
(In an apartment complex not too far away)
The sound of an angry keystroke echoed off the walls of Jerry's apartment. One of his on-line 'gurlfriends' had invited him to an outing at a club not far from his house. Sitting in front of the glowing monitor, running over the latest draft of the message intended to blow off the invitation, he could not bring himself to press the send key. Jerry was tired of playing it safe when it came to his female persona. He had gone to such lengths to prevent his secret from being discovered by everyone, and it brought him nothing but misery. Even though the outing was close to where Jerry lived and worked, a big no-no he'd sworn off long ago, it seemed like a better option than sitting alone at home. Something about witnessing Aaron the other weekend at the mall, so confidently purchasing all of those girly items, seemed to embolden Jerry. Why should he hide in the shadows when he felt quite certain nobody in the light would care how he was dressed?
Jerry deleted the brush off message. The message he sent to accept the invite took only seconds to write and send.
Hugs,
Jenny”
Invested with a new sense of confidence, Jerry unlocked the thick trunk in the back of his closet. Peeling back the lid revealed all of Jenny's belongings. It was his own, private girl-in-a-box, he could take her out whenever he desired. And that seemed to be increasingly frequent of late. Just like so many nights before, Jerry was going to make the switch to Jenny mode, to take the girl out of the box.. But unlike all the previous nights where secrecy was of paramount concern, this evening he was going out, risks be damned.
(Back in Erin's bathroom)
The water was beginning to cool, and my fingers were pruning up as I emerged from the tub. The gentle swat of my breasts as I pulled myself up from the sitting position caught my attention. I wondered to if their wild movements would ever become second nature, or if I'd always be especially aware of my wobbly bits. I grabbed the towel to dry my dripping body, carefully setting aside the bra and panties on top. When I was dry, I wrapped the towel around my chest and stepped out in front of the mirror.
My reflection in the candle-light took my breath away. A rounded face topped off with a gentle button of a nose stared back. My big. hazel eyes appeared luminous as they reflected the tiny, flickering flames. Wet brown hair clung to a smaller head, and for the first time I noticed my ears stuck out a little more than an average persons. 'Great, I have Dumbo-ears,' I thought, but hey nobody's perfect. My soft cupid bow lips curled upwards into a smile, 'Are all girls this self conscious?' It was a rhetorical question best left unanswered. Right now, I had to get ready to meet Emily.
So I picked up my new panties, looking for a tag to tell front from back, and stepped into them one leg at a time. As I pulled the waist band up to the proper position on my hips, the stretchy material seemed to hug the subtle feminine mound featured on my otherwise flat crotch. In a strange way, it was comforting to be tucked in so well. The feeling from the luxurious material seemed to rub me just right too. The garment was snug but not overly tight, breathable but insulating, concealing but revealing. Covering my nudity it was practical and ornamental at once, a girly blend of form and function.
Next came the bra. It felt like a crime to hide my lovely breasts, but society had rules and I had a sense of decency. So I picked up the slinky silk support system and held it up for a second. Quickly realizing I had no idea how to put it on, I remembered all my experience undoing them. But it was no help to me now. Of all the things Erin somehow automatically knew, sizes, styles, stores and shoes, somehow this knowledge evaded her. But I was an intelligent human being, as a college graduate and a business manager I was definitely capable of figuring this puzzle out.
After trying to hook the back together with the front in position and nearly dislocating my shoulders, an idea occurred to me. I flipped the bra around and lowered both hands. Right about belly button level, where my hips first began to flare out, I secured the latch in front of me and spun it around to the back. Then I gently lifted the elastic shoulder straps, pulling my arms through when they were in position. Tugging on the chest band, I made sure it was even before gently inserting my breasts into the cups. The twins were squished together, and suspended somewhat higher than their natural position on my chest. After a minor adjustment or two, my breasts were securely supported by properly adjusted shoulder straps, and a perfectly fitting bra. The constrictive chest band against my skin, which I thought might be unpleasant, instead felt like a gentle hug. I felt lighter, the garment seemed to distribute the weight of my breasts more evenly across my back and shoulders. The soft padding inside the cups guarded my nipples against irritation, and as I moved the material didn't shift against my sensitive skin. I was elated.
What's more, as good as it felt to wear, it looked even better in the small vanity mirror.
Running a brush through wet tangly hair, I turned on the blow dryer and went to town. Becoming softer under the brush, it fell straight down to my shoulders as it dried in the warm breeze. I'd need Emily's help to style it, but I could at least get it looking acceptable for public view. As the device hummed away in my palm, I remembered making fun of girlfriends past for spending so long in the bathroom. I now understood why they'd wake up so early to get their appearance right before work. Just blow drying my mop took 15 solid minutes. When the deed was done at last, I opened up a box of hair ties and deftly guided my chestnut locks into a tight pony-tail. It was easier than I though it would be, and didn't look half bad. All throughout my male life, I admired a good pony-tail. To me, both then and now, women always looked their best when they weren't trying to.
(Meanwhile, in the back of Jerry's closet)
Jenny picked out her favorite black dress, it came down past the knees and covered her bulky arms. She turned around placing it on the bed behind her. Her temples were pounding with excitement as she handled her silicone breast forms gently removing them from their container. Of all the accessories she'd accumulated, Jenny's forms were by far her favorite. She set them down next to the dress and fished out her derriá¨re. It was one of the more expensive items in the collection, a Veronica II, but it was worth every penny. She set aside some jewelry, underwear, and gently lifted the make-up box out of the larger trunk. Jenny was careful with the make-up box, remembering the time the lid fell off spilling all the powders into a cloud of noxious vapor. It stained the carpet below and poor Jerry was left to taste the stuff on his palette for a week afterwards.
While she selecting a wardrobe, Jenny plotted a make-up strategy. This was especially important tonight, she didn't want to be recognized if it could be avoided. Settling on a 'girl next door grown up' sort of look, which at a youthful 26 she felts she could pull off, Jenny headed off to shower and shave. Along the way, she switched on her i-Pod and set it to play Shania Twain's, “I Feel Like a Woman,” a ritual that helped to mentally wash the boy off. It would take a while to get ready, but the night was young.
(And we're back at Erin's...it's like a tennis match, no?)
After my hair was dry, I realized how positively starving the metabolic miracle of my transformation had left me. Making a bee-line to the fridge in nothing but my bra and panties, I simply couldn't wait another moment for food. Besides, why risk staining my dress? On the top shelf I found what I was looking for, a container of Chinese leftovers. Day-old, last night's Kung-Pow chicken. I didn't bother to heat it, and hungrily devoured the contents of the carton. At the bottom of the brown paper bag I was about to toss out was a small fortune cookie. I was still a bit peckish and opened it up. I devoured the cookie while reading the message to myself.
'Life's most rewarding journey is seldom one we choose.'
How... appropriate. Confucius never ceases to amaze.
As I entered the bedroom, my eyes were treated to the visage of my reflection in a full length mirror. Clad in the no-line panties and a push-up bra, I looked like a Victoria's Secret model on the job. My jaw dropped and I couldn't believe it was me staring back. But I was looking forward to slipping into my dress far to much to be distracted.
I pulled the little, black Anne Taylor dress up against my chest, and twirled around while holding it tightly. I'm not known for my twirling, and I fell hitting the ground butt first with a thud. After a second of being shocked by my own clumsiness, I recovered and stood up. That was embarrassing, I felt thankful that nobody was watching me right now. I pulled the dress on over my head, and adjusted it in the mirror. It hung just right and clung so tight in all places it should, as though it was sewn over a mannequin of my body. The silk threads grabbing my hips and waist firmly enhanced my hourglass shape. The tense material eased up around the buttocks, there the material was less grabby, and seemed to have more give. The straps of my shoulders covered my bra entirely, some women can pull off the 'showing a little strap' look, but I had too much class for that.
I looked myself over head to toe, well satisfied with the results of my endeavor, it was time to get moving. I needed to call Emily so she'd know to expect me. Tonight, after a make-up lesson and some hairstyling tips, she was taking me to meet up with a few other sisters I'd met last month. I asked her, “Where?” a million times throughout the month, but she refused to tell me. The only thing she said to shut me up was...
“It's a place you always wanted to go, you'll know what I mean when we get there.”
End of Part 12
To Be Continued...
Heather sat on her stool still deep in thought. The quiet hours at the club were therapeutic for her. Everyone on the full-time staff knew about her condition, so there was no need to hide it here in her sanctuary. She had a couple of weremen on staff, like the large framed front door bouncer, Eric. He went by Erica during the day, but liked to hulk up most if not every night. She didn't have any werewomen on the staff, better to make pack sisters out of them than employees.
As she showered to prepare for her evening out, Jenny thought about what had led her to this point in her life. She'd been through myriad phases with her dressing. It had been quite a journey from innocent child's play, to arousal driven dressing for sexual gratification as a teen. These developments were followed by the, 'I'm not a real cross-dresser' stage, when 'Jerry' actually thought he could beat the urge to dress. Silly boy! Luckily the denial stage didn't last long, but when the dressing began again, this time it was with a heavy fetish component In this phase, Jenny wore a lot of fantasy costumes including a slutty French maid outfit, a Harem girl get-up and lingerie that most modern women didn't even know how to operate. All of these various phases led Jenny to the place she was in now. Nowadays, she dressed for comfort and to acknowledge a side of her personality that lacked any other means of expression. Passing as female was always important to Jenny, but tonight it took on new significance.
Jenny had been out with gurlfriends in the past, but always out of town. It was never a problem as her group was unlikely to cross paths with anyone 'Jerry' knew. But Jenny's outings close to home were always a solo affair. It's a well known fact amongst cross-dressing men that the risk of being read and identified increases ten-fold with every gurl in the group. Four men together trying to pass as women are 1,000 times more likely to draw attention than one cross-dresser by herself. It's because every gurl has her own unique give-aways, and with more gurls in the herd there were more give-aways for passers by to queue in on. Some gurls were tall, others had man muscles too large to conceal, a few had no sense of fashion and dressed like they were trapped forever in the fetish phase. And if one member of your group gets read, so does everybody else. Tonight Jenny was meeting up with 4 or 5 fellow cross-dressers at a T-club so close to home, and she knew for a fact she'd be in close proximity to people 'Jerry' saw frequently.
Alone, Jenny blended in quite well with the world around her. Possessing a short and lean stature was a plus for any male with strong trans-gender leanings. A touch of gynomastia had even graced Jenny with a set of small but feminine looking breasts. As a teen, this condition both tortured and delighted her male alter ego. It enhanced 'his' private dressing sessions, but made gym class a waking nightmare. With age and growing experience living the trans-gender lifestyle, Jenny came to appreciate her chest bumps. They still enhanced dressing up, and the gym class ribbing's of yesteryear were like last summers tan; a fading memory. Even the Adam's apple, bane of t-girls everywhere, was not especially concerning to Jenny. She hardly showed any trace of having one. If her group was read tonight, Jenny was confident that it would not be her fault.
(Back to Erin, parking her car in Emily's parking lot.)
Mother moon smiled down upon me as I strolled into Emily's building, I looked back and smiled in return for all her favors. In a moment I was outside Emily's opening door, greeting my friend with a hug.
“Welcome back Erin, how was your change tonight?” Emily asked as our hug drew to a close. She welcomed me inside as I tried to find an answer.
“It was... you know... just like the other times, I guess.” I found myself lying. Of course it'd been far better tonight than last month. But I wasn't quite ready to admit that to anybody else, even Emily.
“You'll get used to it dear, it takes time. It's really good to see you again though.” Emily took my hand and led me into her kitchen. “It's been a while since I had to endure a shift, but I remember I was always hungry afterwards. I made some some chow if you'd like to eat.” Her condo smelled like an Italian restaurant. On the table sat a freshly baked tray of lasagna, and it looked delicious.
“It looks and smells so wonderful.” I commented honestly. I had to try a slice, not only to be polite but also because I wanted to. “Maybe just a little bit. Before I left the house I ate some left-overs. That is, if you can call what I did eating. It more closely resembled a woman-on-food hate crime.”
Emily laughed at my bad joke. “I remember that feeling. Preparing easy to heat meals before a moon-set will help you recover from a change and the hunger it can bring. I used to make a pan of lasagna for each night I planned to shift. I'd pop it in the oven just before I succumbed to the change.” Her advice was sage-like. I was definitely going to use that approach. “And besides” Emily went on, “with our enhanced metabolism you'll never gain an ounce.”
As she finished her statement I thought about what she said. The manual indicated that werewomen tend to stay in great physical shape with little effort due to an unusually high metabolism. That benefit carried over into male life as well. The more I thought about it, the more it rang true. Aaron had a ponch and some love-handles two months ago. When he stripped before transforming this evening, his stomach was flat and the handles were flying at half mast. Over the course of the month in her dormant state, she recalled feeling stronger than normal. Nothing about his exercise regimen had changed. “OK then, perhaps I'll have more than one slice.” It was so good, I wanted to go Garfield on it, devouring the tray with my bare hands. But that was un-ladylike.
When I was finished gorging on the Italian food, Emily took me into her bathroom and began to work on my hair. “You are so lucky to have gotten such straight hair.” she said as she brushed and sprayed my hair with chemicals.
“I sort of like the natural wave in yours.” I said truthfully.
“That's being a woman for you, the grass is always greener on the neighbors lawn.” Emily smiled. “Years ago, I'd have settled for just looking slightly feminine, but now that I have this knockout body, all I can do is compare myself to other knock-outs.” she sounded nostalgic.
“Yeah but it beats being a man!” I blurted out before even thinking about what I was saying. My face began to redden with embarrassment, the words flying out of my mouth caught me off guard.
Emily's eyes widened for a second. “It sounds like someone is starting to see things my way.” she said continuing to work on making me beautiful.
'Perhaps I am' I thought struggling not to inhale the fog of hair chemicals that surrounded me.
(Meanwhile, at the night-club in the warehouse district)
“Are you alright, boss?” asked Sam, the handsome male bartender.
“Yeah, fine.” replied Heather in a non-committal tone. Everything was proceeding according to her plan, and Erin was spending a lot of time with Emily. Why that seemed to irritate Heather was the real problem. Was it possible that she had feelings for Erin? No, impossible. Spending time with Emily was actually playing right into Heathers hand, the best course of action would be to let it go. But still, if things got too far along it could throw a wrench into her gears. A find like Erin was one-in a million, chances are Heather wouldn't get another crack at pulling off her plan.
This problem was eating at Heather to the point that it affected her in male life. As Heath, the owner of a marginally successful night-club, he'd been too distracted to attend to business since discovering Aaron. All he could think about was the plan, and Erin's role in it. It was maddening to know that there was even a ghost of a chance Heather wouldn't get what she needed from her new sister. Still, Heather reasoned, if she pushed too hard at this point, the whole thing may well blow up in her face. Just like it did with Emily. Patience was indeed a virtue, one that Heather struggled to possess.
Heather cleared her mind.
It was still early by clubbing standards, and the DJ for the night was setting up in his booth. Heather sat on her stool still deep in thought. The quiet hours at the club were therapeutic for her. Everyone on the full-time staff knew about her condition, so there was no need to hide it here in her sanctuary. She had a couple of weremen on staff, like the large framed front door bouncer, Eric. He went by Erica during the day, but liked to hulk up most if not every night. She didn't have any werewomen on the staff, better to make pack sisters out of them than employees. Others like the bartender, Sam were un-afflicted, but trusted associates nevertheless. If all the years of living as a werewoman had taught Heather anything, it was to include a couple of 'normals' in her day to day operations. They added perspective, and proved themselves in other ways too.
Sam, for example, took over as manager on the nights of the full moon, and the other nights Heather forced herself to change. Old Joe the cook prepared meals to ease the hunger pains following each transformation. It may sound like a small contribution, but when changing from Erica to Eric each night before work, it took quite a pile of food to satiate the mammoth wereman. Both Sam and Joe were related to werepeople too.
Joe had passed his gene for werewomanhood onto his son, Jack. It was a recessive trait in the father, he didn't even know it was a part of him. But when it activated in his son while the lad was of high-school age, it shocked both of them. Neither knew what was happening to the boy, but luckily Heather found them both soon after and brought them here. She taught Joe's new daughter how to live a fulfilling life, albeit one with an unusual twist. Heather initiated her as the youngest member of their pack, Jill. Jack and Jill had gone off to start college at the end of this past summer. Joe continued to work at the club out of gratitude. Heather had helped his son when he himself was unable, and Old Joe wasn't the type who forgot such kindnesses.
Sam grew up with a step-brother from the same mother. They were close in age and tight as could be. They did everything together, participated in sports, made mischief, invented war-games and played with trucks. But then one night, when the boys were in about eighth grade and ninth grade, Sam's slightly older brother turned into his sister right in front of him. Unlike his own parentage, Sam's brother was fathered by a werewoman in male form. Instead of freaking out and screaming after his brothers metamorphosis, Sam comforted his new sister. Together they figured out the rules of his curse on a trial and error basis, though it wasn't an easy initiation to the sisterhood. But Sam was supportive, helping his step-brother keep his secret from everyone except their mother. Although a little more than a year younger, he acted like her protective guardian. Not that she needed one. His brother or sister depending on the night was Vance, AKA Vanessa.
(Back in Jerry's apartment)
Stepping out of the shower, Jenny dried quickly and stepped into her gaff. This garment would conceal her birth-defect, transforming an unsightly male bulge into a beautiful Venus mound. Next came the Veronica II hip and rear padding. It's life-like look and feel seemed to move with Jenny as she walked or shifted in her seat. It was perfect for the cooler, October weather. Hopefully, if there was dancing at the club, it would hold up to the bouncing. Next came Jenny's favorite item, her breast forms. They were a full c-cup, made from flesh-tone silicone construction that warmed against her skin. The realistically shaped mounds were topped by perfectly proportioned nipples. Using a spray-on medical adhesive, Jenny placed her breasts in the perfect location against her chest and began to count out the time until the glue dried. It didn't take long to tack up and provide a good hold. Of course, she'd still need the added support of a bra if she wanted to move around as much as she planned to. And so she skillfully hooked into the one she'd picked out, placing it at the proper position on her chest. The glued-on forms immediately felt less heavy as their weight was redistributed by the supportive silk. With her foundation garments secure and in place, Jenny was beginning to take shape.
Every preparation up until now was easy, child's play compared to the next step. Now came the really advanced stuff. Genuine girls grow up encouraged to play with make-up. They receive tubes of toy lipstick and water soluble blush as gifts as soon as they can walk and talk. When they reach the age at which cosmetics are no longer a play-thing, their mothers, aunts and girlfriends all have advice to offer on how to achieve the best look possible. Soon it becomes a matter of personal choice for each woman, but they built up to that by combining all the skills they picked up along the way. Jenny had none of these advantages growing up, and had to rely upon magazines and tips from cross-dressing web-sites. Make-up itself was a fairly recent addition to the repertoire. Jenny had only just gotten good at using it after a couple years experimenting with mixed results. But tonight she was out to paint a masterpiece.
Jenny pulled out every trick she'd learned while getting ready that evening. Spreading foundation across her freshly shaven face, she knew how much to use to cover her beard shadow without looking like Mimi from the Drew Carey show. Her lip-stick went on next, outlined with a lip lining pencil ringing the edges to reduce smearing. Eye liner was an old enemy. She'd poked herself in the eye with the brush more than once, and it hurt each time. This evening, Jenny was on her game and avoided injuring herself as she applied her 'war-paint.' The fake lashes struck some people as being old fashioned. But they simply added to the illusion Jenny was hoping to create. 'Getting her girl-on' was going well for Jenny, and it came easier than usual tonight.
Now she was ready for her wig. Jenny had chosen the light brown, almost dirty blond get-up that matched her eyebrows. It was an expensive, human-hair wig, but it looked so natural on her. Placing it at the proper angle on her head, she smiled as she felt the tickle on the back of her neck. Positioning it just right in the mirror, she fastened it to her head using the method she found while reading Trans-living magazine. Even if she got bumped around on the dance floor, her hair wouldn't slip off of her scalp. That happened to her once on her second outing, a big convention in Las Vegas. It wouldn't happen again tonight.
Jenny admired her handy-work in the mirror, well satisfied with the results of her efforts. It wasn't just the pink fog talking, tonight she looked good. It was just after 9pm now, time to get going and meet up with Nessa and the gurls. Before leaving sight of the mirror, Jenny took a moment to psyche herself up for the challenge ahead. “You're beautiful, you pass, and nobody is going to mistake your fine ass for a man.” Then, drawing in a deep breath, Jenny shut out the lights in her apartment before stepping into the world beyond her front door.
On the way to her car, Jenny looked up and saw the full moon hanging overhead, lighting up the star laden sky. She found herself staring at the celestial orb as she opened up her drivers-side door. 'Maybe it was true what 'they' said about the moon bringing out the wild side in people.' Jenny mused. Call it full-moon-madness, but she felt like howling at the sky mimicking a wild coyote, or a wolf.
(Back at Emily's condo)
As Emily worked on making my face and hair beautiful, I wondered how the final results would look. Seated in a folding chair, she had me turned away from the mirror. Emily didn't want me seeing the final product until she was finished. Heather had fixed me up in considerably less time last month. I didn't mind being Heather and Emily's full sized Barbie doll though. It was fun for me to be fawned over like this. Last month, I tried to shoot down the offer of make-up, but tonight I freely accepted Emily's help and even wanted the glamor girl look she seemed to be going for.
After an eternity of looking focused and silent, Emily spoke. “There.” she said, tweaking an errant strand of hair. “You look positively radiant.” Emily remarked, pointing me towards the mirror.
She was right. My lips appeared fuller, my cheeks rosy but not overly so. My hair was bobby-pinned and sprayed with all sorts of products designed to smell pleasing and hold my locks in place. And it appeared that these products worked. I looked like I had visited a professional salon. I suppose my expression in the mirror said it all. Elation was written all over my face, and once again I couldn't believe how different I looked. It was like experiencing two transformations in the same evening. One from a male to a female, and the second from one female into a more beautiful version of herself.
“I...ah...Thank you Emily.” I said at last.
“The pleasure is all mine, Erin.” said Emily. “It's nearly time to meet the others, we'd better get going.” she looked down at her wristwatch as she spoke.
In all the excitement, I'd forgotten about our mysterious outing.
(Back in the warehouse district, at Heather's nightclub...)
Heather reflected on the many people she had helped throughout her werelife. She could scarcely remember her existence before being swept up in the werewoman tornado. Her personality had changed so much since then, as to be almost unrecognizable. Back then, she would have never considered doing what she'd done to Aaron, but things were different now. Heather felt guilty for changing him before he was ready for it, but the process had to be sped up. Any werewoman or wereman could plainly see that his aura was pink, but only one as well trained as Heather could see that his was a very special shade of pink. The glow coming off of Aaron the other month when Heather seduced him practically shouted, 'day-walker' to anyone perceptive enough to notice. Heather just hoped forcing this on him wouldn't undo all the other good she had done.
See, Aaron wasn't ready to face his girl side yet. He was still in a deep denial about who he was and what he wanted. Sure, he would have emerged from it eventually, but Heather couldn't wait for that day to arrive on its own. She acted hastily, a breach of pack protocol. A lapse in judgment that could cost her the alpha role in her own pack. Heather had used one of her powers on Aaron that night, a power she recently discovered on her own. This particular power wasn't mentioned in the handbook, and Heather hadn't discussed it with anybody. Except Vanessa.
Heather discovered she had the ability to draw out the feminine energy in people by using her hypnotic, green eyes. It was especially effective when used on trans-gendered men. A pent up ball of denial like Aaron took only seconds to unwind under Heather's gaze. It was a power she abused to get him begging to be turned. Ultimately he would have wanted this gift of his own free will, though that didn't make what she'd done right. Perhaps someday she'd thank her maker, perhaps not after what she had planned for him. Heather needed a werewoman on the cusp of becoming a day-walker to make her scheme work. Now the only missing ingredients were time and good fortune.
In through the door walked her favorite co-conspirator, Vanessa. “Hey Sambo!” she greeted her brother first with a bright smile.
“Hey sis, are you here to cheer up Mopey McGee over there?” he pointed at Heather.
“Geez what am I, a miracle worker?” Vanessa chuckled at her own bad joke. “It's time to go, cutie-pie.” she cooed, looking in Heather's direction. Only Heather and Sam were lucky enough to see this less aggressive, somewhat sweet side of Vanessa. It only really came out when two or three of them were together unobserved, like now.
Heather smiled at her companion. “It's good to see you too, sweetness.” she said. The two women hugged and smiled meekly at one another.
“Well aren't we cute?” Vanessa said sarcastically. She had a habit of shifting gears in a conversation with little or no warning. “Now come-on, lets get our asses in gear or we'll be late.”
'It's a real shame, but that's more like the Vanessa everyone else sees.' Heather thought to herself as they left, waving farewell to a bored looking Sam.
End of Part 14
To Be Continued...
“I wonder if 'Tranny-Granny will be here tonight.” said Jessica as they made their way through the crowd.
“Odds are she will. She's never missed a night to my knowledge. Every time I've been here, she just sits at her stool from open to close. It's sad, like she's waiting for someone.” Katie answered. “But I hope I'm out and about at her age.”
“Who is 'Tranny-Granny.'” asked Jenny looking puzzled.
“She's this crazy old cross-dresser, and when I say old we're talking ninety, give or take a year.”
Jenny arrived at the appointed location to meet her sisters. It was the Dairy Queen across the street from the city's oldest trans-gendered night-club. She thought about the irony of being a 'Drag-Queen' in a Dairy Queen across the street from Queen Anne's Revenge, the name of the T-club. That's what a casual observer might have said. But Jenny knew better than to call herself a Drag-Queen, she wasn't dressed up to entertain anybody except herself. She was in the right place, but running just a bit early. Ordering a small Oreo blizzard, she took a seat in the booth and waited for the clock to strike ten.
Jenny knew what the other girls looked like from their profile pictures on the web-site. She didn't think it'd be difficult to identify them. Jessica entered first, Jenny admired her pictures before on the site because she looked so positively feminine. She was dressed appropriately for a woman in her early 30's and also blended amazingly well. Neither of them noticed Katie until she sat down at the table and said hello cheerfully. She was the epitome of femininity, and pulled off the early 20's-emo-girl look better than some real women. Jenny had to closely examine her before she could tell Katie wasn't actually a GG.
The three gurls sat for a while, waiting for Nessa and her unnamed friend to show. Aside from their on-line friendship they were strangers to each other. A few minutes passed before Jenny's pink, disposable cell phone gave her a text message alert. Her good phone, the apple i-phone at home, was 'Jerry's' and for business use only. Jenny respected this simple boundary, and loaded up a pre-paid, pink piece of crap phone for herself to use until something better became available. The text was from Nessa.
“Hey girl, sorry but I'm running late. I'll meet you at the club, you 3 go on without me.”
Jenny felt disappointed and suspicious all at once. Disappointment sprang from wanting to meet Nessa, whose pictures on the CD boards were incredible. Jenny hoped one day she could look that good, but she wasn't as naturally feminine as Nessa appeared to be. The suspicion arose from the text itself. 'How did she know all three of us showed up?' she thought. This whole meeting was her idea, and now that she got us all out here she was going to be running late.
(Moments earlier, a mechanical box squeaks to life in a parking lot, “Thank you, drive through.”)
Two shady women in a black BMW rolled down their window and peered inside the drive-thru portal. Vanessa took the half-tray of peanut butter frosty's from the clerk and paid him without ever looking in his direction. Her eyes instead focused in on the three cross-dressers at a booth, barely in her line-of-sight. It was them, the ones she'd been expecting. 'Nessa,' her on-line alias, lured them here using an Internet forum that catered to cross-dressers. It was the first time she had seen them in person, and she had to admit they were good at what they did. Three of the best she'd ever seen as far as passing was concerned. That special quality in them, which Vanessa recognized from their profile pictures, might mark them as potential pack-sisters. Tonight was like sorority rush night for Gamma-Gamma-Werewoman, and Vanessa was rush chairwoman.
“Let's go in and get this over with.” Heather said unenthusiastically. To her this was work. It was becoming a boring routine. Heather hadn't even bothered to look up and establish visual contact with her quarry.
“I thought, maybe we could meet them at the club.” Vanessa said cautiously. She knew Heather hated changing plans mid-op. 'She could be so un-flexible at times!' Vanessa told herself.
“Didn't you tell them to meet you at the Dairy Queen?” Heather asked, sounding annoyed. “Do you want to piss them off? And me?” the annoyance now bordered on anger. “Cause if that's the case, well done.”
“Geez, chill! They're not going to be pissed, Heather. I'm just meeting up with them later.” Vanessa looked prettier to Heather when she was being defensive. Vanessa knew it too, she secretly wondered if Heather pushed her buttons just for that reason sometimes. “Besides, do you want to meet up with a trio of cross-dressers under the track lighting of a Dairy Queen? Don't you think that might give us away?” Vanessa reasoned with sound logic here, and Heather seldom objected to that.
Heather found herself agreeing. “You're right, the lighting at the club is dimmer, we could probably pass for cross-dressers in there. But not in DQ. Especially in front of gurls who know what to look for.” Heather fell silent for a split second. “Here's an idea, if we wait for them to have a couple drinks at the club before approaching, there's even less of a chance they'll read us.” Heather's idea was not merely a suggestion, Vanessa could tell.
Something about their plan seemed ironic to both of Heather and Vanessa. Cross-dressers usually tried to pass as women, here two women were trying to pass as cross-dressers. Well, two werewomen anyway. They'd both been to Queen Anne's Revenge before, it was a good place to spot and approach potential recruits for the pack. Tonight though, they needed to blend in with the CD crowd in order to evaluate the latest batch of potential recruits. They didn't want to reveal themselves too early, or they'd have three cross-dressers on their hands and knees begging to be turned. Or running for the hills screaming all the way. They had to prove themselves first.
Vanessa pressed 'send' on her phone, a message was en-route to a contact named 'Jenny.'
(Emily's car was in motion. It contained one passenger, and as luck would have it, a driver too.)
“We're on our way there, and you still can't tell me?” I begged Emily to reveal our destination once more.
“We'll be there in a minute, you'll just have to wait.” came Emily's reply. She knew the anticipation was killing Erin, but she enjoyed toying with her new sister.
“Fine, be that way.” I pouted.
Her car wound its way through the dark streets towards the brighter, central business district. The buildings were getting bigger, and the sidewalks more crowded with people. When the vehicle finally stopped moving, we were parked in an empty lot, behind a Dairy Queen.
“This is the mysterious, ' place you always wanted to go' that you told me about? Dairy Queen? Wow, thanks.” I said in my 'just kidding' voice.
Emily picked up on my jovial tone. “No silly, there.” She placed her hand on my shoulder, and gently turned my body to the right, pointing to a building across the street. “Queen Anne's Revenge is a local T-club, although Dairy queen makes a mean Oreo blizzard.” she winked as we briefly made eye-contact.
I was silent for a moment. I wasn't sure why she'd call the T-club a place I always wanted to go. Scanning the sidewalk in front of Queen Anne's Revenge I saw a line out the door. T-gurls, cross-dressers of the MtF and FtM variety, transvestites, pre-ops and post-ops, all terms which fit under the trans-gender umbrella were represented in the line out the door. Even though I was not sure what Emily meant, I was curious enough to try it out. After what I had been through, this new frontier presented to me wasn't daunting in the slightest. After a long, awkward pause, I spoke. “Alright, I'm game.” I started walking towards the line of T-gurls without waiting for my companion.
Emily smiled.
(Some time later, 3 T-gurls crossed a busy street, nearly 150 more T-gurls waited on the other side.)
Jenny, Jessica and Katie made their way across the street and lined up to enter the club. When they arrived at the door, the bouncer took their money and ID's, and herded them inside. It suddenly occurred to Jenny how easily a T-club could be infiltrated by under-agers. This bouncer couldn't tell whose license belonged to whom, and he handed them all back to Jenny in a pile. It was obvious 'Biff' here was easily fooled by some cosmetics and a wig. Jenny returned her friends licenses without looking at their male names, she didn't want to know them. Male names are widely understood to be 'need to know basis' information, referring to them as anything other than Jessica and Katie was bad form indeed. It was a matter of respect amongst the trans-gendered.
The hall behind the front door was long and dark, lit only by strips of floor lighting attached to the base-boards. Inside the club, different colored lights swirled around the walls and floor, seeming to follow the rhythm of the music. As her group made their way towards a table, Jenny took a look at the patrons surrounding her. T-gurls of all descriptions were inside, some GG's were present too. Alone in a quiet corner, some drabbed out admirers were pounding through some liquid courage, hoping to strike up a conversation with an exotic T-gurl. They were a feature of the landscape common to every T-club, but Jenny never paid them any mind. Scanning the crowd on the dance floor, Jenny saw a range of generations getting down together. Some dancing faces in the looked older, others younger and naturally some looked better than others. Jenny blushed with pride, her group was in the top five percent in terms of appearance. If Nessa ever got here, their stock would rise higher yet.
“I wonder if 'Tranny-Granny will be here tonight.” said Jessica as they made their way through the crowd.
“Odds are she will. She's never missed a night to my knowledge. Every time I've been here, she just sits at her stool from open to close. It's sad, like she's waiting for someone.” Katie answered. “But I hope I'm out and about at her age.”
“Who is 'Tranny-Granny.'” asked Jenny looking puzzled.
“She's this crazy old cross-dresser, and when I say old we're talking ninety, give or take a year.” Katie explained. Of the two other girls in the group, she seemed to know the most about this place. “She rarely speaks to anybody, but when she does it's in a strange accent.” Jenny was glad to be here with someone who knew the place so well.
“And some people say she can see the future.” Jessica interjected. It appeared that she was also familiar with the club, and its unusual patron. “She reads people's fortunes.”
This piqued Jenny's curiosity.
“That's true, but she's selective about who she speaks to. Kinda stuck up, you know?” Katie continued. “When I tried to talk to her once, she just said, 'Galang bout yuh business.' I never tried to get her to read my fortune after that.” It didn't seem to bother Katie in the least.
“What is she, West-Indian?” Jenny inquired about Katie's sudden accent impression. Jenny had an affinity for language and accents, she enjoyed hearing them in person, on the phone or on television. Something about the way foreigners seemed to sing as they spoke struck her as fascinating.
“I guess that's what it is, sounds kinda Jamaican'ish.” Jessica answered before Katie could.
“How do you know?” Katie asked in a surprised voice.
“She read my fortune one night.” Jessica revealed.
“Shut-up!” Katie said, sounding playful and incredulous at once. “What did she say?”
“She said some mumbo jumbo about 'Babylon,' whatever that means. I could barely hear her.” Jessica revealed. “With her soft voice and that strong accent, I tried to be polite but I barely caught a word.”
The topic of conversation shifted away from the strange person called 'Tranny-Granny' as the cocktail waitress approached to take orders. The service was quick, and as the three gurls sipped their cocktails, they took turns complimenting the appearance of the other two. Compliments on feminine presentation are common ice breakers amongst cross-dressers. Jenny loved to talk shop, trade tips and secrets. Eventually the conversation moved along to their outfits themselves. Questions like, 'Your (fill in the clothing article here) looks awesome on you, where did you get it?' peppered the conversation at this point. Jenny loved to dish about the bargains she found, and the CD friendly stores that she visited.
The group seemed to forget all about meeting up with Nessa and her anonymous friend as their banter continued. Soon the gurls hit the dance floor, piling their heels and purses in the middle of the triangle formed by their bodies. Jenny always enjoyed dancing, but while dressed it was a natural high for her. They were careful to keep an appropriate distance, in the conversation it came out that both Katie and Jessica were married. Jenny was also attracted to women only, so the dancing wasn't intended to attract a mate. It was just dance therapy.
But dancing in all those layers was thirsty work, so after shaking it with her new friends for a number of songs, she wandered up to the bar alone to get a glass of water. Time to re-hydrate from the alcohol and perspiration.
(Moments earlier, high up in the balcony of Queen Anne's Revenge)
Heather and Vanessa sat together at their usual table. From this vantage, they were free to observe the dance floor below, scanning aura's and occasionally going in for a closer look at an interesting or anomalous one. It was a great place to hone one's skills, a T-club was a werewoman training ground of sorts. Down below, the three gurls Vanessa and Heather were here to observe sat at a table by themselves, no doubt talking about one another's clothes, shoes, wigs and other accessories.
“They're heading to the dance floor now, should we go down and make introductions?” Vanessa asked Heather. She'd gone to such trouble to lure these three out tonight. Actually, Katie and Jessica agreed to meet quickly with no hesitation. They even talked about past visits to this very club. But Jenny seemed uncertain up until the very last moment. Vanessa had written her off, but was pleasantly surprised by a message Jenny sent just after moon-rise. Jenny was somewhat skittish in her on-line personality, and Vanessa couldn't shake the feeling that if she didn't get a good look at Jenny's aura tonight, she'd never get another chance.
“Sure, lets...” Heather trailed off mid-sentence. She was staring in the direction of the balcony entrance “Well, well... look at what we have here.” Heather pointed towards Emily and Erin, hand in hand, making their way towards a quiet table in the back. Neither of them seemed noticed Heather and Vanessa.
Heather half covered her mouth and spoke softly in the direction of her toadie Vanessa. “Looks like that day-walker b&%$# is still breaking her in.” Only in these guarded moments would Heather and Vanessa dare to refer to Emily as 'that day-walker b&%$#.' It was their private name for her, born out of intense jealousy directed at her ability to live in one gender. It also infuriated Heather to see that although they were a good 50 yards apart, she could see Erin's beaming smile.
On the one hand, that's precisely what Heather wanted. The more Erin enjoyed her time with Emily, the faster she'd undergo her conversion into a day-walker. With each enjoyable experience as a woman, 'Erin' would gain ground over 'Aaron.' Little by little he'd cede control to her, all leading up to an unconditional surrender to his inner female. That's when Heather would take what she needed from her.
On the other hand, it didn't go too well last time when Heather attempted to engage her plan with Emily. After meeting 'Emile' here on that fateful night all those years ago, Heather recognized his potential right away. She spared no effort in seducing him, using every trick she knew to get him to take her bait. He had a stronger will than most. Even after she summoned his feminine energy to talk in 'Emile's' place, 'Emily' begged Heather not to turn her. Both her masculine and feminine side were very much in love with their wife and cared deeply for their daughters. As much as 'Emile' wanted to become a woman, he wanted to be a father and husband more. But Heather would not be denied, she turned 'Emile' with a bite despite his pleas.
Luckily for Heather, Emily seemed to have incomplete knowledge of her turning. Only bits and pieces of her memories from that night ever resurfaced, probably because the event was so traumatic and painful. Emily did remembered Heather was the one who'd bitten her. So to fill in the blanks, Heather engineered a cover-up story to make it seem as though it wasn't her fault. Heather told Emily that she herself had just been turned, and didn't realize what she was doing. Of course it was a bogus statement, she'd been changing for years by that point and knew precisely what she wanted. But Heather sold her story well, and promised to make it up to a despondent Emily. That's about the time Heather started to organize her pack.
But when the time came to take what she needed from Emily, Heather hesitated. The overwhelming guilt she felt over 'Emile's' loss of wife and family prevented Heather from acting. She'd made a mistake with Emily, a move she would not repeat with Erin.
“Why don't you go down alone, focus on the one you called, 'Jenny.'” Heather seemed distant as she spoke to Vanessa. “Even from here I can see she's got what it takes. Besides, you said the other two are married, and you know the rules.” The rule to which she was referring, which forbade pack-sisters from converting married TG's, was insisted upon by Emily as a pre-condition to her joining the pack. Her eyes were locked on Emily and Erin the entire time she thought and spoke. “Get Jenny out of here fast, I'll go distract our sisters.”
“Whatever, go play with your new toy.” Vanessa sounded hurt. Even though she presented a tough facade, down deep she was a big softy. But it was useless to object, Vanessa reasoned. Heather was clearly growing more powerful if she could read Jenny's aura cold from this distance. So Vanessa jealously watched Heather glide across the upper mezzanine, while she herself headed towards the stairs.
(Moments earlier, as a parched Jenny, approaches the bar...)
Jenny walked up to the least crowded section of the bar. It happened to be on the far right side of the room, where several stools in a row stood vacant. As she finished her approach, she found herself standing to the left of an elderly looking African-American gurl. Deep creased wrinkles and faded irises betrayed her advanced age. She even wore a gray wig. Jenny knew right away that it must be the fabled, 'Tranny-Granny.'
“Oh excuse me.” Jenny said to the 'old-goat' beside her. “I'm just here for a glass of water.” Her neighbor was silent. “Don't you just love it here?” Jenny continued, eager to hear her infamous accent. But again no answer came. “I do.” Jenny answered her own question at last.
“Chicken merry, hawk deh is near.” the octogenarian gurl warned, pointing up to the balcony level across the room as she spoke in a surprisingly strong voice. And her accent was no phony baloney, Miss Cleo saying, 'Cyall meh now!' it was legit.
Somehow, Jenny understood the strange words. “I think I understand, are you telling me I'm in danger?” Jenny asked somewhat incredulously. Her old neighbor nodded yes. “In danger from someone up there?” Jenny pointed towards the upstairs level. The mysteriously captivating Rastafarian-woman kept nodding. It was hard to believe. Jenny had no known enemies, and 'Jerry' was nice to everybody he met. “What sort of danger?” Jenny asked to be sure.
“Meh sorry meh dawta, no cyan tell. Trouble no set like rain.” quoth the ancient one cryptically. Her voice seemed to strain the more she spoke. Jenny's psychic was tacitly admitting the limitations of her gift, revealing that she couldn't tell what form the trouble heading her way would take. Peering into the future was not as simple as looking at dark, summer clouds and predicting rain. Her faded irises locked onto Jenny's own baby blues.
Somewhat mesmerized by her powerful gaze, Jenny pondered the meaning of her strange words. “So I won't even see the danger coming?” Jenny puzzled over the contents of the old clairvoyants vision. She seemed to be revealing her prophecy in a series of proverbs rather than spelling it out for Jenny. Perhaps it was her only mode of communication. It was equally possible that she was just some crazy, old bitty. But Jenny was always fascinated by the supernatural, and this conversation positively reeked of the occult.
'Tranny-Granny's' faded irises penetrated deeply into Jenny's soul as she leaned in close. Reaching out to take the younger gurl by the hand, the old Jamaican prepared to speak again. This time, her voice possessed a tired quality, but her body language displayed a good deal of urgency. “What sweet nanny goat a go run his belly.” Her Jamaican patois was beautiful to hear, even though it had faded to a raspy whisper. Yet somehow Jenny tuned it in clearly over the thudding music around them. The kindly geriatric released her trembling grip on Jenny's hand and broke eye contact. She sat silent like Chief Sitting Bull, staring intently at the stairs leading up to the balcony. At what, Jenny could not see. She appeared to be visibly weaker than she'd been moments ago. Although she spoke in riddles, it was clear that she possessed great wisdom.
If Jenny correctly understood the last proverb of the series, it was also cautionary in nature. She thought deeply for a moment. If a goat ate only foods he considered sweet, it would ruin his belly. It was the equivalent of saying, 'What seems good now might actually be bad later.'
The bartender approaching to take her order cut off Jenny's train of thought. In a moment, she returned with Jenny's refreshing ice-water. Sipping from the glass, her mind raced back to the riddle she'd been presented with. She thought perhaps another hint would help her figure it out. But looking to her right she saw only an empty, undisturbed stool. Jenny had only diverted her attention for seconds. Either this 'Tranny-Granny' was deceivingly fast for her age, or Jenny had just experienced a hallucination.
“Hey there sexy!' a high, feminine voice behind Jenny stole her attention from the empty stool.
Spinning around, Jenny found herself face to face with Nessa. She looked even more beautiful than her photos, and although 'Jerry' was 100% hetero-sexual, she found herself attracted to this expert dresser. “Oh, hi Nessa, the gurls are over there dancing...” Jenny reached up to point. She was cut off.
Vanessa gently pulled Jenny's arm back to her side, and locking eyes with the gurl said, “Forget about them, I came here tonight to see you.”
Her gaze was intense, as intense as any stare-down Jenny ever engaged in. But it was a sexual intensity, one of mutual attraction. She felt like prey before a mighty predator. Without even thinking about her purse and shoes on the dance floor with her gurlfriends, Jenny found herself taking Vanessa's arm and following her towards the main entrance.
End of Part 15
To Be Continued...
“Part of my responsibility to the pack is to help new sisters cope. Since my appearance never changes, a lot of times the new girls find it easier to talk to me during their dormant phase.” Emily continued. “So I take it upon myself to train them in our ways. I prepare all of our new girls the way I'm preparing you, Erin. I didn't want our relationship to start out on a suspicious footing.”
“I get it, I'm just another trainee to you.” I was hurt. I had strong feelings for Emily, I thought we had a serious connection. And here I was being told she was simply training me like she'd done with so many others before me.
'The T-club is a trip,' I thought taking my seat across from Emily. I couldn't wipe the perma-grin off my face. It was a friendly atmosphere which helped me to relax, even though a small part of me still felt apprehensive about my surroundings. I wasn't sure what we were doing in here. “I still don't get it, Emily.” I admitted to my companion.
“Take a look around. Tell me, what do you see?” Emily didn't appear to have many answers for me tonight.
I scanned the room again, taking in the whole scene. I wanted to provide a good description to my interrogator. I rather felt like Daniel-San in the Karate Kid, with Emily playing a young and beautiful Mr. Myagi. I wanted to answer my Sensei correctly. “I see a bunch of men suffering from various degree's of gender-identity-disorder. Most of them seem to be MtF cross-dressers. I see a group of creepy men in the far corner, I guess they are curious, or here to admire. There's some transsexual women in various groups, and a gang of FtM's staking claim to the back-bar.” I looked up for her approval, having read up on my TG terminology I was sure I'd accurately described the scene.
But Emily's expression reflected her inner disappointment. “You're over-thinking it. Look again.” Her tone was forgiving, but stern enough so I'd know to take her assignment seriously.
I'd looked the place over twice, once on the way in and again when Emily asked me to. But I humored my new mentor and examined my surroundings for a third time. Unlike the first cursory glances, on this attempt I focused in on the faces of the patrons below. Smiles lit up every countenance I scanned. On the dance floor, grinning faces bounced around like rolling waves on a rough sea. At the bar, the the customers waiting to be served and even the weeded employees behind the counter all wore a pleasant expression. “They're all so...so happy.” I said after a pause.
As I answered, Emily's eyes lit up. She could sense an 'Ah -ha' moment brewing in her eager pupil. “And why do you think that is?” she asked, like a teacher demanding an expanded explanation.
“If I had to guess” and I did, “I'd say it's because they're being themselves?” The upward inflection at the end of my statement revealed the uncertainty I felt. “They're happy to feel like...and be treated like women.”
“You're on the right track.” Emily encouraged me. “Keep digging.”
I thought for a second. “They're happy to be themselves in front of others who are like them.” I felt confident in my answer now.
Emily seemed satisfied with my reply. “And could that help explain your own present happiness?” Emily posed a good question. “You've had a beaming grin plastered across your face since we got here. Don't you feel a sense of belonging?”
I really couldn't deny it, but what she was saying didn't make sense completely. “If I understand you right, what you're saying is I like it here because I'm... trans-gendered?” I wanted to make sure we understood one another.
Emily nodded yes. "You'd have found it sooner or later, we all do."
“Well yeah, since my run in with Heather. But before that I was all man.” I protested.
Emily countered my claim gently. “Erin didn't just fall out of the sky. She came from somewhere.” she reveled in a soothing voice. “Somewhere along the way, you just buried her under Aaron. Search your memory, I think you'll find that Erin goes back a lot further than last month.”
(In a seepy toned flashback sequence, the sound of a newsman introducing President Ronald Reagan filled a middle class living room. It was the Twelfth day of June, the year was 1987.)
The shades were tightly drawn throughout the entire house. The living-room was dark save for the dim flicker of a General Electric brand color television. Next to the highly advanced, American made contraption sat a cheap, plastic toy from a turn-quarter machine. A small gold sticker with black lettering indicated the low-tech toy was 'Made in China.'
There was an audience of one for Mr. Reagan's performance that afternoon, and his viewer didn't seem to be paying close attention. Eight year olds seldom follow politics. Instead, young Aaron paraded around the faintly illuminated room, dressed head to toe in clothes he had taken out of his mothers closet. It was a fun game he'd recently discovered, though something told him that it must be done in secrecy.
'Latch-key kid' was one of those 1980's buzz words that the media tossed around, and Aaron fit their description. Every day after school, Aaron let himself into his house with a key hidden under a rock in the back yard. Aaron's parents weren't abusive or neglectful for doing this, half the kids on the block lived the same way. It was common in working class neighborhoods where both parents held jobs. So every day after school, Aaron had a couple hours to himself before his parents returned from work. It was summer now, and that only meant more alone time. Lately he had been using this time to play his fun, new dress-up game.
But on this occasion, as Mr. Reagan began to speak from a podium on the streets of some European capitol, Aaron heard the sound of his father's heavy footsteps coming down the hall. It seemed that his dad left work early that day. The lad was mortified at the prospect of being caught in the clothes he was wearing, but froze up in his place. In seconds, his father stood before him. The man Aaron called 'dad' wore a look of shock and disappointment, clearly visible even to the eight year old.
Aaron's father smoldered, thinking about the parenting style he and his wife selected for raising their son. He'd never struck the boy, something his own father had done to him many times when he was young. He and his wife were a progressive couple in a lot of ways, but this was too much. As a proud father he had made plans for his son's life. He developed certain expectations, hopes and dreams for his only heir. But most of all, he didn't want to see his boy have a tough life and be ridiculed by others. A strong reaction would likely scare this out of the boy, and only a strong reaction would do...
Aaron suffered a black-eye that afternoon at the hands of his enraged father. After being struck, he was forced to go to his room, get changed immediately, and remain there until summoned. Alone behind his door, he cried from the physical and emotional pain he'd endured. But the tears stopped falling. The boys expression hardened with resolve and his mind went blank. He could hear the television through his closed bedroom door as he removed his mothers clothing for the last time.
“General Secretary Gorbachev, if you seek peace, if you seek prosperity for the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, if you seek liberalization: Come here to this gate. Mr. Gorbachev, open this gate! Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!”
Ronnie and I never did agree. Here he was trying to tear down a wall the very day I'd decided to build one.
(Back at Queen Anne's Revenge in the present day, October 3rd 2009)
My incomplete memory of that day was whole again as though the fog of time had lifted, if only for a moment. I remembered the black eye, it was the only time my father ever hit me. But somewhere along the line I managed to block out the reason behind the beating. Probably because the incident was never discussed again. I now knew Erin had been a part of me since I was very young, though that day in 1987 caused me to wall her off.
My memory seemed to belong to both Erin and Aaron at once. If that was the case, if the two sides of me shared memories, perhaps what Heather and Emily both said was true. Erin had been lurking within me all along, waiting to emerge when the time was right. In a flash of recall, the way Emily described this club came flooding back, 'It's a place you always wanted to go.' I now realized why I felt so happy to be here, and yet slightly apprehensive at the same tine. I was happy being true to myself, but feared the potentially dreadful consequences. But understanding that nobody would suddenly appear and punish me for being myself, I felt that apprehension melt away like snow in springtime.
I'd figured out that Aaron and Erin were just two names for the same person. The wall within came tumbling down.
(Just a little ways across the room)
Heather slinked her way through a maze of tables, chairs and waitresses on her way to distract Emily and Erin. Neither of her dupes saw her as she approached, even when she stood right before them. “Who let you two in here?” she said playfully sliding up next to Erin on her side of the booth.
“Heather. How's the moon treating you tonight?” there was a passive-aggressive tone to Emily's question.
“Like a lady ought to be treated, Em.” Heather said casually. “More importantly, how is it treating our newest sister?” she turned to me and asked with a great deal of affection.
“Fine I guess.” I thought I'd be happy to see Heather again. Instead I found myself angry with her for leaving me no way to make contact. Reading me like an open book, Heather picked up on the vibe.
“I'm glad to hear that, Erin.” Heather sounded sincere. “You might be wondering why I didn't contact you this month. I should probably explain.” She paused to make sure she had my attention. “Or maybe Emily would be better off telling you?” she gestured to my 'date' across the table.
“You want me to explain my role in our sisterhood to her?” Emily asked, I sensed tension between them. Emily was glaring at Heather now.
Heather returned the glare, “Or I could do it, either way.”
To me it was like watching two gunslingers in a stare-down. Emily spoke next without flinching.
“That's OK, I tell it so much better than you.” Emily was undaunted. “See, Heather here asked me to keep an eye on you last month. Us bumping into each other in the mall wasn't mere coincidence. I saw you go into the theater too, and I kept an eye on you after you emerged as Erin. It was a full moon night, all the other sisters would have been forced to change. Only I could safely keep an eye on you.” Emily's confession sounded remorseful.
My heart sank into my stomach. “You were spying on me? Why didn't you tell me earlier?” I asked in a wobbly, meek voice. “Why didn't you pull me out of that theater?”
Emily did her best to answer. “I thought my cover was blown when you saw me at Sam Goody. After that, if I tried to pull you out of that theater, you might have resisted and caused a scene.” Emily sounded ashamed. “Letting you change in that theater was my best option at the time.”
I was satisfied with Emily's explanation, and suspicious about Heather's intentions. Why had she brought this up? Still, I had a few more questions for Emily. “You could have told me later, after we met at the club. Or any of the times I saw you throughout the month. Why didn't you?”
“Part of my responsibility to the pack is to help new sisters cope. Since my appearance never changes, a lot of times the new girls find it easier to talk to me during their dormant phase.” Emily continued. “So I take it upon myself to train them in our ways. I prepare all of our new girls the way I'm preparing you, Erin. I didn't want our relationship to start out on a suspicious footing.”
“I get it, I'm just another trainee to you.” I was hurt. I had strong feelings for Emily, I thought we had a serious connection. And here I was being told she was simply training me like she'd done with so many others before me.
Emily reached across the table between us and grabbed my hands. “But there's something special between us Erin, please believe me...”
I pulled my hands away from Emily, causing her to trail off at the end of her sentence. “You should have told me last month. I thought I could trust you.” The venomous sting of her betrayal hurt me badly.
(Heather watched the conversation develop according to her wishes)
Deep within the confines of Heather's over-sized but stylish purse, the almost imperceptible vibration of a cell phone caught it's owners attention. Nobody else at the table noticed. Heather knew it was Vanessa, texting from the parking lot to say mission accomplished. “Well, I can see you two have plenty to discuss...” Heather looked casually at her watch, “...and I just realized I'm running late for an appointment. Please excuse me.” Emily and Erin were silent for a second. Standing up to leave, Heather smiled triumphantly as she heard Emily and Erin resume their strained conversation. “Dance puppets, dance.” Heather said aloud softly to herself.
(Emily and Erin resume their awkward conversation)
I was watching Heather walk away as Emily resumed pleading with me to forgive her deception. I'd forgiven her already, but my suspicion of Heather left me sick to my stomach. Emily's loud, squeaky voice faded to a 'Wah-wah' noise, kind of like the one Charlie Brown's teacher made. Still looking in Heather's direction, I heard her voice clearly though softly. I was not intended to hear these words.
“Dance puppets, dance” Heather said from a distance as she walked away.
My 'Dumbo-ears' that I noticed earlier while drying my hair could apparently be focused like twin satellites. I didn't have bionic ears, the fact that they stuck out ever so slightly just happened to pick up Heather's faint voice. If I was suspicious before, now I was positively convinced something was up with Heather. I didn't know what though, and so I couldn't let on that I heard Heathers words. So I pretended to argue with Emily. “How dare you treat me like some sort of criminal!” I said accusingly, interrupting Emily's apology.
I wasn't listening to her frantic reply, I was too focused on Heather who seemed to be leaving the club in a hurry. But I had to maintain my ruse. “How dare you say that to me!” I shouted, just in case Heather was still listening in.
“Erin, that doesn't make any sense, are you even listening to me?” I heard Emily ask. When I didn't answer or even look at her, she continued to blather out apologies. From the sound of it, she was on the brink of tears. But as I watched Heather stroll into the hallway leading out of the club, I ended my charade.
I interrupted Emily's flurry of apologies. “Em, listen.” she fell silent. “I'm not actually angry with you. I feel the connection between us too.” Emily looked baffled. I'd went from fuming mad to totally civil with zero notice. “I think Heather is up to something, and I wanted her to see us arguing.”
“I don't understand, Erin...” I interrupted before Emily could finish.
“Think about it, both of us were sitting up here, having a good time, and suddenly Heather appears. Moments later, we're arguing and she's leaving.” Emily seemed to understand. “Besides, Heather is the one who asked you to spy on me, and we hadn't even met when she asked you to do it.” Emily nodded in agreement and I continued, “And as she walked away, I heard her say something I wasn't supposed to hear.”
“What was it, Erin?” I had Emily's undivided attention. She'd always been secretly suspicious of Heather.
I cleared my throat, “She said, 'Dance puppets, dance.'”
End of Part 16
To Be Continued...
"What's all this about the moon now?” Heath was confused.
“A werewoman, you know, like werewolf except not hairy and violent.” Tina was walking up to Heath, unfastening the remaining buttons on her Oxford as she went. Heath could see her stiff, pointy nipples pressing against the fabric of the strained white t-shirt beneath. “Instead of fangs and claws, I grow these” Tina cupped her breasts in her hands through her shirt. “And instead of howling at the moon, I like to moan at it.” she continued. “But that's not the best part.” Tina said with a wink.
Heath went for the set up. “What is?” he asked. He was already under her spell.
Tina smiled wickedly, she had Heath right where she wanted him. “I can make you one too..."
“We're parked over here.” Vanessa said, pointing to a nearby alley-way. For the first time, she noticed her companion was barefooted. But that didn't seem to bother Jenny as she made her way down the side-walk, arm in arm with Vanessa.
As the pair made their way, Jenny noticed something strange. The illumination provided by street lights and the full moon above set differently upon Vanessa. She didn't have any give-aways in the club, but Jenny expected to see a kink in her armor out here. Nothing presented itself though. Vanessa looked like a real girl!
Looking ahead a couple of slabs down the sidewalk, Jenny spotted a sickly looking, black cat walking across their path. The moment she noticed it, the mangy critter froze and craned it's head up at Jenny. It stared at her with faded, cloudy eyes for a second. Then the pathetic creature continued it's journey, disappearing into the bushes on the other side of the path.
Jenny felt a chill running down her spine. Something here was not right, though she couldn't put her finger on what. Before she could stop herself, 'Jerry' blurted out,“You're not a cross-dresser, are you Nessa?” She was terrified of how her friend would react to her male voice.
“Not exactly.” Vanessa admitted, locking eyes with Jenny. “I'm something better.” The gurl seemed to be piecing things together, it was time to improvise. “And you can be too, if you come with me. Won't you come home with me, Jenny?” Vanessa spoke seductively as she wrapped her arms around her prey. She was using her charms to seduce the gurl's male side, which seemed to perceive danger. If Vanessa could relax 'Jerry' enough to get him in the car, she could have her way with he and Jenny both. It seemed to be working.
Jenny felt the blood from her brain rushing lower, towards her securely tucked deformity. As it inflated slowly, she felt the uncomfortable tightness of the gaff, and her Veronica II shaper. She instantly wanted to be rid of them, 'Jerry' wanted access to this exotic woman. Jenny would soon be forced to oblige, and hand the reigns over to him. She didn't mind somehow, her inner boy deserved some tender loving. And opportunities with women as beautiful as Vanessa never came along for him.
Vanessa had Jerry right where she wanted him now, and quickly broke away from the embrace to fire off a quick text to Heather. She then hit the 'unlock' button on her key-chain, and a nearby black BMW lit up.
Jerry was terribly excited as he started towards the passenger door.
“Not there.” Vanessa corrected Jerry. “That one's taken.” She pointed to the tiny back-seat. “That's all you.”
Heather was glowing as she shuffled past the patrons on her way out of the club. She could hear Erin shouting as Emily struggled to apologize. Her quick thinking tonight allowed her to kill two birds with one stone. She'd kept her sisters busy so Vanessa could extract Jenny, and also managed to create somewhat of a rift between Emily and Erin. They'd patch it up soon enough, as day-walkers they were drawn to each other like opposite ends of a magnet. But the seed of doubt had been planted in Erin's mind. With help, that seed would germinate into a mighty oak. One day, when Emily most needed Erin to trust her, that lingering doubt would influence Erin's decisions.
Standing on the curb, Heather awaited Vanessa's black BMW. According to her sisters text, Jenny and she were fetching the car from the alley around the block. Heather had been doing this for quite a long time, and she thanked the moon for preserving her youth and beauty. It was Heather's favorite side-effect of being a werewoman. Though not immortal, they tended not to age past a point in their late twenties, and their life-span was far longer than an average humans. She thought wistfully about all of the recruiting activity she'd engaged in over the years. As she waited, Heather was reminded of her own turning. Casting her gaze out towards the busy street before her, it started to resemble memory lane...
An embarrassed eighteen year old boy named Heath entered a public library, proceeding directly to the psychology section. He knew exactly what he was looking for, and exactly how to go about his search for the information he desired. Peering over his shoulders, he made sure nobody was looking. Heath's quest for knowledge of self was shrouded in secrecy, and for good reason. If anybody knew what he was looking up, Heath would have been ridiculed in the best case scenario, and hooked up to an electro-shock aversion therapy machine in the worst case. His heart was racing as the moment of truth approached. Once he was sure nobody was observing him, he quietly but swiftly lifted a book titled, Christine Jorgensen: A Personal Autobiography' from it's place on the shelf.
Heath already held a book which was similar in size, and deftly removed the jacket from each of the hard-cover volumes. He then switched them, so it would appear to anybody who strolled past that he was reading Upton Sinclair's, The Jungle. Then he re-shelved the tome shrouded in the Jorgensen book-jacket, and found a nearby chair. His secret mission was going well.
The autobiography he held was about a person who felt she was a woman trapped in a man's body. That's how Heath had felt as long as he could remember. So this person decided to take steps to make her body and mind match one another. Heath heard about it in the newspaper, a lot of publicity surrounded it's release several years earlier. She ingested female hormones, first self administered which is a terrible idea for anybody. Later she continued with the assistance of trained, medical professionals. Her male body began to react and feminize itself, leading up to an operation in which his 'outie' was reformed into and 'innie.' It fascinated Heath, he never knew that sort of transformation was possible. He engrossed himself in the material. Reading intently, his eyes burned through the pages at a furious pace.
That's when he noticed another person in his quiet section. He seemed to stop in front of the same shelf Heath had just visited. As he watched in horror, a red haired man scanned the shelves in the same general area. What were the chances he was here for the Jorgensen book too? Heath felt his pulse quicken as the strange visitor did exactly what he hoped nobody would. The man confidently took the book from it's place on the shelf, and carried it to a nearby seat.
Heath felt his stomach knot up, he might be sick right then and there. He couldn't help but watch as this man opened the book, immediately puzzled by its contents. He looked at the cover, then at the title page inside. Then he took off the jacket. He looked up and scanned the room around him, noticing Heath staring in his direction. Quickly averting his gaze, Heath looked down into the book in his hands. Tears were welling up in the corner of his eyes. He hoped the man would simply let this pass. Heath wished the stranger would be equally embarrassed and simply leave. But it was no use, the carrot topped man approached.
“What-cha reading?” he inquired, standing before the scared kid.
Heath swallowed hard, “The Jungle.” he answered nervously.
“I'll bet it's not what you were expecting, huh?” said the stranger, holding up the copy of The Jungle, unjacketed. It matched the jacket of the book Heath was holding.
He'd been busted, and Heath braced himself for the consequences. But they weren't what he expected.
“My name is Tim,” said the man standing before Heath, “and we should talk somewhere quiet. It will be getting dark soon.” The man named Tim then locked eyes with Heath, taking his hand and leading him out the front door of the public library. Heath didn't even bother straightening up the books they'd left behind.
As the sleek, black vehicle stopped in front of her, Heather opened the passenger door and ducked inside. Seeing Jenny in the back seat, Heather smiled in approval at Vanessa. “Well done, sister.” she said, closing the door behind her.
“Thanks Heather.” Vanessa was pleased with herself. Tonight she'd delivered in a big way. Vanessa wanted Heather to know that she could always be counted on.
There was no other conversation as the trio made their way back towards Vanessa and Heather's home. Jenny sat quietly in the back, staring out the windows with a blank expression on her face. 'Jerry' had almost seized the reigns from her in a moment of passion, but she was back now. The entire ride seemed to pass in a blur, and before she knew it Jenny was being herded out of the car by Heather.
Vanessa entered the upscale row-home first, ushering in Jenny and Heather behind her. The interior was decked out in mint condition, antique furniture. Everything looked expensive to Jenny. Even the picture frames. She recognized Heather and Vanessa in most of the photos, but others seemed to feature male faces, always the same two. Jenny hoped it wasn't their husbands.
“You might be wondering why some of these photographs feature women, and others are of men. I assure you, they're not jealous boyfriends or husbands.” Heathers comments seemed address Jenny's unspoken thoughts. “Why don't you... guess who they are.” Heather teased lightly.
“Ooh that'd be fun!” Vanessa said excitedly, looking in Jenny's direction.
“Are they your brothers?” Jenny asked hopefully. “Or some other male relative?”
“Nope.” Heather answered like she expected another guess in quick succession.
“Are they ex-boyfriends or platonic friends?” she inquired.
Heather nodded 'No.'
Jenny thought hard. “Are they pictures of your old selves, before hormones, FFS, electrolysis, and GRS?” Jenny had met a few transsexual women in her life. None kept pictures of their old male self on display in their homes, so she figured her answer was wrong even before Heather confirmed it.
“Close, but no cigar.” Heather chimed in once more.
“Then what? Some sort of magic? Did a spell change you from men into women?” Jenny had read stories about this sort of thing at a site called Top Shelf TG Fiction. It was one of her favorite sites, designed to entertain and sometimes arouse trans-people like her. 'But the stories involving magic were just made-up stories, weren't they?' Jenny found herself questioning reality itself.
“Ding ding ding, we have a winner!” Heather announced excitedly. “And we can share that magic with you.” she revealed, locking eyes with Jenny as she spoke. “You'd like that, Jenny. Wouldn't you?” Heather stared at Jenny as though she were the Great Kreskin.
“Great, either you're nuts, or I'm dreaming.” Jenny said, directing her words at Heather.
That was not the response she was expecting. Somehow, this gurl was capable of resisting Heather's formidable gaze.
“Lets try it my way, Heather.” Vanessa said seductively. She was unfastening her dress as she made her request. She slid the shoulder straps to the side, and began to slowly peel the garment off her amazing body.
Heather looked mildly annoyed. “Very well.” she gave her permission reluctantly.
Vanessa's dress dropped to the floor. She took a mesmerized Jenny by the hand, leading her up the stairs to a bedroom. Heather followed behind. Once there, Vanessa fell backwards onto the bed, now clad in nothing but a bra and panties. Jenny couldn't break off the eye contact Vanessa suddenly established. She found herself completely captivated by the strange woman's erotic display.
When a cross-dresser poses provocatively in the mirror, they call it presenting. But as Nessa struck a number of pin up girl poses, shedding clothing as she went, the only word that came to mind for Jenny was, 'awesome.'
Jenny began to carefully disrobe as a now entirely nude Vanessa stood before her. Like earlier in the alley, Jenny felt 'Jerry' was very close to taking control. And like last time, she didn't mind. Vanessa helped remove her accessories, and soon the only evidence of Jenny was her glued-on breast-forms. The adhesive had lost it's power due to perspiration, time and gravity. They clung to his chest weakly after the bra was removed, and in a moment slid off his body hitting the floor with a muffled thud.
Vanessa maintained eye contact, but by now she was spread eagle on the bed, touching herself shamelessly. “Don't you... want to...feel what... I'm feeling?” she asked Jerry through impassioned moans. He nodded yes. “Then get over here... do what you've wanted to do to me since I first approached you in the club.”
Jerry didn't need to be told twice.
Heather hated to watch her sister work. Vanessa's specialty happened to be Jenny's weakness, seduction. In a lot of ways, Heather was the more powerful of the two, but Vanessa had a special knack for manipulating men. 'Jenny is doomed already,' Heather thought as she watched the boy side of their victim approach his inevitable fate. Heather knew she wasn't needed here. Quietly leaving the room, she was confident that Vanessa had the situation under control.
Heather made up her mind, she was going on a walk. She had a lot on her mind, most of all her interrupted stroll down memory lane. As Heather made her way down the sidewalk in front of her row-home, her mind was transported across time and space once more.
She found herself back in Iowa, August 15, 1962.)
Heath found himself following Tim back to his house near the edge of town. They passed the afternoon talking about their shared desire to become women. Occasionally they spoke about other topics too. Tim was twenty-one years old, and had a lot in common with eighteen year old Heath. They liked the same comic books, listened to the same music and enjoyed the same kind of films. But as the afternoon faded into twilight, Heath's companion seemed to grow more and more anxious.
The reason for Tim's anxiety was simple, he was a werewoman and tonight was a full moon. Soon, Tim knew he'd be changing into Tina. Once that happened, she'd offer to turn her companion, Heath. It was a routine she had developed by practicing it many times.
Tim delighted in his recruiting approach; baiting public library's with a copy of the Jorgensen book, and waiting to see who picked it up. In every town he wandered to, this method helped him to identify potential sisters. After-all, it wasn't as though there were night-clubs and meeting places for trans-gendered people. 'That'll be the day' Tim told himself. He felt confident the boy before him tonight would accept the offer without hesitation. Heath's aura seemed to guarantee it.
When the transformation finally occurred, Heath was positively stunned. He sat speechless as the event unfolded. First, his host fell silent. A moment later, as Heath approached to make sure Tim was OK, the red-head began to tremble. Tim's already sparse body-hair slowly disappeared, and his skin seemed to smooth over everywhere as Heath watched. His new friend was shrinking rapidly, and his increasingly baggy clothing draped around him.
Tim began to moan in a high, feminine pitch. Heath was intrigued. His facial features softened in front of the boy, and his hair began to lengthen. Heath thought he saw the contour of Tim's body change in a decidedly feminine way, but his view was obscured by a layer of baggy clothing. There was no mistaking the twin lumps that seemed to sprout outwards from his chest, though. Their growth forced open the top buttons of his blue, Oxford shirt. Tim was changing into a woman right before Heath's eyes!
The tense, soon to be woman in the chair spoke in a high, feminine voice. “It's OK Heath... don't be... scared.” 'it' pleaded. “I'm not in any pain.” Whatever was happening to Tim seemed to be slowing down now. A woman wearing Tim's clothes now sat in the chair across from Heath. It looked like she was swooning and trying to catch her breath at once. A moment of silence punctuated by the new woman's heavy breathing passed.
It was Heath who broke the silence. “What just happened?!” he stammered.
“I turned into a girl, silly.” the woman that used to be Tim said in a pretty voice. “Isn't it keen?” she stood up and twirled around in front of Heath.
“How?” Heath had to know.
The strangely clad woman walked towards the open window, looking out towards the east. “It's the moon, it brings Tina to the surface. I'm a werewoman, Heath.” Tina admitted with a smile.
“I'm aware of women too. What's all this about the moon now?” Heath was confused.
“A werewoman, you know, like werewolf except not hairy and violent.” Tina was walking up to Heath, unfastening the remaining buttons on her Oxford as she went. Heath could see her stiff, pointy nipples pressing against the fabric of the strained white t-shirt beneath. “Instead of fangs and claws, I grow these” Tina cupped her breasts in her hands through her shirt. “And instead of howling at the moon, I like to moan at it.” she continued. “But that's not the best part.” Tina said with a wink.
Heath went for the set up. “What is?” he asked. He was already under her spell.
Tina smiled wickedly, she had Heath right where she wanted him. “I can make you one too, would you like that, Heath?” she asked, never breaking her stare. She was unfastening her belt now.
A gulping sound came from Heath's throat. He tried to speak, but only a low, strangled growl emanated from his trachea. As Tina's pants and underwear dropped away, she pulled her white t-shirt over her head. Her breasts bounced into view, perfect hanging pendulums of woman-flesh topped with light, pink disc-like nipples greeted Heath's eyes. Her muff of pubic hair was as shockingly red as the hair on her head. It formed a feminine shaped, inverted triangle pointing to the floor.
Heath had never seen a naked woman live and in person before, just in his fathers dirty magazines. He never had much luck with the ladies romantically speaking, they all seemed to want to be his friend. Heath was aroused past the point of articulation, partly due to the woman before him, and partly due to the promises she made. “I want...but how?...” Heath managed to say at last.
“Relax, my boy. I'll be gentle with you.” she said.
“What do we do? Should I...” Heath felt Tina's index finger press into his lips.
Tina was 'shushing' him. “Just sit back, and let me do all the work.” she commanded.
Heath nodded.
Dropping to her knees, Tina removed the boy's P.F. Flier sneakers, and pulled them off his feet. Next she unfastened his belt-buckle, tugging open the fly button atop his jeans expertly. With the zipper safely down, Tina tugged at the base of Heath's jeans. Soon he was naked from the waist down.
Their eyes locked and Heath felt his 'spirits' rising.
“Why didn't you say something earlier?” Heath asked.
Tina straddled his lap, “Would you have believed me?” she asked rhetorically.
Heath felt a feminine hand reaching down, guiding his throbbing member towards the entrance of Tina's womanly opening. Heath felt the velvety, wet flesh slowly separating against his mushroom-tip, gradually swallowing his entire length. Tight, soft skin surrounded his shaft, and he heard a womanly moan escape his consort's mouth. Tina slowly rose and fell atop him, her breasts bobbing in time with her thrusts. It was Heath's first time with a woman though, and he didn't last long.
A few hours later, Heath was dressed and ready to go back home. His parents would worry if he ran too late. “So when will it happen?” asked the excited boy.
“On the first night of next months full moon.” Tina explained. “And the second and third night as well. Each and every month...” she continued. “...for the rest of your life.”
“Is there any way to forestall it, in case I can't get away from my family on one of those nights?” Heath asked hopefully.
“No. Once the sun has set, you have at most 40 minutes to one hour before the change starts.” Tina answered. “And once it has begun, there is no stopping it.” she warned. “Come to my house next month. Get here before sun-set, and I'll help guide you through your first shift.”
Heath agreed, and with a hug and kiss left the house and headed toward his own. The month passed quickly, and when Heath returned to Tim's house, just before sunset on the appointed night, there was no sign of him or Tina anywhere. Just a note.
“Dear Heath,
I'm sorry that I can't be here for your big night. I really wanted to see how you would turn out. But I fear I've been discovered and therefore I must move on. Small town life has many risks for our kind, so I am heading to the big city. I recommend you do the same as soon as you are able. Hopefully, our paths will cross again. Until then, enjoy your new gift.
XoXo,
Tina
A tear rolled down his cheek. Heath felt like the only person in the world that understood his yearnings had abandoned him. Heath never saw Tim or Tina again, but the note she left rested atop a book. With the message in hand, Heath could now see the title. The bright white letters against a dark black cover read, The New Werewoman Handbook.
Heath felt his body temperature rising, and shed some of his clothing. He was dripping with sweat. As he sat watching the moon grow higher in the night sky through the window of Tim's abandoned house, a tingling sensation began in his abdomen and slowly spread outwards. In few short minutes, Heather came into the world crying bitter tears of loneliness...
End of Part 17
To Be Continued...
Jerry awoke in his own bed that morning, not quite sure how he'd gotten there. All he seemed to remember was being at Queen Anne's Revenge one moment, and waking up at his place the next. Whatever happened in between was a total blur. What's more, he seemed to be wearing mens clothing that was not his own. Navy blue Adidas shorts and a bright yellow 'USC Banana Slugs' t-shirt adorned his body. He looked like...a dork.
The moment of Heather's greatest triumph had arrived at long last. Erin had progressed to daywalker status far more rapidly than her predecessor. A little more than one year after being turned, Erin now found herself able to force a shift during daylight hours. She couldn't hold it for very long, but more time and experience would allow Erin to hold her female form indefinitely. Heather knew she had to act before that happened.
She and Erin were alone in her home, sitting upon her bed and facing one another. Their eyes locked and Heather leaned in close for a kiss. As their lips locked and tongue's swirled, Heather felt Erin's gentle grip across her waist. Her wandering hands reached the top of Heather's dress and tugged gently on its shoulder straps freeing her wonderful breasts. Within seconds, the two women were naked in a tender embrace in the center of the bed. Erin began kissing her way down Heather's flat stomach, her lips destination was no mystery.
In her conversations with Emily, she revealed to Heather that Erin liked to give pleasure first before receiving it herself. This arrangement suited Heather fine. After-all, she'd been patient for so long a few more moments were hardly a bother. Besides, this would only tire her quarry, and the more thoroughly exhausted her prey the easier Heather's task would be. So she leaned back and enjoyed the erotic sensation of Erin's index fingers softly separating her outer lips, and the gentle brush of her companions nose against her engorged clitoris. This was followed by several intense minutes where Erin licked and slurped around her lover's tiny, pink button. Heather was on cloud nine, her breathy moans seemed to confirm that.
Soon their positions were reversed, Erin laying on her back, and Heather planting a trail of kisses down her torso. When she arrived at Erin's midsection, Heather employed her own technique for pleasuring a woman with her mouth. Extending her tongue fully, she began to trace the alphabet around the top of Erin's lightly furred opening. As she formed her invisible letters, Heather began to shake her head ever so slightly. Craning her neck left to right and back again, varying her speed seemed to delight her lover.
Erin was moaning loudly now, seeming to approve of her Heather's skillful manipulations. Her eyes were shut tightly as she wailed louder and louder in expectation of the coming orgasm. Heather knew that now was the perfect time to take what she needed from her soon to be daywalker companion. Her eyes traveled to Erin's inner thigh, easily detecting the femoral artery beneath her smooth, hairless and somewhat pale skin. Without further delay, Heather forced her small, sharp canine fangs to extend fully before biting into the skin just above the crucial blood vessel. Like a mosquito biting a human, Heather's fangs didn't inflict any pain upon her host.
Erin hardly seemed to notice Heather's fangs penetrating her skin, instead reacting to the sudden cessation of pleasure. Looking down, she saw Heather's face had moved to the left a couple inches, and her lips seemed to be glued to her inner thigh. Erin felt dizzy as she spoke, "Heather...what are you doing? Why did...why'd you.. stop?" She had only just finished her sentence when a growing darkness began to take hold. It started with her peripheral sight, and gradually consumed Erin's entire field of vision. "What...you...doing...to me?" Her strength sapped, Erin's head tilted back, landing softly on a pillow behind her.
The toxin injected by Heather's razor sharp fangs caused this side-effect. She hadn't bitten many people in her life as a werewoman, but the few she did all reacted the same way. First a wave of dizziness set in, this was followed quickly by the victim falling unconscious. She was relieved the bite had the same effect as before, as all her previous bite victims were non-were's. In the past Heather had bitten in self defense or to convert a new sister, tonight her bite was for a different purpose altogether. With her switchover from werewoman to daywalker nearly complete, drinking Erin's blood would transmit her condition to whomever drank it. Unfortunately for Erin, Heather needed to drink her dry to ensure this happened.
Heather continued to imbibe this bloody tonic in large gulps, revolted by the act itself and wanting it to be over quickly. She watched in horror as Erin's limp body seemed to pale visibly with each sip. The unconscious girl's pulse began to slow until there was hardly a trace of one at all. In a matter of moments, Heather was finished and she climbed off of Erin's ghost-white, lifeless body.
And not a moment too soon. The rising sun behind Heather quickly filled the window of her bedroom. This time, instead of causing her to revert back to Heath, the warm, glowing disk had no effect whatsoever. Her plan was successful!
(Back in 2009, it's the morning of Monday October 5th)
Heath awoke with a start, his room filled with the light of the morning sun and his body covered in sweat. "A dream," he said aloud to an empty room, "it was only a dream." A strange mixture of relief and despair filled Heath, relief that he was not yet a murderer, despair that he would be in less than one year. Since becoming a werewoman, Heath's dreams had become a window onto the future. Everything he dreamed about seemed to come to pass in waking life. Although he desperately wanted to live as a woman full-time, Heath wasn't sure he wanted it bad enough to kill. But this vision seemed to confirm that he would.
Heath spent decades reading and re-reading his copy of the New Werewoman Handbook: A Manual for the Newly Transgendered in an attempt to find another way forward, but there was none. Naturally Heath edited the copies distributed to new sisters, he didn't want them gaining knowledge of some of their more advanced powers. Only Vanessa had access to Heather's so-called 'Alpha Edition', and only because her loyalty was beyond reproach.
The smell of bacon frying in the pan wafted through the gap at the bottom of Heath's door jamb, distracting him from his thoughts. Vance was making breakfast for them both, tonight they had a pack meeting to run and they'd need their energy.
(Erin's apartment last night, the evening of Sunday, October 4th 2009)
Two comfortably dressed women sat on opposite ends of a couch.
Emily and Erin resolved themselves to a quiet evening at home for the second night of the October moonset. Most of last night, and all afternoon before Aaron succumbed to the power of the full moon, they discussed Heather's strange behavior. Neither of them could figure out what was meant by her barely audible, 'Dance puppets, dance.' remark. But both women agreed that whatever Heather had planned, she was counting on the two of them fighting. Or at least being mistrustful of one another. They sat together on Erin's couch, watching rented copy of He's Just Not That Into You but barely paying attention to the action on screen.
"But what if...nevermind." Emily looked thoughtful for a second.
"No please, go on." I encouraged my new BFF. I was much more interested in what she had to say than I was in the crummy movie I'd rented. It's ironic, but even as a woman in body, mind and soul I didn't much care for 'chick flicks.'
"What if... just maybe... Heather intended for us to hear the remark?" Emiy asked. "If that's the case, we might be playing right into her hands..."
I hadn't even considered the possibility until now. Reasoning quickly, I said, "Either way, we should present a united front at the pack meeting tomorrow, and keep our eyes and ears on her and Vanessa."
Emily nodded in agreement.
"We'll see how they react to us getting along, and plan our next move from there." I said, scootching closer to Emily's position on the couch. "Getting along should be an easy sell, it won't require much acting on our part." as I explained I wrapped my arm around Emily's waist and pulled her closer. I could feel her unrestrained breasts, covered only by a thin tank-top, heaving against my forearm. My own lovely pair pressed gently into her warm, firm shoulders.
Emily giggled giddily upon feeling my embrace. "That's for sure." she concurred, turning to face me and planting a tender kiss square in the center of my forehead. Her attention then returned the the movie in progress, and we assumed a spooning position on my couch.
I was in the 'male' position, her rear pressed firmly against my flat pelvis. When we awoke the next morning, we were laying in the same position, Aaron's 'morning wood' poking into Emily's soft, womanly rear.
* * *
(The morning of October 4th, 2009 in Jerry/Jenny's apartment)
Jerry awoke in his own bed that morning, not quite sure how he'd gotten there. All he seemed to remember was being at Queen Anne's Revenge one moment, and waking up at his place the next. Whatever happened in between was a total blur. What's more, he seemed to be wearing mens clothing that was not his own. Navy blue Adidas shorts and a bright yellow 'USC Banana Slugs' t-shirt adorned his body. He looked like...a dork.
Horrified by the strange foreign clothes, he bolted out to his living room where he found a cardboard box awaiting him. Opening the lid, Jerry found all of Jenny's gear from the previous night neatly packed inside, everything except her purse, and shoes. He was visibly relieved to have found these prized possessions, but mystified about how they ended up there. Upon closer examination, there was a note beneath his breast-forms.
We'll be in touch,
Nessa
Jerry thought hard about the meaning of the note. 'Sloppy' Nessa said, that was very uncommon for Jerry or Jenny. Both had a well established track record of drinking in moderation. In fact, he distinctly remembered having two drinks like a lady, doing some dancing and then switching to water.
Whatever Nessa meant by 'after we finished up at my place' was also distressing. Did Jerry have a gay experience last night? He was an enlightened man of the 21st century and realized there was nothing wrong with that whatsoever, but it was never something that he desired and so it seemed strange.
And not needing his 'Jenny things' much longer, what could Nessa have meant by that? Jerry had no intention of giving up his Jenny time, to even suggest that was blasphemy to him. Sure, once upon a time he'd felt the sting of being different. Being a cross-dresser was no picnic, but hadn't felt ashamed of his dressing since high-school. What had he said to inspire that comment?
The only rational explanation Jerry could muster was that he'd been drugged. Perhaps by Nessa at the club, perhaps by a random patron. Memory loss, acting drunk, doing strange things with strange people and making wild declarations like, 'I don't need my Jenny clothes anymore' all pointed towards someone slipping him a Mickey. But there was no headache, no body-ache or any of the physical symptoms known to accompany the ingestion of a date-rape drug.
Jerry was puzzled and very afraid that he'd made a mistake, or perhaps several.
End of Part 18
To Be Continued...
"Your attitude concerns me, Emily. I've tried to be patient with you, but all I get in return is insubordination." Heather began to speak her piece. "You continually undermine me in front of my pack, and I'm not going to stand for it much longer."
"Your pack?" Emily interrupted. "That's a laugh. All you've done is run around recruiting new sisters, and I'm always there to clean up your mess. Remind me, who was it that trained all of your so called pack sisters to accept their condition? Oh that's right, Becky and I took it upon ourselves. You just bite or bang, and hand them a book in the hopes that they'll figure it out on their own." Emily was audibly hostile.
(Outside the club in the warehouse district, the evening of Monday, October 5th, 2009)
Emily and I strolled to the main entrance of the nightclub, ready for that month's pack meeting. Eric, the behemoth wereman bouncer awaited us at the entrance.
"You're late...again." He said in his James Earl Jones-like voice.
"You of all people should know how long it takes us women to get ready." Emily replied playfully.
Eric did not appear to be amused. He hated when others referred to his Erica side, and that was no big secret. Even Erin knew better, and she'd only been here once before. "Very funny, Em. I expected a smart ass answer like that from you." he said as the faux blond brushed past him. "Don't go picking up her bad habits." he warned in a more relaxed tone of voice directed at me.
Long ago, I promised myself that I'd never do anything to offend a man of his size. I wasn't about to break that promise now. "I won't, hun. By the way, you look very handsome tonight. Your biceps are really popping in that shirt you have on. It looks great on you" I smiled as I delivered the compliment. Eric was very proud of his bulging muscles, and was often spotted flexing them in the mirror at times when he thought nobody was watching.
The hard-faced brute visibly softened at my comment. Even through his dark, ebony complexion, I could tell he was blushing. "Come on in, Erin. You're looking pretty fine yourself this evening." he replied, gesturing for me to enter the club.
There were far less patrons in the place than there had been last month. I reminded myself that was because it was Monday evening, an off night for most clubs and bars. On the dance-floor, a handful of patrons swirled their bodies in time to the music. But the energy level was nowhere near last month's peak. Even Sam, the cute, male barkeep looked bored with the slim crop of available women in attendance tonight. I continued to scan the room for familiar faces and was surprised to see two that I faintly recognized. One male, the other female. It took me a moment to place them.
The woman I recognized from my trip to Victoria's Secret. Her name was Kelly, the friendly sales clerk that assisted me on my shopping binge the other weekend. And she seemed to be with the young man, Kevin Jones, whom I interviewed for an entry level position with my company last week. He was the interviewee that recognized me from the movie theater last month. They appeared to be celebrating a special occasion, I guessed it was the new job he'd landed. Come to think of it, his start date was today. I was absent from work, and so I wasn't there to see how he took to it.
My attention drifted off of them, I didn't even want to think about my work situation tonight. Taking Emily by the hand, I followed her into the VIP room where our pack meeting was in progress.
(Seconds earlier, at a cozy table for two)
"Hey Kel, check out that woman over there." Kevin said to his girlfriend.
"Kevin! What are you doing looking at other girls." Kelly had a touch of jealousy in her voice.
"Awe Kel, I'm not checking her out, I recognize her. Didn't we see her at the movies the other month?" Kevin asked.
"So?" Kelly had her hand on her hip. It was clear to Kevin that she was pissed.
"It's just, I think my new boss is dating her. He was the man that was with her in the theater." Kevin explained.
"Oh, well that's a good reason not to leer at her." Kelly eased up on her boyfriend. "Oh my God! I love this song. Lets go dance." she demanded, leading him by the hand towards the dance-floor. Kelly held her man a little closer than she normally did, even though her rational mind told her this strange woman was not a threat to her.
As the two of them grinded against one another to the thumping sound of the DJ's mix, Kevin couldn't help but smile to himself. His smoothness was a well documented personality trait for which he was most thankful.
Heather was interrupted by the door behind her swinging open. "Well, well. Glad you two saw fit to join us this evening." she said in a catty voice towards Emily and I. Her eyes traveled to our conjoined hands, and I saw her pupils shrink ever so slightly. I'd played enough poker in my day to know that was a sign of guarded disapproval.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world, sweet-heart." Emily answered for both of us.
"It's sort of my fault." I found myself admitting. "I took forever getting ready tonight, I'm still really new to make-up and hairstyling." I explained. It sounded plausible, even though our running late had been intentional.
"No need to apologize, Erin. But we were just discussing Emily's pattern of tardiness as a group before you arrived." Heather's voice had a thinly veiled dose of venom in it. "It's becoming...how should I put this..."
"Problematic!" Vanessa blurted out, interrupting Heather's statement.
"Yes. Thank you for that Vanessa." Heather said. "Not only is it rude, but in my opinion it calls her commitment to the pack into question." She locked eyes with Emily. "Consider this a formal warning. In the future, disciplinary actions might be required."
"Do you promise?" asked Emily, still locked into her stare down with Heather. "It sounds so...kinky."
A chorus of laughter erupted in the wake of Emily's joke. The pixie-like redhead I recognized as Rita laughed first, but was soon joined by the others. But Vanessa and Heather were not amongst those laughing. Their faces soured in disapproval. If the conversation was a boxing match, the champion (Heather) had just unloaded her best uppercut. But instead of felling her challenger, the blow caused Emily to grow six inches in height. Heather looked weak in this battle of wits with Emily. She had no come back, and seemed to be flabbergasted by the nerve of her sister.
"You an I need to talk in private, right now." Heather demanded, breaking off her stare. "My office." she said, gesturing towards a small door at the back of the room.
Two women entered the tiny, cluttered space behind the door in the back of the VIP room.
"Nice office, I can tell you must be really important." Emily said sarcastically to Heather as they took their seats across from one another. Heather was seated in a comfortable, leather roller-chair behind a messy desk. Emily took her seat in the folding chair opposite her.
"Your attitude concerns me, Emily. I've tried to be patient with you, but all I get in return is insubordination." Heather began to speak her piece. "You continually undermine me in front of my pack, and I'm not going to stand for it much longer."
"Your pack?" Emily interrupted. "That's a laugh. All you've done is run around recruiting new sisters, and I'm always there to clean up your mess. Remind me, who was it that trained all of your so called pack sisters to accept their condition? Oh that's right, Becky and I took it upon ourselves. You just bite or bang, and hand them a book in the hopes that they'll figure it out on their own." Emily was audibly hostile.
"Pump your breaks, bitch." Heather said, her eyes squinting as she scowled. "Don't forget who you're speaking to."
"Oh, and who's that?" Emily asked sarcastically.
"A superior being, Emily. One with powers you can't even begin to imagine." Heather stood from her seat as she spoke. "Or have you forgotten?" Her frown contorted into a perverse grin. "Do you require another demonstration?"
Emily appeared to be taken aback. "That won't be necessary" she said softly. "I think it's time I left this pack, and I'm taking Erin with me."
(Flashback to many years ago, in Heather's living-room.)
Heather set a bundle of mail down on her coffee table. Atop the pile of bills and junk-mail sat a copy of Time Magazine. The cover featured a photo of Mikhail Gorbachev and a caption that read, 'A Man Without a Country' in large, white block letters. It was dated December 23, 1991.
Emily noted the caption, and how well it seemed to sum up her own situation. She'd strayed from her family to be a part of a new world. But this new life she'd been driven towards did not welcome her in. She existed between the two worlds, a full member of neither.
The events of the last couple years passed before her eyes in a flash...
Not long ago, she'd been a man named Emile with a loving wife named Barbara and two daughters, Sally and Jennifer. They had a comfortable life, his lucrative job as a stock broker at a reputable firm ensured that. But Emile kept a deep, dark secret from those closest to him, one that might negatively influence the opinions of the people who mattered most in his life. His darling family, his boss and co-workers, all would surely abandon him if they knew what he really was. Or so he thought back then.
Emile was a cross-dresser, a habit he had tried to quit and suppress on numerous occasions. But no matter how many times he denied himself feminine expression, the urge always seemed to come roaring back. When it hit, he behaved unusually around his wife and daughters, gaining a deserved reputation for having a short fuse. His colleagues at work complained how he seemed distracted too. In fact, Emile was very distracted, and he knew exactly why.
Eventually, the short tempered, unfocused man would be forced to succumb to his desire for feminine finery. He knew dressing up for a while was the only relief for the tension that he felt, and Emile absolutely hated that about himself. But hate it or not, it was a fact. What he dreaded most was the lies he told to his wife during these self proclaimed melt-downs. Saying he was going on a business trip for a weekend, he'd book a motel room in a neighboring town, careful to pay with a credit card he kept secret from his wife. Soon after check-in, he'd find himself wandering into the ladies department of a nearby store and making a purchase, again using the 'secret Visa.'
At first, he would simply take his treasures back to the motel and marvel at his reflection in the mirror. Sometimes it ended in masturbation, but regardless it always proved to be therapeutic for Emile. He was back to his old self after a relaxing couple of days 'en-femme.' At least for a while. He'd always trash the clothing he bought, swearing it was the last time anyhow. But he knew even then he was lying. The stolen moments he afforded himself were like a release valve on a boiler. Over a period of time, the pressure in the furnace would build, and he'd be right back at it.
Soon enough, dressing in private was no longer enough to sate Emile. He was desperate to go out and mingle with others like himself. So he started attending a club in a nearby city, a place called Queen Anne's Revenge. It was an old, well established night-club that had recently began to cater to a TG crowd. It had grown steadily in popularity since. That's where he met the woman who sat before him tonight, Heather. The two crossed paths there one fateful night, and Emile committed an act of marital infidelity with her. The only one he'd ever engaged in.
About a month later, Emile reaped the consequences of that night with Heather. A note and a book showed up at his office, brought to him by a private courier. The note was from a woman named Heather, warning him to read the book he'd just been given. The title of the tome in the manila envelope was, The New Werewoman Handbook. Emile thumbed through the text, noting that Heather had scribbled, "This is not a joke." on the inside cover.
Emile disregarded the book and the note, it all seemed so ridiculous. He ignored it until it could no longer be denied. The first time he changed into Emily, the transformation happened in front of his wife. He was honest with her about his night with Heather, tearfully providing all the details he remembered of that evening. For the better part of a year, the pair worked on salvaging their relationship. During that time, he was frequently contacted by the mysterious Heather, who seemed to be guilt ridden over what she had done to him. But every step he took into Heather's world seemed to draw him further away from his family.
Emile's relationship with Barbara began to deteriorate. Heather seemed to have some answers to offer about his new condition, and how to handle his marital problems too. It was Heather who suggested faking 'Emile's' death, and allowing his 'widow' to collect on his life insurance. Having lost the cushy job due to his stress filled new existence, he quickly agreed and set about making sure his wife and daughters were taken care of. Emile was spending more and more time as Emily now, and had even managed to force his change in daylight hours. 'Disappearing him' would be all too easy. And in hind-sight, it had worked perfectly.
But at a terrible cost, Emily had lost her family. And with that bridge irreparably burned, Heather seemed to grow increasingly abusive. Tonight, Emily and Heather had gathered for an outing at Queen Anne's Revenge. They were dancing with a new girl, Vanessa was her name, when Emily wandered off towards the bar for some refreshment. It was there that she encountered a strange old African-American woman sitting alone at a bar stool. The pleasant old coot began to speak to Emily in a thick, Jamaican accent.
"Woch dem maga dog, maga dog turn rone bite you." she said.
A strange thing to say for sure, but Emily understood somehow. The old biddy was warning her to beware the hand of charity, which could turn around and bite her. "Umm, thanks. I think I know what you mean." Emily smiled.
The wrinkled woman grinned back at her. "Wanti wanti cyan't get it, getti getti no want it." she said in a softening voice.
Once again, despite the thick accent and cryptic message, Emily found herself understanding. The have-not's covet what the haves take for granted. "So someone has been charitable to me, only because they want something from me?" she asked.
Emily's new friend nodded affirmative before speaking again. "Dread omen..." was all she heard her say. The elderly woman pointed in Emily's direction, almost through her. That's when Heather burst onto the scene, grabbing Emily's hand and spinning the girl around to face her.
"Emily, you stay away from that old witch, you hear?!" Heather demanded. "And as for you" she continued fixing her gaze on the elderly woman beside Em, "stay away from my sisters." The conversation ended, and Heather led Emily out the main entrance of the club.
As Emily was being lead away, she looked towards the woman Heather had called a witch. A single tear roll down her proud, wrinkled face.
Heather scolded Emily for daring to speak with this mysterious stranger, demanding to know the details of their conversation. Emily flatly refused, claiming it was none of her business. Heather had been bossy and intimidating towards her recently, and she was in no mood to cooperate with this interrogation. Heather only stopped yelling when she got her mail from the box in front of her row-home, where Emily was also currently living. If you could call it living, it felt more like servitude to Emily...
...Which is where she found herself now...
The second the bundle of mail hit the coffee table, the instant Emily's eye set upon the Time Magazine, the moment she compared herself to the nation-less Gorbachev, Heather reached out and struck her hard. Her fist made contact with the top of Emily's right eye, and a small cut opened up. The force of Heather's blow knocked Emily off of her feet, the blood from the fresh cut stung her eye. Her attacker straddled Emily's torso, and pinned her to the ground with astonishing strength. The pinned girl could not move.
Heather knew it too. With every sister she turned, she grew stronger and more beautiful. Making a new sister even added years to her already extended life-span. Heather had turned over a dozen girls, and Emily hadn't turned a soul. There was no comparison in strength here, and Heather had no problem asserting her dominance.
"I ought to kill you, you ungrateful little punk." Heather sneered. She was displaying a pair of razor-sharp fangs as she spoke. "After all I've done for you, you dare to keep secrets from me?!"
Emily began to tear up. "Go ahead. Do it." Emily presented her neck to Heather by craning her head upwards. "I've got nothing left anyway." she sobbed through the trickle of blood running down her face.
Heather began to soften, the expression of desperation and anger being replaced with one of pity. "I...I can't do it." she said, slowly and calmly dismounting her would be victim. Wearing a mopey look of defeat, she pouted off to her room. Heather never again assaulted Emily.
Still, Emily never forgot about the speed and strength that Heather had demonstrated that night. And as the years ticked past, she was certain that her maker was growing stronger yet.
( Back in the office of Heather's club, the night of October 5th, 2009.)
Emily appeared to be taken aback. "That won't be necessary" she said softly. "I think it's time I left this pack, and I'm taking Erin with me."
"Like hell you are." replied Heather. "You even try it and I'll gut you like I should have back in '91." she was hovering over Emily who was still seated.
"You can try, but I think you'll find it won't be quite as easy as it was back then." even Emily couldn't tell if she was bluffing as she spoke. She too had grown stronger over the years, but whether or not it would be enough to over-power Heather was a mystery to both women...
End of Part 19
To Be Continued...
Emily appeared to be taken aback. "That won't be necessary" she said softly. "I think it's time I left this pack, and I'm taking Erin with me."
"Like hell you are." replied Heather. "You even try it and I'll gut you like I should have back in '91." she was hovering over Emily who was still seated.
"You can try, but I think you'll find it won't be quite as easy as it was back then." even Emily couldn't tell if she was bluffing as she spoke. She too had grown stronger over the years, but whether or not it would be enough to over-power Heather was a mystery to both women...
I knew the conversation taking place on the other side of the office door would be a tense one. I couldn’t even imagine what was being said. Regardless I knew it wasn’t a friendly chat. There was no love between those two, that much had been made clear since the first time I met Emily. Call it women’s intuition, but something was telling me to go in there. So I worked up the nerve to invite myself into the office and see for myself what was going on in there. I stood and approached the office.
“You can’t do that!” snapped Vanessa as I made my way towards the door.
“Try and stop me.” I quipped defiantly.
Turning the knob and opening the door, I saw the two women glaring at one another. They looked like two gunslingers before a high-noon showdown. Emily was seated, Heather loomed over her. Both women seemed tense, but my intrusion snapped them out of their stare-down.
“I’m sorry boss.” said Vanessa walking in a step behind me. “I tried to stop her but…”
“Nonsense Vanessa, it’s no trouble.” Heather interjected. “Emily and I were just having a friendly chat, weren’t we?” Heather asked slyly turning her attention back to the seated woman before her.
Emily responded. “Actually, I was just leaving. Come on Erin, I think it’s time we moved on.” she said, turning towards me as she spoke. Without another word, we made our way out of the office and through the VIP room. The other werewomen watched us pass silently, watching in mute shock as we sashayed past them.
“Should I stop them boss?” asked the hulking wereman bouncer over his radio.
“No, just let them pass.” replied Heather. “We don’t want to make a scene tonight, now do we?” Her question was rhetorical, and Eric knew it. So he watched silently as the two women approached and exited without slowing their quickened pace.
Emily and I spent the rest of that night together, and the following morning I awoke in male form, exhausted from the transformative cycle. The feminine hangover was in full effect, and I had to call into the office sick. It was a relief to have the moonset behind me, but I couldn’t deny it, I was looking forward to the next one.
I’d not heard from Heather all month, not that it bothered me. Emily and I were together almost daily, which that suited me just fine. I was beginning to get the hang of my new condition, being a werewoman was becoming routine. I knew that tomorrow at moonrise, the first changing moon of this set would bring Erin bubbling back to the surface, and in spite of my male self I found that I was looking forward to it. The tingles, the endorphins and the rush of the change… it’s like an addictive drug. And I was looking forward to getting my fix tomorrow night.
Erin seemed to get stronger within me all week as the moon grew fuller in the night sky. So it didn’t surprise me to find myself at the mall that afternoon, browsing through women’s clothing stores and occasionally making a purchase. It was Halloween, and a couple of the sales associates asked if I was getting myself a costume. ‘Yeah, not exactly’ I heard Erin’s voice say weakly. But her voice grew stronger as the hours ticked past.
I was conversing with a particularly lovely saleswoman when I found myself beginning to sweat bullets. Her cleavage was alluring, and I found myself leering at it. As attracted to her as I was, seeing her assets presented so beautifully made me long for my own lovely breasts. She couldn’t possibly know how she was affecting me, but this saleslady was making my girl side jealous. Female sexuality was a potent weapon, and this sales clerk was wielding it very skillfully. Oh how I envied her.
The saleslady continued to recommend dresses and shoes, her cheerful, flirty demeanor was driving me crazy. I continued to sweat uncontrollably. Erin began chiming in again, the volume of her voice in my head made the conversation hard to focus on. ‘Something’s happening’ she said. ‘You have to get somewhere safe…now.’ Erin pleaded. There was an awkward pause in the conversation at this point.
“Are you Okay, sir?” the beautiful clerk asked in a concerned tone. Her hand touched mine. “My God, you’re burning up!” she exclaimed.
“I’m… fine.” I replied unconvincingly. “I just…” a tingle erupting deep within my abdomen stopped me mid-sentence. It felt like a change coming on, but it couldn’t be. Not tonight. But as I stood there with her, the tingling intensified rather than diminishing. The change was coming, how or why I did not know. I didn’t want to change right there in the mall, in front of the saleslady and the other customers. I needed cover, and my mind raced. “I have to go.” I said turning away from her.
Instinct kicked in, I found myself running in the direction of the nearest public restroom. Glancing up through the glass skylights, I caught a glimpse of the newly risen moon. It wasn’t quite full, but it loomed large in the night sky. Upon arriving, I had to decide between the men’s room and the ladies room on the fly. It was an odd predicament, but out of habit I chose the men’s room.
‘Thank God.’ I thought to myself upon entering. ‘It looks empty.’
(Kelly Huchins stood at the entrance to the Victoria’s Secret store where she worked.)
~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~
‘I can’t believe I got stuck working on Halloween’ she thought to herself. It was slow and boring, and strange men kept coming in and buying things, swearing it was ‘for a Halloween costume.’ She had a hard time believing that line. But she cheerfully rang them up, remembering how the same thing seemed to happen every year around this time.
As she sat there daydreaming about the Halloween party she was surely missing, she caught a glimpse of a man in a full sprint passing her storefront. It was the same customer she had helped last month, and again earlier tonight. Come to think of it, she’d also seen him in the movie theater before. “That’s it!” she said aloud, proud that she had remembered where she knew him from.
“Kelly, can you help this gentleman find a suitable pair of panties or his Halloween costume?” chimed her ironically named co-worker, Victoria.
“Coming.” Kelly replied cheerfully, her mind shifting back into ‘sales-mode.’
Halloween was the best time for a crossdresser to shop in drab. Jerry had used the old, ‘I need it for a costume’ excuse for several consecutive years. It seemed plausible to the salesladies and even to him. This year, he’d taken advantage of his annual cover story on a larger scale than usual. Several bags, filled to the top, crowded the floor of his stall surrounding his feet. As he sat patiently on the cold porcelain seat, he thumbed through the strange book that he’d been given last month. The ‘New Werewoman Handbook’ seemed to be an interesting trans-gender fiction book containing more than a little humor.
Jerry heard the door to that men’s room open suddenly. ‘Someone is in a hurry,’ he thought to himself. ‘It must be an emergency!’
He could not have been more right.
Entering the rest-room I closed the door behind me. At a glance it looked empty, so I went straight for the bank of mirrors lining the counter sinks. Huffing and puffing, I was out of breath from sprinting here so rapidly. The bottom of my pants dragged underneath my shoes, I had lost some height already. Beholding my reflection, I was greeted by a softer, more feminine face. The change had only just begun, I needed to stop it here. I turned the sink tap on cool.
Splashing water onto my face, I could see the changes progressing before my eyes. ‘Why is this happening tonight?’ I thought frantically. Was it that attractive salesgirl that had brought this episode on? Could it be her appearance triggered the transformation? No. A sudden flashback reminded me of something Emily told me…
“Yes, some of the girls you met tonight gender-shift a total of five to seven nights each month. They don't have a choice in the matter, it just happens. Others only change for those magical 3 nights in the middle when the moon is at its fullest, like you did this month.” Emily confirmed. “That's how it starts with all of us who feel the pull of the moon, some just feel it more strongly than others.”
“And all that depends on how strong your female side grows?” I asked.
“Yes. And like Heather and I said earlier, it's a combination of desire to be female and genetic potential.” Emily explained.
It seemed that I’d be forced to change 5 nights a month from now on…
~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~
(Back in the present, Aaron is mid-shift.)
Each second, Erin was becoming more and more visible. “Uggghh!” I grunted in frustration. Hair tickled the back of my neck, soon reaching my shoulders. “Oh my God! No, not tonight. Don’t change! Don’t change!” I pleaded at my reflection aloud. It was no use though. Aaron was disappearing rapidly. “I…I can’t stop it!” full on panic gripped me tightly.
I felt my manhood inverting, turning in on itself quickly. My pants hit the floor due to my diminished size, and I reached a hand inside my boxers. I clutched my shrinking fireman as though I could prevent its disappearance, but it was no use. Swimming in my now-too-large Oxford shirt, I unbuttoned it and removed the white cotton t-shirt beneath. I could see my nipples enlarging and becoming darker in color. I covered them with the palms of my hand and pressed hard upon the swelling flesh behind them.
But nothing could stop the inevitable growth under my palms. “Ahhhh” I moaned in frustration as my blossoming breasts forced their way out, pushing my hands upward. “Noooo!” I heard my positively femme voice quivering softly as my hips and buttocks inflated around me.
And then, just as suddenly as it started, the transformation stopped.
Tears streamed down the face of the girl in the mirror. She hadn’t expected to emerge tonight and Aaron certainly didn’t see it coming. Neither of them anticipated this development. But there was no time for tears. The sound of a toilet flushing behind Erin caused her to glance back at a row of stalls. A man she recognized was peering over the wall. His foot must have accidently engaged the lever.
(Moments earlier, Jerry sat in his stall.)
~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~
Whoever burst into the room seemed to be having a tough time. Jerry could hear him huffing and puffing, as though they were having some sort of medical emergency. He was finished using the toilet, pants up and belt buckled. Cautiously he peered over the top of the cubicle wall, standing on the john for a boost.
What he saw amazed him. His boss, Aaron, was the man who burst in so suddenly. He’d splashed some water on his face as Jerry watched. His breathing stabilized, and Jerry was about to ask him if he needed help. But his boss spoke before he could.
“Oh my God! No, not tonight. Don’t change! Don’t change!” said Aaron.
Jerry wasn’t sure what he meant at first. But the answer became obvious; his boss was shrinking quite rapidly. His face also seemed to be softening, as his hair lengthened. Soon, other changes became obvious as he pulled off his shirt and his pants fell to the floor. Right there, in front of Jerry, Aaron was turning into a woman, and a beautiful one at that. Maybe the ‘New Werewoman Handbook’ wasn’t fiction after-all!
As the thought occurred to him, Jerry slipped ever so slightly. “SWOOOOSH” roared the toilet beneath his feet. The new girl looked in his direction, and Jerry smiled back meekly.
Whoever burst into the room seemed to be having a tough time. Jerry could hear him huffing and puffing, as though they were having some sort of medical emergency. He was finished using the toilet, pants up and belt buckled. Cautiously he peered over the top of the cubicle wall, standing on the john for a boost.
What he saw amazed him. His boss, Aaron, was the man who burst in so suddenly. He’d splashed some water on his face as Jerry watched. His breathing stabilized, and Jerry was about to ask him if he needed help. But his boss spoke before he could.
“Oh my God! No, not tonight. Don’t change! Don’t change!” said Aaron.
Jerry wasn’t sure what he meant at first. But the answer became obvious; his boss was shrinking quite rapidly. His face also seemed to be softening, as his hair lengthened. Soon, other changes became obvious as he pulled off his shirt and his pants fell to the floor. Right there, in front of Jerry, Aaron was turning into a woman, and a beautiful one at that. Maybe the ‘New Werewoman Handbook’ wasn’t fiction after-all!
As the thought occurred to him, Jerry slipped ever so slightly. “SWOOOOSH” roared the toilet beneath his feet. The new girl looked in his direction, and Jerry smiled back meekly.
Seconds passed as we stared at each other. I broke the silence with a question despite being afraid of the answer. “How long have you been standing there?” I asked, swallowing hard.
“Long enough Aaron, I saw everything…its incredible!” Jerry said, stepping down from the seat and exiting the stall.
‘Shit! He knew my name’ I thought to myself. Glancing towards the restroom entrance, I saw a deadbolt lock on the inside of the door. I secured it making sure nobody else would enter to disturb us. “I was afraid you might say that.” I said in a voice that sounded sinister even to my own ears. I knew what had to be done. The handbook had a section on accidental discovery. It was brief but applicable to this situation.
‘If discovered by a non-were, the safest way to protect your secret is to make sure it becomes their secret too.’
Instinct was taking over, and I felt my predatory fangs sliding into place. I was fully prepared to bite Jerry to make sure he didn’t talk. He wasn’t paying any attention to me as I approached him, a lucky break perhaps. Instead, Jerry fumbled through a bag of clothing as I advanced, he was reaching for something but I didn’t know what.
I was right next to him now, and as he found what he was seeking in the bag and held it up, he looked surprised to see me standing so close. Nervously he pointed to the book now in his hand. “You’re one of them…you’re a werewoman, right?” he asked.
Glancing at the book in his hand, I read the title, ‘New Werewoman Handbook: A Manual for the Newly Transgendered.’ I was astonished. Perhaps biting this man would not be necessary. Inch long fangs retracted into the gum-line, my eyeteeth took on their normal appearance. “How the…where did you get that?” I asked incredulously.
“Last month, I was at a club and I met these women, Vanessa and Heather I think.” Jerry explained. “I went home with them, I don’t remember exactly what happened but the next morning I was back at my house, and this book was with some of my belongings in a box.”
If what he said was true, and I believed it was, Jerry might already be infected. The curse might well be in the end-stages of incubation and his inner woman set to emerge with tomorrow’s moon. “Look I don’t know how to say this, but if you have that book…”
Jerry interrupted as I trailed off. “You don’t think that I’m…”
All of the sudden, the door to the men’s room rattled in the jamb. Someone out there wanted in.
“We have to get out of here.” I said in a no-nonsense voice. “Let me get dressed and we’ll walk out together.” I could see Jerry nodding in agreement as I reached into the bags I’d sprinted into the room carrying. Sliding a Victoria Secret baby-tee over my frame and slipping into a skirt, I stepped into a cute pair of flats I’d purchased earlier. Fully dressed, my eyes traveled to the mirror for a quick self-inspection. I didn’t have any underwear to put on; I hadn’t bought any this evening. I had planned on making that my next stop, but it would have to wait until some other time. My appearance was as good as I could make it under these strained circumstances. Crumbling my guy clothes into a ball, I stuffed them into the empty bags.
A muffled “What the #*@%!” came from the other side of the door. It was followed by some more loud pounding. The man on the other side was none too happy about being denied access. Jerry gathered his bags up, and I mine. I turned to my co-worker and led him out.
“Sorry!” I said sincerely to the man who’d been left waiting outside the men’s room. My face was red with embarrassment. As he watched Jerry and I stroll past, his look changed from one of confusion to outright amusement.
“Alright bro!” he said to Jerry, presenting his fist for congratulatory dap. Jerry reluctantly tapped fists with the man. Apparently, he thought we’d ducked in there for a quickie. That explanation was probably more believable than what actually happened.
“What now?” Jerry asked as we strode out to the main corridor together.
“I have a friend, she’s cool. If anybody would know what to do about this situation it’s her.” I said. “Come with me to my car. We’ll drive over to her place together.” It sounded more like an order that a suggestion.
‘There’s that girl from the movie’ she thought to herself as she bid her blushing male customer farewell. ‘Didn’t her boyfriend just run by?’ she asked herself silently. ‘And why was she wearing the t-shirt her boyfriend had just purchased this very evening?’ None of it made sense, least of all the presence of a companion who was clearly not her boyfriend. She even remembered seeing that woman at the nightclub the other month, staring at her sweetheart Kevin like she knew him...as if!
‘What a skank’ she thought, easily observing that the woman wasn’t even wearing a bra beneath the shirt. And with her build, it was clear that she needed one!
“We’ll be there in a minute, Em. And thanks, I knew I could count on you.” Hanging up the phone, I looked towards my passenger. “She said she’ll help us, we’re in luck.” I said to reassure him. Jerry had been silent since we left the mall. From his expression I could tell he was deep in thought.
“That is IF she can help. I don’t know. If I’m infected, the book I’ve been reading didn’t mention anything about a cure.” Jerry sounded positively worried as he spoke.
There was nothing I could say to comfort him.
Before too long we were knocking on Emily’s door, she answered quickly and smiled at us both. “Come in, come in” she said hospitably. “Erin dear, I’m so sorry. I didn’t expect to see you out until tomorrow night.” She sounded deeply sympathetic. “You must have been so scared, transforming with little notice at the mall.”
“Yeah, it came as quite a surprise to me too. I guess I’ll have to get used to the 5 night cycle now.” I blushed and put my head down as if ashamed.
Emily gently rested her hand on my shoulder in a touching gesture of sympathy. “Hey, cheer up girl! It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re progressing so quickly, before you know it you may be on a 7 night cycle!”
She sounded almost excited by the prospect, and while I appreciated her sympathy, the fact that she was probably right terrified me beyond measure. “I know, I know.” I replied meekly.
“First thing first dear, you look like something the cat dragged in! Go up to my room and get changed. I have some brand new clothes I bought earlier this week. They’re in the bag on my bedroom floor.” Emily pointed as though I didn’t know where she slept.
So without further ceremony, I retired to Emily’s bedroom. I could hear her and Jerry’s muffled voices as I shut the door behind me. I wondered what they were discussing. I saw the bag Emily was referring to, and I picked out a nice sundress, a bra and some panties. Deciding to help myself to the assets in her master bathroom, and applied some light make-up and requisitioned a hair tie. I looked much better now, and my skill at applying lip-stick and foundation surprised me. I must have learned from watching Heather and Emily work on me in previous months. Ten minutes after entering the bedroom, I emerged to rejoin the conversation in progress in the living room.
“Erin here tells me that you received a copy of our book, mind if I see your copy?” Emily asked Jerry as I took a seat beside her on the couch. She eyed me up and down as I took my seat, “Oh my you look so much better!” Emily cooed. “Well done on the make-up, you’re really getting the hang of things.”
I blushed slightly embarrassed by Emily’s compliment. “Thanks.” I said quietly.
Jerry was fumbling through a bag which I now saw contained women’s clothing. “Here it is.” He said plainly, handing the tome to Emily’s inspection.
“It looks legit.” Emily noted, holding the book in front of her. “Its standard issue material for new werewomen, but it looks a little different than my copy” she commented. Cracking the binding, she thumbed through the first couple pages.
Something caught my eye. “Wait, go back to the inside cover a sec.” I said. Emily complied, and together we noticed a handwritten message on the inside cover.
I recognized the handwriting before I read her signature. It was identical to the writing on the notes I received during my first moonset.
Emily produced her own copy from a drawer in her coffee table. Holding the books up side by side, we all noticed a difference immediately. Jerry’s copy was much thicker than Emily’s. “Well…this certainly is interesting.”
“What does it mean?” Jerry asked dumbfounded. “Am I a werewoman like you two?” he sounded concerned as he spoke.
“Well no, or should I say, not yet.” Emily answered. “But the very fact that you received this book means that you most likely will be. In fact, I’d be willing to bet that tomorrow night at moonrise, you’ll change for the first time.” Emily’s tone was somber. “I’m sorry, Jerry.”
“There has to be something we can do!” Jerry said sounding frightened. “I don’t know if I want this!”
“Well, your aura is still pink which is good. You may not be at risk of changing.” I said. Jerry looked relieved for a moment.
“According to the book, a person’s aura doesn’t change until after the first change has manifested itself.” Emily said.
“So much for my theory…” I said disappointedly. Now that she mentioned it, I did recall reading that passage.
Emily’s thin brows furrowed in an endearing expression I’d come to recognize and admire. The wheels in her mind spun rapidly as I watched in silence. At last, she spoke. “I got it. Follow me; we’re going to see someone who can help.”
Without a word, Jerry and I stood and followed her to her car.
“You sit up front, Jerry.” I said. “You’re taller and need the leg-room.” It was an odd reversal, in male form I towered over my colleague.
“What are we doing here?” Jerry asked. I had to admit, I was dying to know myself.
“An old friend of mine frequents this place.” Emily explained. “She’s very powerful, and if anyone can help us it’s her.” She continued, “Some say she’s a witch, but I’d classify her as more of a spirit. Whatever you want to call it, she has some potent supernatural gifts.”
The three of us filed into the club, the loud music assaulting our eardrums as we made our way towards the bar. Emily led us to a lonely stool far to the side of the counter. Upon it sat an ancient African American ‘lady.’ Though dressed en femme, she was hardly convincing. Still, a quiet dignity surrounded this unusual patron.
“I know her!” Jerry declared as we approached. “People call her Tranny Granny.” He said softly. I laughed at the silly but appropriate moniker bestowed upon the old coot. Emily seemed un-amused. “I met her last month, and she warned me that I was in danger.” Jerry said in a more serious tone.
“And she was right.” Emily said retorted.
The old patron craned her head and smiled as we approached.
“Greetings, my old friend.” Emily said taking a seat beside her. “I’ve come to ask for your help, if you’re willing to offer it.”
‘Tranny Granny’ nodded solemnly. “Unnu cyan come wid mi. I an I’s bin expec-tin yuhs.”
I usually had trouble understanding thickly accented people, but I understood that she’d been expecting us. She wanted our group to follow her.
She stood from her place at the bar and seemed to float towards the back of the club. We followed closely as she led us to a door in the back. The four of us found ourselves on the other side of the door, standing in an alleyway flanked by two tall brick walls. One of these walls belonged to the club. The other was belonging to the derelict structure set behind it. “Dis wey” Beckoned ‘Tranny Granny’ as a white light enveloped her being.
I shielded my eyes, and when the brightness dissipated looked toward where the old queen was standing. Where she’d once stood, I beheld a sickly looking, pale-eyed black cat. Letting out a strained “meow” the pitiful creature made its way up the fire escape of the adjacent building. Jerry and I looked at one another in amazement. Emily seemed mildly amused by our reaction. But we followed the cat into an open window on the top floor of the ruined building behind the club.
By the time we’d all entered the window, the ancient crossdresser was back in human form. She sat in the center of a room that was straight out of fantasy novel. Her chair itself appeared to be some sort of throne; it had a high back and seemed to be crafted out of animal bones. Indeed, large elephant tusks crowned the bizarre construction. The walls were lined with jars filled with all sorts of strange items. One appeared to be filled with lizard tails, another was flush with webbed skin, bat-wings I surmised. Still another jar was filled with small eyeballs; perhaps they’d once belonged to a predatory bird of some sort. They seemed alive, following us with their fixed gaze as we made our way toward the room’s center. Many jars were filled with herbs of various descriptions, powders and oils in all the colors of the rainbow abounded.
As I looked around in awe, I recognized many voodoo fetishes lying about. A crystal ball was held by a skeletal hand on a table near her ‘throne.’ The colorful feathers of different wanga’s stood out upon various tables throughout the room. Offerings to various Voodoun deities sat undisturbed in small bowls set before miniature human-like statues. A chandelier of wood and bone hung overhead, its candles lighting this surrealistic scene.
Our host gestured to three stools before her throne, suggesting we sit before her. We followed her instructions, Emily sitting in the middle, myself to her right and Jerry on the other side.
Emily spoke first. “We’ve come to ask you about Jerry here…” she began.
The ancient one interrupted. “I an I nose, meh fren.” She gestured towards Emily. Her faded eyes travelled towards Jerry. “Dem gwot yuh, meh dwata. Fel nuh way, meh hyelp yuh.” she continued.
Once again, despite her thick accent I took her meaning. She knew why we’d come. She knew Jerry’s predicament and she advised him not to worry. She could help.
“Yuh mey lass som-ting en da bans” she warned, waving a bony finger in a gesture of caution.
By this, I understood, she meant that something would be lost in the bargain.
Apparently Jerry was on the same page. “Whatever the risk, I’ll take it.” he replied with conviction. “I don’t want to lose control of my body. I didn’t choose this, and I’ll do anything!” His voice stank of desperation. “I like to dress as a woman, but with the freedom to choose when and where I do it. Tonight, seeing Erin transform was quite a scare. I do not want that to be my fate.”
Having heard his testimony, the old biddy before us seemed to go into something of a trance. Her already cloudy eyes turned pure white, and she appeared to be possessed. She was chanting in gibberish, I could not understand the words leaving her lips. As her trance deepened, she stood and seemingly floated about the room chanting all the while. Her hands busily pilfered ingredients from the various jars scattered about the place. She then began to mix them up in a large wooden bowl with some type of grinding tool. At last, after several minutes, she reclaimed her throne. Her thin, wrinkled arms presented the concoction to Jerry.
He gulped. “Do I ummm, drink this?” he asked sounding concerned as he took the bowl.
Our host made a wafting gesture and inhaled deeply through her nostrils. Jerry mimicked her actions.
For a moment, nothing happened. Jerry’s face contorted in a disgusted manner, whatever was in front of him clearly smelled awful. But as he inhaled, his eyes glazed over. The color seemed to rush from his eyes until they were completely pale. The bowl dropped from his hands, thudding off the floor as it fell.
As I watched in mute fascination, a spectral image of a woman stepped out from Jerry’s body. She appeared to be frightened. “Jerry no!” she pleaded. “Wake up! Please wake up.” she pleaded to the seated, entranced man before her. Her image began to fade into nothing as though she were evaporating before our eyes. While this was happening, the pink aura around Jerry started to dissipate. It was replaced by an aura of deep royal blue. “Jerry please…don’t do this. You need me!” said the spirit as spectral tears streamed down her pretty face.
Her low voice seemed to have the accompaniment of all the other sounds of misery, desolation and sorrow I had ever heard- the ripple of a river, the rustling of the trees swayed by the wind, the murmurs of the crowd, the faint ring of incomprehensible words cried from afar, the whisper of a voice speaking from beyond the threshold of an eternal darkness. It was a heart-rending scene. And in a moment, she was gone.
Our host had also vanished. We three now sat in an empty room, illuminated only by the faint light provided by a nearly full moon. It was as though we'd all shared a waking dream.
Jerry snapped back to consciousness. Standing, he demanded, “What happened? How long was I out?”
“I…I…just a moment.” I replied. “I can’t explain what happened. How do you feel?” I inquired.
“…Better.” Jerry answered simplistically. “But different” he elaborated. “I can’t explain it, but I can tell I’m not the same. It’s as though I missing part of myself.” He looked confused. “But physically I feel fine.” He admitted.
“Well, I think whatever she did worked. But just to be sure I’d like it if you joined Erin and me tomorrow at moonrise.” Emily said calmly.
“I’d like that.” Jerry said plainly. “And thank you, thank you so much for helping me.” He hugged us both in turn, and we made our way back to Emily's car. The ride to the mall was a silent journey, we dropped Jerry off at his car at the mall parking lot.
As he drove off towards his home, I asked Emily a question. “Do you think that it worked? Is he ‘cured?’” I made air-quotes around the word ‘cured’ for effect.
“I do believe he is, but at a terrible cost perhaps.” Emily answered.
“Do you think that ritual could work on me?” I asked out of curiosity.
“No. I asked her to cleanse me once, long ago. She said it was impossible. Once the transformation has occurred there is no going back. You’re doomed to werewomanhood for life. There is a cure for what we are, but once you've turned, there is no release.” She sounded almost sad as she finished her monologue.
But I wasn’t sad. Quite the opposite in fact, I was happy to be ‘doomed.’
As he drove off towards his home, I asked Emily a question. “Do you think that it worked? Is he ‘cured?’” I made air-quotes around the word ‘cured’ for effect.
“I do believe he is, but at a terrible cost perhaps.” Emily answered.
“Do you think that ritual could work on me?” I asked out of curiosity.
“No. I asked her to cleanse me once, long ago. She said it was impossible. Once the transformation has occurred there is no going back. You’re doomed to werewomanhood for life. There is a cure for what we are, but once you've turned, there is no release.” She sounded almost sad as she finished her monologue.
But I wasn’t sad. Quite the opposite in fact, I was happy to be ‘doomed.’
At nightfall Heath would be forced to transform tonight, as she was each and every night of lunar week. Vance had a choice in the matter. He usually forced a shift on these nights so that Heather would have company, and he planned to do just that on this evening. That was the advantage of being a pure-blood, having a greater degree of control over his inner woman. But no degree of control would stop his change on the 3 nights when the moon was fullest.
As if he needed another reason to change, tonight was Halloween and Queen Anne’s Revenge should be hopping. So when he heard the tell-tale moaning coming through the cracks of Heath’s bedroom door, Vance knew it was time to get his girl on.
He entered the second floor bathroom they shared, and looked at his reflection. Short black hair trimmed in the style of a Roman Centurion, rugged features and a strong jaw reflected back. His deep, brown eyes had a sadness to them, not that he wasn’t happy but Vance did have a troubled past behind him. Running a hand across his face, he noted the presence of the five-o’clock shadow and its sandpapery feel. If not for his little secret, he might well have been a Hollywood actor or a male model. And in a moment these rugged good looks would be gone. Still, Vance knew he was blessed in the looks department no matter which gender he happened to be.
It was time now, Heather hated being late and the last thing he wanted was to irritate her with all the stress she was under. So without further delay, Vance closed his eyes tightly and focused on a mental image of his catalyst, a full moon in the night sky. He slipped out of the bathrobe he was wearing without breaking concentration. As he meditated his way towards womanhood, he remembered the instructions in the ‘Handbook.’
Vance was sweating now, any second he would be at the point of no return. It came on suddenly, like a nest full of snakes wiggling throughout his stomach. The tingling feeling washed over him like waves rolling up onto a sandy beach. He opened his eyes to watch the magical process unfold.
Vance felt his muscular, alpha male physique melting away in the wake of the spreading pins and needles. He was shrinking in height too. His stubble disappeared rapidly, and he knew without looking that hair in other places, his chest, pits, legs and arms, was shrinking back into the follicle as well. The retreating facial and body hair left behind much softer, smoother skin in its place.
Vance stared intently at the reflection of his face. His jaw-line and brow-ridge diminished and he started to see Vanessa staring back at him in the mirror. His short hair grew out past his ears, then his girly cheeks, finally settling around his shoulder-blades. He felt his manhood throbbing, standing at attention as it began to shrink between the pulses.
A knock at the bathroom door snapped Vance out of his self examination. “Vanessa, are you getting ready in there?” Heather inquired.
“I’m uhhh…I’m getting changed right now sweetie, be done in a minute.” Vanessa replied. With each word, her voice seemed to rise all the way up into the mezzo-soprano range. Looking down, she saw that the smooth flatness and vertical slit had already replaced her male parts. Next was her favorite part. Her nipples darkened and began to enlarge, the circumference of her areola increased threefold. The flesh behind her high-beams began to plump up too, and a moment later two lovely lady lumps graced Vanessa’s once flat, manly chest. “Yessss…” she said aloud quietly to her smiling reflection. Then a sharp but not at all unpleasant pressure began to build in her hips. Slowly at first and with growing speed, Vanessa felt her pelvis separating as though she were being torn in two. Simultaneously, her muscular man-butt began to take on female properties as it plumped up and rounded out behind her. And where once an athletic looking man had stood, naked in the mirror, there was now a toned, beautiful woman.
(An hour or so later, Heather and Vanessa sat at their favorite table in the balcony of Queen Anne’s Revenge.)
~~~~~
The club was packed and loud that night, just the way Vanessa liked it. She and Heather enjoyed some drinks, and scoped out the dance floor for potential talent. As her eyes passed over the room below, she caught a glimpse of some familiar faces. Emily, Erin and the man she’d seduced and infected last month were making their way towards the bar. Vanessa was preparing to alert Heather when she heard her companion speak.
“Well, well. Look at what we have here.” Heather remarked. “It looks like our newest sister is up to 5 nights a month.” she said, referring to Erin. “And your recruit is here with her and Emily. I wonder, how did she get wind of her condition? And how did she link up with the day-walker posse?” She peered at Vanessa as though expecting an explanation.
“I gave her a book, Heather. When we dropped her off after I made her, I left a copy in the box with her clothes.” Vanessa answered. “As for her meeting Em and Erin… I don’t know how she met up with those two.”
“I see. Didn’t you think it was a little soon to be issuing her a copy of the manual?” Heather said in a half-accusing tone. “Don’t we usually do that just before their change?”
“Well…I didn’t feel like doing it tonight. We’d have missed this Halloween bash.” Vanessa protested weakly. “Besides, it’s not like she can do anything about it. Tomorrow she’ll change, and we’ll bring her into the pack. If we can get her away from that day-walker b*tch that is.”
“OK, so you broke into my room, stole a copy of the book, and gave it to her that night without my noticing? You know I keep the extras in my room. Yet when I returned from my stroll that night, you and he were still…busy. So when exactly did you get him a copy?!” Heather demanded.
Heather could be so damn litigious about such trivial things Vanessa thought, especially when it came to her privacy. “No, I didn’t go klepto on your belongings. I gave her an extra I had.” Vanessa was defensive as she spoke.
“An extra? You don’t mean…” Heather trailed off, he mouth hung open wide. “Tell me you didn’t give her your personal copy.”
Vanessa nodded yes.
Heather broke off eye contact; she seemed to be disturbed by this bit of news. “Oh Nessa, what have you done?” The two women watched in silence as Emily, Erin and Jerry walked out the back door with ‘Tranny Granny,’ the club’s most unusual patron. At last Heather broke the silence. “And that old witch might really complicate things for us.”
(Twilight on November 1st, Aaron and Jerry sat in Emily’s living room as their hostess prepared some dinner.)
~~~~~
Two men sat across from one another, each clad in a white, terrycloth bath-robe. It might appear strange to an outsider, but knowing that one or both of these men is about to turn into a woman makes it seem only practical.
Erin’s voice was growing louder by the minute as I sat with Jerry. I was relaxing in a positively feminine manner, legs crossed and arms held tightly to the body. Because I knew what was coming tonight, I didn’t even try and correct my posture. There’d never been an intended audience for my change before, Jerry was an accidental witness last night, but even still I felt no stage fright. Besides, I reminded myself, chances are he’ll be too wrapped up in watching his own transformation tonight to bother watching mine.
I began emptying out a small backpack I’d brought with me onto the empty couch cushion beside me. It contained various girl clothes, garments I’d need very shortly. The feel of the fabric against my hands sent pleasurable chills down my spine. Soon these exotic fabrics would be streached across my entire body, hugging my feminine frame in a most comfortable way. I could hardly wait.
“So what’s it like?” asked Jerry, leaning in towards me as he spoke.
“What’s what like?” I asked, not sure what he meant.
“The change, how does it feel? Is it like the way they describe it in the book?” Jerry elaborated on his question. “Does it hurt?”
“There’s no pain. The body releases a ton of endorphins, enough to stun an elephant. It’s really quite pleasant.” I said “It’s indescribable … words just don’t do it justice.” I admitted. “It’s like a building tension, followed by an incredible rush. It starts in the stomach,” I gestured to my midsection, “and it spreads out from there until it consumes your whole body.”
Jerry listened intently as I described the event he hoped to avoid tonight.
“And when it’s over, you’re just different… a girl.” I went on.
“And what’s that like?” Jerry asked.
“It’s fun!” I admitted. “Parts of you that are normally hard and stable become soft and bouncy.” I gestured to my chest and bottom. “And your hairless skin feels smooth all over; it’s so much different than it feels as a rough hewn, hairy man.” I was gushing now. “You become so… sensitive to touch, it’s really unbelievable.”
I saw Emily smiling as she entered my peripheral vision. “Well, it’s about that time.” She interrupted our dialogue. “If anything is going to happen to you, it’ll take place…” She looked at her i-phone, “right… about… now.” A beeping erupted from the handheld device. It filled the air for a few seconds before falling silent again.
And nothing happened.
Jerry laughed. “Looks like we’re both in the clear!” he exclaimed.
“Well, its set to the second moonrise occurs, but the change can start anytime between now, and an hour from now.” Emily explained. “So when you hear that sound again, then you’re in the clear.”
“Well whatever you’re cooking in there sure smells good.” Jerry said. “When do we eat?”
“Werewomen always come out of a change incredibly hungry. So we’ll wait a bit and see what happens…”
Emily continued to explain some details about the change to Jerry, but I was silent on the couch. I could feel the moonlight filtering in through the open window heating the surface of my skin. ‘Any second now.’ Erin’s voice commented. Sweat beaded up upon my forehead, and my body temperature began to soar. ‘Here we go again’ I thought to myself as the first waves of tingles washed over me. I clutched my stomach on instinct.
“…Guys…” I interrupted. They stopped speaking and looked at me, doubled over on the couch. “It’s…(pant-pant)…happening.” I fell to my knees crawling forward towards Jerry. He scotched away ever so slightly.
“My God…” I heard Jerry say as I began to shrink before his eyes.
Looking up at Jerry, I saw not a single trace of the curse affecting him. He was the same as he ever was. As body hair began retracting into my skin, I found myself wanting him to change too. I was happy to be transforming into Erin again, but a small part of me was jealous of the fact that Jerry had beaten the curse where I was unable to. I was hard as a rock now, and lengthening hair on my head reached down to my shoulders. I’d stopped shrinking now, but my maleness diminished with each successive heartbeat.
I thrashed about in ecstasy on the floor, my robe slipping open as the last of my manhood disappeared. I was a woman again, but still more changes were to follow. Jerry could see my whole anatomy now; I didn’t want to cover myself though. ‘Let him see what he’s missing,’ I thought. ‘Deep down I think he knows he made a bad decision last night.’
All eyes were upon me as my areolas grew to the size of quarters, and womanly nipples protruded further than they previously had on my male body. My soft breasts began to fill in too, slowly but surely reaching their full female potential. “Uhhhh!” I moaned as my hips began to splay outward, changing the shape of my body and its center of gravity dramatically. I was sitting on the floor now, feeling myself growing a bit taller in the seat as my cheeks filled out underneath me. And then it was over, Erin was back again.
Jerry and Emily were speechless, wide-eyed and staring at me.
“Em, can you hand me my bra and panties?” I asked, reaching out in the direction of the couch where my clothes were piled up.
“Oh…um sure hun.” She complied, handing me both.
Stepping into my panties, I turned to Jerry. “Do you feel any different?” I asked.
“Oh... no, same as always.” he answered with a smile. “But we still have the better part of an hour until we know if I’m out of the woods.”
And indeed he was. An hour passed, then two. Nothing on Jerry changed, and so we declared him cured. Emily asked if she could keep his copy of the Handbook, and he didn’t object.
“Looks like I won’t need it now.” is all he said.
(About two weeks later, Sunday November 16th at Aaron’s house.)
~~~~~
As afternoon turned into evening, I sat on my couch feeling listless. It had been a boring Sunday, and I had spent most of it thinking about being Erin. The next full moon was about two weeks away, but it might as well be a million years from now. As I sat watching a silly football game, the sight of the sideline reported made my blood boil.
She was interviewing the quarterback about the drive he’d pieced together, and the dumb jock was staring right at her chest as though it had eyes. ‘Not that she minds’ I heard Erin’s voice for the first time since my last transformation. ‘She knows what she’s doing.’ Erin continued. I had to chuckle. My head wasn’t in the game, all I could seem to think about was being ‘her.’
I stood up from my couch and headed in the direction of my bedroom. Opening the closet, I saw Erin’s clothes hanging neatly on the bar. She had almost as many as Aaron now. Reaching out I pawed the silky garments, dreaming of the next time I would be wearing them. My copy of the handbook sat undisturbed on the closet floor; face up so I recognized the title.
I couldn't take my mind off of that sideline announcer. She looked so good, 'why is that not me?' I asked myself silently. 'Why can't I look like that now? A rocking body, a beautiful face? Why her, why not me?' I bemoaned my boring maleness. 'I wish I could be Erin tonight.'
'You know you can make it happen, remember?' Erin asked.
I had a sudden flash of memory…
‘Now there’s an idea…’ Erin commented.
‘But I shouldn’t…should I?’ I thought. ‘Could I even make it happen? No way, it took Emily 6 months to gain that power,’ I remembered.
‘But we’re ahead of her, and you know it, Aaron.’ Erin said convincingly. ‘C’mon, just this one time, I promise.’ she pleaded.
‘Emily warned that it’s addictive though. I really shouldn’t force a change.’ I thought.
‘But wouldn’t it be fun to try?’Erin made a strong case for herself...
(At the same time, across town at Jerry’s house.)
~~~~~
The sounds of ESPN Sports Center reverberated off the walls of Jerry’s apartment. For some reason he’d been drawn to sports programs lately. But as he thought back to the way things used to be, he stood from his seat before the boob-tube and strolled into his bedroom. Opening the door to his walk in closet, he made for the locked chest against the back wall.
Jerry had not been himself since his encounter with the Jamaican. Whatever she had done not only cured him of the werewoman curse, but also stripped him of all transgender inclinations. Since their meeting just over two weeks ago, he hadn’t dressed once. While dressing lulls were nothing new, not thinking about it at all was. It simply never came to mind anymore.
‘How could something that gave him such pleasure; that defined him as a person simply disappear?’ Jerry wondered as he stared at the girl-in-the-box before him. ‘Is it better this way?’ he thought, staring at his formerly prized possessions and feeling nothing. And that’s what he felt most of the time now, nothing. He was emotionless and devoid of joy. ‘What have I given up?’ he asked himself. ‘Too much,’ he answered his own question. He closed the box.
‘But what could he do about it? How could he get it back?’ Jerry paced in his bedroom. ‘Should he go see Erin, or Emily? Should he beg to be bitten and turned?’ He wondered. ‘Would they even do it? And if they did would it work?’ Jerry began to feel like he’d blown his golden opportunity for happiness.
His head spun as he seated himself in front of the television once more. ‘Or perhaps I should just give being a ‘normal’ guy another chance...’
Jerry had not been himself since his encounter with the Jamaican. Whatever she had done not only cured him of the werewoman curse, but also stripped him of all transgender inclinations. Since their meeting just over two weeks ago, he hadn’t dressed once. While dressing lulls were nothing new, not thinking about it at all was. It simply never came to mind anymore.
‘How could something that gave him such pleasure; that defined him as a person simply disappear?’ Jerry wondered as he stared at the girl-in-the-box before him. ‘Is it better this way?’ he thought, staring at his formerly prized possessions and feeling nothing. And that’s what he felt most of the time now, nothing. He was emotionless and devoid of joy. ‘What have I given up?’ he asked himself. ‘Too much,’ he answered his own question. He closed the box.
‘But what could he do about it? How could he get it back?’ Jerry paced in his bedroom. ‘Should he go see Erin, or Emily? Should he beg to be bitten and turned?’ He wondered. ‘Would they even do it? And if they did would it work?’ Jerry began to feel like he’d blown his golden opportunity for happiness.
His head spun as he seated himself in front of the television once more. ‘Or perhaps I should just give being a ‘normal’ guy another chance...’
(Meanwhile, back at Aaron’s house)
~~~~~
The idea to force a change took hold over a period of several minutes. Erin had a counter-argument for each objection Aaron raised. He tried to tell her that forcing a change would accelerate the curse, resisting the impulse to transform would retard the process. He tried to tell her to be patient and wait for the moon to bring her out, but she simply could not wait that long. Aaron begged the woman inside of him to let the process unfold at its own natural pace, but Erin insisted that her proposal was perfectly natural. At last, my male side resigned itself to being subordinate to Erin’s needs… my needs.
I found myself shuffling through the hangers on the girl side of my closet, looking for the perfect outfit to wear after my shift. I settled on a cute t-shirt and a pair of jeans. I didn’t have glamorous plans for the evening ahead; I just wanted spend it as a woman. Opening my underwear drawer, I looked past my boxers and briefs towards my bra and panty pile. My eyes immediately fixed upon the matching, cheetah print bra and panty set I’d bought on the last night of the previous moonset. I hadn’t worn it yet, but I’d been looking forward to doing so since the purchase was made.
Excitement took hold as I set my femme clothes down on my living room couch. I couldn’t shed my male clothing fast enough. Muting the television, I stood naked in the center of my living room ready to begin my meditation. My eyes shut tight, and my mind cleared entirely. I thought of a beautiful full moon in a star-laden night sky. I thought of its rays burning as it shone down on my exposed skin. Focusing on the imaginary orb, I found Erin chanting a mantra silently to herself.
I felt the first beads of sweat building up on my face. My body temperature was rising, so the meditation must be working as intended. A moment later, I was positively burning up. ‘Yes… it’s working!’ Erin exclaimed, well pleased with the results. Her voice was as loud as it was on any full moon night now. ‘Any minute, I’ll be at the point of no return…’ she was euphoric.
But a sudden knocking at my front door stole my concentration. I opened my eyes, surprised to hear a visitor outside when none were expected. “I’ll be right there.” I said nervously to the person behind the door.
‘Dammit’ was Erin’s only response. She was determined to get rid of the intruder quickly and get on with her plan.
(Nightfall set upon Heath and Vance’s home…)
~~~~~
“Yesss…. Oh my God yes!” Heath’s changing voice boomed through his closed bedroom door. “Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Uhhh!” Judging by the pitch of her voice, Vance correctly guessed that Heather was almost complete now. He rolled his eyes in disgust as he passed down the hall.
Vance knew that Heath loved to transform into Heather as much as possible, even when it wasn’t necessary. Heather always insisted that as she got older, the desire to be a woman grew stronger and stronger. Vance found himself wondering if years from now, their shared curse would affect him in the same way. He secretly hoped it would be different for him. Not that he disliked being Vanessa, far from it in fact. But he was happy to spend some time as Vance in between moons.
The sounds emanating from Heather’s changing body grew softer and softer as Vance strode towards his living room. His brother Sam had come over to watch Sunday night football, a ritual the pair had performed since childhood.
“So I take it Heath won’t be joining us tonight?” Sam asked knowingly as Vance took a seat on the couch next to him.
“I guess not.” Vance replied. “I guess she just couldn’t help herself tonight… once again.” Heath occasionally watched the game with them, and the two brothers enjoyed his company. But he’d been increasingly absent lately, more often than not choosing some ‘Heather-time’ over male-bonding.
“More beer and snacks for us I suppose.” Sam replied casually. He was always an optimist, a personality trait that his brother greatly admired.
The game began, and the two men on the couch felt themselves drawn in to the action. They commented on the players, the plays they ran, the stupidity of one coach, the genius of another. They debated the results of recent trades and laughed at the announcer’s occasional goofy or erroneous comment. It was business as usual for the brothers. That is, until the waning moments of the first quarter, when Heather strolled into their midst.
“Hey boys!” her voice interrupted their focus on the game. “Who’s winning?” she asked standing to the side of the television with a hand resting on her hip.
“What’s up Heather, you still want to watch the game?” Sam pointed to the television as he asked.
“Not really. I have some werewoman business to attend to this evening.” Heather admitted. “And I was hoping Vanessa could come and help me.” Heather looked to Vance, his eyes still glued to the television. “Could you excuse us for a moment, Sam?” she requested without so much as glancing in his direction.
“Umm… Sure I guess.” Sam grumbled, excusing himself to the kitchen. He loved his brother dearly and it hurt him to see how close Vance had gotten to Heather. At first he thought that meeting her was a blessing. God had finally delivered someone who could help explain the curse to his troubled sibling. But as the years passed, Heather showed herself to be a malign influence rather than a caring mentor. Still, Vance refused to accept that conclusion whenever he and Sam discussed the matter. He insisted he’d never been happier.
As he watched the play in progress wrap up, Vance looked up towards Heather. He’d been expecting this question all night, but he answered honestly, “I don’t know… maybe tomorrow?” Vance hoped that Heather would accept the answer he’d given.
“Under normal circumstances… I’d say yes.” Heather’s voice had an air of authority about it. “But I really don’t feel like cleaning up your mess all by my lonesome.” She was glaring at Vance now.
“Look… I know I messed up Heather. But you act as though gifting that guy was my idea. You know darn well that I could care less about recruiting new members.” Vance protested. “So if you think about it that way, it’s really not my fault at all.” He knew that Heather could be persuaded by sound reasoning and logic despite all her fiery passion. “In fact, it’s really all your fault that this even happened.” He was on the offensive now.
“Is that how you feel, Vance?” Heather asked sounding hurt. “Even though none of it was your idea, you went along with the plan, which makes you just as culpable.” Heather reasoned, the characteristic boldness had returned to her voice. “Besides, aren’t you a little curious to investigate the reason Jerry didn’t turn? And how about the manual we gave him? Your personal copy no-less. Don’t you care what became of that?” Heather interrogated he roommate. “Whether you like it or not, this is your boo-boo as much as my own.”
Vance knew he was losing the argument and still he couldn’t form a rebuttal. “Heather… does it have to be tonight?” Vance was practically begging. He knew that Heather could force him to change if she wanted to. Even if Vance himself did not want to transform, Heather knew how to force Vanessa out of him. She’d only done it once to demonstrate her power over him, and she’d promised to never do it again, but here she was several years later threatening to force a shift on him.
“Go and get changed.” Heather commanded. “We leave in an hour.”
Vance obeyed.
Watching from the kitchen, Sam bowed his head in a mixture of shame and disgust. He’d heard the conversation word for word, and witnessed Vance give in to Heather. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew that she held considerable power over his brother.
(A little over an hour later, Jerry sat alone on his couch, watching the plays of the week pass before his eyes.)
~~~~~
A rapping on his door stole his attention. “Be right there.” He said loud enough for his caller to hear. Jerry stood and approached the peephole. On the other side he saw two familiar women, he recognized Nessa immediately.
“You two have some nerve showing your faces here.” Jerry practically shouted. “What the hell do you want from me?” he demanded.
“Look Jerry, I’m sorry about what happened at the club.” Vanessa was attempting to be diplomatic, knowing Heather opted for less subtle approaches to problem solving. “I understand if you never want to see me again, but I just wanted to talk to you about that book I accidently dropped in with your belongings.”
Jerry opened the door. “What about it?” he asked her face to face.
“Well, did you read it?” Vanessa asked meekly. The man before her was seething with rage, and even though she knew she was stronger, Vanessa couldn’t help but feel vulnerable in his presence.
“Yeah, I read it. Cover to cover, so what?” Jerry folded his arms across his chest.
“Well, what did you think? A pleasant fiction, wouldn’t you agree?” Vanessa was trembling despite herself. How much did this man know?
“I always prefer to read non-fiction, which is why I found that book so interesting.” Jerry answered. “Everything in there is true; I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
Vanessa’s heart sank. He knew everything. “Well, the reason I came tonight was to get it back. I don’t suppose you have it handy, do you?”
“You know, I don’t remember what I did with it.” Jerry lied as he began to close the door. “I think you gals should leave right now.” He began to shut the door on them.
“OK, my turn now.” said Heather brushing Vanessa aside. Jerry was pulling the door shut as her hand grasped the thick wooden barrier. She pulled it back open with astonishing strength. Jerry had fallen into the hallway, but Heather gripped him by the collar and dragged him back into his own apartment. Vanessa entered next, shutting the door behind her and locking it tightly.
Jerry felt his back slam against the wall. The woman he recognized as Heather was unusually strong for a person of her size, and he felt helpless as her fingers closed around his throat. He struggled to breathe and his normally pale face reddened due to lack of oxygen.
“Now, we tried to do this the nice way, but that didn’t work, now did it?” Heather asked firmly.
Her victim nodded ‘no’ as best as he could beneath her GI Joe-like kung-fu grip.
“So, now we do things my way. I can tell you don’t like my way, do you?” Heather waited for another response.
Once again the struggling man against the wall nodded ‘no.’
“Good, you’re not supposed to.” Heather admitted. “So here’s how it works. I ask you a question, and I stop choking you long enough to provide an answer. If I like your answer, you get to renew your love affair with oxygen. If I don’t like your answer, well, you’ll be kicking that nasty ‘breathing’ habit of yours cold turkey. Do you understand?” her tight grip eased off slightly.
Jerry gasped for air as he nodded ‘yes’ again.
Heather cleared her throat before asking the million dollar question. “Good. Now… where is that book, Jerry?”
(That very moment, at Aaron’s house)
~~~~~
“I’ll be right there.” I said to the intruder. I quickly threw on the drab clothing I’d been wearing moments before and hustled towards the door. Looking through the peephole, I saw Emily standing on the other side. She appeared to be lost in thought, consumed with worry, but about what I could not guess. I opened the door.
“Aaron, we need to talk.” Emily said, entering before I could issue an invitation. “It’s about the book… you know, Jerry’s copy of the manual.” She produced the book in question from her large purse for me to inspect.
“What about it?” I asked, wiping sweat off my brow and shutting the front door.
We were standing in the living room together and Emily looked at me, and then at the couch. Looking back towards me she asked, “Am I… interrupting something?”
“Nah, just watching the game...” I lied.
“Okay, than why are you so sweaty? And what are those doing on your sofa?” she was pointing to the women’s clothing on my couch.
“Oh those… I was just… umm… coordinating?” my alibi had more holes than a role of life-savers. “You know, a girl’s got to be prepared for her moons!”
Emily laughed lightheartedly. “Look it’s nothing to be ashamed of. You were trying to force a shift, weren’t you?” she asked directly.
Blushing hard I nodded yes.
“Interesting, and what brought that on?” Emily inquired.
I pointed at the television; the hot sideline reporter again graced the screen.
“Ah ha, I see. A little female jealousy, Venus envy if you will.” Emily nodded in understanding. “And I interrupted you, I’m so sorry hun! From the looks if it you almost pulled it off too.” Emily sounded happy. “The pink side of the force is strong in this one…” her imitation of Yoda from the Star Wars films was far from good. “Well, go on. Don’t let me stop you.” She gleefully insisted. “You know the risks, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”
“I think I’ll be okay like this for now.” I said, even though looking at her in a tight white blouse and matching pants made me want it even more. The way her breasts were pushed up to form cleavage, how they pulsed with each breath and jiggled with each gesture brought my dysphoria to new heights. Her wide hips and smooth, curvy butt had me bursting with desire; desire to look as good as she did. I had to look away. “What’s this about the book then?” I asked, taking a seat and gesturing to Emily to do the same.
Emily’s expression turned from amusement to grave concern. “Aaron, I think Heather plans on murdering you.”
Jerry awoke leaning up against the foyer wall of his apartment. His door was shut, but not locked. Glancing at his watch, he’d been unconscious for about an hour. Feeling groggy, he ran his palm against the sore windpipe where Heather had gripped him up. The unmistakable feeling of moisture greeted his hand. Looking down, Jerry could see traces of a shallow pool of crimson coating the skin beneath. Heather had squeezed so tightly that her long nails had left a deep impression indeed.
Staggering as he stood upright, Jerry replayed the interrogation scene over and over again in his mind. Had he caved to Heather’s questioning? Did he tell her where the book had gotten to? His memory was fuzzy at best. Jerry had to admit that his talking under that kind of duress was a distinct possibility. Under the circumstances, it would be best to call Aaron and Emily.
The generic calypso ring tone of an I-phone broke the stunned silence between Aaron and Emily. The screen read ‘Jerry.’
“Hello?” I said in a non-challant tone before being cut off by a frantic sounding Jerry.
“They came by my place. Asking questions… the book. I didn’t want to tell them. I tried to…” Jerry sputtered on his end of the phone.
“Whoa hey calm down Jerry.” I said in as soothing a tone as I could muster. Brief eye contact with Emily betrayed my concern. She leaned in with an inquisitive expression on her face as I switched the call over to speaker phone. “Who came over? What did they want?”
Jerry took a deep breath and collected his thoughts. “It was Heather. And Vanessa too. Both of them came over here earlier. They wanted to know what happened to the book, the one I gave you and Em. “ He paused briefly before continuing. “Heather is strong; she had me against the wall, by the throat. Thing is, I don’t know if I told them anything. I blacked out. Aaron, I’m so sorry, but she was going to kill me. I could tell.”
I let the information sink in. “Hey it’s not your fault man. We’ll play it safe and assume they know. How long ago did they leave?” Emily’s eyes were wide as saucers, and I suppose mine were too.
“I think I was out for an hour give or take a few minutes.” Jerry replied.
Emily inhaled sharply as her look became decidedly more concerned. “They should be here by now… Unless they went to my place first.” she said worriedly. “No matter. I know a safe place we can go, but we’ll have to move fast.”
I nodded in agreement. “Thanks Jerry, I don’t think that you have any more reason to worry, but be on guard. I doubt they’ll come back, but be prepared to defend yourself just in case.”
Gripping a baseball bat on his end of the line, Jerry nodded as he said, “She took me by surprise last time, but if they come back, they won’t get a warm reception. You two better get going, it’s probably best if I don’t know where.”
Hanging up the phone, I turned to Emily. “What I don’t understand is why? Why would she want to turn me, only to kill me later on? It makes no sense!” My tone was more anger than concern.
“The answers you seek are in the book. I should have known Jerry was in danger too, but I didn’t think Heather would be so ruthless.” Emily said, a hint of guilt coming through in her voice. “The important thing is, he’s OK… and so are we for now. I’ve got a place where we can lay low for a while and figure this all out.”
I nodded in agreement as I stood.
“Oh and Aaron, you might want to bring those along. You’ll probably need them soon.” Emily pointed at the set of girl clothes beside where I had been sitting as she winked.
“Shouldn’t we at least search the place?” Vanessa asked. “After all, we went through the trouble of letting ourselves in.” Even Vanessa had to admit she was impressed by Heather’s lock-picking skills.
“There’s no point. If she isn’t here, neither is the book.” Heather said dejectedly.
“Well then let’s go to Aaron’s place. That’s probably where they are. The book too.” Vanessa asserted.
“If they were there, they’re long gone by now.” Heather said as she thoughtfully stroked her chin. “No doubt Jerry’s come around by now too, and warned them. I’ve known Emily a long time now, and believe me when I say; you won’t find her when she doesn’t want to be found…”
Vanessa wore a frustrated expression. “So we don’t know where they are, or what they know. And the longer they have the book, the more time they have to uncover the higher secrets. I hate to say it Heather, but maybe we should have… you know” she motioned her index finger across her throat, “when we had the chance with Jerry.” Throwing her arms up, she asked the cliché question so common in hopeless situations. “What are we going to do Heather?”
A cold sneer graced Heather’s lips. “Killing Jerry wouldn’t have solved anything. But he had to believe we would do it. Besides, what we did to him was much more effective.” She was on a roll. “And you’re right, we don’t know where they are now, but if we play our cards right, we can force their next move…”
The car eased to a halt at a red light. The shiny Jaguar sedan stood out amongst the dilapidated surroundings. Outside on the sidewalk, 20-something women in skimpy clothing circled on the corner, prostitutes on the prowl. I quieted ‘Erin’s’ voice as she began to criticize their fashion choices. Even with the danger, my urge to change into Erin was still mightily strong.
Emily smirked as she saw me checking out the street meat. “See anything you like? I got cash!” She said with a chuckle. “Or maybe the girl in you just wants to pop out and show these skanks what a real woman looks like.” She said semi-seriously.
I laughed it off before changing the subject. “So where are you taking me?” I said gesturing to the destitution around us. “I might have taken my chances with Heather if I knew your hide-out was in Cracktown.” I said jokingly.
“It’s not much further.” Emily said, realizing how un-reassuring that had to sound. “I own a building a few blocks from here, nothing fancy but it’s near the college and pretty safe. Last place a couple of were’s would look for us is in a neighborhood like this.”
“Dang girl, you’ve got layers!” I said, noticing how girly it sounded as the words slipped out. “Savvy investor, day-walker werewoman and now we can add slumlord to that list. Anything else I should know about you?” I jested, trying to make light of our situation.
Emily grinned. “No, you got me in your sights. I’ve actually never brought anyone here, and since I own the property through an intermediary they can’t trace us. The garage is underground, and you need a remote to get in. There’ll be no sign of us, even if they do drive right by the building.”
A few moments later we were there.
Kevin stood outside his girlfriend’s room, knocking as he pleaded with her. “Come on babe, I didn’t mean it. You know I only have eyes for you.” He paused to let her answer, but none came. The silent treatment. Wheeling around in frustration, he made for the elevator. Hitting the call button, he resolved to call Kelly back tomorrow after she’d cooled down.
When the doors to the elevator parted, Kevin saw a man he recognized step out. It was his new boss, Aaron. He was with a knockout of a woman too. Kevin was about to approach as Aaron made his way past, but suddenly the door down the hall flew open, and Kelly appeared.
“Oh Kevy! You know I can’t stay mad at you. Come here.” Kelly grinned as he approached; knowing she’d made her point ~~~~~
The apartment was modest but cozy. A 1 bedroom floor plan with high ceilings and modest furnishings, all covered by a thin layer of dust. Emily gave a quick tour. Foyer, kitchen, living room, dining area, bathroom and last but not least bedroom. Strolling to the window, I parted the blackout curtains and beheld the half full moon. I’d managed to quiet ‘Erin’ on the way over, but the sight of white half circle set against a black background seemed to embolden her anew. I could feel Emily approach from behind me, her delicate fingers clasping together as she wrapped her hands around my waist.
“Faces East.” Emily half-whispered into my ear. “It’s beautiful during a full moon. I used to come here a lot after first being turned. It was my sanctuary when I was learning to cope with being a werewoman.”
Emily tightened her grip and I felt her massive breasts pressing into my back. I sighed deeply. “It’s perfect.” I said, placing my hands atop of hers. Gently, she spun me around and we made eye contact. She leaned forward and our lips met. Our tongues swirled about, intertwining in a slow and sensual dance that made my heart flutter.
As our lips parted and our eyes met, Emily smiled. “You know, you can do it if you want to." She said, placing her head on my shoulder.
‘Erin’ was practically shouting now. “I don’t know Em. When the moon is full, it’s one thing. But tonight…” I trailed off.
Emily gave a sympathetic look. “Being what we are… it can be scary. Believe me, I know. But I’m here for you Aaron. And I know what it’s like. You want to change, I can sense it. It’s OK to want it. Go ahead, give into the urges. Let her out.”
As she gently stroked my arms, I could feel my body temperature spiking. She was right; some part of me wanted nothing more than to give into ‘Erin.’
“That’s it. Change for me Aaron.” Emily guided me to the bed, undressing me as we went. “I used to lay on this very bed as the change took me.” She was undressing herself now. Taking my hands and guiding them towards her heaving breasts. "It was always such a turn on, ya know?"
"MmmHmm." I nodded. Feeling the smooth, warm globes of soft flesh yield to my gentle squeeze made my eyes roll back in my head. I was rock hard now, but less at the thought of taking Emily in the conventional sense. It was the prospect of joining her in womanhood that had my pulse racing. “It’s close…” I said, throwing my head back as Emily straddled me and pinned me to the mattress beneath.
“Good.” She said, leaning in for a kiss.
My skin began to tingle as our lips locked. Mine plumped against hers ever so slightly. When our mouths parted, a nest of butterflies took wing in my stomach. I tensed up briefly in response as Emily lowered herself onto my manhood. The sensation of her walls, smooth as a baby seal’s coat, enveloped my manhood as the transformation began to wrack my body.
I could feel myself shrinking as Emily bobbed up and down, slowly and rhythmically. All the while, my facial features slowly rearranged themselves. My change came in fits and starts tonight, I guessed the lack of full moon slowed it down a bit. The brief lull continued as Emily gyrated on top of me. It was bliss when another spasm of change hit me hard. I wanted t now, with every fiber of my being.
Goosebumps dotted my flesh as my body hair retreated into the follicle, leaving in its wake soft, smooth feminine skin. My member throbbed as I beheld Emily’s breasts bouncing wildly, riding on despite my shrinking manhood. Soon, she was grinding herself against my gradually forming womanhood. As it took shape, dewy moisture materialized almost instantly, coating the walls and gracing the lips, glistening on the surface of my inner thighs.
For a moment, the changes abated once more. I squirmed in pleasure beneath Emily, as she reached down to gently massage my nipples. Gasping in surprise at the sensation it provided seemed to bring on another fit of changes. My hips were splaying outward as my nipples increased in diameter, poking out as Emily rolled her thumbs around and over them. The nerve endings on the blossoming pink nubs seemed to be connected directly to my clit.
“Looks like its titty time, Erin.” Emily cooed with delight.
She was right. As the surrounding flesh began to cone up, I barely stifled a moan. Emily continued on, gently massaging the blossoming lumps on my chest. Suddenly, I felt myself thrust upwards from beneath her. Extra cushion was being added to my rear as my hips finished flaring out. Gasping as my waist cinched in, the tingle in my chest redoubled. Beneath Emily's busy hands, my conical breasts pushed ever upwards. Filling in as they went, they began to droop ever so sightly due to their size. Soon, I was looking down at the all to familiar site of my double D's.
As quickly as it all began, the tingle faded leaving two heavily aroused women in a bed.
Charles Matthews stared at the lab results on his computer screen, his heart hammering against his ribs. The numbers seemed to pulse accusingly: 1415 ng/dL. Just 85 points below the transformation threshold.
"Fuck," he whispered, running a hand through his dark hair.
At twenty-four, Charles had built his identity around two things: his brilliant scientific mind and his masculinity. As a biochemistry doctoral candidate at Westlake University, he'd earned a reputation as one of the most promising researchers in his field. His work on hormonal manipulation had already garnered attention from pharmaceutical companies.
But none of that mattered now. Not with transestrogen levels this high.
He closed the browser window and glanced nervously around the university lab, relieved to find it empty at this late hour. Nobody could know about this. Nobody could discover that Charles Matthews was a werewoman-in-waiting.
Charles had been monitoring his levels for months now, ever since he'd first experienced the dreams. They'd started innocuously enough—vague fantasies of having a different body. But they'd grown increasingly specific, increasingly feminine, until he'd wake up gasping, his body tingling with phantom sensations of breasts and curves that weren't there. Not yet, anyway.
He pulled out his private journal from his bag, flipping to the most recent entry:
Day 47 of monitoring. Symptoms intensifying. Spent 37 minutes on WereTransformation.net last night. Couldn't look away from the videos. The pleasure on their faces... is that what it will feel like? Caught myself lingering in the women's section at Target again. The fabric colors seemed so much more vibrant than anything in my closet.
Charles slammed the journal shut, disgusted with himself. This wasn't him. These thoughts, these... urges. They were foreign invaders in his consciousness, biochemical intruders preparing his mind for what his body was planning to do.
But he was a scientist, goddamnit. He understood the mechanics of werewomanhood better than most. The transestrogen hormone was the key—the unique compound that triggered transformation when it reached critical levels. If he could suppress it, control it...
Charles straightened his back, a spark of determination replacing his panic. He wouldn't be like the others, passive victims of their own biology.
He would fight this.
The lab was quiet after hours, just the gentle hum of equipment keeping him company as Charles began his research. As a doctoral candidate with special access privileges, he had the run of one of the best-equipped biochemistry labs in the country. If anyone could develop a transestrogen suppression method, it was him.
Over the next several weeks, Charles threw himself into his work with maniacal focus. By day, he maintained the facade of working on his approved doctoral research. By night, he pursued his real goal—the development of what he'd come to call the Lunar Suppression Serum.
His methodology was meticulous. Starting with known hormone suppressants, he began testing modifications specifically targeted at the unique molecular structure of transestrogen. The work was painstaking, requiring endless hours of molecular modeling, compound synthesis, and preliminary testing.
All the while, the symptoms continued, growing more insistent with each passing day.
One night, after a particularly frustrating lab session, Charles found himself standing in front of his bathroom mirror in his apartment, a pair of women's panties in his hands. He didn't remember buying them. He told himself that, anyway. But here they were, soft satin in his large hands.
"This is just research," he muttered to himself. "Understanding the enemy."
With clinical detachment, he stepped into them, pulling the delicate fabric up his legs. But as the satin settled against his skin, the detachment crumbled. A shock of pleasure ran through him, and to his horror, he felt himself harden instantly.
"No," he growled, tearing them off and throwing them across the bathroom. "That's not me."
But that night, his dreams were more vivid than ever—dreams of soft curves and sensitive breasts, of a body that moved with grace rather than power, of looking up into men's eyes rather than down at women's.
He woke drenched in sweat, his sheets sticky with nocturnal emission. In his dream, he'd been a woman, being taken by a faceless man, and he'd loved every second of it.
By the third month, Charles had developed a promising compound. His preliminary tests showed significant transestrogen suppression in tissue samples. It was time for human testing, and he had only one possible test subject.
On a Friday evening when the lab was deserted, Charles prepared his first injection of the Lunar Suppression Serum. The clear liquid seemed innocent enough in the syringe, but he knew the complex cocktail of compounds it contained—each one precisely formulated to interrupt the production and reception of transestrogen.
"For science," he murmured, and pushed the needle into his thigh.
The effect wasn't immediate, of course. The serum would need time to circulate, to begin its work. But as Charles cleaned up and prepared to leave the lab, he already felt a weight lifting from his shoulders. This would work. It had to work.
He had no idea that his brilliant scientific mind had just set in motion a chain of events that would lead to the very outcome he most feared.
Two weeks after his first injection, Charles received his latest blood work results. His hands shook slightly as he opened the file on his computer, but when the numbers appeared, a broad smile spread across his face.
Transestrogen levels: 600 ng/dL.
It was working. The serum was actually working. His levels had dropped more than 800 points, well below the danger threshold. For the first time in months, Charles felt he could breathe easily. It was historic, once detected, transestrogen levels never went down. Until now.
The effect on his symptoms was remarkable. The dreams didn't stop entirely, but they became less frequent, less vivid. The intrusive feminine thoughts receded to occasional whispers rather than constant interruptions. He could walk past women's clothing without that peculiar magnetic pull. He felt like himself again—focused, rational, male.
Encouraged, Charles refined his formula, determined to drive his levels down even further. His second injection, a month after the first, contained a more potent version of the serum.
When the results came back showing 300 ng/dL, Charles celebrated by taking a female classmate to dinner—something he wouldn't have dared when his symptoms were at their height, fearing he might give himself away with some inadvertent feminine gesture or comment.
"You seem different lately," she remarked over dessert. "More relaxed."
"Just making progress on my research," he replied with a confident smile.
By the third injection, his transestrogen levels had dropped to essentially zero—undetectable in standard tests. Charles was elated. He'd done it. He'd beaten biology with biochemistry, outsmarted the lunar curse with human ingenuity.
Or so he thought.
Six months into his treatment, Charles began to notice something strange. Despite his nonexistent transestrogen levels, certain symptoms were returning—subtly at first, then with increasing insistence.
He caught himself watching werewoman transformation videos again, fascinated by the expressions of ecstasy on their faces as their bodies reshaped. Sometimes he'd find himself standing in front of the mirror, wondering how his face would look with softer features, how his body would change if the curse took hold.
"It's just curiosity," he told himself. "Scientific interest."
But deep down, a worrying thought was taking shape: what if transestrogen wasn't the whole story? What if his suppression of it was triggering some compensatory response in his body?
Charles designed a more comprehensive blood panel for himself, one that would measure not just transestrogen but related compounds and receptor activity. When the results came in, his blood ran cold.
His transestrogen levels were still zero, but his body was changing its response. Receptor sites were multiplying, becoming more sensitive. Other hormonal pathways were upregulating, as if his endocrine system was desperate to find alternate routes to a destination it was determined to reach.
It was like a dam holding back water—the pressure was building behind his artificial blockade.
Still, Charles refused to accept defeat. He modified his serum again, targeting these new pathways, adding compounds to downregulate receptor production. His next injection was essentially a complete endocrine suppressant, designed to shut down the entire system his body was using to push him toward transformation.
For a few weeks, it seemed to work. All symptoms vanished. Charles felt almost unnaturally calm, detached even, but he preferred this artificial equilibrium to the alternative.
Then came the crash.
Eight months after his first injection, Charles woke in the middle of the night, his body on fire. Not with fever but with sensation—his skin hypersensitive, his nipples tender, his groin aching with an arousal so intense it was almost painful.
He stumbled to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before he ejaculated violently, untouched. As the spasms subsided, horror dawned on him. This was rebound—his body fighting back against months of suppression.
An emergency blood test confirmed his fears: transestrogen levels at 4500 ng/dL, three times the transformation threshold. His body wasn't just resuming normal production; it was overcompensating catastrophically.
Charles immediately prepared another injection, a massive dose of his latest serum. It was dangerous, potentially toxic, but he was desperate. Within hours, his levels dropped to 900 ng/dL—below the transformation threshold but still dangerously high.
The relief was temporary. Within days, his levels began climbing again, his body apparently developing resistance to the serum. No matter how he adjusted the formula, he couldn't regain control. It was like trying to stop a tidal wave with a paper cup.
Nine months after beginning his treatment, Charles made a devastating discovery. His repeated suppression of transestrogen had triggered an adaptive mutation in his hormonal regulation. His body was now producing a slightly altered form of transestrogen that his serum couldn't effectively target.
Worse, his research suggested this new variant might be more potent, more transformative than standard transestrogen. And his body was now producing it at unprecedented rates.
His latest test showed levels at 6500 ng/dL and rising steadily. The transformation that he'd fought so hard to prevent now seemed not just inevitable but potentially more dramatic and complete than it would have been had he never interfered.
The irony wasn't lost on Charles—his scientific brilliance had created the perfect conditions for the very outcome he most feared.
Charles sat alone in his lab, staring at his latest test results with a sense of numbed inevitability. 9000 ng/dL. A level so high it was nearly off the charts, almost certainly unprecedented in medical literature.
All of his suppression efforts, followed by this massive overcorrection, had created a hormonal perfect storm. Based on his calculations, transformation wasn't just inevitable now—it would be irreversible. The standard dawn reversion that werewomen experienced wouldn't happen for him; his altered biochemistry had created a one-way path.
"I was so fucking clever," he muttered bitterly, running his hands through his hair.
He had one last hope—a final version of his serum that directly targeted the mutated transestrogen his body was now producing. It was a long shot, probably futile, but he had to try.
Charles prepared the injection with trembling hands. As he filled the syringe, he caught his reflection in the polished steel of a nearby cabinet. His face was flush, a building arousal began to take hold of him and his skin began to tingle faintly. It briefly crossed his mind that this might be the last time he beheld his male reflection, but chased the impossible thought away.
"Not tonight," he told himself, and plunged the needle into his thigh. “Not ever!”
Almost immediately, he knew something was wrong. Instead of the cool spread of the serum he was accustomed to, a warm flush raced through his body. His skin tingled with increased vigor, and a strange lightness filled his head.
"No," he gasped, grabbing the edge of the lab bench for support. "No, no, no..."
Charles staggered to the lab door, fumbling with the lock. He had to get somewhere private before it started, somewhere safe. But even as the thought formed, he felt the first wave hit him—a surge of heat that made his knees buckle.
Moonrise. It had to be moonrise. The moon's gravitational pull activating the now-overwhelming levels of transestrogen in his system.
Charles barely made it to the small private bathroom attached to the lab. He locked the door behind him, then collapsed against it, sliding to the floor as the second wave washed over him.
"Oh god," he moaned, his voice already sounding strange to his ears.
The kick hit him like nothing he'd ever experienced—a pulse of pure pleasure so intense it bordered on pain, radiating from his core outward to the tips of his fingers and toes. His back arched involuntarily, a guttural sound tearing from his throat that was half groan, half whimper.
This was it. The transformation had begun.
With the detached part of his mind that remained analytical even now, Charles noted the time: 7:47 PM. Moonrise. Right on schedule.
The first changes were subtle—a tingling across his skin as the coarse body hair on his arms, legs, and chest began to recede, sinking back into the follicles and leaving smooth, unblemished skin in its wake. The sensation was like thousands of tiny electric pulses, not unpleasant but intensely distracting.
"Oh shit! It’s happening! I’m… ch ch changing…," he whispered, but his body paid no attention to his denial.
Next came his hands—the fingers seeming to narrow and elongate slightly, the knuckles becoming less pronounced, the skin softening visibly before his eyes. His nails, previously trimmed short and practical, began to extend, taking on a naturally oval shape. “No… no no no no please! I don’t want this! I’m not ready!” he whimpered, tears rolling down his defoliated cheeks.
A strange warmth concentrated in his face, and Charles scrambled to his feet, desperate to see what was happening. The bathroom mirror revealed the changes beginning to reshape his features—his jawline softening, his cheekbones becoming more pronounced, his lips fuller, especially the upper lip which had always been rather thin.
"No… don’t be a girl! Stop changing!" he commanded his reflection, but the face looking back at him continued its inexorable journey toward femininity.
The pleasure was the worst part—or the best, his body seemed to think. Each change brought a new wave of it, making it impossible to maintain his clinical detachment. As his brow ridge flattened and his eyes seemed to widen slightly, a surge of pleasure made him gasp.
Charles tore at his clothes, suddenly unable to bear their confinement. His skin had become hypersensitive, every brush of fabric against it sending shocks of sensation through his changing nervous system. Buttons went flying as he ripped his shirt open, then frantically kicked off his pants and underwear.
Naked, he could see the changes spreading across his body. His chest had begun to tingle intensely, the nipples darkening and expanding, becoming more pronounced. The areolas were widening, forming perfect circles as a subtle swelling began beneath them—the first hint of breast tissue beginning to develop.
"No, no, no. Please God, don't let this happen!" Charles chanted, but his cock told a different story, standing rigidly erect as waves of pleasure continued to wash through him.
His shoulders were narrowing, his waist beginning to cinch inward, creating the beginnings of an hourglass figure. At the same time, his hips were widening, the bones actually shifting configuration with a strange internal pressure that wasn't painful but profoundly disconcerting.
Charles watched, horrified yet unable to look away, as his thighs began to reshape themselves—slimming slightly but taking on a more rounded contour, with soft flesh redistributing to create feminine curves. His calves followed suit, becoming more shapely, more elegant.
All the while, the pleasure built, coiling tighter and tighter in his groin. His cock twitched, a bead of pre-cum forming at the tip as the transformation continued its relentless progress.
Suddenly, his voice changed. One moment he was breathing heavily in his familiar baritone; the next, a distinctly feminine moan escaped his lips. The sound shocked him, his hand flying to his throat where he could feel the Adam's apple receding, the vocal cords reshaping themselves.
"Oh my god," he gasped, his new voice higher, softer, but still recognizably his own.
That was the trigger. The sound of his feminized voice pushed him over the edge, and Charles cried out as his cock began to pulse, semen shooting forcefully across the bathroom floor as the first transformation-induced orgasm tore through him.
But his cock didn't soften afterward. If anything, it seemed even harder, more sensitive, as the changes accelerated.
His hair was growing longer now, spilling past his shoulders in chestnut waves, the texture changing to become silkier, more lustrous. His eyebrows thinned into delicate arches, his eyelashes lengthening dramatically.
The transformation was perhaps a third complete, and Charles—or whoever he was becoming—could only hold onto the sink for support as pleasure continued to crash through his changing body.
The breast development accelerated, moving quickly from subtle buds to clearly defined mounds. A-cups formed, then swelled further to full B-cups, the flesh firm but yielding, capped with large, sensitive nipples that hardened at the slightest brush of air.
"Fuck," he moaned in his new feminine voice, unable to stop himself from reaching up to touch them. The sensation was electric, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to his groin and forcing him to brace himself against the sink to keep from collapsing.
His waist continued to narrow as his hips and ass expanded, creating the classic feminine hourglass. The proportions were perfect, as if some master sculptor was deliberately crafting an ideal female form rather than randomly feminizing his male body.
Another orgasm built, this one centered strangely in both his cock and a new place deeper inside—a hollow space that seemed to be forming within him. When it hit, Charles screamed, his back arching as semen erupted from his still-rigid cock, the contractions more intense than anything he'd ever experienced.
"Please," he begged, though whether he was pleading for it to stop or continue, he couldn't have said.
As if to mock his increasingly pitiful pleas, the still smallish breasts continued to slowly balloon into the C cup range.
The changes to his genitals began in earnest now—the most dramatic and intimate part of the transformation. His testicles began to retract, drawing up toward his body and then seemingly inside it, the scrotal skin thinning and reshaping into the delicate folds of labia.
His cock, still erect, began to shrink, the shaft tissue repurposing itself, some forming the walls of a new vaginal canal that was tunneling into his body, the rest consolidating into a sizeable clitoris. The head of his penis, with all its sensitive nerve endings, reconfigured into that clitoris, while the urethra repositioned itself.
The sensations were indescribable—neither painful nor precisely pleasurable, but overwhelmingly intense, as if every nerve ending was firing simultaneously. Charles felt another orgasm building, but this one was different, deeper, more all-encompassing.
When it hit, his entire body convulsed, a wordless cry tearing from his throat. Even as he came, the C cup breasts continued to inflate on his chest, past D cup, DD cup and finally ceasing their expansion at E cups. He could feel the last of his cock reshaping, the final configurations of his new female genitalia taking form.
And then it was complete. Where Charles's male genitalia had been, there was now a perfect female vulva—a pea sized clit incapable of penetrating anything sat hooded in delicate flesh, her labia majora and minora perfectly formed, and a vaginal opening glistening with natural lubrication.
Inside, he could feel new organs—a vagina, cervix, uterus, fallopian tubes, and the testicles-turned-ovaries, all arranged in proper female configuration.
The transformation had taken exactly thirty minutes—faster than the typical first change, driven by the unprecedented levels of mutated transestrogen in his system.
Charles—no, that name no longer fit—stared at herself in the mirror, taking in the beautiful woman who gazed back. Chestnut hair fell in waves past her shoulders, framing a lovely face with high cheekbones, full lips, and expressive blue eyes. Her body was stunning—magnificent E-cup breasts perfectly proportioned to her slender frame, narrow waist flaring to generous hips, long legs that ended in delicate feet.
"Charlene," she whispered, the name coming unbidden to her lips. It felt right, a feminine echo of her former self.
Though the transformation was complete, the sensations weren't fading. If anything, they were intensifying. A new kind of hunger was building within her—a craving unlike anything she'd experienced before.
Charlene's hands moved across her new body, exploring the unfamiliar terrain with trembling fingers. Every touch sent shocks of pleasure through her heightened nervous system. Her skin was incredibly soft, sensitive in ways that Charles had never imagined.
Her breasts demanded attention, the nipples stiff and aching. When she finally cupped them, testing their weight and feel, a moan escaped her lips. The sensation was nothing like what she'd felt as a man touching a woman's breasts—this was direct, immediate, the pleasure loops contained entirely within her own body.
"Oh my god," Charlene gasped as she rolled a nipple between her fingers, the sensation shooting straight to her core.
With scientific curiosity not entirely extinguished by her transformation, she explored methodically, discovering how different pressures and movements created different sensations. A gentle pinch made her knees weak; a circular motion with her palm made her vagina clench and moisten further.
Her hands moved lower, over the flat plane of her stomach to the flare of her hips. The feeling of her waist indentation, the feminine curve that had replaced Charles's straight male torso, was strangely thrilling. This was her body now—soft, curved, feminine.
Finally, her fingers drifted between her legs, hesitating just a moment before making contact with her new genitalia. The first touch of her clit nearly buckled her knees—the sensitivity was off the charts, far more intense than her penis had ever been.
"Fuck!" she cried out, bracing herself against the sink with her free hand.
Experimentally, she traced her fingers through the folds of her labia, marveling at the silky wetness she found there. Every movement sent new shocks of pleasure radiating outward. This was female arousal, she realized—diffuse, full-bodied, building in waves rather than the linear progression she'd known as a man.
Charlene staggered to the small bench in the corner of the bathroom, unable to remain standing under the onslaught of new sensations. Sitting, she spread her legs, continuing her exploration with more deliberate movements now.
She circled her clitoris with gentle fingers, already learning that direct pressure was too intense, while indirect stimulation built the pleasure without overwhelming. Her other hand returned to her breast, kneading the soft flesh, pinching the nipple in rhythm with her clitoral stimulation.
The orgasm built differently than male climax—rising in rolling waves that seemed to recede just as she thought she'd crest, only to build higher with the next wave. Her breathing became ragged, her movements more urgent.
When release finally came, it was unlike anything Charles had ever experienced—a full-body explosion that seemed to start everywhere at once, muscles she didn't even know she had contracting in spasms of ecstasy. Charlene cried out, her back arching, toes curling, as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her.
But unlike male orgasm, it didn't end with a single climax. Before the first had fully subsided, she felt another building. Almost instinctively, Charlene slid a finger into her vagina, encountering no resistance as it glided into wet heat.
"Oh!" she gasped, discovering an entirely new kind of pleasure—a fullness, a pressure against sensitive internal walls that created a different sensation than clitoral stimulation.
Curving her finger forward, she found a spot that made her see stars—the G-spot, she realized, the scientist in her still naming and categorizing even as the woman in her writhed in pleasure.
Charlene added a second finger, establishing a rhythm between her internal stimulation and the circles she was drawing on her clit with her other hand. The dual stimulation created a synergy of sensation that built toward something even more powerful than her first climax.
This time, when orgasm hit, she actually screamed, her internal muscles clamping down on her fingers, rhythmic contractions pulsing through her core as pleasure radiated outward to the tips of her fingers and toes. It went on and on, aftershocks of pleasure continuing long after the peak had passed.
When she finally came back to herself, Charlene realized she was crying—not from sorrow but from the overwhelming intensity of everything she'd just experienced. Her body felt both foreign and more intimately her own than ever before.
But alongside the physical pleasure, a new sensation was making itself known—a hunger, a craving for something her body needed that she couldn't provide herself. She recognized it immediately from her research: the hunger for male sexual energy that all werewomen experienced.
Charlene knew she should be horrified by this development, should be frantically searching for a way to reverse what had happened. But the scientist in her recognized the futility of that path. The transformation was permanent—her altered biochemistry had seen to that.
With trembling hands, she reached for her phone, which had fallen from his pocket when he'd stripped off his pants. The screen illuminated her transformed features as she scrolled through contacts, looking for someone who might understand, someone who might help.
Her finger paused over a familiar name—Dr. Jones, the endocrinologist whose research on werewoman physiology had been a cornerstone of Charles's work. She'd warned him once about the dangers of interfering with transestrogen production, a warning he'd arrogantly ignored.
Charlene pressed the call button, bringing the phone to her ear. As it rang, she looked again at her reflection—at the beautiful woman who had emerged from Charles Matthews's scientific hubris.
"Dr. Jones? It's Charles Matthews," she said, her feminine voice catching slightly. "Or... I suppose it's Charlene now. You were right about the suppression techniques. I need your help."
As she waited for the response, Charlene's free hand drifted absently to her breast, the touch sending ripples of pleasure through her still-sensitive body. The hunger continued to build within her, a fundamental biological need that would have to be addressed.
Her transformation wasn't just physical—it was the beginning of an entirely new existence, one she had fought so hard to prevent but now had no choice but to embrace. The irony wasn't lost on her: in trying to outsmart biology with brilliance, she had ensured that Charles would become Charlene—not just for the night, but forever.
In the small town of Moonvale, Vermont, nestled between rolling green hills and thick forests, the Green family had long been known for a particular trait that set them apart from most others. The werewoman curse had flowed through their bloodline for generations, affecting nearly every male born to the family with the active gene. Unlike many places where werewomen faced harsh discrimination and were forced into hiding, Moonvale had developed an unusual tolerance—not complete acceptance, but a begrudging acknowledgment of their existence that allowed them to live with a measure of dignity not found in most communities.
Kyle Green had grown up watching the monthly ritual unfold in his own home. His older sibling Melinda had been born Michael before her first change at nineteen. Two cousins who visited regularly shared the same condition. Even his father, would disappear three nights a month, returning as "Aunt Katherine" to a household that hardly blinked at the change.
Kyle had always been different from the other boys in town. Where they roughhoused and competed, he preferred quiet conversations and artistic pursuits. While they boasted of future conquests, he found himself drawn to more nurturing roles. His parents, recognizing the signs from their extensive family history, never tried to force traditional masculinity upon him. Instead, they prepared him for what they considered inevitable.
"Some people fight what's in their blood," his father had told him when Kyle was sixteen, shortly after the mandatory genetic screening had confirmed what the family already suspected—Kyle carried the strongest manifestation of the werewoman gene the clinic had seen in years. "It never works. Better to understand it and find your path within it than waste years trying to be something you're not."
Kyle had nodded, feeling a strange mix of apprehension and anticipation that he couldn't quite articulate. The test results didn't shock him. In some ways, they explained the disconnect he'd always felt with traditional masculinity, the curious draw he felt toward feminine things, and the fascination he had watching his family members transform.
That night, Kyle had created an account on WereForum.net, a support site for young people with the gene and those already experiencing transformation. His username—GreenChangeling—quickly became known for his thoughtful posts, genuine curiosity, and unusual comfort with his probable future.
Unlike many of the terrified and resistant young men on the forum, Kyle approached the prospect of transformation with a philosopher's calm and an explorer's interest. When other users expressed horror at their feminine urges or the approaching full moon, Kyle was the one posting encouragement, asking questions about the experience, even admitting his own curiosity about how it might feel.
"You're strange even for our family," his sister Melinda had told him once, finding him watching transformation compilation videos online. "Most of us at least pretended to fight it a little."
Kyle had shrugged. "Why fight something that's going to happen anyway? Besides, I've seen how miserable the ones who resist are. And I've seen how you are as Melinda. You seem... complete in a way Michael never was."
Melinda had no argument for that. It was true—after seven years as a werewoman, she spent nearly every night in female form by choice, only remaining male during daylight hours as her job required.
As his eighteenth birthday approached—the earliest age the werewoman gene typically activated—Kyle felt a strange sense of destiny. The older werewomen in Moonvale would smile knowingly when they passed him on the street, some even calling him "Kirsty" before the name had ever occurred to him. But when he heard it, it felt right—like a name that had been waiting for him.
"That one's practically got 'budding werewoman' written all over him," he overheard Mrs. Winters, who ran the local bakery in male form during the day and transformed into a voluptuous woman each night, tell another werewoman at the market. "Never seen the signs so strong, not in fifty years."
Rather than feeling offended, Kyle had felt a quiet pride. If this was his path, he would walk it with open eyes. Unlike those who raged against the curse, he would embrace what was coming and find his strength within it.
What Kyle couldn't know then was just how fully the curse would transform not just his body, but his life, his relationships, and his understanding of himself. The journey from Kyle to Kirsty and back again would reshape him in ways no genetic test could predict, bringing challenges and pleasures he could scarcely imagine as he counted down the days to his eighteenth birthday, waiting for the moon to call forth the woman inside him.
Kyle's eighteenth birthday arrived on a crisp autumn day, the Vermont hills ablaze with red and gold.
He woke that morning with a sense of anticipation, wondering if today would be the day his body would begin showing the signs of impending transformation. He knew from both family experience and countless hours on the werewoman forums that the gene rarely activated precisely on one's birthday—it could be anytime in the coming days, weeks, or even months. One thing was for sure, it would happen on a full moon night.
But something felt different today. As he stretched in bed, he noticed a subtle tingling across his skin, a heightened awareness of the cotton sheets against his body. He ran his hands experimentally over his chest, surprised at how sensitive his nipples felt—not painful, just more present than usual.
"Just nerves," he told himself, though a small smile played across his lips. He knew the signs, had studied them obsessively, had listened to his sister's recollections of her pre-transformation period.
This heightened sensitivity was often the first warning.
Downstairs, his family had prepared a modest birthday breakfast. His parents exchanged knowing glances when he mentioned feeling "a bit different" this morning.
"It might be starting," his mother said, sliding an extra pancake onto his plate. "You'll need your strength if it is."
His father nodded. "The first transformation takes a lot of energy. Best to keep yourself well-fed in the coming days."
Kyle appreciated their matter-of-fact approach. In other families, the impending transformation of a son into a daughter for several nights each month might be cause for grief or anxiety. In the Green household, it was discussed with the same practical concern as preparing for college or learning to drive.
Later that day, as Kyle was walking home from his part-time job at the local bookstore, he passed the display window of Moonvale's only women's clothing boutique. He'd passed it hundreds of times before, occasionally admiring a particular dress or blouse with an aesthetic appreciation that had earned him odd looks from male friends. Today, however, he found himself stopping in his tracks, drawn to a simple emerald green sweater dress on a mannequin.
"That would match my eyes," he thought, then caught himself with a start. His eyes, yes—but he was imagining how the dress would look on a female version of himself. The thought didn't disturb him as it might have others; instead, it sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. He stood there longer than he should have, imagining slim shoulders where his were broader, curves where he had angles, long hair where his was short.
"See something you like, Kyle?" The voice startled him from his reverie. It was Ms. Bennett, the shop owner, who had emerged to sweep the sidewalk. Like many business owners in Moonvale, she was accustomed to serving the werewoman community and recognized the signs of an impending first transformation.
"I... I was just looking," Kyle replied, feeling his cheeks flush.
Ms. Bennett smiled knowingly. "That shade would suit you. When the time comes, stop by. First outfit's on the house for new werewomen—town tradition."
Kyle nodded gratefully, both embarrassed and touched by the casual acceptance. Moonvale had its prejudices like anywhere else, but small kindnesses like this made it easier for those with the curse.
That night, Kyle dreamed of transformation for the first time. In the dream, he stood naked in a pool of moonlight, watching his body slowly reshape itself. His skin grew softer, his waist narrowed, his chest swelled into perfect, sensitive breasts. Unlike the anxiety dreams many reported on the forums, this dream filled him with a sense of rightness, of becoming rather than losing. He woke just before dawn, sheets damp with sweat, his body thrumming with an energy he couldn't name.
Over the next two weeks, the signs intensified. Kyle found himself increasingly drawn to feminine things—not in the self-conscious way he might have experimented before, but with a natural gravity that felt instinctive. He spent hours on werewoman transformation forums and video sites, no longer just from academic interest but from a growing sense of personal connection. The videos that had once been merely fascinating now stirred something deeper in him, creating an ache of anticipation that was partly sexual but also transcended simple arousal.
His body, too, began to send clearer signals. Though no physical changes would occur until the actual transformation, he experienced phantom sensations—moments when he could swear he felt breasts weighing on his chest, or a curious emptiness between his legs that would quickly pass. His dreams became increasingly vivid, almost always featuring him in female form, experiencing life through a woman's body with an intensity that left him disoriented upon waking.
Twenty-three days after his birthday, Kyle woke to find himself absently browsing women's clothing online, considering styles that might flatter a figure he didn't yet have. He caught his reflection in the computer screen—still definitely male, with his square jaw and broad shoulders—yet in his mind's eye, he could almost see her emerging: Kirsty, waiting for the moon to give her form.
The forums had a name for this period: werewomen-in-waiting. The time when the masculine shell remained intact, but the feminine spirit was awakening, preparing for its inevitable emergence.
Some fought it desperately, clinging to masculinity through aggressive exercise, sexual conquest of women, or even medication that temporarily suppressed the feminine urges. Others, like Kyle, chose to flow with the current rather than against it.
That afternoon, Kyle made a decision. The full moon was just six days away. According to family patterns and the intensity of his symptoms, there was a strong possibility his first transformation would occur then. Rather than wondering and waiting, he would prepare.
He created a simple checklist, drawing on advice from the forums and his family's experience:
Comfortable clothes in appropriate sizes (Ms. Bennett's offer would help here)
Private space for transformation (his bedroom should suffice)
Recording equipment (he wanted to document the experience)
Support person (his sister had already volunteered)
Energy-rich foods for before and after
With methodical care, Kyle began gathering what he would need. There was no guarantee the transformation would happen on the approaching full moon, but something in him knew it would.
The feminine presence inside him was growing stronger daily, no longer just an abstract possibility but an emerging reality named Kirsty who whispered through his dreams and colored his thoughts.
"You're the calmest pre-transformation case I've ever seen," his sister commented as she helped him select appropriate undergarments online. "Most guys are freaking out by now, trying to bench press their way out of it or burying themselves in as many women as possible."
Kyle shrugged. "Fighting it just makes it worse, right? Besides," he added with a small smile, "I'm curious."
"Curious?" Melinda raised an eyebrow.
"About how it feels. About who she is—who I am as her." He paused, trying to articulate something he'd never fully expressed. "I've never felt completely... settled in this body. Not dysphoric exactly, but not quite right either. Like I'm wearing a suit that's been tailored for someone else. I wonder if I'll feel differently as her."
Melinda studied him thoughtfully. "You know, most werewomen eventually come to appreciate both forms, but I've never met someone who seemed so ready to meet their female self. Just remember—the hunger might surprise you. The physical changes are intense but manageable. It's the sudden desire for men that throws most new werewomen."
Kyle nodded, having read countless accounts of the hunger—the almost irresistible desire for male sexual energy that came with female transformation. Many new werewomen, especially those who identified as strictly heterosexual in male form, found this aspect of the curse most challenging to accept.
"I'll manage," he said, though privately he wondered how it would feel to desire men with a woman's body and needs. Would it feel alien? Natural? Would the hunger be as overwhelming as the forums described?
Five nights before the full moon, Kyle dreamed of feeding for the first time. In the dream, he was fully transformed, his female body responding with electric pleasure to a man's touch. He woke gasping, his male body aroused yet somehow unsatisfied, as if it couldn't quite achieve what his dream-self had experienced. The phantom sensations were stronger now—the ghost-weight of breasts, the absence between his legs, the feeling of long hair brushing against his shoulders.
"Almost time," he whispered to his reflection, studying his male features and trying to imagine how they would soften and reshape into Kirsty's face. "Almost time to meet you."
The day of the full moon dawned clear and crisp, autumn sunlight filtering through the changing leaves outside Kyle's window. He woke early, his body thrumming with anticipation. Today was the day—he felt it with certainty that went beyond the lunar calendar or the signs he'd been tracking. Tonight, Kirsty would emerge for the first time.
Throughout the day, the symptoms intensified. His skin felt hypersensitive, every brush of fabric creating shivering awareness. Phantom sensations came more frequently—the weight of breasts that weren't yet there, the curious absence between his legs, the feeling of wider hips and narrower shoulders. His thoughts increasingly took on a feminine quality, seeing the world through Kirsty's eyes before she even existed physically.
As sunset approached, his soon to be sister Melinda arrived, still Michael at the moment and having taken the evening off to support him through his first transformation.
"How are you feeling?" Michael asked, setting down a bag containing comfortable clothes and blankets.
"Ready," Kyle replied, surprised to find it was true. Where many approaching their first transformation reported fear or resistance, he felt only a quiet anticipation, like awaiting the arrival of a friend he'd known only through letters. "Nervous, but ready."
"I've set up the recording equipment like you asked," Michael said, gesturing to the discreet camera positioned to capture the transformation area—a space in his bedroom cleared of furniture, with soft blankets laid on the floor. "Though I still think it's a bit strange to want to document your first time."
Kyle shrugged. "I want to see it. Not just feel it, but actually see who emerges." What he didn't say was that he'd been fascinated by transformation videos for years, spending countless hours watching others change, imagining how it might feel. Now he would have his own to review, to understand the transformation not just from within but from without.
As the sun sank toward the horizon, Kyle's symptoms intensified dramatically. His skin began to flush with warmth, his heart rate increasing. The phantom sensations were now almost constant, his body sending confused signals as it prepared for the imminent change.
"How much time?" he asked, his voice slightly strained.
Michael checked his phone. "Moonrise is in forty-seven minutes. You should start getting ready."
Kyle nodded and began systematically preparing. He showered, noticing how differently the water felt against his increasingly sensitive skin. He laid out the clothes Kirsty would need afterward—simple, comfortable items selected with Ms. Bennett's guidance. Finally, he positioned himself in the transformation area, wearing only loose boxers that would fall away once his hips widened.
"Should I step out?" Michael asked, aware that many preferred privacy for the actual transformation.
Kyle nodded yes. "I’ll be OK on my own" He paused.
As moonrise approached, Kyle's body began responding more dramatically. He developed an erection that had nothing to do with sexual arousal—a biological response his sibling had warned him about, the body's preparation for the dramatic restructuring to come. His skin began to tingle all over, and the phantom sensations intensified until they were almost indistinguishable from physical changes.
Kyle closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing as waves of sensation washed through him. The warmth that had been building all day concentrated into a gentle fire flowing through his veins. Behind his closed eyelids, colors swirled and danced, his mind preparing for what his body would soon experience.
"One minute," he whispered to himself...
The moment moonrise arrived, Kyle felt it like an electric surge through his entire being. His back arched involuntarily, a gasp escaping his lips as pleasure unlike anything he'd ever experienced flooded his system. This was nothing like ordinary arousal—this was his entire body igniting with sensation, every nerve ending firing simultaneously.
"The kick," he heard his inner voice say distantly, naming the initial surge that signaled transformation had begun.
Kyle was barely aware of his surroundings now, lost in the sensations cascading through him. The pleasure came in waves, each more intense than the last, each bringing subtle changes to his body. He was dimly aware of making sounds—gasps, moans, whimpers of pleasure—as his body began its remarkable reorganization.
The first visible changes were subtle. His skin began to soften noticeably, taking on a smoother texture and slightly different hue. The hair on his arms, legs, and chest—never particularly thick to begin with—began to recede, sinking back into the follicles and leaving clean, soft skin in its wake. His fingers tapered slightly, nails extending and reshaping into more feminine ovals.
Kyle moaned, unable to speak as another wave of pleasure crashed through him. He could feel his hair lengthening, dark ruby strands growing rapidly and falling around his shoulders, tickling newly sensitive skin. His face tingled intensely as his features began to soften and shift—cheekbones becoming more pronounced, jaw narrowing, lips filling out.
About fifteen minutes into the transformation, changes accelerated. Kyle felt his skeleton begin to restructure—a process that should have been painful but instead produced wave after wave of pleasure. His shoulders narrowed, his pelvis widened and tilted, his height reduced by several inches as his spine compressed slightly and reshaped. These changes created a momentary floating sensation, as if he were becoming untethered from gravity itself.
"Oh!" The exclamation escaped him as he felt the first definite changes in his chest. His nipples, which had been increasingly sensitive for days, began to transform. They darkened gradually from light pink to a dusky rose color, the areolas widening to the size of silver dollars. The sensation was so intense it bordered on overwhelming—pleasure mixed with a curious pressure as breast tissue began to develop beneath.
Kyle looked down, watching in real-time as small mounds began forming on his chest, growing outward with surprising speed. The development wasn't instantaneous—it progressed in waves, each surge of pleasure bringing further growth. His skin stretched to accommodate the new tissue, creating a tightness that somehow only enhanced the pleasure.
"They're... growing larger than I expected," he managed to say, his voice already higher in pitch as his vocal cords began to reshape.
Indeed, the breast development continued well beyond what might be considered average, even for a werewoman. As the transformation approached the thirty-minute mark, Kyle's chest had blossomed into full, perfectly shaped breasts that would later be measured at a generous E cup—larger than his sister's, larger than most werewomen experienced. They settled high and proud on his increasingly feminine torso, crowned with those darkened, sensitive nipples that seemed to connect directly to his core.
"The Green family has always run to the busty side," Kyle commented with a slight smile. "But I might be setting a new record."
Kyle couldn't hold his thoughts in place, lost in another wave of transformation as his waist narrowed dramatically, creating an hourglass figure accentuated by widening hips and a rounding posterior. Fat redistributed throughout his body, melting away from some areas and accumulating in others, creating the soft curves of femininity where masculine angles had been.
At approximately the forty-minute mark, the most intense phase began. Kyle's voice, which had been gradually increasing in pitch, suddenly shifted completely into a feminine register. At the same moment, his still-masculine genitalia began to respond to the transformation energy. His erection, which had maintained throughout the process so far, became almost painfully hard.
“Go on… do it…” He chided his supernaturally enhanced boner.
Kyle gasped as pleasure concentrated in his groin, building rapidly toward an inevitable peak.
Without touching himself, without any external stimulation beyond the transformation energy itself, he was driven to a shattering orgasm that seemed to go on and on, his body ejaculating forcefully as if expelling the last vestiges of masculine essence.
As the orgasm subsided, the real genital transformation began. Kyle felt his testicles drawing upward, shrinking and retracting into his body where they would reshape into ovaries. His penis, now spent from its final masculine act, began to shrink and reconfigure. The shaft tissue collapsed inward, forming the walls of a new vaginal canal, while the glans reshaped itself into a sensitive clitoris. The empty scrotal sac flattened and reshaped into labia, completing the external transformation.
Kyle—now physically Kirsty in almost every way—experienced wave after wave of pleasure as her new genitalia settled into place and her internal organs completed their reorganization. The sensations were distinctly different from male pleasure—more diffuse throughout her body, centered in multiple erogenous zones rather than concentrated in one.
As the transformation entered its final phase, Kirsty's breasts completed their development, settling into their final impressive size. Her facial features finished their feminine reshaping, creating a face that was undeniably related to Kyle's but softer, prettier, with fuller lips and more expressive eyes. Her hair completed its growth, falling in thick waves to the middle of her back, a rich brown with natural auburn highlights that hadn't been visible in Kyle's shorter cut.
The entire process, from the initial kick to completion, took approximately sixty minutes—far longer than the average transformation but not unusual for a first time. As the final changes settled, Kirsty lay still on the blankets, breathing deeply, adjusting to the radically different body she now inhabited.
Kirsty took a moment to inventory her new body. The voice that emerged surprised her—higher and more melodic than Kyle's, yet still recognizably her own. "Incredible..."
She slowly pushed herself up to a sitting position, immediately aware of the new weight on her chest, the different balance of her body, the absence between her legs replaced by a new presence.
Kirsty gratefully slipped into a sheer, silky robe Melinda had bought her that week, the silk feeling exquisite against her newly sensitive skin. She was eager to see herself.
Kirsty’s movements were already taking on a feminine quality without conscious effort. Her feminine form was now about five and a half inches shorter than her male body, standing at 5'5" compared to Kyle's 5'10"—and guided herself to the full-length mirror on the closet door.
The woman who gazed back at Kirsty took her breath away. She was beautiful in a way that went beyond conventional standards—her face a perfect harmony of delicate features framed by flowing hair that caught the light with auburn highlights. Her figure was exceptional even by werewoman standards, with a narrow waist emphasizing both her impressive bust and gently flared hips. The robe, loosely belted, revealed the inner curves of breasts that seemed almost too large for her otherwise slender frame, yet somehow looked perfectly proportioned.
But it was the eyes that captured Kirsty's attention most completely. They were still her eyes—the same emerald green that Kyle had inherited from their mother—but now larger, more expressive, framed by naturally long lashes. They were the bridge between her two forms, the window to the continuous soul that existed in both bodies.
"That's... me," Kirsty whispered, raising a hand to touch her face, watching the mirrored woman do the same. "I'm actually her now."
Kirsty turned away from the mirror, taking careful steps as she adjusted to her new center of gravity. The sensations were overwhelming—the brush of hair against her back, the gentle bounce of her breasts with each movement, the curious emptiness between her legs that somehow felt right rather than lacking.
"I should get dressed," she said, moving toward the clothes laid out earlier. As she dropped the robe and began dressing, she was struck by how natural it felt to have this body, as if she'd always known exactly how to move within it.
The clothes—simple leggings, a loose tunic, and comfortable underwear—had been selected with a first transformation in mind. Even so, Kirsty struggled briefly with the bra, unused to wrangling her substantial new assets into the supportive garment.
Once dressed, Kirsty sat on the edge of the bed, taking stock of her new reality. The physical transformation was complete, but she could already feel new instincts and awareness emerging—subtle shifts in how she perceived the world, how she processed emotions, how she inhabited space.
And beneath it all, a new sensation was beginning to make itself known—a warm, pleasant tingling deep in her core that she recognized from countless forum descriptions as the first stirrings of the hunger.
Melinda entered. “Sounds like it’s going well in here…” she said softly.
"I can feel it starting," she said to Melinda, who nodded knowingly.
"The hunger usually begins a few hours after transformation. It won't be too intense tonight—first transformations rarely produce urgent hunger. But in the coming days..." She trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.
Kirsty nodded, both nervous and curious about this aspect of werewomanhood. The hunger for male sexual energy—specifically, the need to consume the essence of men either orally or vaginally—was perhaps the most controversial aspect of the curse. For many werewomen who identified as heterosexual in male form, it represented the most difficult adjustment.
"One step at a time," Kirsty said, standing again and taking a few experimental steps around the room, growing more confident in her new body with each movement. "Right now, I just want to experience being her—being me—for a while before worrying about what comes next."
Melinda smiled. "That's probably wise. The night is young, and you have until sunrise to get acquainted with Kirsty before Kyle returns." She paused. "Though from the way you've approached all this, I suspect Kyle and Kirsty are less separate than most werewomen experience at first."
Kirsty considered this, realizing the truth in her sister's observation. Where many new werewomen reported feeling like different people in each form, she felt a remarkable continuity. She was still herself—the same consciousness, the same memories, the same core personality—just experiencing life through a dramatically different physical form.
"I think you're right," she agreed. "It doesn't feel like becoming someone else. It feels like... becoming more fully myself somehow."
As the night progressed, Kirsty explored her new form with a mixture of curiosity and wonder. She practiced walking, speaking, simple tasks like writing her name—"Kirsty Green" in handwriting that somehow flowed more gracefully than Kyle's precise script. She experimented with her voice, finding its natural register and resonance. She touched her body with explorative hands, mapping new erogenous zones and sensitivities.
And all the while, the hunger continued its slow awakening, a pleasant warmth that gradually intensified as the hours passed. By midnight, it had become a noticeable presence—not yet demanding, but definitely there, creating a subtle awareness of emptiness that wanted filling.
"I think I should try going out," Kirsty said suddenly, surprising both herself and Melinda. "Just locally. Maybe the Moonrise Café?" The establishment was known to be werewoman-friendly, a common first outing for those recently transformed.
Melinda looked uncertain. "Are you sure? Most werewomen take a few transformations to feel ready for public spaces."
"I'm sure," Kirsty said, feeling a confidence that seemed to come from deep within her new form. "I want to experience the world as her, not just my bedroom. Besides," she added with a small smile, "I'm curious about how it feels to be seen as a woman."
After some discussion, Melinda agreed, helping Kirsty select more appropriate attire for a public outing—a simple green dress that complemented her eyes and figure without being overly revealing, and low heels that Kirsty mastered with surprising ease.
"You're a natural," Melinda observed as Kirsty walked comfortably in the heels after just a few minutes of practice. "It took me weeks to stop wobbling."
"It feels right," Kirsty replied simply. And it did—the feminine movements came to her without conscious effort, as if her body knew exactly how to be a woman despite never having been one before.
The Moonrise Café was moderately busy when they arrived, with a mix of regular townsfolk and other werewomen in various stages of their journeys. Kirsty felt eyes on her as she entered—appreciative glances from men, evaluating looks from women, recognizing nods from other werewomen who could somehow sense a first-timer.
The experience of being perceived as a beautiful woman was entirely new. Where Kyle had moved through the world largely unnoticed, Kirsty commanded attention simply by existing. Men straightened when she passed, conversations paused momentarily, paths cleared. It wasn't just her exceptional figure—though that certainly drew looks—but something in her entire presentation, a feminine grace that seemed to have emerged fully formed with her transformation.
As they settled at a table, Kirsty became aware of a new sensation—a heightened perception of the men around her. It wasn't just visual; she could somehow sense their energy, their potential as feeding sources, their compatibility with her particular hunger. This sixth sense was subtle but undeniable, an aspect of werewomanhood the forums had mentioned but that she hadn't fully understood until experiencing it.
"That one there," she whispered to Melinda, nodding toward a tall, broad-shouldered man at the bar. "He feels... different from the others. More intense somehow."
Melinda followed her gaze and smiled knowingly. "That's an alpha male—they produce the most satisfying energy for feeding. Your senses are good for a first-timer. Most new werewomen can't distinguish alphas until they've transformed several times."
Kirsty nodded, fascinated by this new awareness. The hunger, which had been a pleasant background warmth until now, intensified slightly as she observed the alpha, her body responding to his potential as a feeding source. It wasn't overwhelming, just a gentle reminder of what her new form would eventually need.
The evening continued pleasantly, with Kirsty adjusting to the social dynamics of being a woman in public. She noticed subtle differences in how people spoke to her, the assumptions they made, the way conversations flowed. Men who approached their table directed questions to her rather than about her, seeing a beautiful woman rather than a curiosity or anomaly. In Moonvale, with its relatively high werewoman population, being transformed wasn't shocking—it was simply another facet of diversity.
As midnight approached, the hunger had grown noticeable enough that Kirsty decided it was time to return home. She wasn't ready for feeding yet—that would come in time, perhaps not even during this first transformation cycle—but she could feel her body's growing desire, a pleasant ache that would eventually require satisfaction.
Back in her room, Kirsty spent the remaining hours before dawn exploring her new sensitivities more thoroughly. The pleasure her female body could experience was remarkably different from male pleasure—more diffuse, more wave-like, capable of building and sustaining rather than rushing toward a single peak. She discovered erogenous zones Kyle had never possessed, sensitivities that created constellations of pleasure throughout her transformed flesh.
As the first hints of dawn lightened the sky, Kirsty felt a subtle shift in her body's energy—not the intense pleasure of transformation, but a gentle ebbing, a softening of the feminine essence that had flowered under the moon's influence. She lay back on her bed, closing her eyes, surrendering to the process as she had to its evening counterpart.
The return to male form happened during sleep, as it did for most werewomen. Kyle woke as the sun cleared the horizon, his body once again masculine in all respects. But he was not unchanged by the night's experience. His mind held every memory of being Kirsty, every sensation, every new awareness. Though physically male again, he carried the imprint of her within him—not as a separate entity, but as another expression of his continuous self.
He stretched, feeling the familiar contours of his male body with a new appreciation. Where many new werewomen reported a sense of loss or even grief upon returning to male form, Kyle felt only a peaceful acceptance. Kirsty wasn't gone; she was simply waiting for the next moonrise to take physical form again.
Rolling over, he picked up his phone and opened the WereForum app, navigating to the First Transformation support thread. With fingers that had held such different shape just hours before, he began to type:
"I met her last night—the woman I become. Her name is Kirsty, and she's not my curse or my burden. She's another way of being me, and I can't wait to become her again tonight."
The second night of Kyle's first transformation cycle brought both familiarity and new discoveries. Having experienced the process once, he approached moonrise with excited anticipation rather than nervous uncertainty. The transformation itself proceeded similarly—the kick of pleasure at moonrise, the gradual reshaping of his body, the development of his now-familiar feminine features. If anything, the process was slightly more efficient, completing in about fifty minutes rather than sixty.
Kirsty emerged once again, her magnificent body now feeling less alien and more like returning to a home she'd briefly visited. The continuity between Kyle and Kirsty was strengthening, their identities merging into a singular consciousness that expressed through different forms rather than separate personas occupying the same body.
But this night brought something new—the hunger, which had been a gentle background presence during her first emergence, now made itself known more insistently. About two hours after transformation, as Kirsty was experimenting with makeup under Melinda’s guidance, she felt it bloom inside her like a warm flower unfurling its petals.
"Oh," she gasped softly, a hand going instinctively to her lower abdomen. The sensation wasn't uncomfortable—quite the opposite. It was a pleasant warmth that spread gradually from her core outward, creating a gentle thrumming awareness throughout her body.
"The hunger's really kicking in," Melinda observed, recognizing the signs immediately. "How does it feel?"
"Good," Kirsty replied, somewhat surprised. "Really good, actually. Like anticipation, but physical somehow." She paused, trying to articulate the complex sensation. "It's like being thirsty, but not for water. For... energy. Male energy."
"That's a good description," Melinda nodded. "For some werewomen, especially those who identified as strictly heterosexual as men, the hunger feels alien and intrusive at first. But it seems like you're integrating it naturally."
Kirsty considered this. As Kyle, he had identified as heterosexual, attracted exclusively to women. Yet now, as Kirsty, she found herself increasingly aware of men—not with confusion or resistance, but with a natural, growing interest that felt perfectly aligned with her female form.
"I don't feel conflicted about it," she said thoughtfully. "It feels... right for this body to desire men. Like the most natural thing in the world."
As the evening progressed, the hunger continued to develop. Kirsty found herself increasingly attuned to masculine energy—even the memory of the alpha male she'd observed at the café the previous night created a distinct response in her body, a pleasant tightening low in her abdomen and a subtle moisture between her legs.
"Should I... feed tonight?" she asked Melinda, who had been guiding her through these first transformations with the wisdom of experience.
Melinda considered the question. "The hunger isn't desperate yet—you could easily wait until tomorrow night or even your next transformation cycle. But there's no reason to wait if you feel ready." She paused. "Do you have someone in mind?"
Kirsty bit her lower lip, a gesture that felt naturally feminine. "Not specifically. But I'm curious about it. About how it feels to... satisfy this need."
They discussed options. In Moonvale, newly transformed werewomen had several paths available for their first feeding experience. Some chose trusted friends who understood the process, others preferred anonymous encounters at werewoman-friendly establishments, and some waited for deeper connections to develop.
"There's a mixer at The Silver Moon tonight," Melinda suggested, referring to a local bar known for facilitating respectful interactions between werewomen and potential feeding partners. "It's designed for new werewomen—controlled environment, strict behavior codes, experienced staff who watch for any problems."
After some consideration, Kirsty decided to attend. She wasn't committed to feeding that night, but she wanted to explore the social dynamics of her hunger in a safe setting. They spent another hour preparing—Kirsty selecting a forest green dress that complemented her eyes and impressive figure without being overtly sexual, practicing walking more confidently in heels, applying subtle makeup that enhanced her already striking features.
The Silver Moon was busier than the café had been, with a diverse crowd of werewomen at various stages of their journeys, men interested in connecting with them, and a few supportive friends and family members. The atmosphere was charged but respectful—this wasn't a typical pickup bar but a space designed for the specific needs of the werewoman community.
Kirsty drew looks immediately upon entering, her exceptional beauty and the natural grace she'd somehow acquired with transformation setting her apart even in a room containing many attractive werewomen. She felt the hunger respond to the masculine energy in the room, intensifying slightly but remaining pleasantly manageable.
"First full moon?" The bartender, herself a werewoman currently in female form, asked as she served Kirsty a cranberry spritzer.
Kirsty nodded. "Second night of my first cycle."
"I thought so. You have that glow." The bartender smiled knowingly. "Just remember—you're in control here, not the hunger. Take your time, trust your instincts, and don't hesitate to signal if anyone makes you uncomfortable." She nodded toward security staff positioned discreetly around the room, identifiable by subtle silver pins on their lapels.
As Kirsty sipped her drink, she observed the social dynamics with fascination. Experienced werewomen moved through the space with confident ease, some clearly seeking feeding partners while others simply socialized. Newer werewomen, identifiable by slight hesitation in their movements or occasional looks of surprise at their own gestures, clustered together or stayed close to companions.
The men present were equally varied. Some carried themselves with the unmistakable confidence of alphas, Others moved more cautiously, respectfully. A few seemed to be regulars, greeted warmly by werewomen they evidently knew well.
"May I join you?" The voice was deep, pleasantly resonant, belonging to a man who had approached Kirsty's table with respectful distance. He was tall, broad-shouldered but not bulky, with dark hair and warm brown eyes. Something about his energy registered immediately—an alpha, Kirsty realized, her hunger responding with a pleasant intensification.
"Please," she responded, gesturing to the empty chair across from her. His movement as he sat was fluid, confident without aggression—a man comfortable in his masculinity without needing to assert it forcefully.
"I'm Daniel," he introduced himself. "And you're new here, I think?"
Kirsty nodded, appreciating his directness. "My second night. I'm Kirsty."
"Kirsty," he repeated, as if testing the name. "It suits you." He paused, seeming to consider his next words carefully. "May I ask what brings you out tonight? Some new werewomen prefer privacy during their first cycle."
The question was asked with genuine curiosity rather than presumption, and Kirsty found herself responding honestly. "Curiosity, mainly. About all this—" she gestured around the room, "—and about the hunger. How it works, how it feels to... address it."
Daniel nodded, his expression appreciative rather than predatory. "That's refreshingly straightforward. Many people dance around the subject for hours." He leaned back slightly, giving her space. "I've been told I'm a good first feeding partner. No expectations beyond the moment, no complications, and apparently," he added with a small smile, "a particularly satisfying energy."
Kirsty felt her hunger respond to his words, a pleasant tightening low in her abdomen. She studied him, using the enhanced intuition that had come with her female form. He read as genuine—confident but respectful, experienced but not exploitative. Her senses detected no deception or hidden agenda, only an honest offer.
"Have you done this often? Been a first for someone, I mean," she asked, curious about his experience.
"A few times," he acknowledged. "I have a sibling who's a werewoman. Watching her struggle with finding respectful partners during her early transformations made me want to be part of the solution rather than the problem." He paused. "Plus, I genuinely enjoy the connection. There's something... special about werewomen energy."
Their conversation continued, gradually shifting from the direct topic of feeding to broader subjects—his work as an environmental engineer, her recent graduation and new job in app development, shared interests in hiking Vermont's trails and local craft beer. Throughout, the hunger remained present but not overwhelming, a pleasant warmth that intensified when Daniel laughed or leaned forward or made a particularly insightful comment.
Kirsty found herself relaxing into the interaction, enjoying both the conversation and the new experience of being desired as a woman. Daniel's interest was evident but contained, his gaze appreciative without objectifying—even when it occasionally dipped to her impressive chest.
"Would you like to go somewhere more private?" he eventually asked, after their conversation had flowed easily for over an hour. "No pressure if you're not ready. First cycles are about exploration, not obligation."
Kirsty considered the question, checking in with both her hunger and her overall comfort. The hunger had intensified to a pleasant, persistent warmth, definitely present but not desperate. She felt comfortable with Daniel, her intuition suggesting he would respect any boundaries she set.
"Yes," she decided. "But I'm not sure exactly what I'm ready for."
Daniel nodded. "We can figure that out as we go. My apartment is nearby, or there are private rooms upstairs if you'd prefer neutral territory for your first time."
The private rooms, Kirsty knew from werewoman forums, were a feature of establishments like The Silver Moon—comfortable spaces designed specifically for feeding interactions, with security just a button-press away if needed. For many new werewomen, they offered an ideal balance of privacy and safety.
"The rooms upstairs would be good," she decided.
Daniel nodded, clearly approving of her cautious approach. They finished their drinks, and he guided her toward a discreet staircase at the back of the bar. A staff member checked that both were comfortable with the arrangement before providing access to a hallway with several doors.
The room they entered was surprisingly pleasant—more like a comfortable hotel room than the clinical space Kirsty had half-expected. Soft lighting, a plush bed with clean linens, comfortable seating, soft music playing at low volume, and even artwork on the walls created an atmosphere of respect rather than transaction.
"This is nicer than I imagined," Kirsty commented, moving further into the room.
"The community has worked hard to create appropriate spaces," Daniel replied. "Feeding is a biological necessity for werewomen, not something that should happen in back alleys or desperate circumstances."
As the door closed behind them, Kirsty felt her hunger surge slightly—responding to the privacy, the proximity to a compatible feeding source, the imminence of satisfaction. Her breathing quickened slightly, her pupils dilating, her skin becoming more sensitive.
Daniel noticed the change. "Your hunger's responding," he observed. "May I approach you?"
Kirsty appreciated his continued respect for her boundaries. "Yes," she answered, her voice slightly huskier than before.
He moved closer, not touching her yet but near enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell his scent—clean, masculine, with subtle notes that her enhanced senses could distinguish individually. The hunger responded strongly to his proximity, creating a pleasant ache between her legs and a subtle tingling in her full breasts.
"May I touch you?" he asked, his voice deeper but still controlled.
"Please," Kirsty whispered.
His hand came up to cup her cheek, a simple touch that sent unexpected shivers through her body. The hunger amplified every sensation, making even this basic contact feel intensely pleasurable.
When his thumb brushed lightly across her lower lip, she couldn't suppress a soft gasp.
"Sensitive," he observed with a small smile. "First-cycle sensitivities are particularly intense."
He leaned in slowly, giving her time to pull away if desired, then pressed his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. The contact sent a jolt of pleasure through Kirsty's body, the hunger flaring brightly in response. Without conscious thought, she leaned into the kiss, her body knowing what it wanted even if her mind was still exploring.
The kiss deepened gradually, Daniel leading but never pushing, allowing her to set the pace. His hands remained respectfully on her waist and face, not wandering unless invited. Kirsty found herself melting into the contact, the hunger guiding her responses, her body moving naturally against his.
When they finally parted, Kirsty was breathing more rapidly, her cheeks flushed, the hunger now a persistent, pleasant ache throughout her body. "That was... intense," she managed, surprised by how strongly her body had responded to just kissing.
Daniel smiled. "One of the gifts of werewomanhood—heightened pleasure responses. Would you like to continue?"
Kirsty nodded, increasingly certain. Her body knew what it wanted, and her mind was caught up in the hunger's gentle but persistent guidance. "Yes, but I'm not sure what exactly... I mean, there are different ways to feed, right?"
"There are," Daniel confirmed. "Most new werewomen find oral feeding more straightforward for their first experience. The satisfaction is more immediate, and many find it less intimate than full intercourse. But it's entirely your choice."
The thought of taking him in her mouth, of tasting him, of satisfying her hunger directly from the source, created a powerful response in Kirsty's body. Her mouth actually watered slightly, an autonomic response to the prospect of feeding that surprised her with its intensity.
"I think I'd like to try that," she said, her voice soft but determined.
What followed was an experience unlike anything Kyle had ever known. Daniel guided Kirsty gently, respectfully, helping her discover how her female body responded to arousal, how the hunger enhanced every sensation, how to use her natural instincts to pleasure a man while feeding her own need.
When he finally reached his climax, Kirsty experienced a revelation. As his essence filled her mouth, she felt the hunger respond with immediate, overwhelming satisfaction. A wave of pleasure unlike anything she'd experienced before washed through her, radiating outward from her core to the tips of her fingers and toes. It wasn't simply sexual pleasure—though that element was certainly present—but a deeper, more fundamental satisfaction, as if every cell in her body was drinking in exactly what it needed.
She swallowed instinctively, the hunger guiding her actions, and felt another wave of pleasure as the precious energy was absorbed into her system. Her body literally glowed slightly, a subtle luminescence emanating from her skin—a phenomenon Daniel commented on with appreciation.
"That's a sign of particularly complete satisfaction," he explained as they lay together afterward, her head resting comfortably on his chest. "Not all werewomen experience the glow, especially not during their first feeding."
Kirsty felt utterly satiated, the hunger completely quieted for now, replaced by a warm contentment that suffused her entire being. She understood now why the forums spoke of feeding with such complexity—it wasn't simply a biological function but an experience that connected body, energy, and pleasure in unique ways.
"Thank you," she said simply. "That was... I don't even have words for what that was."
Daniel smiled, stroking her hair gently. "Thank you for sharing your first feeding with me. It's always an honor to be part of that experience."
They remained together for another hour, talking quietly, Kirsty exploring the aftermath of feeding—the lingering satisfaction, the subtle changes in her energy, the slight enhancement to her already impressive sensory awareness. When they finally parted, it was with mutual respect and appreciation, Daniel making it clear that future connections would be welcomed but never presumed.
As Kirsty walked home through the quiet streets of Moonvale, she felt a new confidence in her transformed body. The hunger, now satisfied, had taught her something important about her dual nature—that the desires of her female form were not alien impositions but natural expressions of that aspect of herself. Just as Kyle desired women with his male body, Kirsty desired men with her female form. These weren't contradictory but complementary aspects of a single, continuous identity expressing through different forms.
Back in her room, Kirsty spent the remaining hours until dawn processing the experience, both intellectually and emotionally. She recorded her thoughts for future reference, knowing that maintaining this connection between her forms—the shared memory and understanding—was crucial to her growing integration.
When Kyle returned with the sunrise, he carried not just memories of Kirsty's experiences but a deeper appreciation for the complexity of his dual nature. Where many werewomen initially struggled with the hunger and its implications for their sexuality, he found himself accepting it as simply another facet of his expanded identity—neither more nor less authentic than the desires he experienced in male form.
This pattern continued through the third night of his first transformation cycle. Kirsty emerged again, fed again (this time with a different partner, wanting to explore varied experiences), and returned to Kyle at dawn with new insights and sensations to integrate.
In the month that followed, Kyle developed a rhythm with his transformations. The full moon always brought three consecutive nights as Kirsty, but he discovered that approximately a week after the full moons, he would experience a single night of voluntary transformation—his body's response to building hunger and the natural expansion of his werewoman nature.
Unlike many who fought these mid-cycle transformations, Kyle welcomed them as opportunities to further explore life as Kirsty. Each time he transformed, the integration between his forms deepened. Kyle began incorporating subtle elements of Kirsty into his male presentation—nothing that would read as inappropriate for a man, but small gestures, expressions, and perspectives that created greater continuity between his expressions.
Six months into his journey with werewomanhood, Kyle experienced a significant development. Where previously he had transformed only during the full moon and once per week mid-cycle, he now found himself able to transform at will on additional nights. This ability, which forums indicated typically developed after 6-12 months for most werewomen, gave him new flexibility in exploring his dual nature.
Kyle approached this expanded transformation ability thoughtfully, creating a balanced schedule that allowed both his male and female expressions appropriate time. While some werewomen eventually chose to spend most nights in female form, transforming immediately at sunset and returning to male form only during daylight hours, Kyle maintained a more balanced approach during this period, typically transforming two to three times weekly beyond the mandatory full moon cycle.
This balance served him well as he navigated the complex social and professional dimensions of werewomanhood. As Kyle, he excelled in his college classes in pre-law. As Kirsty, he explored different social circles, developing friendships and connections distinct from Kyle's networks yet increasingly integrated into his overall social identity.
The hunger, which had initially been a new and somewhat mysterious aspect of his female form, became a familiar and even welcome part of Kirsty's experience—a pleasant reminder of her nature rather than an intrusive demand. She developed a small network of regular feeding partners—men she enjoyed connecting with, who understood the nature of the exchange and respected both her boundaries and her needs.
One year after his first transformation, Kyle made a significant decision. Having observed the growing werewoman community online and the need for greater understanding and support, he decided to share his unusual journey more publicly. Where most werewomen, particularly those new to transformation, approached their condition with reluctance or resistance, his path of acceptance and integration offered a different model.
Under the username "GreenChangeling," at first, Kyle began creating content for the WereNet—videos documenting his transformations, educational content about the biological and psychological aspects of werewomanhood, and thoughtful discussions about integrating dual nature. He was careful about privacy, never showing his face in male form and using his middle name rather than "Kyle" when discussing his male identity, but Kirsty became something of a minor celebrity in werewoman circles.
Her beauty certainly contributed to this visibility—her transformation videos, tasteful but unflinching in documenting the dramatic physical changes, drew significant viewership. But it was her perspective that truly set her apart. Where many transformation videos featured reluctance, discomfort, or fetishized the process, Kirsty's showed genuine appreciation and integration.
"Give in, girl out, get down," became her catchphrase—a playful encouragement for werewomen-in-waiting and new transformers to embrace rather than fight their feminine nature, to express it authentically once transformed, and to enjoy the unique pleasures of female embodiment. Her approach, while not right for everyone, offered a counterpoint to the prevailing narrative of werewomanhood as burden or curse.
This online presence led to unexpected opportunities. A werewoman-focused publisher approached Kirsty about writing educational materials for newly turned werewomen, recognizing the value of her positive yet realistic perspective. Several werewoman support organizations invited her to speak at events, sharing her integration journey with those struggling to find balance between their forms.
By his second year as a werewoman, Kyle had become something of a bridge figure in the community—respected by both those who primarily identified with their male forms and those who preferred their female expressions. His balanced approach, maintaining genuine appreciation for both forms while acknowledging their differences, offered a model of integration that many found appealing.
This period also brought significant personal development. Kyle began law school, focusing on civil rights with a particular interest in werewoman legal protections. His direct experience with the condition gave him insights that most advocates lacked, while his technical background provided useful skills for analyzing and addressing systematic discrimination.
As Kirsty, he continued developing her online presence, now supplementing her transformation and educational content with commentary on legal and social issues affecting the werewoman community. Her approachable style and evident comfort with her dual nature made complex issues accessible to a broader audience, werewomen and non-werewomen alike.
The balance between his forms remained fluid and evolving. By the end of his second year, Kyle was transforming approximately five nights weekly beyond the full moon cycle—a frequency that felt natural and appropriate for his particular expression of werewomanhood. Unlike many who eventually transform nightly, he maintained this rhythm, valuing the distinct perspectives and experiences each form provided.
Kyle had developed a remarkably integrated relationship with his werewomanhood. Where his transformation schedule had fluctuated based on circumstances and exploration in earlier years, he had now settled into a pattern that felt natural and sustainable—transforming into Kirsty every single night by choice, having found that he was actually more comfortable in female form.
This preference didn't diminish his male identity. Kyle remained fully himself during daylight hours, confident and comfortable in his masculine expression. But the freedom to become Kirsty each night, to experience life through her form, had become an essential aspect of his wellbeing rather than merely an accommodation of biological necessity.
In his professional life, Kyle had established himself as a respected werewoman rights attorney, using both his legal training and personal experience to advocate effectively for the community. His technical background proved particularly valuable in cases involving digital discrimination and privacy concerns affecting werewomen.
As Kirsty, he had developed a parallel career as what some termed a "werewoman influencer"—creating content, speaking at events, and yes, occasionally working through a premium escort service that connected werewomen with compatible feeding partners. This latter role, far from conflicting with his legal work, provided valuable insights into the experiences of werewomen who relied on such services for safe, dignified feeding opportunities.
The journey from his first transformation to his current integrated life had not been without challenges. The registration process, mandatory for all known werewomen, had been particularly difficult—a humiliating experience at the hands of a registration official who seemed to take pleasure in emphasizing his "demotion" from full male status to the legally ambiguous position of registered werewoman.
"You understand that legally you're now classified as female regardless of your current form?" the official—a young natal woman with a barely concealed smirk—had informed him shortly after his first transformation. "All your identification will be updated to reflect your... condition. You'll need to mark 'female' on all legal documents moving forward."
She had seemed disappointed when this information didn't distress him as it might have others. "That's fine," he had replied calmly. "I'm comfortable with that classification."
The official had pressed further, perhaps hoping to provoke a reaction. "You'll also be subject to the Werewoman Employment Restrictions. Many professional fields have limitations or outright bans on werewoman participation. Law enforcement, certain government positions, primary education... the list is quite extensive."
What she hadn't known was that Kyle had thoroughly researched these restrictions before his transformation and had already adjusted his career plans accordingly. "I'm aware of the restrictions," he had replied. "I've planned my professional path with them in mind."
Frustrated by his composure, she had made one final attempt. "Of course, you always have the option of registered sex work. It's one of the few industries actively recruiting werewomen. We can provide information about licensed establishments if you're interested."
The implied degradation in her tone—the suggestion that his only value now was as a sexual object—had been clear. But even then, newly transformed and still adjusting, Kyle had recognized the tactic for what it was and refused to be shamed.
"I'll keep that in mind," he had responded neutrally. "Many werewomen find fulfilling work in various fields, including specialized sex work. I appreciate you mentioning all the options available."
His calm response had finally silenced her, and the remainder of the registration process had proceeded with cold efficiency. That experience, rather than breaking his spirit as perhaps intended, had strengthened his resolve to advocate for better treatment of werewomen in all aspects of society.
Now, at twenty-two and nearly 4 years into his journey with werewomanhood, Kyle/Kirsty had developed a life that honored both aspects of his nature while working to improve conditions for all who shared his condition. His dual perspective—comfortable in masculinity during the day, embracing femininity each night—gave him unique insights that informed both his legal work and his community advocacy.
And the integration continued to deepen. Where once he had experienced Kyle and Kirsty as related but distinct expressions of self, the boundaries had softened over time. He was simply himself, a continuous identity flowing between forms, carrying insights and perspectives between them, growing richer through each transformation rather than divided by it.
The werewomanhood that many experienced as a curse had become, through acceptance and integration, one of his greatest gifts—a doorway to understanding human experience from dual perspectives that few would ever know.
The cool autumn breeze carried the scent of fallen leaves and woodsmoke as Kyle made his way up the path to his modest craftsman bungalow on the outskirts of Moonvale. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the porch, where pumpkins and mums created a seasonal welcome. He'd purchased the house two years earlier, specifically chosen for its private setting and renovated to accommodate his dual nature—blackout blinds in the bedroom, soundproofing in strategic areas, and a separate entrance that Kirsty could use when transformation happened away from home.
Inside, he moved through his evening routine with practiced efficiency, reviewing legal briefs for an upcoming discrimination case while preparing a light meal. The familiar warm tingling had begun beneath his skin, the subtle anticipation his body always felt approaching sunset, knowing that Kirsty would emerge when darkness fell. After seven years, the pre-transformation sensations were comfortable, welcome reminders of the evening to come rather than cause for anxiety.
As he ate, Kyle's phone chimed with a notification from the LunarLife app—a tool developed which was now the leading lifestyle management application for werewomen worldwide. The alert reminded him of an upcoming transformation livestream scheduled for tonight, part of his ongoing educational series for newly turned werewomen and those showing pre-transformation symptoms.
These streams had become something of a signature service for Kirsty—transformation tutorials that demystified the process, demonstrated its natural beauty, and provided practical guidance for managing the physical and psychological aspects of emerging werewomanhood. Unlike the fetishized transformation content that dominated many platforms, Kirsty's streams focused on education, acceptance, and practical support.
Kyle smiled, remembering how these streams had begun almost accidentally. Less than a years into his werewomanhood, he had posted a single transformation video to an educational forum, hoping to show newcomers that the process could be approached with calm acceptance rather than fear. The response had been overwhelming—hundreds of comments from werewomen-in-waiting and newly turned individuals expressing gratitude for seeing a transformation portrayed as natural and even beautiful rather than shameful or frightening.
That first video had led to requests for more educational content, which gradually evolved into his current roster of regular streams, tutorials, and Q&A sessions. What had begun as casual community support had grown into a significant platform—one that now supplemented his legal income and provided visibility for his advocacy work.
As sunset approached, Kyle moved to his transformation room—a space specifically designed for comfort during the process. Unlike his first transformation years ago, recorded with a simple camera on a tripod, his setup now included professional lighting that could be adjusted remotely, multiple camera angles, and sophisticated streaming equipment that allowed Kirsty to interact with viewers in real-time once the transformation completed.
He undressed efficiently, placing his clothes in the organized closet system that housed both his and Kirsty's wardrobes. The sensation of his skin against the air had already intensified, one of the first signs that transformation was imminent. With practiced movements, he positioned himself in the center of the room, sitting cross-legged on the soft mat designated for transformation.
Opening his laptop, he checked the stream settings one last time before going live. Tonight's session was titled "Embracing Your Feminine Self: Transformation as Journey Rather Than Destination," aimed primarily at werewomen-in-waiting showing strong symptoms and those recently turned.
Nearly two hundred people had already joined the waiting room, a typical audience for his mid-week streams.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Kyle turned on the stream, his face not visible to viewers yet—he maintained strict privacy around his male identity, even as Kirsty shared her feminine expression openly. The camera showed only his torso and limbs, positioned to capture the transformation without revealing identifying features of his male form.
"Good evening, everyone," he began, his voice steady despite the growing warmth beneath his skin. "For those joining for the first time, I'm about to transform into Kirsty, and I'll be guiding you through the process as it happens. Remember, every transformation is unique, but understanding the general progression can help make your own experience less intimidating."
He could feel moonrise approaching—not the full moon, which was still two weeks away, but the regular evening moon whose energy was now sufficient to trigger his voluntary transformation after years of experience. His body had become so attuned to the lunar cycle that transformation began without conscious effort each evening, a natural rhythm as regular as sleep.
"I'm beginning to feel the pre-transformation sensations now," he narrated for the audience. "The warmth under the skin, the heightened sensitivity. For those of you approaching your first transformation, these sensations might feel strange or even alarming, but they're completely natural—your body preparing for the changes to come."
The moment moonrise occurred, Kyle felt the familiar "kick"—the surge of pleasure that signaled transformation had begun. His back arched slightly, a soft gasp escaping his lips as the initial wave washed through him. After years of experience, this response was controlled but still authentic—the pleasure of transformation never diminished, though his ability to function through it had improved dramatically.
"The kick has initiated transformation," he explained, his voice already shifting subtly higher. "You'll notice my skin beginning to change first—becoming softer, hair receding. This initial phase typically lasts about fifteen minutes before more substantial changes begin."
As narrated, his skin was already transforming—taking on a softer texture and slightly different hue as body hair receded and pores minimized. His fingers tapered elegantly, nails extending and reshaping into feminine ovals. These preliminary changes were subtle but visible to the camera, which captured them in clear detail.
The chat section of the stream filled with questions and comments, many from first-timers watching in fascination:
"Does it hurt at all?" one viewer asked.
"Not in the slightest," Kyle replied, his voice now noticeably more feminine as his vocal cords began to reshape. "What you're seeing is pleasure, not pain. The transformation creates intense sensations that might look overwhelming, but they're entirely pleasurable."
His hair began lengthening visibly now, dark strands growing and falling around his shoulders, gradually extending to the middle of his back as the transformation progressed. The auburn highlights unique to his female form began to emerge, catching the light with warm copper gleams.
About twenty minutes into the transformation, the more dramatic changes initiated. Kyle's frame began to reshape—shoulders narrowing, waist defining, hips widening to create the classic feminine silhouette. His height reduced by several inches as his spine reshaped and compressed slightly, creating the subtle S-curve characteristic of female posture.
"You'll notice my body structure changing now," he narrated, voice increasingly feminine. "This is often the most visually dramatic part of transformation for observers, though from the inside, it feels like a flowing, natural progression rather than the radical restructuring it appears to be."
As these skeletal changes settled, the focus shifted to his chest, where the most visible symbol of femininity began to emerge. His nipples, which had been gradually darkening from light pink to dusky rose, now completed their transformation. The areolas widened to the size of silver dollars, developing the textured surface characteristic of female breasts.
"The breast development typically proceeds gradually," he explained, as small mounds began forming on his chest. "For most werewomen, this process takes about ten minutes from initial swelling to complete formation."
In Kyle's case, this development was particularly dramatic. The small initial swellings rapidly expanded, growing outward with each wave of transformative energy. Unlike many werewomen who developed C cups or perhaps small D cups, Kyle's chest blossomed into exceptionally full, perfectly shaped breasts that would measure a generous E cup when completed—larger than average even by werewoman standards.
The chat exploded with comments:
"OMG those are magnificent!"
"Are those natural for your transformation or enhanced somehow?"
"Please share your breast care routine!"
As the transformation entered its final phases, Kyle's—now almost completely Kirsty's—face began its final feminization, though this remained off-camera for privacy. Cheekbones became more pronounced, jaw and chin softened to delicate feminine contours, lips plumped to a natural fullness that needed no enhancement.
Following this, the final and most private transformation occurred—the reshaping of genitalia from male to female. While this process was not visually captured on the stream out of respect for viewers and platform guidelines, Kirsty narrated the sensations in educational terms, explaining the process for those who might soon experience it themselves.
"The genital transformation is typically the final major change," she explained, her voice now fully feminine—melodic and slightly husky. "You'll likely experience intense pleasure during this phase, often culminating in one or more orgasms as your new anatomy completes its formation."
True to this description, Kirsty's body shuddered with pleasure as her transformation completed, the final waves of ecstasy washing through her as her female form settled into its completed state.
The entire process, from initial kick to completion, had taken approximately thirty minutes—faster than a first transformation but still thorough and complete.
After a brief recovery period, during which the chat filled with questions, congratulations, and expressions of wonder, Kirsty moved the camera to focus on her face for the first time in the stream. She appeared fully transformed now—a strikingly beautiful woman with flowing dark hair touched with auburn highlights, emerald green eyes framed by naturally long lashes, and a face that combined delicate features with an intelligent, warm expression.
"And here we are," she said with a smile, adjusting the silky robe she had slipped on during the brief break. "Transformation complete. For those experiencing this for the first time, remember that the intensity of sensations is normal, the pleasure is natural, and the process, while overwhelming, is something your body inherently knows how to do."
The remainder of the stream shifted to a Q&A format, with Kirsty addressing questions about everything from managing clothes during transformation to handling the hunger after feeding. Her approach was straightforward but compassionate, acknowledging the challenges while emphasizing the potential for integration and acceptance.
"The key," she explained to a viewer struggling with reconciling their male identity with emerging feminine desires, "is recognizing that both expressions are authentic aspects of yourself. It's not about being two different people, but about allowing different facets of your continuous identity to express through different forms."
After nearly two hours of discussion, Kirsty concluded the stream with her signature phrase: "Give in, girl out, get down—embrace your feminine nature, express it authentically, and enjoy the unique experiences it brings."
As she ended the broadcast, Kirsty felt the pleasant, familiar stirring of hunger beginning in her core. After seven years, she had developed a finely tuned awareness of this aspect of her female form—not just recognizing when it began but understanding its nuances and rhythms.
Part 1: The Green Mountain Girl
In the soft glow of her carefully arranged studio lighting, Kirsty Green adjusted her webcam one final time. The clock on her computer showed 7:42 PM, just eighteen minutes until moonrise. Perfect timing. The familiar anticipation tingled through her body—not quite the transformation itself yet, but the delicious prelude her body had learned to recognize over the past six years.
"Sound check," she murmured, her voice still carrying the deeper resonance of Kyle, her daytime self. She smiled at the irony—her viewers tuned in precisely to watch that voice change, along with everything else. The chat was already filling with greetings, the usernames scrolling by in a blur of anticipation.
GreenMountainGirl has entered the chat
Kyle settled back in his chair, running a hand through his short-cropped red hair. At twenty-four, his features had a delicate quality even in male form—high cheekbones, a slightly upturned nose, and full lips that many women would envy. His slender frame carried little muscle, despite standing at a respectable six feet even. Years of accepting his dual nature had left him comfortable with the feminine mannerisms that occasionally slipped through even before moonrise—the slight sway when he walked, the expressive gestures when he spoke.
"Hello, my beautiful eggs," he purred into the microphone, watching the view count climb steadily. "Ready for another night in the moonlight?"
The chat erupted:
MoonCurious23: First time watching live!
VermontVisitor: Those Green Mountains gonna rise tonight!
DenierInDetroit: Just here for research purposes...
AlphaHunter89: Show us those tits baby
Kyle chuckled, zeroing in on the username that had caught his eye.
"Well, well, DenierInDetroit... 'research purposes,' hmm? Keep telling yourself that, sweetie. Your browser history says otherwise, doesn't it?" He leaned closer to the camera, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with the other two hundred people watching tonight."
The chat exploded with laughing emojis and teasing comments. This was the game—the delicious dance of temptation, denial, and inevitable surrender that Kyle had perfected over years of broadcasts.
"For our first-timers tonight—hello MoonCurious23, welcome to the show—I'm Kyle, but not for long." He gestured to a digital countdown timer visible in the corner of the screen. "In about fifteen minutes, when that gorgeous full moon rises over Vermont, I'll be Kirsty. And some of you eggs watching might be one step closer to cracking yourselves."
His eyes scanned the comments, watching for the telltale signs of discomfort, the protestations that inevitably revealed which viewers carried the dormant gene.
DenierInDetroit: That's BS. Watching doesn't affect anything.
LegalEagle44: Still catching up on work, but couldn't miss tonight's show
MoonCurious23: Is it true that jerking off to werewoman content speeds up the change?
"Ah, excellent question, MoonCurious," Kyle said, slipping off his robe to reveal a simple white tank top and loose sweatpants. His slim chest and slender arms showed no sign of the transformation to come, but the excitement in his eyes was unmistakable. "The best research suggests that yes, masturbating to transformation content absolutely accelerates egg-cracking for those with the gene. Something about combining arousal with feminine visualization strengthens those neural pathways."
He paused, a mischievous smile playing at his lips. "But that won't stop you, will it? Even knowing that every time you stroke that sad little boy-cock of yours while watching me change, you're bringing your own first moon-night that much closer?" He laughed softly. "That's the beautiful tragedy of it—once the egg starts to warm, the cracking is inevitable."
The chat filled with nervous denials and excited encouragements. Kyle glanced at the timer—ten minutes to moonrise.
"Tonight's show is sponsored by LunaLace—for the werewoman who deserves beautiful things in both forms." He held up a delicate package. "They've sent me this gorgeous matching set that I'll be trying on post-transformation. LunaLace—because the moon brings out the woman in you, but only you can bring out the goddess."
He set the package aside and stretched, catlike and graceful despite his male form.
"So, let's check in with my favorite eggs tonight. Who's been having those dreams lately? You know the ones—where you wake up feeling phantom breasts or a strangely empty space between your legs?" He winked at the camera. "Don't be shy. Sharing is caring."
The responses came in a flood:
MoonCurious23: Had one last night. Woke up humping my pillow...
DenierInDetroit: Never had those dreams. NEVER.
SilentWatcher: ......
VermontVisitor: Dreamed I was giving head to my best friend. Couldn't look him in the eye today.
Kyle's expression softened momentarily. Despite his teasing demeanor, he remembered his own pre-transformation days—the confusion, the fear, the exhilarating anticipation. But his sympathy quickly transformed back into his characteristic playfulness.
"DenierInDetroit, honey, the lady doth protest too much," he said with a wink. "Those ALL CAPS just scream 'I'm terrified of how much I want this.' But don't worry—the first change is the scariest. After that? Pure moonlit bliss."
He glanced at the timer again—five minutes to moonrise. Right on schedule, Kyle felt the first whispers of warmth spreading through his core. Not the transformation itself yet, but his body preparing for the inevitable change that would commence the moment the moon crested the horizon.
"Almost time, eggs." His voice had taken on a dreamy quality, his movements becoming more fluid as his body anticipated the coming change. "I can feel it starting—that delicious warmth. For those of you carrying our special little gene, you'll know this feeling someday soon. The moment when fighting it becomes pointless, when surrender becomes the only option."
He stood, moving to the center of his carefully lit space. The backdrop behind him was simple—a tasteful room with neutral colors that would showcase his transformation without distraction. The camera was positioned to capture him from head to toe.
"Moonrise in two minutes," he announced, slipping off his tank top to reveal his slender, smooth chest. His small male nipples were already showing the first signs of sensitivity, pebbling slightly in anticipation. "For those new to the show, I don't hide anything here. You'll see everything change, from the first ripple of skin to the last tuck and fold between my legs."
The chat had slowed, viewers too transfixed by the impending transformation to type. Kyle's fingers hooked into the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling them down to reveal simple black boxer briefs. The small bulge at the front made him smile ruefully.
"My girl-cursed cock," he said with a laugh, patting the modest five-inch outline. "Never did grow past this size. My body always knew it was just temporary equipment."
The timer beeped softly—one minute to moonrise.
"For those watching who carry the gene," Kyle said, his voice losing some of its teasing edge, becoming almost reverent, "know that fighting only makes it harder. Six years ago, I welcomed my first change like an old friend. No fear, no resistance. And that surrender made all the difference."
The timer ticked down, and Kyle closed his eyes, arms slightly outstretched, waiting for the moment. The chat held its collective breath.
Kyle's eyes flew open, a gasp escaping his lips as the first wave hit—the unmistakable "kick" that signaled moonrise and the beginning of transformation.
"There she is," he breathed, his voice catching as pleasure cascaded through his system. "Oh god, she's rising!"
The change began subtly at first—always did, even after hundreds of transformations. Kyle's pale skin seemed to soften before the viewers' eyes, taking on a luminous quality as pores shrank and texture changed. The short red hair on his head began to lengthen, strands visibly extending as if being gently pulled from his scalp.
"First changes," Kyle narrated, his voice already shifting slightly higher as his vocal cords began their adjustment. "Skin softening, hair growing. Can you see it?"
The fine hair on his arms and legs was receding, sinking back into the follicles and leaving smooth, creamy skin in its wake. His face was beginning to shift as well—features softening, brow line becoming less pronounced, cheekbones seeming to lift and become more defined.
"Oh!" Kyle gasped as the sensation intensified, a visible shudder running through his frame. "The kick is strong tonight. Full moon energy hitting hard."
His hands moved to his chest, cupping the still-flat pectoral area where the most dramatic changes would soon manifest. The nipples had darkened noticeably now, the previously small male nubs taking on a dusky rose color as the areolas began to widen.
"Watch closely, eggs," he said, voice caught between registers as the transformation progressed. "This is what you have to look forward to. This beautiful surrender."
The changes accelerated, becoming more visible with each passing second. Kyle's shoulders narrowed, collarbones rearranging to create a more delicate frame. His waist began to indent, creating the beginning of an hourglass figure. The transformation's pleasure was evident in his—increasingly her—expression, eyes half-lidded and lips parted.
"Seven minutes in," Kyle noted, voice now distinctly androgynous. "Right on schedule."
The chat had exploded again:
AlphaHunter89: Fuck that's hot
MoonCurious23: OMG it's really happening
DenierInDetroit: How do we know this isn't just camera tricks?
VermontVisitor: The mountains are coming! The mountains are coming!
Kyle laughed, the sound already more feminine than masculine. "Camera tricks, DenierInDetroit? Honey, the only trick here is how you're tricking yourself into thinking you don't want this."
The focus returned to the transformation as Kyle's chest began to show the first signs of development. The darkened, widened nipples now had distinct buds forming beneath them, small mounds of tissue pushing outward.
"Here they come," Kyle said with visible delight, hands hovering near but not touching the developing breast tissue. "The famous Green Mountains are about to rise, eggs. Take notes."
The breast development continued steadily, the buds expanding into small A-cups, then filling out further. The changes weren't happening in isolation—Kyle's hips were widening simultaneously, pelvis tilting and reshaping. His already slim waist narrowed further, creating more pronounced curves.
"Half way there," the transforming figure announced, voice now unmistakably feminine though not yet fully settled into Kirsty's mature tone. "How are those girl-dreams looking now, DenierInDetroit? Still claiming you never have them?"
The breasts continued their steady growth, reaching full B-cups and still developing. They formed perfect teardrops, high and firm on the chest, with the dusky rose nipples pointing slightly upward.
The developing Kirsty cupped them gently, a soft moan escaping her lips at the sensitivity.
"So much better than flat boy-chest," she sighed, running her thumbs over the still-hardened nipples. "So much more... feeling."
The transformation continued its march through her body. Her face had fully feminized now—fuller lips, softer jaw, larger eyes framed by longer lashes. The red hair cascaded well past her shoulders, the color deepening to a rich auburn. Her arms and legs had lost all masculine definition, taking on the smooth, soft contours of feminine limbs.
Kirsty's attention turned to the boxer briefs still covering her lower half. With a teasing smile, she hooked her fingers into the waistband. "Shall we check on the progress down below?"
The chat erupted with encouragement. Slowly, tantalizingly, she pulled the fabric down to reveal the changes happening at her groin. The once-modest male equipment was visibly retreating, the shaft shortening and narrowing as the transformation progressed.
"Look at that, eggs," Kirsty said, voice taking on the husky quality of arousal. "Saying goodbye to the outie, making room for my beautiful innie. Any of you feeling phantom sensations down there while you watch? That's your body telling you what it wants."
The genital transformation continued visibly on camera. The retreating phallus was reconfiguring, the head folding in on itself to form a developing clitoris while the shaft tissue redistributed to create the vaginal structure. The scrotal sac was flattening and splitting, forming the outer labia.
"Almost there," Kirsty gasped, the sensations clearly intense. "Oh god, this part always feels so—"
Her words cut off as a powerful wave of pleasure visibly swept through her. The genitals completed their transformation with a final shift of tissue, leaving a perfectly formed female vulva in place of the male organs that had been there minutes earlier.
"There she is," Kirsty breathed, gently running a finger along the new feminine opening. "All smooth and flat and perfect."
But the transformation wasn't quite complete. As the genital changes finalized, her breasts underwent their final growth spurt, swelling from C-cups to their final, impressive E-cup size. The "Green Mountains" had fully risen, perfectly proportioned to her frame despite their generous size.
"And that's it, eggs," Kirsty said, now fully transformed. She stood, turning slowly to show her completed form from all angles. The feminine curves were undeniable—narrow shoulders, full breasts, tiny waist, flared hips, and rounded buttocks. "Twenty-two minutes from man to woman. Kyle to Kirsty. One being, two expressions."
She reached for a silky robe, sliding it over her shoulders but leaving it open to display her transformed body.
"So, what do you think?" she asked, settling back into her chair and crossing her legs in a distinctly feminine manner. Her voice had completely changed now—mellifluous, with a slight huskiness that carried an innate sensuality. "Worth the price of admission?"
The chat had gone wild:
AlphaHunter89: Fucking perfect tits
MoonCurious23: Will mine look like that when I change?
VermontVisitor: The mountains are magnificent tonight!
DenierInDetroit: ...
SilentWatcher: How did your first change feel?
Kirsty smiled, noticing DenierInDetroit's uncharacteristic silence. "Cat got your tongue, Denier? Or are you too busy with your hands right now?" She laughed softly. "It's okay. Resistance is part of the journey for some eggs. You'll get there."
She leaned forward, intentionally giving the camera a better view of her cleavage. "MoonCurious, your breast size will depend on genetics. Have any busty women in your family? That's usually a good indicator. But the curse tends to be generous—most werewomen end up with at least C-cups. The Green Mountains are exceptional, I'll admit." She cupped her breasts proudly. "Vermont's finest natural attractions."
Her eyes softened as she noticed SilentWatcher's question. "My first change? It was beautiful. I was ready for it—had known since I was sixteen that I carried the gene. When the first full moon after my eighteenth birthday rose, I was standing naked in front of a mirror, arms outstretched, welcoming her."
She paused, remembering. "It felt like coming home to a place I'd always known existed but had never been able to visit. Each change was a revelation—my skin alive with sensation, my body reshaping into what it was always meant to be part of the time. The pleasure was... transcendent."
Her expression shifted back to playful as she refocused on the chat. "But enough about my first time. Let's talk about yours, eggs. Who's feeling close? Any tingling sensations when you watch transformation videos? Finding yourself lingering in the women's department at stores? Having dreams where you have a pussy instead of that sad little outie?"
The responses flooded in:
MoonCurious23: Been dreaming about it for weeks. Woke up humping my pillow last night.
SilentWatcher: Sometimes I catch myself walking differently...
NewEgg78: Just tested positive last week. Terrified but can't stop watching.
DenierInDetroit: I just watch these for scientific purposes.
Kirsty laughed, a melodious sound. "Scientific purposes! That's adorable, Denier. Is that what you call it when you're stroking yourself while imagining those little nipples of yours darkening and growing into beautiful, sensitive girl-nips? When you fantasize about what it would feel like to have your boy-bits tuck themselves into a pretty little pussy?"
She leaned back, running a hand through her long auburn hair. "You know, the more you watch, the closer you get. Every time you jerk that soon-to-be-gone cock to werewoman content, you're pushing your girl genes into overdrive. That's not 'scientific purpose'—that's your egg warming up on the inside, getting ready to crack."
Her attention shifted. "NewEgg78, welcome to the community! No need to be terrified. The first change is just the beginning of something beautiful. Yes, there will be adjustments—jobs, relationships, legalities—but there's nothing quite like the freedom of embracing both sides of yourself."
She glanced at the clock. "We've got plenty of time before I need to get ready for the second half of tonight's show. So, eggs, what would you like to know about your future lives as moonlit beauties? Ask away."
MoonCurious23: Does it hurt? The transformation?
NewEgg78: How did you handle telling your family?
VermontVisitor: Can you show us the mountains up close?
SilentWatcher: How soon after your first signs did the change happen?
"Excellent questions," Kirsty said, adjusting her position to get comfortable. "MoonCurious, the transformation doesn't hurt at all—quite the opposite. It's intensely pleasurable, especially the first time. Imagine the best orgasm you've ever had, multiply it by ten, and stretch it out over twenty minutes. That's close, though still an understatement."
She touched her collarbone thoughtfully. "NewEgg78, I was fortunate with family. Growing up in Vermont in a werewoman-friendly community meant my parents knew it was a possibility. When I tested positive at sixteen, we prepared together. Not everyone is so lucky, I know. The most important thing is safety first—make sure you have a secure place to transform and support systems in place before disclosure, if possible."
Her eyes twinkled as she read VermontVisitor's request. "The mountains up close? Well, since you asked so nicely..." She leaned toward the camera, adjusting her robe to reveal her full breasts in detail. The pale skin was flawless, dusky rose areolas perfectly circular, nipples still slightly erect from the transformation. "Vermont's finest," she said with a wink. "And yes, they're 100% natural—the moon gives the best breast augmentation."
Returning to her regular position, she addressed the final question. "SilentWatcher, timing varies. For some, it's years between the first signs and transformation. For others, just weeks. The more you indulge in feminine things—watching content like this, trying on women's clothes, immersing yourself in feminine energy—the faster it typically progresses."
She tilted her head, studying the username. "You've been quiet but attentive. How long have you been experiencing signs, Silent?"
SilentWatcher: About six months. Started with dreams, now I can't stop thinking about it.
Kirsty's expression softened. "Six months of active signs? You're getting close, honey. I'd guess you've got less than three months before your first moon-night. Are you prepared? Do you have a safe place to transform? Someone who knows?"
SilentWatcher: No one knows. I'm terrified.
"Oh, sweetie," Kirsty said, genuine concern replacing her teasing tone. "Listen, transformation isn't something you want to face alone the first time. There are resources—support groups in most cities, transformation buddies who can be with you. At minimum, you need somewhere private and secure."
She leaned forward earnestly. "After the show, send me a private message with your general location. No details you're not comfortable sharing. I can connect you with local support. The werewoman community takes care of its eggs."
Shifting back to her more playful demeanor, she addressed the broader audience. "That goes for all of you soon-to-crack eggs. Much as I love teasing you about your inevitable girl-futures, I want those futures to start safely. Preparation matters."
The chat continued scrolling with questions and comments:
DenierInDetroit: This is all just fantasy. No one actually changes like this.
MoonCurious23: What's feeding like the first time?
AlphaHunter89: Would love to feed you baby
NewEgg78: Will I lose my job?
Kirsty's eyebrows rose at DenierInDetroit's comment. "Fantasy? Really? After watching my complete transformation? Denier, honey, I understand the fear. I do. But denial won't stop the moon when your time comes. Wouldn't you rather face it prepared than be caught by surprise?"
She smoothly transitioned to the next question. "Feeding the first time... now that's an interesting experience, MoonCurious. The hunger usually hits within hours of your first transformation. It's not painful, more like... an emptiness that needs filling. Specifically, with male energy."
Her lips curved into a sensual smile. "The first taste of cum in your transformed state is... revelatory.
It's like your body has been waiting for exactly that sustenance. The pleasure is unlike anything you can imagine—your entire female form lights up with it."
She shot a bemused look at AlphaHunter89's comment. "Thank you for the offer, Alpha, but I have regular feeding partners. Though I appreciate the enthusiasm."
Her expression grew more serious as she addressed NewEgg78's concern. "Employment discrimination is still a reality for us, unfortunately. Laws vary by region. Vermont has strong protections, which is one reason I've stayed. But job loss is a possibility depending on your location and field."
She leaned forward, her expression earnest. "This is why community is so important. We help each other find werewoman-friendly employers, housing, and support systems. The first year is the biggest adjustment—after that, most werewomen find their stride."
Glancing at the time, Kirsty stretched, the movement emphasizing her feminine curves. "We've got about twenty minutes before I need to prepare for our special segment. Any more burning questions, eggs?"
MoonCurious23: Will I still like women after?
NewEgg78: How do you handle registration requirements?
SilentWatcher: Do you ever regret it?
DenierInDetroit: If I stop watching these shows, can I prevent it?
"Sexuality after transformation—always a popular question," Kirsty said with a knowing smile.
"MoonCurious, it varies. Most werewomen maintain their original attraction to women when in male form. In female form, we typically develop attraction to men—partly biological due to feeding needs, partly the natural expression of feminine sexuality."
She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Some werewomen become exclusively attracted to men in both forms. Others maintain a fluid sexuality. There's no single pattern, but change of some kind is common."
Moving on, she addressed the next question. "Registration requirements are a necessary evil, NewEgg78. They vary by jurisdiction, but most require registration within 30 days of first transformation. Vermont's process is relatively respectful—basic documentation, photographs in both forms, and a simple health screening."
Her expression darkened slightly. "Some regions are more invasive. I recommend researching your local requirements before your first change and connecting with local werewomen who can guide you through the process. Sometimes having an advocate present makes a significant difference in how you're treated."
Kirsty's features softened at SilentWatcher's question. "Do I regret it? Not for a moment. Being dual-natured has given me perspectives and experiences I couldn't have imagined. Yes, there are challenges—discrimination, the legal complications, the monthly schedule adjustments—but the richness of experiencing life through both masculine and feminine lenses is... priceless."
She laughed softly. "Besides, the pleasure of transformation alone makes it worthwhile. Nothing in human experience compares to that monthly metamorphosis."
Finally, she turned to DenierInDetroit's question, her expression a mixture of amusement and compassion. "Oh, Denier. If you're asking that question, it's already too late. The fact that you're here, watching transformation content, suggests your werewoman gene is already active. You might delay it by avoiding triggers, but once the warming process begins, the egg cracks eventually."
She leaned toward the camera, her voice softening. "And between us? You don't really want to prevent it. That's why you keep coming back to my shows, keep watching despite knowing what it means. Some part of you is already yearning for moonlight."
Glancing at the time again, Kirsty stood, giving viewers a full display of her transformed body in the silky robe. "Time to prepare for our special segment. For those new to the show, the second half includes a feeding demonstration with one of my regular partners. Educational for eggs wondering what their future holds, entertaining for our alpha viewers."
She moved closer to the camera, her voice dropping to an intimate purr. "Take a ten-minute break, eggs. Get a drink, stretch your legs... take care of any pressing needs." Her smile turned mischievous.
"Though remember—every stroke brings you closer to your own moonlit debut."
With a wink, she ended the first segment, the screen displaying a countdown timer for the show's continuation.
Part 2: Feeding Time
Exactly ten minutes later, Kirsty returned to the frame. She had used the break to change into the LunaLace lingerie set—a delicate emerald green bra that showcased her impressive bust and matching lace panties that hugged her hips. Her auburn hair was styled in loose waves, and she had applied subtle makeup that enhanced her natural beauty.
"Welcome back, everyone," she said, settling gracefully into her plush chair. "I hope you enjoyed the little intermission. I see our viewer count has actually grown—word travels fast when the Green Mountains are on display, it seems."
The chat had indeed become more active:
MoonCurious23: That lingerie is amazing!
AlphaHunter89: When does the feeding start?
DenierInDetroit: Just here to prove this is all fake
SilentWatcher: Thanks for the support earlier
NewEgg78: How often do you need to feed?
Kirsty smiled, crossing her legs elegantly. "Thank you for the compliment, MoonCurious. LunaLace really understands werewoman proportions—standard lingerie rarely accommodates our unique measurements properly."
She glanced at the messages continuing to flow. "AlphaHunter, patience. Good things come to those who wait." Her expression softened momentarily as she noted SilentWatcher's thanks. "You're welcome, Silent. Remember to message me after."
Addressing NewEgg78's question, she continued, "Feeding frequency varies. New werewomen typically need to feed within 24 hours of transformation and every 2-3 days afterward. As you gain experience, you develop better hunger management. I usually feed about twice a week now, plus after each transformation."
Her attention returned to DenierInDetroit, a mischievous smile playing at her lips. "Still claiming this is fake, Denier? After watching my complete transformation? That's some impressive commitment to denial. But then again, that's how most eggs start—fighting the inevitable until the moon forces surrender."
A notification sound played, and Kirsty's smile widened. "Ah, perfect timing. My feeding partner has arrived."
She stood and moved out of frame briefly. Voices could be heard off-camera—a deep male rumble and Kirsty's melodious response. Moments later, she returned with a tall, well-built man in his early thirties. He was classically handsome with dark hair, a strong jaw, and the confident bearing of an alpha male.
"Everyone, this is James," Kirsty said, one hand resting lightly on his chest. "He's one of my regular feeding partners and has graciously agreed to demonstrate for our educational segment tonight."
James nodded toward the camera, seemingly comfortable with the arrangement. "Evening, everyone."
"James and I have been feeding partners for about two years," Kirsty explained, guiding him to sit on the edge of the bed visible in the frame. "He's what we call a 'werewoman ally'—a man who understands our needs and provides ethical feeding support."
She turned toward him, her body language shifting subtly to something more seductive. "For our eggs watching, I want to demonstrate how feeding typically progresses, from initial hunger recognition through satisfaction."
James smiled, reaching out to tuck a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "Happy to help with the demonstration."
Kirsty turned back to the camera. "I'll narrate as we go, eggs. Pay attention—this will be your reality sooner than you think." She winked at the camera, clearly directing this at her egg viewers.
The chat was scrolling rapidly:
AlphaHunter89: Lucky bastard
MoonCurious23: Is this going to be explicit?
DenierInDetroit: This is disgusting
SilentWatcher: watching intently
NewEgg78: Will it hurt the first time?
Kirsty laughed softly at the messages. "Yes, MoonCurious, this demonstration will be explicit—that's the point. We're all adults here, and this is educational content for future werewomen." Her eyes flicked to DenierInDetroit's comment. "If it's so disgusting, Denier, why are you still watching?
Something keeping you here despite your protests?"
She settled herself beside James on the bed, their bodies close but not quite touching. "NewEgg78, your first feeding won't hurt at all. Female anatomy is designed for this, and werewomen have some advantages over natal women—natural lubrication, no risk of STIs or pregnancy, and enhanced pleasure responses to male energy."
Turning her attention fully to James, she began the demonstration. "Hunger typically begins with warmth," she explained, maintaining her educational tone while placing a hand on James's thigh. "A pleasant heat in your core that gradually spreads outward. You'll notice increased sensitivity, especially in your breasts and between your legs."
As if on cue, James's hand moved to her waist, pulling her slightly closer. Kirsty's breath caught audibly, her body responding to his touch. "Your body becomes more receptive—more aware of male presence and energy. Scent becomes incredibly important."
She leaned closer to James, inhaling near his neck. "You'll develop the ability to smell compatibility—which men will provide the most satisfying feeding. It's instinctual, not something you have to learn."
James's hand had moved to her hair now, gently guiding her face toward his. Their lips met in a kiss that quickly deepened, Kirsty making a soft sound of pleasure against his mouth. After a moment, she pulled back slightly, remembering her narrative role.
"Kissing intensifies hunger," she explained, her voice now huskier. "You'll feel an increased need for closeness, for skin contact."
James had begun to unbutton his shirt, revealing a well-defined chest and abdomen. Kirsty's hands moved to help him, pushing the fabric from his shoulders. Her fingertips traced the contours of his muscles with visible appreciation.
"Touch becomes a dialogue," she continued, though her educational tone was increasingly colored by arousal. "Your female form naturally knows how to move, how to touch, how to elicit the responses you need from your feeding partner. Even if you've never been with a man before, your body will guide you."
James pulled her closer, one hand moving to cup her breast through the emerald lace. Kirsty arched into the touch, her narration momentarily forgotten as pleasure visibly coursed through her. Recovering, she continued, "Your nipples become incredibly sensitive during hunger—touch there creates direct connection to your core."
The demonstration progressed naturally, clothes gradually being removed. Kirsty maintained her narration, though with increasing breathiness as arousal built. She explained the progression of hunger, how the need for male energy intensifies, and the various ways werewomen can satisfy that hunger.
"The most direct and complete satisfaction comes from oral feeding," she explained, demonstrating with James. "When he climaxes, you'll feel the energy transfer immediately—a rush of warmth and strength flowing through your entire system."
The feeding demonstration concluded with James's release and Kirsty's visible satisfaction—her skin seeming to glow slightly in the aftermath, her movements more fluid and energized.
After a brief cleanup and adjusting of clothing, Kirsty returned to her educational mode, though with the relaxed demeanor of someone whose hunger had been thoroughly satisfied.
"And that, eggs, is basic feeding," she said, now wearing a silky robe once again. James had departed with a kiss to her cheek and a wave to the camera. "Questions?"
The chat had exploded:
AlphaHunter89: Hottest thing I've ever seen
MoonCurious23: Will I really know what to do automatically?
DenierInDetroit: ...
SilentWatcher: Is it always that intense?
NewEgg78: What if you can't find feeding partners?
Kirsty smiled, looking thoroughly refreshed. "Yes, MoonCurious, you really will know instinctively what to do. The transformation rewires more than just your body—it connects you to instinctual knowledge that makes feeding natural and intuitive."
She noticed DenierInDetroit's uncharacteristic silence. "No comments, Denier? Speechless? Or are your hands too busy right now?" She laughed softly. "It's okay. Many eggs find feeding demonstrations particularly... stimulating. One step closer to cracking."
Addressing SilentWatcher's question, she continued, "The intensity varies. First feedings are usually the most intense—your body is experiencing everything for the first time. With experience, you learn to modulate the experience, to extend or intensify it according to your needs and preferences."
She shifted to address NewEgg78's concern. "Finding feeding partners is rarely as difficult as new werewomen fear. There are apps specifically for connecting werewomen with potential feeding partners. Many cities have werewoman-friendly establishments where ethical feeding connections can be made. And some werewomen develop regular arrangements with men they know and trust."
Her expression became more serious. "The most important thing is safety and consent. Never feed from someone who doesn't fully understand what's happening, and never put yourself in dangerous situations out of desperation. The hunger is compelling, but it doesn't override your ability to make safe choices."
Glancing at the time, Kirsty stretched languidly. "We're coming to the end of tonight's show, eggs. Any final questions before we wrap up?"
MoonCurious23: When will you know for sure that you're going to transform?
SilentWatcher: What should you have ready for your first transformation?
NewEgg78: Does it get easier to live as a werewoman over time?
DenierInDetroit: How do you deal with the discrimination?
"Excellent final questions," Kirsty said, settling more comfortably in her chair. "MoonCurious, there are several unmistakable signs when transformation is imminent—typically within days. Persistent arousal that doesn't resolve with release. Temperature fluctuations. Intense dreams of transformation. A tingling sensation in areas that will change most dramatically—chest, face, genitals. When these signs appear consistently, prepare for the next full moon."
She turned to SilentWatcher's practical question. "For your first transformation, have these essentials ready: comfortable clothes that will fit your female form, basic toiletries, a safe and private location, preferably with a mirror so you can witness the change, and ideally, someone who knows what's happening and can support you afterward. The first transformation can be emotionally overwhelming even when welcomed."
Addressing NewEgg78, she nodded thoughtfully. "It absolutely gets easier with time. The first year is the biggest adjustment—learning to navigate two forms, handling registration, adapting to potential changes in work and relationships. By year two, most werewomen have established new patterns and support systems. By year five, like me, it's simply your normal life—extraordinary in some ways, but familiar."
Finally, she turned to DenierInDetroit's question, her expression softening slightly. "Discrimination is unfortunately still common. I handle it through community support, knowing my legal rights, and choosing environments where I can thrive. Vermont is more werewoman-friendly than many places, which helps. But the most important factor is internal—developing pride in your dual nature rather than shame."
She leaned toward the camera, speaking directly to DenierInDetroit with unexpected gentleness. "When you stop seeing werewomanhood as something that happens to you and start recognizing it as part of who you are, the discrimination hurts less. It becomes their problem, not yours."
Drawing back, she addressed the full audience again. "And that brings us to the end of tonight's show, eggs and gentlemen. Same time tomorrow night for our second full moon transformation and feeding demonstration. Premium subscribers, don't forget about our special after-show in the private chat room."
She stood, the silky robe flowing around her curves. "Until tomorrow, eggs. Remember—every time you return to watch, every time you indulge those feminine fantasies, every time you stroke to transformation content, you're bringing your own moon-night a little closer." Her smile was both inviting and predatory. "Sweet dreams, future sisters."
With a final wink, she ended the broadcast, the screen fading to her channel logo—a stylized crescent moon cradling the silhouette of a woman's profile.
The next morning, Kyle stretched as sunlight filtered through his bedroom curtains. The return to male form had happened during sleep, as it always did—the transformation back less dramatic, less ecstatic, but equally inevitable with the rising sun.
Reaching for his phone, he scrolled through the notifications from last night's show. The viewer count had been impressive, even by his standards—nearly 300 at peak, with a particularly high percentage of egg viewers. His lips curved in a satisfied smile. Nights like that were why he'd started streaming in the first place—not just for the income, though that was substantial, but for the thrill of guiding eggs toward their destiny.
There was something uniquely satisfying about watching the denial crumble, seeing that moment when resistance gave way to longing. Kyle understood the fear, the uncertainty—had experienced it himself in the years before his first transformation. But he also knew the liberation waiting on the other side of surrender.
A private message notification caught his eye—SilentWatcher had reached out after the show as suggested. The message was brief but heartfelt:
I live in Chicago. No support system. First change probably coming soon. Terrified but can't stop watching your shows. Help?
Kyle's expression softened. Beneath the playful predator persona of his shows lay genuine concern for eggs facing their first change alone. He'd been fortunate in his own transformation—supported by family, community, and the werewoman-friendly environment of Vermont. Not everyone had those advantages.
He tapped out a response:
Chicago has a good werewoman community. Connecting you with Olivia, who runs a transformation support group there. She can help with safe locations, registration guidance, and potential transformation companions. You're not alone in this. Here's her contact info...
After sending the message, Kyle got up and moved to the kitchen to start his morning coffee. His apartment was designed to accommodate both his forms comfortably—kitchen counters at a height manageable for both Kyle and Kirsty, furniture selected for dual-form comfort, closets with separate sections for male and female clothing.
As the coffee brewed, he checked his professional email. Beyond the cam shows, Kyle maintained a successful career as a werewoman rights attorney, specializing in discrimination cases and registration advocacy. Today's schedule included a consultation with a newly-turned werewoman facing housing discrimination and a conference call with a coalition working on improved registration protocols.
The duality of his life—Kyle the attorney by day, Kirsty the cam performer by night—suited him perfectly. Each expression served different purposes, utilized different strengths, while remaining fundamentally the same person. The integration had come naturally to him, unlike many
werewomen who struggled to reconcile their dual nature.
His phone buzzed with a text from James:
Great show last night. Still on for dinner before tonight's transformation?
Kyle smiled, typing back:
Definitely. Meet at Giovanni's at 6? Moonrise is at 8:12.
Their arrangement was comfortable—friends when Kyle was in male form, feeding partners when Kirsty emerged. James was one of the rare men who genuinely appreciated both aspects of werewoman duality, neither fetishizing the transformation nor showing discomfort with the masculine reality behind the feminine appearance.
As Kyle sipped his coffee and prepared for his day of legal work, his thoughts drifted to tonight's upcoming transformation. The second night of the full moon cycle was always special—the change smoother, the feminine form at its most vibrant. Tonight's show would focus more on the psychological aspects of werewomanhood, addressing the questions about identity integration that many eggs struggled with.
DenierInDetroit's username floated through his mind, bringing a knowing smile to his lips. That egg was close to cracking—the vehemence of denial always most intense just before acceptance began. Kyle had seen the pattern countless times. Within three months, he suspected, Denier would be messaging him as a newly-turned werewoman, perhaps even thanking him for the preparation his shows had provided.
That was the purpose behind the teasing, the playful provocation—not cruelty, but preparation. Eggs who entered their first transformation with eyes open, understanding what was happening, invariably had easier adjustments than those caught by surprise.
With that thought in mind, Kyle opened his laptop and began drafting content for tonight's show, planning how best to guide his eggs one step closer to the moonlit lives awaiting them.
At 7:30 PM, Kyle settled into his broadcasting chair, adjusting the lighting and camera angle with practiced precision. The second night's show always attracted an even larger audience than the first—werewomen viewing patterns showed consistent growth in viewership throughout the three-night full moon cycle.
"Sound check," he murmured, testing the audio levels. Everything was perfect. The countdown timer on screen showed 42 minutes until moonrise—enough time for a thorough pre-transformation discussion with his viewers.
GreenMountainGirl has entered the chat
"Good evening, eggs and gentlemen," Kyle greeted, his voice still carrying the masculine resonance of his daytime form. Tonight he wore a simple silk robe over a tank top and loose shorts—easy to remove as transformation approached. "Welcome to night two of our full moon special."
The chat immediately filled with greetings and excitement:
MoonCurious23: Back for more education!
AlphaHunter89: Looking forward to those mountains rising again
SilentWatcher: Thanks for the Chicago contact. Meeting her tomorrow.
NewEgg78: Couldn't stay away
DenierInDetroit: Still just research
Kyle smiled, noting with satisfaction that all the regular eggs had returned—particularly DenierInDetroit, whose "research" excuse was growing thinner by the viewing.
"I'm glad to see all my favorite eggs back in the nest," he said, leaning toward the camera with a conspiratorial air. "Couldn't resist another night of egg-warming, could you? Those feminine urges just keep pulling you back."
He winked playfully before continuing, "Tonight's focus is on identity integration—one of the most challenging aspects of werewomanhood for many new werewomen. How do you reconcile being both male and female? Are you two different people, or one person with dual expression? We'll explore that after moonrise."
His eyes scanned the chat, noting SilentWatcher's message with approval. "I'm glad you're connecting with Olivia, Silent. She's excellent—helped dozens of eggs through their first change. You're in good hands."
Kyle settled back, crossing his legs in a posture that already hinted at the feminine grace to come. "Before we get too deep into discussion, I'm curious—what brought each of you back tonight?
Especially you, DenierInDetroit. What aspect of your 'research' requires a second night of observation?"
The responses varied in their honesty:
MoonCurious23: Can't stop thinking about what my change will be like
SilentWatcher: Need to know what to expect
NewEgg78: Your transformation answered questions I've had for years
DenierInDetroit: Just confirming it's all fake
Kyle laughed softly at DenierInDetroit's persistent denial. "Still claiming it's fake? After watching my complete transformation? Tell me, Denier, if it's fake, why does watching make your heart race? Why do you feel that warmth spreading through you when you see the changes happen? Why do you dream about it afterward?"
He leaned forward, his expression knowing. "The gene recognizes itself, Denier. The egg knows when it's warming, even when the mind denies it."
Shifting his attention, Kyle addressed the broader audience. "For those just joining us, tonight is the second of our three-night full moon special. Transformation will occur at moonrise—8:12 PM Vermont time, about 35 minutes from now. Following transformation, we'll have our educational segment on identity integration, and then our feeding demonstration with a special guest."
He paused, smiling mysteriously. "Tonight's feeding partner is actually a former viewer—an egg who cracked after watching my shows for months. He denied his nature too, much like our friend DenierInDetroit, until the moon made denial impossible. Now she embraces her dual nature and has agreed to share her experience with all of you."
The chat erupted with interest:
MoonCurious23: OMG one of us?
NewEgg78: That's amazing
SilentWatcher: When did she have her first change?
DenierInDetroit: Probably an actress
"Not an actress, Denier," Kyle said with a laugh. "A real werewoman who sat exactly where you are now—watching, questioning, denying, yet unable to look away. The transformation took her about six months after she started watching regularly. The time varies, but the outcome is inevitable for eggs."
He glanced at the other questions. "She had her first change about eight months ago, Silent. And yes, MoonCurious, she was once 'one of you'—an egg on the verge of cracking. Now she's a beautiful butterfly who's flown from her shell."
Kyle stretched, a subtle change coming over his demeanor as moonrise approached. His movements became slightly more fluid, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. These preliminary shifts weren't visible transformation yet—the moon hadn't risen—but rather the psychological preparation his body had learned to make after years of regular changes.
"I can feel it coming," he said, voice taking on a dreamy quality. "Not the transformation yet, but the anticipation. My body knows what's coming—the exquisite surrender, the perfect release."
His eyes focused on the chat again, particularly on DenierInDetroit's username. "Tell me, Denier—do you feel anything when you watch? Any stirring, any warmth, any longing? Be honest. This is a safe space for eggs to acknowledge what's happening to them."
After a moment's hesitation, the response appeared:
DenierInDetroit: Sometimes I feel warm. Doesn't mean anything.
Kyle's smile was gentle rather than mocking. "That warmth is your egg's first stirring, Denier. The beginning of acknowledgment. It doesn't have to be scary. Many of us fought it at first—the idea that we could be both man and woman seemed impossible. But there's freedom in surrender, beauty in embracing both aspects of yourself."
He checked the timer—twenty minutes to moonrise. Time to begin the pre-transformation discussion.
"As we approach moonrise, I want to talk about the signs of imminent transformation for those eggs getting close. The dreams intensify—not just fantasies of being female, but vivid, detailed experiences of transformation itself. Your body will feel different—subtle temperature fluctuations, increased sensitivity, moments of gender disconnection where your male form doesn't feel quite right."
Kyle's voice had taken on a hypnotic quality, his words painting a picture that many of his egg viewers would recognize from their own experiences.
"You'll find yourself drawn to feminine things—not just watching content like this, but noticing women's clothing, wondering how it would feel against your skin. Your walk might change subtly—more hip movement, smaller steps. Your gestures become more expressive."
He smiled knowingly. "And the porn you watch changes too. Suddenly werewoman transformation videos become irresistible. You tell yourself it's just curiosity, just a new kink, but deep down, you know. Your egg knows what it's warming toward."
The chat had slowed, viewers transfixed by Kyle's descriptions. Even DenierInDetroit remained silent.
"In the final days before your first change, the signs become unmistakable. Arousal that doesn't fully resolve regardless of release. Phantom sensations—breasts that aren't there yet, emptiness between your legs. Your male equipment might seem increasingly foreign, like borrowed tools rather than parts of yourself."
Kyle checked the timer again—ten minutes to moonrise. Time to prepare physically.
"I'm going to get ready for the change now," he announced, standing and moving to the center of the frame. "As always, I transform completely nude to avoid damaging clothing and to provide the clearest view of the process."
He untied his robe, letting it slip from his shoulders to reveal the tank top and shorts beneath. With deliberate movements, he removed these items as well, standing naked before the camera. His slender male form showed no sign yet of the feminine curves to come, but the anticipation was visible in his posture, in the slight flush spreading across his pale skin.
"Five minutes to moonrise," he said, voice soft with anticipation. "Any last questions for Kyle before Kirsty emerges?"
MoonCurious23: Does it get better every time?
SilentWatcher: Are you ever afraid it won't happen?
NewEgg78: Will my first change be as smooth as yours?
DenierInDetroit: Do you ever wish you could stop it?
"Excellent questions," Kyle said, moving into a comfortable standing position, arms slightly away from his sides to allow the camera clear view of his body. "MoonCurious, yes, it does get better with experience. The first change is intensely pleasurable but can be overwhelming. As you gain experience, you learn to ride the sensations more skillfully, to savor each aspect of the transformation."
He shifted slightly, a flutter of anticipation visibly running through him as moonrise approached. "SilentWatcher, in the early years, I occasionally worried the moon might forget me, that the change might not come. That fear fades with experience. Now I feel the approach too clearly to doubt it."
His eyes moved to NewEgg78's question. "Your first change will be uniquely yours. Some are smoother than others. Acceptance helps tremendously—the less you fight it, the more graceful the transition tends to be. My first was relatively smooth because I welcomed it fully."
Finally, he addressed DenierInDetroit's question, his expression softening. "Do I ever wish I could stop it? In the beginning, occasionally—not because I disliked being Kirsty, but because of the social complications. Now? Never. Both forms are essential parts of who I am. Losing either would be amputation, not liberation."
The timer beeped softly—one minute to moonrise. Kyle's breathing had deepened, his body visibly preparing for the imminent change.
"It's coming," he whispered, eyes half-closing. "She's rising with the moon."
The final seconds ticked down, and precisely at 8:12 PM, Kyle's eyes flew open, a gasp escaping his lips as the first wave of transformation energy coursed through his system. The "kick"—that initial surge of pleasure signaling moonrise and the beginning of change—was visible in the sudden arch of his back, the momentary loss of focus in his eyes.
"Oh!" The sound was halfway between Kyle's masculine voice and Kirsty's feminine one—a moment of vocal transition that captured the essence of the change beginning to cascade through his body. "There she is!"
The transformation began subtly, as always. Kyle's skin seemed to soften before viewers' eyes, taking on a luminous quality as pores visibly shrank and texture refined. The short red hair on his head began to lengthen, individual strands visibly extending outward and downward.
"Second night is always so smooth," Kyle narrated, voice already shifting higher as his vocal cords began their adjustment. "The moon remembers her path from yesterday."
The fine hair on his arms and legs was receding, sinking back into follicles and leaving smooth, creamy skin behind. His face had begun to shift—cheekbones becoming more prominent, jaw softening, lips filling out. The changes were happening slightly faster than the previous night, the body following the pattern it had established.
"Watch my chest closely, eggs," Kyle said, voice now distinctly androgynous. "The Green Mountains rise in stages."
As if on cue, changes became visible on his chest. The small male nipples darkened to a dusky rose color, the areolas visibly widening. The skin around them seemed to tighten slightly as the breast buds began to form beneath—small mounds of tissue pushing outward.
Throughout these changes, Kyle's expression reflected the pleasure of transformation—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, occasional soft sounds of enjoyment escaping as particularly intense sensations washed through him. This wasn't a performance for the camera but the genuine experience of transformation pleasure.
"Seven minutes in," he noted, voice now more feminine than masculine. "Right on schedule."
The transformation continued its methodical progression. Kyle's shoulders narrowed, collarbones shifting to create a more delicate frame. His waist began to indent, creating the beginning of an hourglass figure. His hips widened noticeably, pelvis tilting to create the feminine posture characteristic of Kirsty's form.
The breast development continued steadily, the small mounds expanding to A-cups, then filling out further. The nipples remained erect, clearly sensitive as occasional shudders of pleasure ran through the transforming figure when particularly intense sensations centered there.
"The mountains are rising, eggs," the increasingly feminine voice narrated. "Remember, you'll all have your own perfect sizes when your time comes—genetics will determine whether you're rolling hills or majestic peaks."
The genitals had begun their transformation as well, though more gradually than the previous night. The testicles were visibly retracting, drawing up toward the body where they would eventually transform into internal ovaries. The penis had begun to shorten and narrow, the first steps of its reconfiguration into female anatomy.
"Halfway there," announced the voice, now unmistakably feminine. Red hair cascaded well past the shoulders, framing a face that was now completely feminine—Kirsty's face, with full lips, delicate features, and expressive eyes framed by long lashes.
The breasts continued their development, reaching full B-cups and still growing. They formed perfect teardrops, high and firm on the chest, with the dusky rose nipples still erect from the sensations of change. The transforming figure ran gentle hands over them, a soft moan escaping at the sensitivity.
"So much better than flat boy-chest," Kirsty sighed, cupping the still-developing breasts. "So much more alive with sensation."
The genital transformation had accelerated, the penis now significantly retracted and beginning its final reconfiguration. The shaft tissue was redistributing to form the vaginal structure, while the glans was folding inward to become the clitoris. The scrotal sac had flattened and was splitting to form the outer labia.
"Almost there," Kirsty breathed, the sensations clearly intense. "Watch closely, eggs—this will be you someday, feeling this exquisite surrender."
A visible wave of pleasure swept through her as the genitals completed their transformation with a final shift of tissue, leaving a perfectly formed female vulva where male organs had been minutes earlier. Simultaneously, her breasts underwent their final growth spurt, swelling from C-cups to their final, impressive E-cup size.
"The Green Mountains have risen," Kirsty declared, running her hands appreciatively over the generous curves. "Vermont's finest natural attraction."
She turned slowly, giving viewers a complete view of her transformed body—the narrow shoulders, full breasts, tiny waist, flared hips, and rounded buttocks creating a classic hourglass figure. Her long auburn hair fell in waves to the middle of her back, catching the light with subtle highlights.
"Twenty minutes flat," she noted, checking the time. "Faster than yesterday. The second night is always more efficient—the body remembers the path."
Reaching for a silky emerald robe that matched her eyes, she slipped it on but left it open, displaying her transformed body as she settled back into her chair. Crossing her legs elegantly, she focused on the chat, which had exploded with comments during the transformation.
AlphaHunter89: Those tits are perfection
MoonCurious23: Will it feel that good for me?
SilentWatcher: The expression on your face during the change...
NewEgg78: Your hips got so wide!
DenierInDetroit: How do we know this isn't just special effects?
Kirsty laughed, the sound melodious and feminine. "Special effects, Denier? Still clinging to that? Honey, no special effects technology can create what you just witnessed—the subtle skin changes, the hair growth, the real-time reshaping of bone and tissue. Not to mention the genuine pleasure you saw on my face."
She ran a hand through her long auburn hair, continuing, "But I understand. Denial is a defense mechanism when something challenges your entire concept of reality. It's easier to call it fake than to accept what it means for you."
Her attention shifted to the other comments. "Yes, MoonCurious, it will feel that good for you—possibly even better. First transformations often produce the most intense pleasure, everything fresh and new. And Silent, that expression you noticed is pure transformation bliss—unlike any other pleasure in human experience."
She adjusted her position, allowing the robe to slip slightly and reveal more of her substantial cleavage. "NewEgg78, hip development varies by genetics, but the werewoman transformation generally creates pronounced feminine curves. The waist-to-hip ratio is typically more dramatic than in natal women—part of what makes werewomen so visually striking."
Glancing at the time, Kirsty smiled. "We have about twenty minutes before our special guest arrives for the feeding demonstration. Let's use this time to discuss identity integration—how to reconcile your male and female aspects into a coherent sense of self."
She leaned forward, her expression becoming more serious despite the tantalizing view her position offered. "This is perhaps the most challenging psychological aspect of werewomanhood for many new werewomen. Are you two different people sharing one body? Or one person with two different expressions? How do you maintain continuity of self across such dramatic physical changes?"
Pausing, she invited responses:
MoonCurious23: Do most werewomen use different names for each form?
SilentWatcher: Do your personalities change between forms?
NewEgg78: How do relationships work across both forms?
DenierInDetroit: Isn't it just playing dress-up with extra steps?
Kirsty's eyebrows rose at DenierInDetroit's question. "Dress-up with extra steps? You watched my entire body reconfigure itself at the cellular level, and that's your take? Interesting defense mechanism, Denier. But to answer seriously—no, werewomanhood isn't playing dress-up. It's a fundamental biological reality that affects every aspect of your being."
She addressed the other questions more gently. "MoonCurious, yes, most werewomen use different names for each form, primarily for practical purposes. In social contexts, it's simply easier to have gender-appropriate names. However, internally, many experienced werewomen come to see these as simply different labels for the same continuous self."
Her expression became thoughtful. "SilentWatcher, personality shifts do occur, but they're more subtle than many new werewomen expect. Your core values, memories, and fundamental character remain consistent. What changes are often expressions of those core traits—perhaps greater expressiveness in female form, more reserved presentation in male form. Not different personalities, but different facets of the same personality emphasized in each form."
Turning to NewEgg78's question, she continued, "Relationships across forms vary widely. Some werewomen maintain completely separate relationship sets for each form. Others develop partnerships with people who connect with both their expressions. Some have primary partners who relate to one form and feeding partners for the other."
She paused, fingers playing with a strand of her auburn hair. "In my experience, the healthiest approach is transparency with partners about your dual nature, but that requires finding people who can embrace that complexity. They do exist—my feeding partner tonight is evidence of that. He relates to me differently in each form, but with consistent respect for my fundamental self."
A notification sound played, and Kirsty glanced at her phone. "Speaking of partners, our special guest has arrived a bit early. Perfect timing to continue our discussion with a real-world example."
She rose gracefully and moved out of frame briefly. Voices could be heard off-camera—Kirsty's melodious tones and a lighter, also feminine voice responding. Moments later, Kirsty returned with a striking blonde woman in her mid-twenties, dressed in an elegant blue dress that complemented her figure.
"Everyone, I'd like you to meet Melissa," Kirsty said, guiding the woman to sit beside her. "Eight months ago, she was watching my shows as an egg named Michael, convinced she was just 'researching' the werewoman phenomenon."
Melissa waved somewhat shyly at the camera. "Hello, everyone. Yes, I was once sitting where many of you are now—watching, wondering, denying, but unable to look away."
Kirsty smiled warmly at her guest. "Melissa has agreed to share her experience of identity integration as a relatively new werewoman. Before we get to the feeding demonstration, I thought she could answer some questions about the early adjustment period that I'm too far removed from now."
The chat immediately filled with questions:
MoonCurious23: When did you realize you couldn't stop it?
SilentWatcher: What was your first change like?
NewEgg78: Did you lose your job/friends/family?
DenierInDetroit: Were you paid to say you were a viewer?
Melissa laughed at the last question. "No, DenierInDetroit, I wasn't paid to say anything. I was exactly where you are now—desperately trying to convince myself I was just curious, just researching, definitely not an egg about to crack. I even used similar usernames—TotallyNotAnEgg and JustResearchingHere."
Her expression softened with remembering. "MoonCurious, I realized I couldn't stop it about two weeks before my first change. The dreams had become nightly, vivid experiences of transformation that left me waking up aroused and confused. I found myself lingering in the women's department at stores, imagining how clothes would fit my changed body. And I couldn't stop watching transformation content, no matter how much I told myself each time was the last."
She glanced at Kirsty, who nodded encouragingly. "SilentWatcher, my first change was both terrifying and exhilarating. I'd finally admitted to myself what was happening and reached out to a local support group. A experienced werewoman named Claire stayed with me that first night. When the moon rose and the first wave hit—that 'kick' Kirsty describes—I was initially panicked despite all the preparation. But Claire talked me through it, reminded me to surrender rather than fight."
Melissa's eyes took on a dreamy quality. "The pleasure was... indescribable. Everything Kirsty shows in her transformations is real—the warmth spreading through your body, the exquisite sensitivity as your skin changes, the waves of pleasure as your body reshapes itself. By the time the change was complete, my fear had transformed into wonder."
Her expression grew more serious as she addressed NewEgg78's concern. "As for losses—yes, there were some. Two friends couldn't handle it and drifted away. My parents needed time to adjust, though they're supportive now. I was fortunate with work—I'm a graphic designer who already worked remotely, so the monthly schedule adjustments were manageable."
She leaned forward earnestly. "But I gained so much more than I lost. New friends who know and accept both sides of me. A deeper understanding of myself. Experiences and perspectives I never would have had otherwise. And a community of other werewomen who truly understand what this journey is like."
Kirsty nodded, placing a hand on Melissa's shoulder. "Integration is different for everyone. Melissa, how would you describe your current relationship with your dual nature? Do you feel like two different people, or one person with two expressions?"
Melissa considered the question thoughtfully. "In the beginning, I definitely felt split—Michael and Melissa seemed like different people sharing one life. But over months of experience, that division has softened. Now I feel like one continuous self who expresses differently in each form. The pronouns change, the physical container changes, but the essential 'me' remains consistent."
She smiled, adding, "It helps that I've developed certain anchoring practices—things I do in both forms that reinforce continuity. I meditate daily regardless of form. I maintain a single journal rather than separate ones. I pursue the same creative interests, just with slightly different approaches in each form."
Kirsty turned back to the camera. "These are excellent integration strategies for eggs to consider as their time approaches. Continuity practices help bridge the seeming divide between forms."
The chat continued scrolling with questions:
MoonCurious23: Do you prefer one form over the other now?
SilentWatcher: What do you wish you'd known before your first change?
NewEgg78: How did you handle registration requirements?
DenierInDetroit: ...
Melissa laughed softly at MoonCurious's question. "Do I prefer one form? It varies day to day, honestly. Some days I wake up relieved to be Michael again, appreciating the familiar simplicity of my male form. Other days I count the hours until moonrise, eager for Melissa to emerge.
Increasingly, I appreciate each for its unique qualities rather than preferring one over the other."
She turned to SilentWatcher's question, her expression earnest. "What I wish I'd known... that's a good one. I wish I'd understood that fighting it only makes the eventual transition harder. I spent months in denial, which just created more stress and isolation. I wish I'd reached out to the werewoman community sooner, prepared more thoroughly, and approached my first change with anticipation rather than dread."
Addressing NewEgg78, she continued, "Registration was intimidating but manageable with support. I connected with a werewoman advocacy group first, and they provided guidance specific to my region's requirements. They even sent a volunteer advocate to accompany me during the process, which made a huge difference in how I was treated by officials."
She paused, noticing DenierInDetroit's uncharacteristic silence. "You're unusually quiet, Denier. Does hearing from someone who was once in your position make this feel more real? More possible? It's okay to be afraid. I was terrified. But I promise you, what waits on the other side of that fear is worth it."
Kirsty checked the time, then gestured toward the bed visible in the frame. "We should transition to our feeding demonstration. Melissa has graciously agreed to demonstrate mutual feeding—something many new werewomen don't realize is possible."
As they moved to the bed, Melissa explained, "Werewomen can feed each other, sharing energy in a unique way that differs from feeding with men. It's not as directly satisfying to the hunger as male energy, but it provides other benefits—a sense of community, shared understanding, and a different quality of pleasure."
The feeding demonstration that followed was both sensual and educational. Kirsty and Melissa engaged in intimate contact while explaining the differences between werewoman-to-werewoman interaction and feeding from men. They demonstrated techniques specific to werewoman anatomy and shared insights about the different energy exchange involved.
Throughout, Kirsty maintained her educational narration, pointing out how mutual feeding created a different kind of satisfaction than the hunger-focused feeding with male partners. The demonstration concluded with both werewomen visibly satisfied, though Kirsty noted that she would still need male feeding later to fully satisfy her hunger.
After a brief cleanup and adjusting of clothing, they returned to the main camera position, both now wearing silky robes—Kirsty's emerald green, Melissa's royal blue.
"Thank you, Melissa, for sharing both your story and this demonstration," Kirsty said, settling back into her chair. "Is there anything else you'd like to tell the eggs watching before we wrap up tonight's show?"
Melissa looked directly into the camera, her expression compassionate but firm. "To those of you watching who carry the gene—especially those in denial—I understand your fear. The prospect of transformation seems overwhelming, the social complications daunting. But fighting it only prolongs the struggle without changing the outcome."
She leaned forward slightly, as if trying to reach through the screen. "Start preparing now. Research the registration requirements in your region. Find local werewoman resources. Secure a safe transformation space. Tell at least one trusted person what's happening. The first change will come whether you're prepared or not, but preparation makes all the difference in how you experience it."
Her expression softened into a smile. "And know that on the other side of that first transformation awaits a richer, more complex, more fascinating life than you can currently imagine. The dual perspective you'll gain is a rare gift—one that brings challenges, yes, but also profound insights and experiences unavailable to those limited to a single form."
Kirsty nodded, squeezing Melissa's hand gratefully before turning back to the camera. "And that brings us to the end of tonight's show, eggs and gentlemen. Melissa will be joining us again tomorrow night for our special third-night demonstration, along with another surprise I think you'll find educational."
She stood, the movement causing her robe to shift and offer a glimpse of her curves beneath. "Until tomorrow, eggs. Remember—denial doesn't prevent the inevitable, it only leaves you unprepared when the moon decides your time has come. Sweet dreams, future sisters."
With a final wink, she ended the broadcast, the screen fading once again to her channel logo.
The following morning, Kyle checked his private messages while sipping his coffee. Last night's show had generated even more viewer interest than the first, with nearly 350 peak viewers and an unusual level of engagement in the chat. The combination of his transformation, Melissa's testimonial, and the mutual feeding demonstration had clearly resonated with the audience.
One message in particular caught his attention—a surprisingly vulnerable note from DenierInDetroit:
I'm not saying I'm an egg, but hypothetically, if someone was experiencing dreams and thoughts like you described, how long would they typically have before... you know? Asking for research purposes.
Kyle smiled, recognizing the tentative step toward acknowledgment hidden within the hypothetical framing. This was progress—from flat denial to "asking for a friend" territory. He typed a thoughtful response:
"Hypothetically speaking," the timeline varies considerably. The more signs you're experiencing and the more frequently they occur, the closer you likely are. Dreams several times weekly, persistent thoughts about femininity daily, physical sensations or phantom feelings—these suggest 2-3 months at most. Less frequent signs might indicate 6 months to a year. The key indicator is increasing frequency and intensity. If these "hypothetical" experiences are becoming more common or stronger, that's the surest sign the clock is ticking down.
If your "friend" would like more specific guidance, I'm happy to have a private conversation about their particular signs and symptoms. No pressure, no judgment—just information to help them prepare, hypothetically of course.
He sent the message, knowing that even this careful outreach might be rejected if DenierInDetroit wasn't ready to acknowledge what was happening. Denial was a powerful defense mechanism—one Kyle remembered well from observing others, though he'd personally never gone through that phase himself.
Another message required his attention—this one from SilentWatcher:
Meeting with Chicago support group coordinator today. Terrified but also... relieved? Like finally admitting what's happening makes it less scary somehow. Full moon is in 18 days. Do you think that will be my first change?
Kyle responded with careful consideration:
The relief you're feeling is completely normal—acknowledging reality, even a challenging one, is typically less stressful than denial. As for timing, if you're experiencing consistent signs and they're intensifying, the next full moon is definitely possible. The body often synchronizes with the nearest full moon once the process is well underway.
Ask the coordinator about their First Change support program. Most established groups offer companions for new werewomen—experienced members who stay with you during that crucial first transformation. Having someone there who understands exactly what's happening makes an enormous difference.
Keep me updated? I'd like to know how the meeting goes.
After sending the response, Kyle checked his work calendar. Today's schedule was packed with client consultations—three werewomen facing employment discrimination and one housing case. His legal practice specialized in these areas precisely because he understood the challenges from personal experience.
The duality of his life—professional advocate by day, provocative entertainer by night—created a satisfying balance. While his cam shows might seem exploitative to some, he viewed them as another form of advocacy—helping eggs understand and prepare for their inevitable changes while providing entertainment and education to a broader audience fascinated by werewomanhood.
A notification from the GreenMountainGirl channel administrative panel caught his attention—viewing metrics from last night's show. The engagement statistics were impressive, but one data point particularly pleased him: 73% of viewers had watched the entire transformation sequence without interruption. That level of sustained attention suggested genuine interest or need rather than casual curiosity.
Another message notification appeared—NewEgg78:
I just got fired. Boss found out I'm carrying the gene (mandatory company testing) and said they "couldn't accommodate the liability." Is this legal? Can they do this?
Kyle's expression hardened. This was exactly the kind of discrimination his daytime work fought against. He responded:
This is absolutely NOT legal in most jurisdictions. Genetic discrimination against potential werewomen is explicitly prohibited under the Genetic Information Nondiscrimination Act (GINA) federally, plus additional protections in many states. Document EVERYTHING—the testing requirement, any communications about your termination, witnesses to conversations, etc.
Where are you located? I can recommend appropriate legal resources in your area. This is literally what I do professionally—I'm a werewoman rights attorney when I'm not running the channel.
Don't sign anything they give you, and don't accept any severance until you've consulted with an attorney familiar with werewoman discrimination cases.
After sending the response, Kyle made a note to follow up regardless of whether NewEgg78 replied. This kind of blatant discrimination deserved legal challenge, and he had a network of colleagues across the country who could assist if the case was outside his geographic practice area.
A final notification caught his eye—MoonCurious23 had subscribed to the premium tier of his channel, which included access to additional educational content, one-on-one text consultations, and the private after-show discussions. The subscription confirmation included a short note:
I think it's happening soon. Need all the information I can get. Thank you for making this less terrifying.
Kyle smiled softly. This was why he had started the channel—not just for the income or the admittedly enjoyable teasing of eggs in denial, but for moments like this. Helping those on the verge of transformation face their changing reality with information instead of fear made all the work worthwhile.
He typed a welcome message:
Welcome to premium membership, MoonCurious. You now have access to our extensive educational library, including detailed guides on first transformation preparation, legal issues facing new werewomen, and integration strategies for the first year. I've also added you to tonight's private after-show, where we discuss topics too sensitive or complex for the main broadcast.
If you have specific questions or concerns, the premium membership includes text consultation. Don't hesitate to reach out directly—that's what this service is for.
Remember—knowledge is power, especially when facing transformation. The more you understand what's happening, the smoother your transition will be when your time comes.
With that final message sent, Kyle turned his attention to preparing for his professional day. Tonight would be the third and final show of the full moon cycle—traditionally his most viewed and most revelatory broadcast. He had special plans for this one, particularly focused on eggs like DenierInDetroit who were beginning to crack despite their persistent denial.
The third night always hit differently—something about the waning full moon created a more reflective, emotionally open energy. It was the perfect atmosphere for breaking through the final barriers of resistance and helping eggs see the moonlit future awaiting them.
At 7:45 PM, Kyle settled into his broadcasting chair for the third and final night of the full moon cycle. Tonight's setup was slightly different—the lighting was softer, more intimate, and he'd arranged the space to accommodate not just Melissa but a second guest who would join them after transformation.
"Sound check," he murmured, testing the audio. Perfect. The countdown timer showed 27 minutes until moonrise—8:12 PM, just as the previous two nights.
GreenMountainGirl has entered the chat
"Welcome to the third and final night of our full moon special," Kyle greeted, his voice still carrying its daytime masculine resonance. Tonight he wore only a simple silk robe, his preparation for transformation already complete. "I'm so pleased to see so many familiar usernames in the chat."
Indeed, the viewer count was already approaching 400—significantly higher than previous nights. Word had clearly spread about the quality of the broadcasts.
MoonCurious23: Excited for the premium after-show tonight!
AlphaHunter89: Looking forward to the mountains one more time
SilentWatcher: Had my meeting with the Chicago group. They're amazing.
NewEgg78: Got a lawyer thanks to your recommendation
DenierInDetroit: Still just researching
Kyle smiled, noting with satisfaction that all the regular eggs had returned once again—particularly DenierInDetroit, whose presence after their private message exchange was especially meaningful.
"I see all my favorite eggs are back in the nest," he said, leaning toward the camera conspiratorially. "Three nights in a row, DenierInDetroit? That's some dedicated 'research.' The egg doth protest too much, methinks."
His smile softened as he acknowledged the other messages. "I'm glad the Chicago group was helpful, SilentWatcher. They're one of the best in the Midwest. And NewEgg78, excellent news about the legal representation—no one should face discrimination without challenge."
Kyle settled back, crossing his legs in a posture that already hinted at his impending femininity.
"Tonight's show is special in several ways. The third night of the full moon cycle has a different energy—more reflective, more emotionally open. Many werewomen report that their third-night transformations feel more introspective, as if the waning moon encourages deeper connection with our dual nature."
He gestured to the space beside him. "Melissa will be joining us again, along with another special guest—someone I think will be particularly interesting to DenierInDetroit and other eggs in the later stages of denial. But that's for after the transformation."
Checking the timer—twenty minutes to moonrise—Kyle continued, "Before we begin tonight's metamorphosis, I want to address something I've noticed in our chats and private messages. Many of you eggs are approaching your first transformation with fear rather than anticipation. That's understandable but unnecessary."
His expression became earnest, temporarily setting aside the teasing persona. "Transformation is one of the most exquisite experiences available to human consciousness. The pleasure is transcendent, the insights profound, the expanded perspective invaluable. Yes, there are social complications that follow, but the experience itself is a gift, not a punishment."
Kyle's voice had taken on an almost hypnotic quality as he continued, "When your time comes—and for every egg watching, it will come—try to approach that first moonrise with openness rather than resistance. The more you surrender to the process, the more beautiful it becomes."
His attention returned to the chat, which had slowed as viewers absorbed his words. Finally, he addressed DenierInDetroit directly.
"Denier, I received your private message. Your 'hypothetical' questions suggest you're beginning to acknowledge what's happening, even if only in the privacy of your own thoughts. That's progress.
Tonight, I have someone joining us who was once exactly where you are—deep in denial right up until their first change. I think their perspective might be valuable to you."
The response came after a moment's hesitation:
DenierInDetroit: I'm not acknowledging anything. Just gathering information.
Kyle smiled knowingly. "Information gathering is the first step toward acceptance, Denier. The fact that you're still here, still watching, says more than your denials ever could."
He glanced at the timer—fifteen minutes to moonrise. "Tonight's transformation will likely be slightly different from the previous two nights. Third-night changes often have a more fluid, seamless quality, as if the body has fully remembered the path between forms. Watch for the subtle differences—the smoother transitions between stages, the more synchronized changes across different areas."
Kyle stood, moving to the center of the frame as he had on previous nights. With deliberate movements, he untied his robe and let it slip from his shoulders, standing naked before the camera. His slender male form showed no sign yet of the feminine curves to come, but the anticipation was visible in his posture, in the slight flush already spreading across his pale skin.
"Ten minutes to moonrise," he announced, his voice taking on the dreamy quality that preceded transformation. "Any questions for Kyle before Kirsty emerges for the third time this cycle?"
MoonCurious23: Does the moon pull feel different on the third night?
SilentWatcher: What should I focus on during my first transformation?
NewEgg78: Will I keep my same tastes and interests after changing?
DenierInDetroit: How do you know if the gene is active or still dormant?
"Excellent questions," Kyle said, settling into a comfortable standing position, arms slightly away from his sides. "MoonCurious, yes, the third night has a distinct quality—like the difference between a crescendo and a diminuendo in music. The first night feels like building energy, the third like beautiful resolution. The pull is gentler but somehow deeper."
He shifted slightly, visible anticipation running through him as moonrise approached.
"SilentWatcher, during your first transformation, focus on sensation rather than appearance. Many new werewomen make the mistake of fixating on the visual changes in a mirror, which can create distance from the experience. Instead, close your eyes at least part of the time, feeling each shift and change from the inside. The internal experience is where the true magic happens."
His eyes moved to NewEgg78's question. "Your core tastes and interests will remain, though they may express differently in each form. If you love music as a man, you'll still love music as a woman, though you might find you appreciate different aspects of it. Your fundamental self remains consistent across transformations—it's the expression that shifts, not the essence."
Finally, he addressed DenierInDetroit's question with particular care. "Active versus dormant... that's an important distinction. Dormant means you carry the gene but it hasn't yet 'switched on'—no symptoms, no feminine urges, no transformation dreams. Active means the warming process has begun."
His expression softened. "The clearest signs of activation include recurring dreams of transformation or feminine existence, persistent thoughts about crossing gender lines that aren't easily dismissed, newfound fascination with transformation content, phantom physical sensations like breasts that aren't there yet, and increasing discomfort with certain masculine aspects of yourself."
Kyle looked directly at the camera, as if speaking to DenierInDetroit alone. "If you're experiencing several of these signs with increasing frequency, your egg isn't dormant anymore—it's warming, on its way to cracking. The fact that you're here watching transformation content for the third night in a row suggests you already know the answer to your question."
The timer beeped softly—five minutes to moonrise. Kyle's breathing had deepened, his body visibly preparing for the imminent change.
"It's coming," he said softly, a slight tremor of anticipation in his voice. "The third embrace of the moon."
As the final seconds ticked down, Kyle closed his eyes, arms slightly outstretched, waiting for the inevitable. At precisely 8:12 PM, his eyes flew open, a gasp escaping his lips as the first wave of transformation energy coursed through his system. The kick—that initial surge of pleasure signaling the beginning of change—was visible in the sudden arch of his back, the momentary loss of focus in his eyes.
"Oh," he breathed, the sound already shifting between masculine and feminine registers. "There she is again."
The transformation began with the now-familiar subtlety. Kyle's skin softened before viewers' eyes, taking on a luminous quality as pores visibly shrank and texture changed. The short red hair on his head began to lengthen, strands visibly extending outward and downward.
As predicted, this third-night transformation had a more seamless quality than the previous two. Rather than distinct stages, the changes seemed to flow into one another with fluid grace. Kyle's facial features softened in perfect synchronization with his shoulders narrowing and waist beginning to indent—changes that had happened sequentially on previous nights now occurring simultaneously.
"Third night is always so... integrated," Kyle narrated, voice shifting steadily toward Kirsty's feminine tones. "Everything changing in harmony."
The chest changes had begun as well, nipples darkening to the familiar dusky rose as areolas widened. The breast buds were forming visibly beneath, small mounds of tissue pushing outward.
Unlike previous nights, the breast development seemed to be keeping perfect pace with other changes rather than developing in distinct stages.
Throughout these changes, Kyle's expression reflected not just pleasure but a deeper, more contemplative enjoyment—eyes half-lidded, lips curved in a slight smile, occasional soft sounds of appreciation as particularly exquisite sensations washed through him.
"Feel that flow," he commented, voice now more feminine than masculine. "No starts and stops tonight—just one continuous becoming."
The transformation continued its fluid progression. The red hair now cascaded well past the shoulders, framing a face that was rapidly feminizing—cheekbones more prominent, jaw softened, lips fuller. The shoulders had narrowed significantly, collarbones rearranging to create a more delicate frame. The waist had indented dramatically, creating the beginning of the distinctive hourglass figure, while the hips widened and rounded.
The breast development continued steadily, reaching B-cups and still expanding. They formed perfect teardrops, high and firm on the increasingly feminine chest. The genital transformation progressed simultaneously—testicles retracting, penis reconfiguring, the entire area reshaping toward female anatomy.
"Halfway there," announced the voice, now distinctly feminine. "Can you see the difference in how it's flowing tonight? Like water finding its natural course."
Indeed, the transformation did seem more fluid than on previous nights—changes happening in graceful coordination rather than the more sequential progression of earlier broadcasts. It was as if the body had fully learned the path between forms and was now executing the change with practiced elegance.
The breasts continued their development, swelling past C-cups toward their final impressive size. The genital transformation was in its final stages, the last male tissues reconfiguring into perfect female anatomy. The hips had completed their widening, creating the dramatic curve from narrow waist to rounded hips characteristic of Kirsty's form.
"Almost complete," Kirsty breathed, her voice now fully feminine. "The third night always feels like coming home."
A final wave of transformation energy visibly flowed through her as the last changes settled into place. The breasts completed their development, reaching their full E-cup size—the famous "Green Mountains" fully risen. The genitals finalized their reconfiguration, leaving the perfect feminine vulva in place of the male organs that had been there minutes earlier.
"And she's here again," Kirsty declared, running her hands appreciatively over her transformed body. She turned slowly, giving viewers a complete view of her feminine form—the narrow shoulders, generous breasts, tiny waist, flared hips, and rounded buttocks creating the classic hourglass silhouette.
"Seventeen minutes," she noted, checking the time. "The third night is always the most efficient. The body knows the way so well by now."
Reaching for a deep purple silk robe, she slipped it on but left it partly open, revealing glimpses of her transformed body as she settled back into her chair. Crossing her legs elegantly, she focused on the chat, which had exploded with comments during the transformation.
AlphaHunter89: The mountains look even better tonight
MoonCurious23: That was so smooth compared to the other nights!
SilentWatcher: The look on your face during change...
NewEgg78: Will my first change be that fast?
DenierInDetroit: Still could be special effects
Kirsty laughed, the sound melodious and feminine. "Still clinging to that special effects theory, Denier? After three consecutive nights of watching the same transformation? That's some impressive commitment to denial."
Her attention shifted to the other comments. "Yes, MoonCurious, the third night is typically much smoother—the body has established the pattern and follows it with greater efficiency. And NewEgg78, no, your first transformation will likely take closer to an hour. The speed comes with experience."
She adjusted her position, allowing the robe to reveal more of her substantial cleavage. "Silent, the expression you noticed reflects the third night's unique quality—less shocking ecstasy, more profound homecoming. It's like the difference between passionate new love and the deep comfort of a long-term relationship. Both beautiful, just different."
Glancing off-camera, Kirsty smiled warmly. "And now, as promised, let me introduce tonight's special guests. You've already met Melissa, and tonight she's joined by someone I think will be particularly interesting to our eggs in denial."
She stood and moved out of frame briefly. Voices could be heard off-camera before she returned with two guests—Melissa from the previous night, now wearing a silver gown, and a new figure, a strikingly handsome man in his early thirties dressed in casual but elegant attire.
"Everyone, you remember Melissa," Kirsty said, guiding her guests to sit on the stylish couch visible in the frame. "And this is Diana. But perhaps you know him better by his username—he was DenierInChicago in these chats just nine months ago."
Diana nodded somewhat sheepishly at the camera. "Hello, everyone. Yes, I was once the loudest denier in Kirsty's chat rooms, convinced it was all fake, all a scam, all just fantasy."
Kirsty settled beside them, arranging her robe for maximum effect. ”Diana has agreed to share her journey from denial to acceptance, which I think will be particularly valuable for certain viewers."
Her eyes flicked meaningfully toward DenierInDetroit's username in the chat.
The chat exploded with questions:
MoonCurious23: How did you go from denial to acceptance?
SilentWatcher: When did you realize you couldn't stop it?
NewEgg78: How do you feel about being a werewoman now?
DenierInDetroit: This is just an actor you hired
Diana laughed at the last comment. "I completely understand that reaction—it's exactly what I would have said nine months ago. No, I'm not an actor. I was a 24-year-old investment banker who stumbled across Kirsty's channel one night and couldn't look away, despite telling myself it was all fake."
Her expression grew more serious. "I spent three months watching these shows while vehemently denying what was happening to me. I had all the signs—the dreams, the fascination with transformation content, the phantom sensations—but I convinced myself they were just stress or an unusual kink developing."
She glanced at Kirsty, who nodded encouragingly. "MoonCurious, my journey from denial to acceptance wasn't gradual—it was forced by circumstances. I waited so long to acknowledge what was happening that my first transformation caught me completely unprepared. It happened in my office bathroom during a late night at work."
Diana‘s expression reflected the memory. "SilentWatcher, I realized I couldn't stop it exactly three minutes after moonrise, when I was locked in a bathroom stall watching my skin change and feeling my bone structure begin to shift. By then, it was far too late for preparation."
She shook her head ruefully. "I had to call a car service as Diana, wearing a coat I'd fortunately left at the office over a body that no longer fit my male clothes. I had no safe place prepared, no support system, no understanding of what was happening beyond what I'd absorbed from these shows while pretending not to believe them."
Melissa reached over and squeezed her hand supportively as he continued. "NewEgg78, how do I feel about it now? After the initial shock and adjustment period, I've come to appreciate my dual nature.
Diana is not a burden or an invader but another expression of myself. The monthly rhythm has actually brought balance to my formerly chaotic life, and the insights from experiencing both gender perspectives have made me more effective in my career and more compassionate in my relationships."
She looked directly at the camera, her expression earnest. "DenierInDetroit, I understand your position perfectly. The denial feels protective—if you don't acknowledge what's happening, maybe it won't be real. But that protection is an illusion, and it comes at a terrible cost. When your first change comes—and it will come—being unprepared makes an already intense experience far more frightening than it needs to be."
Kirsty nodded, adding, "Diana now serves as a mentor for new werewomen in Chicago, particularly those who struggled with denial before their first transformation. Her experience helps others avoid the mistakes he made."
Diana smiled slightly. "My specialty is helping the stubbornly skeptical eggs—the ones who, like me, fight acknowledgment until the moon forces it upon them. I recognize the patterns of denial because I lived them so completely."
The chat continued scrolling with questions:
MoonCurious23: Did you lose your job?
SilentWatcher: How did you handle registration after being caught unprepared?
NewEgg78: Any advice for those of us who know it's coming?
DenierInDetroit: How do you know it wasn't just coincidence that you changed after watching?
Diana addressed each question thoughtfully. "I was fortunate with employment. My firm has another werewoman in senior management who advocated for me. They created a flexible schedule that accommodates my transformation periods. Not everyone is so lucky, which is why preparation is crucial."
She turned to SilentWatcher's question. "Registration was challenging because I had no guidance. I went alone, still in shock, and the process was far more invasive and humiliating than it needed to be. Had I connected with the werewoman community first, I could have brought an advocate who would have made the experience significantly more dignified."
Her expression became more impassioned as he addressed NewEgg78. "My advice? Prepare now, even if your change seems distant. Secure a safe transformation location. Research your local registration requirements. Connect with the werewoman community in your area. Tell at least one trusted person who can support you. And approach your first transformation with curiosity rather than dread—it's going to happen regardless, so you might as well experience it fully."
Finally, she addressed DenierInDetroit with particular care. "It wasn't coincidence. The werewoman gene activates in response to certain triggers—one of which is regular exposure to transformation content, especially when it produces arousal. Every time you watch these shows, every time you indulge in transformation fantasies, you're strengthening the neural and hormonal pathways that will eventually trigger your change."
She leaned forward, speaking directly to the camera. "I know because I tested positive for the gene after my first transformation. The medical documentation showed it had been dormant until approximately three months before my change—precisely when I started watching Kirsty's shows while insisting it was 'just research.'"
She paused, then added, "Ask yourself honestly: why does watching these transformations affect you so strongly? Why can't you simply dismiss it and move on? Something in you recognizes itself in what you're seeing—the egg knows its own nature, even when the mind tries to deny it."
Kirsty nodded approvingly. "That's an excellent point, Diana. The gene recognizes itself. That's why eggs find transformation content so compelling, so impossible to dismiss despite their conscious denial."
Throughout her cam show, Kirsty maintained her educational approach while allowing her guests' authentic experiences to take center stage. The conversation touched on practical aspects of dual living, identity integration challenges, and the unique insights gained from experiencing life through both male and female perspectives.
As the discussion neared its conclusion, Kirsty turned back to the camera. "I hope this demonstration has provided valuable insights, particularly for our eggs approaching their first transformation. Seeing all perspectives of werewomanhood represented simultaneously offers a glimpse of the integration you'll eventually achieve with your own dual nature."
She checked the time. "We're approaching the end of our public broadcast. Premium subscribers, please remain for our private after-show discussion, where we'll address more sensitive topics including feeding ethics, registration strategies, and specific transformation preparation techniques."
Turning to her guests, she added, "Michael, Diana, thank you both for sharing your experiences so generously. Your journeys from denial to acceptance provide valuable roadmaps for those following similar paths."
Finally, she addressed the general audience once more. "To all our viewers, especially the eggs watching—whether openly acknowledging your status or still in denial—remember that werewomanhood is not the end of your life but a transformation of it. The challenges are real, but so are the unique gifts and perspectives this dual existence offers."
Her expression softened as she seemed to speak directly to DenierInDetroit. "And to those still fighting acknowledgment—the moon will rise whether you're prepared or not. The only choice you really have is whether to face that inevitable moonrise with information and support, or alone in denial."
She stood, the movement causing her purple robe to shift and offer a final glimpse of her curves beneath. "Until next month's full moon cycle, eggs and gentlemen. Remember—denial doesn't prevent the inevitable, it only ensures you'll face it unprepared. Sweet dreams, and may your eggs crack gently when their time comes."
With that, she ended the public broadcast, the screen transitioning to a premium subscription login page for the after-show discussion.
Three months later, Kyle reviewed his private messages before beginning that night's standard werewoman lifestyle broadcast. Tonight wasn't a full moon, so no transformation would occur on camera, but his regular weekly shows still attracted substantial viewership.
One message in particular caught his attention—from a new username, DianaInDetroit:
I wish I'd listened to you three months ago. My first change happened last night. Completely unprepared, in my car of all places. Remembered enough from your shows to get somewhere private before it completed, but it was terrifying. The change itself was amazing, just like you always described, but the aftermath... I don't know what to do now. Registration? Job? Dating? Everything feels overwhelming.
Kyle smiled with a mixture of satisfaction and compassion. Another egg cracked, just as he'd predicted. He typed a thoughtful response:
Welcome to werewomanhood, Diana. I remember DenierInDetroit well, and I'm not surprised by this message. The signs were clear in your viewing patterns and questions, despite the persistent denial.
First, breathe. You've survived the initial transformation, which is the most disorienting part. You have two more nights of transformation this cycle—use them to begin processing what's happening rather than fighting it.
For immediate concerns: Registration can usually wait a week or two, giving you time to adjust first.
For work, if you can take a few personal days, do so while you develop a strategy. For tonight's transformation, ensure you have a secure location planned BEFORE sunset.
Would you like me to connect you with werewoman support resources in Detroit? There's an excellent group there led by someone who specializes in helping those who transformed without preparation. She can guide you through registration, legal considerations, and the practical aspects of dual living.
Also, I host a private support group for newly-turned werewomen. Many former viewers who once sat where you did, denying what was coming until it arrived. They understand exactly what you're experiencing now.
The fear and overwhelm you're feeling is normal, but temporary. Millions of werewomen have walked this path before you and found their way to balanced, fulfilling lives embracing both their masculine and feminine aspects. You will too.
If you'd like to discuss your experience in more detail, I offer private consultations for newly-turned werewomen. The first session is complimentary for long-time viewers like yourself.
Remember—the hardest part is behind you. The moon has revealed your dual nature, and now begins the journey of integration. It gets easier, I promise.
After sending the response, Kyle reflected on the journey this particular egg had taken—from vehement denial to the inevitable reality of transformation. It was a pattern he'd seen countless times, yet each individual's experience remained unique, their particular struggle with acceptance shaped by personality, circumstances, and support systems.
Tonight's broadcast would focus on exactly this transition—moving from the shock of first transformation to the beginnings of acceptance. With DianaInDetroit fresh in his thoughts, he could tailor his content to address the specific concerns and questions newly-turned werewomen typically face in those critical first weeks.
That was the true purpose of his channel, beyond entertainment or even education—guiding eggs through the challenging journey from denial to acceptance, from fear to integration, from resistance to embrace of their dual nature. As both Kyle and Kirsty, attorney and entertainer, man and woman, he offered something uniquely valuable: living proof that werewomanhood could be not just endured but celebrated as a rare and precious form of human experience.
With that purpose firmly in mind, he began preparing for the evening's broadcast, knowing that somewhere in Detroit, a newly-turned werewoman would likely be watching, seeking guidance for the moonlit path stretching out before her.
The predatory gleam returned to her eyes as she readied herself to return to the camera—Mommy Kirsty had more eggs to crack tonight.
Morning Preparations Thursday, March 28th, 2013, 8:50 a.m. EST
I smooth down my pencil skirt and check my reflection in the compact mirror one more time. Perfect lipstick, not a hair out of place. Looking professional but feminine is important in my line of work. After all, I need these failed males to understand what real femininity looks like—the kind they'll never achieve no matter how pretty they might look under the moonlight.
I adjust the photo of my loving husband Richard and darling son Tyler to face me, not wanting them peering out at the parade of failed males who will soon be nervously shuffling in and sitting in front of my desk.
The morning after the first full moon of the month is always our busiest day at the Office of Werewoman Registration. All those girly little eggs that cracked last night will be rushing in to register before the next two nights of mandatory transformation. Some of them might still be in denial, but the law is clear: registration within one lunar cycle of the first change, or face the werewoman denial fine.
I arrange the paperwork on my desk, making sure the brochures for Moonlight Desires and other local establishments that employ werewomen are prominently displayed. Most of these new moon sluts will end up there eventually. Might as well help them accept their new career paths sooner rather than later.
My coworker Brittany pokes her head around the corner. "Ready for the freak parade, Jess?"
"Always," I laugh, tapping my perfectly manicured nails against the desk. "Did you see the moon last night? Must have been at least five or six new ones popping out their first pair of moon-tits across the city."
"I swear they get more pathetic every month," Brittany says with an eye roll. "Had one last week who looked barely out of high school. Couldn't even look me in the eye while I asked about his feeding habits."
"Well, the weak ones fall early," I reply, pulling up the registration software on my computer. "That's why we're here—to remind them of their place in the world now that they've lost their man cards."
The clock strikes nine, and I straighten my nameplate that reads "Jessica Jackson, Registration Specialist." Time to open the doors and welcome the first failure of the day.
The door to the waiting area opens, and I see him immediately—early twenties, tall with an athlete's build, but with that telltale nervous energy they all have after their first change. He's wearing a university sweatshirt and keeps glancing around like he's afraid someone will recognize him. His leg bounces anxiously as he fills out the preliminary paperwork.
When his name pops up on my screen, I call out with my brightest, most professional smile. "Alex Thompson? I'm ready for you now."
He walks over, trying to project confidence but failing miserably. His handshake is firm, though—he's still clinging to those male behaviors while he can.
"Take a seat, Alex," I gesture to the chair opposite my desk. "So, first full moon last night, huh? How was your debut as a girl?"
His face flushes immediately. Perfect.
"It was... unexpected," he mumbles, looking down at his hands.
"They always are, honey. Even when you know it's coming." I pull up the registration form on my computer. "Let's get started with the basics. Full male name?"
"Alexander James Thompson."
I type it in with practiced efficiency. "And what's your female name? The one you'll be using when the moon turns you?"
He shifts uncomfortably. "I... I'm going with Alexa."
"Alexa? How original," I say with just the right amount of sarcasm. "Let me guess, you came up with that right on the spot when you were standing there with your new tits, didn't you?"
His flush deepens. "No, I... I'd thought about it before."
"Of course you had," I smile sweetly. "Most of you have been thinking about your girl names long before the change actually happens. It's part of the build-up, isn't it? Those feminine thoughts creeping in, making you wonder and fantasize."
I continue filling out the form. "Date of birth?"
"June 12, 1991."
I do a quick calculation. "So you're 23. Made it pretty far into the danger zone before popping. Were you hoping you'd make it through the 18-25 window unscathed? That you were one of the lucky ones?"
"I guess... I never really thought it would happen to me."
"That's what they all say," I laugh lightly. "But deep down, something in you must have wanted it, or you wouldn't be sitting here now, would you? The curse only takes those with that special weakness inside them."
I move on to the next question. "Infected or inherited?"
He looks confused for a moment. "I... I don't think anyone in my family had it. At least not that I know of."
"So infected then," I say, selecting the option on the form. "Got it the fun way, huh? Care to share how you picked it up? Couldn't resist a pretty face at a bar? Or maybe you went looking for it? Some of you do, you know—actively seek out female werewomen to turn you when you've got the dormant gene."
"No! It wasn't like that," he protests. "There was this woman at a club about a month ago. I had no idea she was a... one of them."
"A werewoman," I correct him. "You'll need to get comfortable saying it, Alex. Or should I say Alexa? It's what you are now."
I lean forward, genuinely curious. "So what happened with this mystery woman? She must have been gorgeous. They always are, part of the curse's design—making you irresistible to men when in female form."
"We just... went back to her place." He swallows hard. "I didn't know until the next morning when she was gone and there was this book on the nightstand explaining everything."
"Ah, the handbook. How considerate of her to leave you instructions." I make a note in the file. "Bet you didn't believe it until last night, did you?"
He shakes his head.
"Did you try to fight it when you felt it coming on? Most of you do, at least the first time."
Alex nods, looking miserable. "I tried locking myself in my apartment bathroom. Thought maybe if I just... I don't know, willed it not to happen..."
I laugh outright at this. "Oh honey, that's adorable. As if the moon cares about your willpower. If locking yourself in rooms worked, we wouldn't need this office, would we?" I gesture around us. "Let me guess—you transformed anyway?"
"Yeah I…," he admits. "And I... I tore my clothes."
"Of course you did. The change doesn't care about your wardrobe, sweetie. Next time wear something loose or just get naked beforehand. Save yourself the replacement costs." I type a few more notes. "Now for some physical details—penis size when hard as a male?"
His head snaps up, shock written across his face. "Excuse me?"
"It's a standard question," I say, my tone deliberately bored. "We track the data. There's a correlation between male equipment size and werewomanhood susceptibility, you know. Typically, the smaller the package, the easier it is for the curse to take hold."
"I... I'm average. Maybe a little above," he stammers.
I raise an eyebrow skeptically. "In inches..." I said in a cold commanding voice.
“Five inches and um… change.” His humiliation is palpable, exactly as intended. These questions aren't just for data collection—they're to remind them of their place.
"And breast size when female? Be honest—we'll need it to match your ID photo anyway."
"I don't... I mean, I didn't really measure..."
"Stand up," I command, and he does so automatically. Compliance is already setting in. "Based on your frame, and what typically happens with university athletes like yourself... I'm guessing a solid C cup? Maybe D?"
"I think... maybe a C?" he offers hesitantly.
"We'll find out for sure from your photos. Speaking of which, did you take any selfies last night? Most of you can't help yourselves—first thing you do when you see your new female face is grab a phone."
The deep crimson flush tells me everything before he even answers.
"I took a couple... just to see what I looked like."
"Of course you did," I smile. "I'll need those for your ID. Email them to this address." I hand him a card with our office email. "Make sure they're clear shots of your face. We don't need to see whatever slutty outfit you tried on."
He fumbles with his phone, clearly mortified.
"While you're doing that, let's talk about feeding. Did you feed last night after your change?"
He nearly drops his phone. "What? No! I stayed in my apartment all night."
"First-timers usually do," I nod. "But the hunger will get worse, you know. By tonight, you'll probably be feeling it pretty strongly. By tomorrow night, you'll be desperate. There's no fighting that part of the curse either."
"I don't think I'll—"
"That's what they all say," I cut him off. "But trust me, within a few months, you'll be transforming more frequently just to satisfy the hunger. It's a biological imperative. Your body needs it to maintain the balance between forms."
I watch him squirm as he sends the photos to our office email. A moment later, they appear in my inbox. I open them and can't help but smile.
"Well, well. Looks like Alexa is quite pretty. The curse was generous with you—it usually is with the athletic types. And yes, definitely a solid C cup." I turn the screen so he can see I'm looking at his female self. "You'll have no trouble finding feeding partners. The pretty ones never do."
I print out temporary identification forms while continuing my questioning. "Are you aware of the loss of legal status and male privilege that comes with registration?"
"I... not completely."
"Well, allow me to enlighten you," I say, almost cheerfully. "As of today, your legal gender marker changes to female with the 'W' designation for werewoman. Your ID will list your birth name with your female name in parentheses. You'll use women's restrooms when in female form, but you should know that many establishments have separate facilities for werewomen—usually just a single stall with a moon symbol on it."
I hand him a printed information packet. "You'll find that many employers have monthly 'lunar leave' policies, but they're not legally required to offer them. Housing can be tricky—landlords aren't supposed to discriminate, but they do. I'd recommend being upfront about your condition when applying for apartments."
His face falls further with each new restriction I list.
"Oh, and dating gets complicated. Some people fetishize werewomen, others are repulsed by them. And many 'real men'—" I make air quotes, "—consider it perfectly acceptable to use werewomen for feeding without any romantic intentions. You'll need to get used to that."
"This is... a lot," he says quietly.
"Should have thought about that before you let your inner girl out to play," I reply without sympathy. "Now, I'll need all your current identification. Driver's license, passport, university ID—anything government-issued with your male designation."
He reluctantly pulls out his wallet and hands over his driver's license and student ID.
"Your man cards," I say with a smirk as I feed them into the shredder beside my desk. The sound of destruction seems to physically pain him. "Don't worry, you'll get new ones. With your pretty new face on them."
I produce his temporary werewoman ID card with a flourish. The photo of Alexa stares back from the pink-tinged card, next to his male information and the bold "W" designation.
"Congratulations, you're officially a registered werewoman. Your permanent ID will be mailed within two weeks." I hand him a stack of brochures. "These are employment opportunities specifically for werewomen. Moonlight Desires is always hiring, and they offer excellent benefits including feeding partner arrangements."
He looks at the brothel brochure with horror. "I'm not going to—"
"Never say never, sweetie. The hunger has a way of changing priorities. And the pay is much better than what most werewomen can find elsewhere, given the discrimination you'll face." I close his file on my computer. "Any questions before we finish up?"
"How... how long until this gets easier?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
I offer a smile that doesn't reach my eyes. "Who says it gets easier? You've lost your place in the male hierarchy, honey. You're not a real woman like me, and you're no longer a real man. You're something in between—a moon slut who'll spend her nights servicing real men and her days trying to pretend she still belongs in their world."
I stand, indicating our session is over. "The moon will rise around 8:43 tonight. Make sure you're somewhere private by then, preferably with loose clothing or none at all. And maybe consider downloading one of those werewoman hookup apps. Might as well get your first feeding over with—you'll be doing plenty of it from now on."
As he gathers his paperwork with shaking hands, I add with false brightness, "Happy hunting tonight, Alexa! Hope you find a real man to suck on. You'll feel so much better once you do."
The door closes behind him, and I glance at my appointment list. Two more to go today, and the morning's just getting started.
My third appointment of the day doesn't arrive on time. This doesn't surprise me—the computer flagged this one as a "denier," someone who's already passed the required registration deadline. These are my favorites. By the time they finally come in, they're usually desperate and far more vulnerable to the particular brand of humiliation I specialize in.
Twenty minutes after his scheduled time, a young man in his early twenties slouches into the waiting area. He's wearing a baggy hoodie and jeans, head down, trying to be invisible. The receptionist points him toward my desk, and he approaches reluctantly, like a condemned man walking to the gallows.
"You must be Bradley Parker," I say, not bothering to stand. "You're late."
"Sorry," he mumbles, dropping into the chair across from me.
"Being late doesn't exactly help your situation," I inform him, pulling up his file. "According to our records, you experienced your first transformation three months ago. The law requires registration within one lunar cycle. Care to explain the delay?"
He shifts uncomfortably, not meeting my eyes. "I thought maybe it was a one-time thing."
I laugh outright at this. "A one-time thing? The curse doesn't work that way, honey. Once a werewoman, always a werewoman. But you know that now, don't you? After three months of changing every full moon?"
He says nothing, his silence confirmation enough.
"Well, your denial has earned you a hefty fine on top of the standard registration process." I pull out the fine form with flourish. "Two thousand dollars for failing to register within the required timeframe. That's approximately..." I pretend to calculate, "fifty blowjobs at standard werewoman brothel rates. I'm sure you'll work it off in no time."
His head snaps up, anger flashing in his eyes. "I'm not going to—"
"Save it," I cut him off. "I've heard all the denials before. 'I'm not going to be a prostitute,' 'I'm not really like other werewomen,' 'I can control the hunger.' Spoiler alert: you can't. And the longer you've been changing without addressing the hunger properly, the worse it's building up inside you."
I tap my pen against the form. "Let's get this over with. Full male name?"
"Bradley James Parker," he mutters.
"And your female name? You must have one by now, after three months."
"Brie," he says almost inaudibly.
"Brie? That's actually pretty," I remark, genuinely surprised. "Most of the deniers come up with something overly slutty or painfully unoriginal. Brie has a nice ring to it. Almost as if you've given it some thought."
He fidgets but doesn't respond.
"Date of birth?"
"August 29, 1993."
I pause, looking up at him. "You're only 20? And you've been changed for three months already?"
He nods.
"Started young, didn't you? The curse tends to find the ones with the strongest feminine tendencies early. Those deeply repressed girly urges must have been practically screaming to get out."
His face flushes with humiliation and anger.
"Infected or inherited?" I continue, enjoying his discomfort.
"Inherited," he admits. "My cousin has it too, and an uncle… we think."
"And they didn't warn you? Or did they, and you ignored the signs?"
"He tried to tell me what to look for," Bradley says quietly. "I didn't want to believe it."
"Classic denial," I nod, making notes. "Did you try to fight it when you felt the first transformation coming on?"
"Yeah, for all the good it did."
"And how did that work out for you?" I ask with a smirk.
"Obviously it didn't," he snaps.
"No need to get testy," I chide. "I'm just doing my job, documenting your failure to maintain your manhood. So you fought it and lost, like they all do. What happened?"
He sighs. "I locked myself in my bathroom. Thought if I just fought hard enough... I don't know. The transformation happened anyway."
"They always do," I say knowingly. "The moon doesn't care about your willpower. It takes what it wants, including your manhood."
“Speaking of which…” I move to the next question. "Penis size when hard as a male?"
He looks away, clearly mortified. "Average. Say five inches…"
"Below average it is," I say, typing. "Don't worry, plenty of werewomen have small packages in their male form. It's actually correlated with earlier transformation—the less masculine equipment, the more susceptible to the curse."
His hands clench into fists, but he remains silent.
"And breast size when female?"
"I don't know... D cup, maybe?"
"We'll verify with the photos. Speaking of which, I'll need pictures of your female form for your ID."
"I don't have any," he claims.
"Three months of transformations and not a single photo? I find that hard to believe." I give him a knowing look. "Most werewomen are fascinated by their female appearance, especially in the early months. The denial types even more so—secretly taking pictures while publicly pretending it's not happening."
When he doesn't respond, I push harder. "Check your phone, Bradley. I bet if I scrolled through your photo gallery, I'd find plenty of Brie looking back at me."
His expression tells me I've hit the mark. Reluctantly, he pulls out his phone and scrolls through it before selecting a photo and sending it to the office email.
"Just one?" I ask skeptically.
"It's all you need for the ID," he mutters.
"Fair enough." I open the email and examine the photo. "Well, well. Brie is quite pretty, isn't she? The curse was generous with you—feminine features, nice hair. And yes, definitely a D cup. The stronger the curse, the bigger the breasts, you know. Your female form is practically screaming that you were meant for this."
I save the photo for his ID and move to the next question. "Now, about feeding. As a three-month denier, I'm particularly interested in how you've been handling the hunger. Have you fed at all since your first transformation?"
He looks away, his silence more revealing than words.
"I'll take that as a yes," I say, leaning forward. "No need to be ashamed, Bradley. It's a biological imperative. Though I am curious—how long did you hold out before the hunger became too much? One month? Two?"
"The second full moon," he admits quietly. "I couldn't... it was too intense."
"They all give in eventually," I nod. "And how many feeding partners have you had since then?"
"Just two."
"Picking them up at bars? Dating apps? Or did you go straight to the professionals?"
"Dating app," he says through gritted teeth.
"Smart choice for a beginner. Those werewoman-specific apps make it so much easier to find willing partners who understand what you need." I make some notes. "And how did you feel after feeding for the first time? Better, I imagine?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Your reluctance tells me everything I need to know. The relief was incredible, wasn't it? Like nothing you'd ever experienced before. That first real satisfaction of the hunger is intense for most werewomen, but especially for the deniers who fight it for so long."
I close that section of the form and move on. "Now I need to confiscate all your male identification. Driver's license, passport, any government-issued ID with your male designation."
He hesitates before pulling out his wallet and reluctantly handing over his driver's license and school ID.
"Your man cards," I say cheerfully, feeding them into the shredder. "Though after three months of moonlight adventures, they were well past their expiration date anyway."
I generate his temporary ID card with the pink-tinged background and the distinctive "W" marking. "Here's your new werewoman identification. You'll receive the permanent version in about two weeks. You must carry this at all times—it's a criminal offense for a registered werewoman to be caught without proper identification."
I hand him the ID along with the fine notice. "Your denial fine is due within 30 days. We accept payment plans if necessary. I'm sure a few weekends at Moonlight Desires would cover it quite efficiently."
"I told you, I'm not going to—"
"Work in a brothel? That's what they all say at first." I push the stack of employment brochures toward him. "But given your already active feeding history and the financial burden of this fine, you might want to reconsider. Moonlight Desires offers excellent benefits, flexible scheduling around the lunar cycle, and a safe environment for feeding. Much better than picking up random guys on apps."
I close his file and fix him with a stern look. "You should know that as a registered werewoman with a denial violation on your record, you'll be subject to random compliance checks for the next year. An officer may request verification of your whereabouts during full moons to ensure you're not skipping out on registration requirements for other werewomen you might encounter."
His face pales slightly. "That's not—"
"Legal? I assure you, it is. Denial violations trigger enhanced monitoring. It's all in the paperwork you're signing today." I slide the forms toward him. "Initial here, here, and sign at the bottom."
As he reluctantly signs, I continue my lecture. "After three months of changes, you're probably starting to notice that the hunger is getting stronger, possibly triggering involuntary transformations between full moons. This is normal progression. Most werewomen find that by six months, they're transforming once or twice a week beyond the full moon cycle."
I gather his paperwork. "Any questions before you go?"
"How long until..." he hesitates, "until the hunger stops controlling everything?"
"It doesn't," I say bluntly. "The hunger is part of who you are now. It doesn't go away—you just learn to manage it better. Most werewomen eventually establish regular feeding relationships or work arrangements that address the need efficiently."
I stand, indicating our session is over. "The moon rises at 8:43 tonight. After three months, you should be getting used to the routine by now. Though I suspect tonight's transformation might be particularly intense given your recent registration stress."
As he heads for the door, visibly defeated, I call after him. "Happy hunting tonight, Brie! And do consider those employment opportunities. They're much more lucrative than whatever minimum wage job you're probably working now. Might as well make those pretty lips and new curves earn their keep, right?"
The door closes behind him, and I sit back in my chair with satisfaction. Deniers always leave looking more destroyed than when they came in—exactly as it should be.
At noon, I head to the break room where Brittany and our other colleague, Monica, are already eating lunch.
"Three registrations before lunch," Monica says, impressed. "Must be a full month's quota just from today."
"The day after the first full moon is always busy," I reply, opening my salad container. "You should have seen the college boy who came in first thing—total deer in headlights. Claimed he had no idea it would happen to him."
"They never do," Brittany laughs. "Even the ones with family history think they'll be the exception."
"Did you get a denier today? Those are the best," Brittany asks.
"Saved the best for last before lunch," I grin. "Three months without registering. Claimed he thought it was a 'one-time thing,' if you can believe it."
We all laugh at this absurdity.
"How many months of the denial fine did you translate into blowjobs?" Monica asks.
"Fifty," I say proudly. "You should have seen his face. Pure horror mixed with the dawning realization that he might actually end up doing exactly that to pay it off."
"Classic," Brittany snorts. "Did you push the Moonlight Desires brochure extra hard?"
"Of course. Though my money's on him being there within a month even without the fine. Three months of only occasional feeding? That hunger must be building to unbearable levels."
We spend the rest of lunch swapping stories about the most memorable registrations we've handled, each trying to outdo the others with tales of humiliated werewomen brought low by the curse. It's a pleasant break before an afternoon that will likely bring more of the same—a parade of failed males coming to terms with their demotion from manhood.
The afternoon brings three more newly turned werewomen—a nervous accountant, a belligerent construction worker fighting his new reality every step of the way, and a quietly resigned IT specialist who seems to have accepted his fate with unusual equanimity.
I approach each with the same professional demeanor underlaid with calculated humiliation. The accountant nearly cries when I shred his "man cards." The construction worker threatens to file a complaint about my "attitude" until I remind him that aggressive behavior from registered werewomen can result in mandatory counseling requirements. The IT specialist's calm acceptance is almost disappointing, though I manage to crack his facade when discussing the hunger and its inevitable control over his life.
By 4:30 PM, I'm finishing up with my final registration of the day—a nineteen-year-old college sophomore who transformed in his dormitory, terrifying his roommate and creating what will undoubtedly be an awkward living situation for the remainder of the semester.
"Housing accommodations can be tricky for werewomen in college," I explain as I process his paperwork. "Most universities have policies about werewomen in shared living spaces. You might find yourself relocated to a single room, possibly in a separate wing or building."
"That might actually be better," he says quietly. "My roommate didn't take it well."
"Few do," I nod. "Finding out the guy you've been living with turns into a woman several times a month tends to create tension. Though I'm sure some of your male classmates will suddenly become very interested in spending time with you during full moons."
I hand him his temporary ID card. "Your university will require you to register your condition with the disability services office within two weeks. They'll explain their specific werewomen policies at that time."
As he gathers his things to leave, I deliver my standard parting advice. "The moon rises at 8:43 tonight. Make sure you're somewhere private by then—perhaps that new single room you'll likely be assigned. And consider downloading one of these feeding apps." I tap the brochures I've given him. "Campus hunger can be intense, and you don't want to be prowling the dormitory hallways desperate for release."
After he leaves, I complete the final paperwork, noting with satisfaction that we processed eight new werewomen today—a record for our small office. The day after the first full moon of a given month is always productive, but today exceeded expectations.
As I prepare to leave for the day, Brittany stops by my desk.
"Dinner and drinks tonight? Monica's coming too. We're thinking of trying that new place downtown."
"Sounds perfect," I agree, gathering my purse. "I could use a drink after today's parade of failures."
"And the hunting should be good tonight," Brittany adds with a wink. "All those newly registered werewomen will be out looking to feed. Always entertaining to watch them in action."
"Especially on their second night," I laugh. "Desperate and still so awkward in their female forms. Like watching baby giraffes trying to walk."
We head out together, already discussing which bar would provide the best werewoman-watching opportunities for later in the evening. There's nothing quite as satisfying as observing them from our position of natal female privilege—watching their clumsy attempts at femininity while knowing they'll never truly be women like us.
Just another day at the Office of Werewoman Registration, putting failed males in their place and maintaining the proper social order, one pink ID card at a time.
The restaurant Brittany chose for dinner offers an excellent view of Crescent Street, one of the main nightlife areas popular with werewomen. By 9:30 PM, we're enjoying our second round of drinks and watching the parade of newly transformed werewomen emerging onto the street, easy to spot with their uncertain gaits and overtly feminine outfits.
"Look at that one," Monica points discreetly toward a tall werewoman in a too-tight red dress. "Five bucks says that's one of the freaks from this morning."
I squint through the window. "You might be right. The walk is all wrong—trying too hard to sway those hips. Dead giveaway for a newcomer."
"And check out the one by the lamp post," Brittany adds. "Definitely a denier type. See how she's trying to look casual while eyeing every man who walks by? That's the hunger in full effect."
"Three months without proper feeding will do that to you," I nod, recognizing my third registration of the day. Brie looks even more desperate in person than she did in her photo, nervously tugging at her short skirt while scanning the crowd.
We spend the next hour enjoying our meals and the free entertainment, pointing out werewomen we recognize from registration and laughing at their awkward attempts to navigate both their female bodies and the social dynamics of the street.
"God, they're so obvious," Brittany says. "The real women out tonight give them such a wide berth. You can tell who's natal and who's cursed from a mile away."
"It's the desperation," Monica agrees. "Real women don't have that hungry look. We don't need to feed off men's energy to exist."
"And the outfits," I add. "Always too much—too tight, too short, too bright. Like they're working from some outdated manual of femininity."
We watch as a particularly young-looking werewoman—possibly the college sophomore from my last appointment—approaches and is rejected by two different groups before finally finding a man willing to talk to her.
"First feeding about to happen," I murmur. "Ten bucks says they're headed to his place within twenty minutes."
"No bet," Brittany laughs. "That's a guarantee with how new she is. The fresh ones can't hide their hunger at all."
As the night progresses and our drinks continue, our commentary becomes more pointed, our laughter louder. There's something deeply satisfying about watching these formerly privileged men navigate the lower social position they now occupy—not real women like us, but not men anymore either. Just moon sluts desperate for attention and release, occupying their strange in-between world that we get to observe from our secure position in the gender hierarchy.
By midnight, we've seen at least four of today's registrations pair off with men and disappear into the night, their hunger temporarily satiated until tomorrow's final full moon transformation forces them back into the cycle again.
"Same time next month?" Monica suggests as we prepare to leave.
"Wouldn't miss it," I agree. "First Friday after the full moon—best entertainment in town."
We part ways, and as I head to my car, I catch sight of one more familiar face—Alex, my first registration of the day, now Alexa in a blue dress, leaving a bar with a tall man's arm wrapped possessively around her waist. Her expression is a complex mixture of hunger, shame, and undeniable anticipation.
I smile to myself, knowing exactly how her night will end. They always protest at first during registration, claiming they'll be different, that they'll resist the hunger, maintain their dignity. And within 24 hours, they're doing exactly what I predicted—on their knees or backs, feeding on male energy like the moon sluts they've become.
Just another successful day at the Office of Werewoman Registration, where I help failed males accept their new reality one humiliating registration at a time. In a world where gender determines status, I'll always enjoy my position above these half-women, these moonlight pretenders who thought they deserved to be men.
Tomorrow brings the final night of this month's full moon cycle, and next month there will be more new werewomen to register, more former men to put in their place. And I'll be there, pink forms and shredder ready, to ensure they understand exactly where they now stand in the social order.
A front-row seat to their downfall, one pink form at a time.
(12 years or 144 lunar cycles later…)
My manicured nails tapped impatiently on the ceramic bowl as I dropped my keys inside. Another day at the registration office complete. Another day of watching those weak-willed males squirm as I processed their paperwork, documenting their surrender to the feminine urges they'd been too pathetic to resist.
The amber sunset streaming through my living room windows did nothing to soothe the throbbing headache behind my temples. At forty-one, I was fighting a losing battle with gray hairs and fine lines, but at least I was still a real woman. A natural-born female. Not some failed male who gave in to their sissy desires.
"Tyler?" I called out, my voice echoing through the empty house. No answer, as expected. My eighteen-year-old son was perpetually locked in his room these days, especially Friday nights. I'd skipped drinks with the other registration clerks, claiming exhaustion, though the real reason was darker—their constant husband talk was a knife in my heart, eight years after the divorce.
Eight years since I caught Richard with his cock buried in some moon slut at the Silver Crescent brothel. Eight years since I discovered my husband preferred the company of those pathetic males who'd surrendered their manhood to the curse. The memory still made my stomach curdle.
I kicked off my sensible pumps and headed toward the kitchen, unbuttoning the top of my blouse for relief. A glass of pinot grigio would take the edge off. I'd just pulled the bottle from the fridge when I heard it—a muffled moan from upstairs.
My first thought: Tyler had a girl over. Unlikely, given how shy he was, but teenage hormones were powerful things. I was about to give them privacy when another sound froze me in place—not a girl's giggle, but a deeper, masculine groan.
I set down the wine, my heart suddenly racing. Something wasn't right.
Each step up the stairs was careful, measured. The moans grew louder but weren't coming from behind Tyler's closed door. They were coming from my bedroom at the end of the hall.
The door stood slightly ajar, a slice of light spilling onto the carpet. My pulse hammered against my ribs as I approached, hearing the unmistakable sounds now—rhythmic, wet stroking and heavy breathing punctuated by soft moans.
I pushed the door open.
The sight before me sent ice through my veins. Tyler knelt on my bed, his back to the door, wearing my favorite black cocktail dress—the one from last year's office Christmas party. His legs were smooth, freshly shaved, and my silver stilettos dangled precariously from his feet.
A wig— a long blonde one, Lord knows where he got it—was slightly askew on his head. On the laptop screen in front of him, a video played showing young man in a sheer white robe moaning and touching himself as he transformed into a beautiful woman.
"What the FUCK are you doing?" The words exploded from me before I could stop them.
Tyler whirled around, his face a mask of horror beneath the poorly applied makeup. Mascara streaked down his cheeks. My red lipstick smeared beyond the borders of his lips.
"Mom!" He scrambled backward on the bed, frantically trying to cover himself with my duvet. "I'm sorry—I didn't—I can explain—"
"Explain what?" My voice was ice. "Explain why you're dressed like a fucking girl? Explain why you're watching that disgusting werewoman porn?"
Rage and disgust churned inside me, but beneath them was something worse—fear. Cold, gripping fear. I knew those videos. I'd seen countless registered werewomen admit to watching the same filth before their first change.
"How long?" I demanded, stalking into the room. "How long have you been doing… this?"
Tyler shrank against the headboard, tears cutting through his foundation. "I don't know... a few months, maybe? It started with dreams... then I found these videos..." His voice broke. "Mom, I think I might be—"
"Don't say it!" I slashed my hand through the air. "Don't you dare say it! You're just confused. It's a phase."
But even as the words left my mouth, I remembered all those intake forms. All those tearful confessions from new werewomen about their "phases" that ended with them surrendering their manhood under the full moon's light.
"Look at me," Tyler whispered, his hands trembling as he gestured to himself. "Do you really think this is just a phase? I'm terrified, Mom. I've been trying to fight it, but it's getting stronger. The urges, the dreams... I can't stop watching these videos."
Something in his voice—the raw desperation—pierced my professional armor. In that moment, he wasn't some weak-willed male giving in to perversion. He was my son.
"You can't be." My voice cracked. "I've spent my entire career processing those failed males. I know the signs, and you're not—" But I stopped, really looking at him.
The makeup. The clothes. The transformation videos. The terror in his eyes.
Oh God. All the signs were there.
Tyler slid off the bed and crawled toward me, my dress rustling around his knees, my perfume clinging to his skin. He collapsed into my arms like he used to after childhood nightmares, sobbing against my shoulder.
"I didn't want this, Mom," he cried. "I tried to fight it. I did everything you said. But it keeps getting stronger."
I held him tightly, rocking back and forth as my tears fell into the blonde wig. All these years, I'd believed it was a choice. All these years, I'd taken pleasure in humiliating those men for their weakness. All these years, I'd never once considered they couldn't help it any more than someone could help being right-handed.
"It's okay," I whispered, though I knew it wasn't. Nothing about this was okay.
My mind raced to the registration procedures awaiting Tyler. The invasive questions I delighted in asking. The sneering comments I made while taking their "female form" photos—usually selfies they'd taken after their first change, their faces still showing the confused mixture of horror and pleasure from the transformation. The way I'd gloat as they surrendered their "man cards," my term for their former male IDs.
I thought of how I explained their social demotion in exquisite detail, making sure they understood they were no longer men, no longer deserving of respect, now just moon sluts and failed males.
And my son would face all of that. My son would sit across from women like me—cruel, judgmental bitches who'd never felt the pull of the moon forcing unwanted changes upon them.
"Mom?" Tyler pulled back, his makeup-smeared face a portrait of fear. "Will I have to register? Will I have to go to your office?"
I wiped my eyes, a strange calm settling over me as the reality crystallized. "Yes," I said softly. "After your first transformation, you'll have to register."
"Will... will you be there?" His voice trembled with hope and dread.
I thought of all the selfies I'd gleefully used to create their female IDs. The way I'd make them watch me shred their male identification. The little speech I gave about how they were no longer real men, no longer entitled to the privileges of manhood, now just perverts who couldn't resist their girly urges.
Never. I would never let that happen to my son.
"I'll be there," I promised, stroking his hair. "But not like before. Everything's going to change now, Tyler. Everything."
As I held my son, I made a silent vow. By the time Tyler underwent his first transformation, I would change the registration process in my office. I would make it humane. I would educate my colleagues or see them fired. I would turn my years of cruelty into a force for reform.
Because the curse I had spent a career condemning had found its way home.
And my son would not suffer for my sins.
I can't believe how much my life has changed in just a few months. As I sit in my living room, sipping my evening tea, I can't help but glance at the clock—moonrise is approaching. Tyler isn't here; he's safely at Kyle's house. Or rather, Kirsty's house, as I'm sure she's transformed by now. My son is in good hands, I remind myself. If anyone knows how to guide a young man through his first transformation, it's someone who's been through it countless times herself.
I can't help but imagine what's going to happen to Tyler at moonrise. My mind wanders to those transformation videos I watched when I first learned about his condition. I forced myself to watch them then, out of fear and a desperate need to understand what my son would experience. Now, I find myself replaying them in my mind with a completely different feeling—hope, curiosity, even a touch of wonder.
I've seen Kyle change into Kirsty on my laptop several times now. It never ceases to amaze me how complete the transformation is—how the angular jawline softens, how shoulders narrow as hips widen, how the voice shifts from deep to melodic in an instant. Kyle has become something of a personal hero to me, though I would never have imagined feeling that way when we first met. Funny how life works.
My phone beeps with an alarm I set to mark moonrise. I take a deep breath. It's happening now. Right at this moment, my son's body is beginning its first transformation.
Is Tyler frightened? Is he fighting it? Or is he embracing it as Kirsty advised? I hope it's the latter. The research is clear—those who resist the change often have more difficult experiences, both physically and emotionally. But those who surrender to it, who welcome it even... they report experiences bordering on the transcendent.
I wonder what Tyler will look like as a woman. Will he resemble me? I've read that werewomen often take on features reminiscent of their female relatives. Will he be a younger version of myself?
Perhaps even prettier? The handbook mentioned that the moon's transformation typically enhances feminine beauty, creating features that might be considered "ideal" by conventional standards.
As I sit here, knowing Tyler's body is changing—feeling that first surge of pleasure they call "the kick," experiencing the warmth spreading through his abdomen, watching in fascination as his skin softens and body hair recedes—I find myself oddly emotional. Not with the dread I once would have felt, but with something closer to... pride? Is that strange? To feel proud of my son as he transforms into my daughter for the night?
I imagine his hair lengthening, cascading down his back in waves. I picture his face softening, features rearranging into feminine beauty. I can almost see his body reshaping—shoulders narrowing, waist cinching, hips widening to create that feminine curve. And I know from the videos that he's experiencing waves of pleasure throughout, his body rewiring itself to experience sensation in a completely new way.
It’s been more than 30 minutes since moonrise, I realize, glancing at the clock again. He’ll be entering the intermediate or later stages of the transformation by now. I say a soft prayer that he is handling it well, though I know from all the reading and media on the topic of werewomanhood have me feeling reassured that Tyler will come out fine on the other side.
An hour passes. My phone chimes with a text notification, and I nearly drop it in my haste to check.
"I'm OK, Mom." The message reads. Then another comes through—a selfie. The young woman in the photo is stunning—high cheekbones, full lips, expressive eyes that I'd know anywhere as Tyler's, though now framed by long lashes and delicately arched brows. Her hair falls in chestnut waves around a heart-shaped face that echoes my own youthful features, but somehow... better. More refined. As if the moon took the beauty of my youth and perfected it.
A third message appears: "Call me Tatianna tonight. ❤️"
Tatianna. It's beautiful. Exotic and elegant, yet with a playful quality that suits the bright smile in the selfie.
"You look gorgeous, sweetheart," I text back. "Much prettier than I ever was at your age. How are you feeling?"
"Amazing," comes the reply. "It was intense but Kirsty helped me through it. Everything you need to know is that I'm good. Really good."
I believe her. The young woman in that photo isn't just physically transformed—there's a radiance, a comfort in her expression that I rarely saw in Tyler's more guarded demeanor. I find myself beaming with pride, tears pricking at my eyes. That's my child. My beautiful, brave child who's experiencing something I can barely imagine, and doing it with grace.
Who would have thought that I—once the stern enforcer of registration regulations, the woman who viewed werewomanhood as a shameful condition to be hidden and controlled—would be sitting here feeling proud of my werewoman child? Life truly does move in mysterious ways.
The next day dawns bright and clear. I'm waiting in the parking lot of the diner we agreed to meet at when I spot them—Kyle and Tyler, both male in the daylight, walking toward me with easy strides.
Tyler looks different somehow, even in male form. More relaxed, perhaps. There's a lightness to his step that wasn't there before.
"Mom!" he calls, breaking into a jog.
I open my arms and he crashes into me with an enthusiasm I haven't felt from him in years. "Oh, sweetheart," I murmur into his hair. "I'm so glad you're okay."
"I'm better than okay," he says, pulling back to look at me with bright eyes. "It was... Mom, it was incredible."
"Tell me everything," I beg, suddenly hungry for details. "What did it feel like? Was it scary? Did it hurt?"
Tyler laughs. "One question at a time! No, it didn't hurt—that's a huge misconception. It felt... good. Really good. Like the most intense pleasure I've ever felt, but all over my body."
Kyle nods beside him. "First transformation is always the most intense," he confirms. "Like a full-body orgasm that lasts an hour."
I blush slightly but find I'm not embarrassed by the frankness. Not anymore. "And after? What was it like to... be in that body?"
"It felt right," Tyler says simply. "Not like I was someone else, but like I was... more of myself? I don't know how to explain it. But everything was more vivid—colors, sounds, feelings. And when Kirsty took me out later, just for a quick walk around the block to test things out, it was crazy how differently people looked at me. Treated me."
"Welcome to werewomanhood," I say with a wry smile. "Even temporary womanhood."
We share a laugh, and then I remember why we're here. "Ready for registration? I promise it won't be like what you've heard. We've made a lot of changes."
A shadow crosses Tyler's face, but he nods. "Kyle said you'd make it okay."
"I'll do my best," I promise, leading them toward the door of the Werewoman Registration Office—my workplace for fifteen years, though it's almost unrecognizable from the cold, clinical place it once was.
As we enter, voices call out in greeting.
"Tyler! Congratulations on your first change!" a man with a nametag identifying him as Larry/Lilly calls from the front desk.
"We've been expecting you," Steve/Sandra says, coming forward with a smile. "Your mom has been talking about you for weeks."
Welcome to the community," Jim/Jen adds warmly.
"They all know me?" he whispers.
"Of course they do," I say. "You're my son. And they've all been where you are—some of our newer staff member here are werewomen too. That was one of the first changes I implemented."
Tyler looks around in wonder at the transformed office—the comfortable waiting area with its soft seating and nature photography, the privacy screens, the friendly faces. This is not the intimidating government facility it once was. It's a welcoming community center disguised as a bureaucratic necessity.
I lead Tyler to my office—no longer a sterile interrogation room but a comfortable space with plants and artwork. Kyle follows, taking a seat in the corner as an observer and support person.
"We'll still need to ask some standard questions," I explain, "but we've revised the whole process based on recommendations from werewoman advocacy groups." I glance gratefully at Kyle, who was instrumental in those changes. "No invasive physical examinations. No humiliating photography. Just basic information gathering and providing you with resources."
As I conduct Tyler's interview, following the new format Kyle helped design, I see the tension melting from my son's shoulders. We discuss his transformation pattern, his plans for managing full moon nights, his support system. I provide him with information about werewoman rights, healthcare resources, and community groups. Throughout it all, Tyler answers thoughtfully, occasionally looking to Kyle for guidance but mostly handling it with remarkable poise.
When we finish, I hand him his registration card—a simple ID with his name (both versions) and basic information. Nothing stigmatizing, nothing that marks him as different beyond what's necessary for legal protection.
"That's it?" he asks, surprised.
"That's it," I confirm. "See? Not so terrible."
He smiles, tucking the card into his wallet. "Thanks, Mom. For making this... not awful."
"I'm just sorry it took me so long to understand," I say softly. "But I'm trying to make up for lost time."
Three months later, I'm sitting in my bedroom, laptop propped on my knees as I tune into Kirsty's livestream. She's become something of an internet sensation in the werewoman community—part educator, part entertainer, all heart. Her broadcasts combine practical advice for new werewomen with humor and advocacy that reaches thousands.
Tonight, she's wearing a pink crop top with the words "Moon Goddess" across the chest, her long blonde hair styled in beachy waves. She bounces on her bed as she reads comments, responding with her characteristic enthusiasm.
"Yes, Moonbeam92, the hunger is totally normal!" she assures a viewer. "Everyone feels it. The trick is managing it without letting it manage you. We'll talk about ethical feeding strategies next week!"
I find myself laughing along with her silly jokes, marveling at how someone can make topics that once seemed shameful feel so normal, so matter-of-fact. She's transformed discourse around werewomanhood just as dramatically as she transforms her own body each month.
"Okay, eggs," she says, using her affectionate term for viewers who might be carrying the dormant werewoman gene, "I want to share something special tonight. With permission from two amazing women in my life, I want to tell you a story about hope and change."
She leans closer to the camera, her expression softening. "Some of you know that my local Werewoman Registration Office used to be one of the worst—invasive exams, humiliating questions, zero privacy. But something amazing happened. The woman who ran it—who once embodied everything wrong with how society treats us—had a son who turned out to be one of us."
My heart skips a beat as I realize she's talking about me.
"This woman, let's call her Jessica," Kirsty continues, "had to confront all her biases, all her fears. And you know what? She did more than just accept her son. She transformed her entire office. She hired a werewomen staffers. She rewrote procedures. She turned a place of shame into a place of support."
Kirsty's eyes shine with genuine emotion. "Jessica's transformation wasn't magical like ours under the moonlight, but it was just as real and just as powerful. And her son—who just had his first change three months ago and goes by Tatianna when transformed—is now thriving. They're both active in our local Werewoman Rights group, which is making real progress on anti-discrimination legislation."
I wipe away tears I didn't realize were falling. On screen, Kirsty blows a kiss. "That's for you, Jessica and Tatianna. Thank you for showing that change is possible—not just under the moonlight, but in hearts and minds too."
The sound of footsteps on the stairs pulls my attention away from the screen. It's Tyler—no, Tatianna tonight, I remind myself. I'm still not perfect with the names, still slip up occasionally, but
I'm trying my best.
She appears in my doorway, and my breath catches. She's stunning in a simple black dress that hugs her curves, her makeup flawless, her chestnut hair styled in loose curls. Silver jewelry catches the light as she moves—delicate earrings, a small moon pendant at her throat.
"How do I look?" she asks, giving a little twirl.
"Beautiful," I say, and mean it completely. "You heading out?"
She nods. "Meeting some friends from the support group at Lunar Lounge. Is that okay?"
Six months ago, the thought of my child going to a werewoman feeding club would have filled me with horror. Now, I understand. The hunger isn't some perverted desire—it's a biological need as real as thirst or ordinary hunger. Denying it only leads to suffering.
"Of course it's okay," I assure her. "Can I help with anything before you go? Your makeup looks great already, but..."
"Actually," Tatianna says, "I still can't get my eyeliner wings even. Would you mind?"
I feel a surge of maternal joy as I pat the space beside me on the bed. "Come here. Let me fix that for you."
As I carefully even out her eyeliner, I'm struck by the intimacy of this moment—mother and daughter, even if just for the night. How many mothers get to experience both sides of parenthood with the same child?
"There," I say, putting the eyeliner down. "Perfect."
Tatianna checks herself in my vanity mirror and smiles. "Thanks, Mom."
"Happy hunting tonight," I say, surprising myself with how naturally the phrase comes out. "Be safe, text me if you need anything, and don't stay out too late."
"I won't," she promises, leaning in to hug me. "Love you."
"Love you too, sweetheart."
After she leaves, I turn back to my laptop where Kirsty is wrapping up her stream. I open the private messaging function and type: "Thank you for everything you've done for us. For Tyler, for me, for all werewomen. You've changed more lives than you know."
Her response comes almost immediately, bubbling with emoji hearts and sparkles: "Jessicaaaaa!!!
You're watching!!! <3 <3 <3 No, thank YOU for being the proof that people can change! You're literally my hero and I tell EVERYONE about you (with your permission only of course lol). Give Tatianna a big squeeze from me tomorrow when she's Tyler again! MOON HUGS!!!"
I laugh through my tears as I close the laptop. If someone had told me a year ago that I'd be the mother of a werewoman, watching werewoman livestreams, and feeling proud rather than ashamed... I would have thought they were insane.
But here I am. And for the first time in a very long time, I feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be—moonlight, transformations, feeding clubs and all.
Maybe we're all capable of transformation, in our own ways. Mine just didn't require the full moon to achieve.
[Voice narration by Rick Deacon, GNN News]
Rick: ”Good evening ladies and gentlemen. And welcome to another edition of Deep Dives with Deacon. Tonight, we will be covering a topic that many of you are familiar with, but few truly understand. I am talking about the TransformX scandal, now a few years old. What became of it’s founder, or the participants in one of history’s most controversial clinical trials?”
Rick: “Although it affects only a small minority of men worldwide, most people know the basics of the werewoman curse. That is tends to affect less masculine men. That the afflicted men experience repeated transformations into women. That when in female form, they tend to develop a hunger for carnal delights. That their transformative cycle begins during the full moon, but their hunger can force them to transform on other nights to feed. That they face discrimination in the workplace and in society. This is what we know for sure.”
Rick: “Some persistent Werewoman myths include assertions that the curse can be passed from person to person. like a sexually transmitted disease. Recent scientific findings have shown this to be incredibly rare. In order to pass the curse onto another, that person would have to be a carrier of a dormant version of the werewoman gene. They concluded that 99.9% of known werewomen are born, not made. It is essentially a genetic condition, and not nearly as contagious as was once thought.”
Rick:“This information comes as a relief to many, who once saw werewomanism as a plague that needed to be stamped out. Though incidences of men carrying the gene has gone up in recent years, scientist in the field of genetics believe this is due to the pressures of overpopulation and scarcity altering the male human genome. As werewomen are sterile in either form, they would lessen the pressure of a rising population. But rising though it is, carriers of the werewoman gene still only account for less than 0.5% of the worldwide population of male at birth persons.”
Rick : “Despite this new information, the American public is split on how they feel about werewomen. Some groups support their civil rights, seeking to integrate this misunderstood group into main stream society. Others believe werewomanism is a curse from God, and believe the sufferers are sinful creatures. They have even called from their removal from society, and support exclusionary policies to even further marginalize them. Still, others fetishize their unique ability to change gender, and seek to exploit them for profit. There are brothels staffed by werewomen in most major cities. Fetish sites featuring werewoman performers transforming on webcams and committing other obscene acts. But there are few alternatives for them in the formal economy today. No sir, life is not always easy for the men afflicted with this dreadful curse.”
Rick: With the advent of genetic testing, it is possible, even at the moment of birth, to detect a future werewoman. They have a different genetic marker than a biologically male infant. It has become a standard screening process throughout much of the west. Though they will not bear notable differences, physically speaking, that would distinguish them from their male peers. Not until late adolescence, when the gene which causes werewomanism begins to express itself physically in several ways.
Rick: Affected individuals are typically lagging in physical development, shorter, skinnier and less aggressive than genetic males in their peer group. Budding werewomen will often find stronger connections with female peers, but be unsuccessful in dating. In fact, they are unlikely to even try, due to their beta male qualities. They will even become secretly jealous of their female peers physical appearance, and the attention they get from peer aged boys. All this leading up to a full moon induced gender transformation, the first of many to follow. Until recently, there was no known way to prevent the transformation from happening to males with an activated werewoman gene.”
Rick: “Tonight’s feature interview is with a young, talented, very bright werewoman at the center of the TransformX contraversy. Sam Watson sought to alleviate the suffering of boys diagnosed with an activated werewomen gene, by providing a way to prevent the curse from ever manifesting in them. Some called the drug she developed a miracle, while others criticized her for suggesting werewomanism was a disease in need of curing. But Sam has stated publicly that she merely wished to give boys born with this genetic abnormality a chance to overcome it, a chance she never had herself.”
Rick: “The story of the company she founded, it’s spectacular rise, it’s meteoric descent, and the fallout left in the wake of a clinical trial gone wrong will be the subject of tonight’s broadcast.”
Rick: “Good evening, Ms. Watson. You are looking lovely as ever this evening. Thank you for joining me.”
Sam: ”Please, call me Sam. Glad to be here.”
Rick: “Thank you Sam. In the interest of full disclosure, I suppose I should point out for our audience that we once worked together. I was your media relations specialist, once upon a time, at TransformX. It’s good to see you again, ‘boss’.”
Sam: “Nice to see you too Rick.”
Rick: ”Would it be OK to ask you some questions about your time at TransformX?”
Sam: “Needless to say, it’s a complicated tale. One that is not easy for me to tell...”
Rick: “Well, let’s just start at the beginning. Some background details. What was TransformX?”
Sam: “The media and academia called the pill a game changer. My pharmaceutical grade drug was hailed widely as a veritable miracle of modern chemistry. As it’s inventor, I was lauded with praise. Treatment from this drug would no doubt save countless boys from what some considered a fate worse than death, transforming into a werewoman, and likely ending up as a sex worker. The compound worked by preventing the onset of their transformative cycle. The key to it all was preventing their first change.“
Rick: “A transformation suppressant?”
Sam: “Yes, I called it TransformX. Both the drug, and the company. The idea is simple. When a subject is in the latent stages of the werewoman curse, before the first change hits, his body has a male hormonal balance. But when the Werewoman gene activates, he begins to secrete a hormone known to science as transestrogen, and his hormonal balance begins to shift. It’s subtle, at first. Once a certain threshold is reached, a full moon will trigger a radical hormonal shift, resulting in his first transformative episode.”
Rick: “And TransformX, it prevented this?”
Sam: ”Yes Rick. My pill was essentially a blocker, designed to inhibit the receptor of the transestrogen hormone from opening up, and triggering that first change. It had to be taken every day, without exception. I recommended at risk patients who tested positive for the werewoman gene begin treatment at 15, just in case, and continue treatment until age 35 or so, again, to err on the side of caution. Because once the first change hits….”
Rick: ”It’d be the first of many, if I am correct. Is it true that, once the first transformation occurs, there is no way to stop the subsequent transformations?”
Sam: “Yes, sadly that is correct. See, as I mentioned, all werewomen produce the unique hormone transestrogen. When their body start pumping it out, that varies from werewoman to werewoman. Late teen years through their early 20’s are the most common age for a first change.”
Rick: ”So there are no guys changing before what, say, 17 or 18, and no guys changing after… 22-23? Is that an accurate range?“
Sam: “That’s right, Rick. That’s what we call the ‘danger years’ for people with the gene. Outliers are still present, but not at statistically significant numbers. What causes the werewoman gene to activate remains a mystery. Sometimes, it stays dormant But that’s the age when we typically find out.”
Rick: “And once it activates, once this initial transformative episode occurs, TransformX is ineffective?”
Sam: “Yes, that is essentially correct. When the first change occurs, the transformative cycle is established. We do not yet know how to disestablish the cycle once it has begun. I hoped that maybe, one day, I could develop a pill that would work on actively transforming and feeding werewomen, to prevent our hunger and suppress our transformative cycle. I‘ll never get that chance now.”
Rick: ”And why is that?”
Sam (blushing red): “Like all weres, even as I worked on the science and the business, i felt my hunger growing, despite my best efforts to keep it in check. I just hoped I had enough time to complete my work before going full blown cock slave.”
Rick (blushing and nodding for Sam to continue): “uh huh…”
Sam: “The hunger werewomen experience is a little understood aspect of our curse. New werewoman do not experience it’s effects at all. But a few years after first shifting, the hunger begins to gnaw at us. Soon after, we begin to feed, essentially entering a new stage of their curse. We all do it. Feel driven to do it. And, God help us… we do enjoy it.”
Rick: ”When you say feed?”
Sam: “I‘ll try to be as general as possible so as not to offend your audience. But werewomen… we feed on sexual energy. Usually men, they are easier, but women too. The um… juices that are produced during… intercourse. They nourish us. Keep us looking young and healthy. We come to crave them when we transform.”
Rick: ”So… once the hunger begins… it grows? Give me some examples.”
Sam: “Well for one, you start transforming more. The hunger sort of forces us to. Instead of the 3 nights of the full moon, suddenly it’s once a week in addition to full moons. Then a few years later, it’s twice a week. And so on until… until eventually, it’s every night. It can take decades to get to that point, but we all seem to progress at a different rate. Some get there quicker than others.“
Rick: ”Sort of a progressive condition? One that leads to ever more time in female form and driven towards promiscuous behavior?”
Sam: ”Precisely. It’s part of the whole ‘being a werewoman’ deal. We all deal with our needs in different ways, healthy and responsible ways. But going back to TransformX. I am not here to reinforce preexisting werewoman stereotypes. I’d rather focus on…”
Rick “Before we get to that… please, tell us a little more about yourself, and about why you decided to take on the challenge that you did.”
Sam: “When I was first diagnosed as a werewoman, a lot of people gave up on me. ‘Well, thats it for him,‘ people said. ‘Werewomen become sex workers, not scientists.’ Thats all life had to offer to my kind. Werewoman media portrayals were typically demeaning. There were a lot of negative stereotypes people believed about us. It just seemed like sort of a limiting thing that would sap my potential for personal growth. People laughed when I would show up to a night class female in college. Only a few people had faith in my vision.”
(Sam pauses and takes a sip of water.)
Sam: “I didn’t want that sex worker life. I was born for business. And science. And so I showed as much discpline as I could in college, when my feeding instincts first presented, trying only to feed when i absolutely had to. It was a real feat of will. I began the venture immediately following college graduation. I had no time to waste. I wanted the company to be successful before my growing cocklust peaked. I knew the compound would work, the science was peer reviewed and vetted up and down. The announcement of what TransformX had achieved attracted a lot of press attention, as you may remember.”
Rick: “I do recall, those were exciting days. What happened next though?”
Sam: “We launched our trial. Enrolled patients. We started with 10,000 subjects, all willing volunteers. Each was a bona-fide, genetically tested and confirmed werewoman-in-waiting. Meaning of course that their werewoman gene had activated, but the transestrogen threshold necessary to inaugurate the transformative cycle had not yet been reached. We supplied them with TransformX, along with instructions on its proper use. Take one a day, every day to prevent the change. And those that stuck to the regimen didn’t end up transforming. Some even experienced a slight… masculinization effect, if you will. An increase in testosterone. Increase height, muscle tone, it even helped them overcome their shortcomings vis a vis the ladies. The TransformX pill made them pretty much normal guys. As long as they kept taking it, that is.”
Rick: “So far so good huh? Must have felt good, those promising results pouring in. Was that the case for all participants though?”
Sam: “Well...of course, not everyone responded to the pill in the same way. Some in the initial study simply reported that they stopped taking TransformX on purpose, because they actually *wanted* to change. These were invariably ultra beta males, who seemed to get none of the masculinizing benefit from the pill. Usually they stopped taking TransformX voluntarily, around age 17 or 18, within a year or two of initial enrollment in the study.”
Rick: “The first to fall, the severe cases.”
Sam: “These results were expected, sadly. Some cases just cannot be cured. It was about 15% of the study population, higher than expected, but things seemed to be working for the remaining 85%, all of whom made it into year three with no real complications. Maybe a feminine thought or urge once in a while. An impulse to engage in some sort of feminine behavior. An occasional dalliance with crossdressing. So, some behavioral patterns typical of a werewoman-in-waiting, but with no danger of a full physical transformation occurring. So long as they stayed the course. And morale was high amongst those who chose to do so.”
Rick: ”So we are in year three of the trial. What did we notice at that point?“
Sam: “Most participants who took it did well through high school, college, and entered the workforce, still taking their daily pills. Some even had girlfriends, one had a wife and a cute young family, and all were outwardly indistinguishable from normal, genetic men. Those troubled by occasional feminization fantasies and behaviors noted these usually coincided with the full moon, as though it was calling to them, but these fantasies were also reportedly milder than they had been before the pill being administered.”
Rick: “So 85% effective, at this stage, anyway. Any signs of trouble ahead?”
Sam: “We lost a couple participants in this group due to forgetfulness. Missing a few doses is all it took to trigger their first change, and the onset of their transformative cycle. Once that occurred, their fate was sealed. They joined our little moonlight sisterhood for good. We cruised through a few more years with only a few what we termed ‘accidental disenrollments.’”
Rick: ”So the first couple years of the study saw some significant voluntary disenrollment. But it seems to have leveled off by year 3-4 is what you are saying?”
Sam: “These were the results we expected. All was well. Investors saw potential, the number of gene carriers is rising, demand will remain strong. It might not work for everyone, but it would do what it promised to do. My drug was pretty much still considered a major achievement.”
Rick: “But something happened along the way that changed all that. What was it Ms.Watson?”
Sam: “With such good results from the early years, imagine our surprise when, in year 7, reports started trickling in of participants who suddenly, voluntarily stopping taking TransformX.”
Rick: ”But stopping the pill… that would mean transforming, right? Becoming… like you. A werewoman. Why would these participants want that to happen?”
Sam: “Subjects presented a variety of reasons for disenrolling. Some felt they just had to. Their casually reported girly fantasies did not go away. Recently, they had even gotten significantly stronger. Taking the pill, staying male, it was losing its appeal to them. They just wanted to let nature take its course. And being manly felt… unnatural for many of them. I was stunned. Another 25% of the study population down the drain.”
Rick: “Wow. A quarter of the study preferred the disease to the cure. Any other major reasons why participants quit the study?”
Sam: “Quite a few had developed depression and ‘stopped caring’ about a lot of things, their pills included. Missed doses caused their receptors to open, and the transformative cycle to commence. Oddly, their first change seemed a relief, their depression cleared up. We took some negative press when this was announced. It was our first corporate scandal. There was no attempt at covering it up, as some have claimed. We began to recommend that participants exhibiting this symptom cease treatment as soon as we found out. All in all, we lost another 25% of the total population to depression. That troubles me still.”
Rick: ”I remember those results. Troubling stuff indeed. Just to point out, that is about the time I packed it in and left TransformX.”
Sam: “That’s right Rick. There was a growing faction within TransformX who thought…’Look, maybe its wrong, what we are doing here. The pill caused depression in a large percentage of our study population. The change cured them of this depression. Another massive chunk left because they wanted to change. They’re *happier* and *better off* turning into werewoman cocksluts. Who are we to play God?’”
Sam: “This faction stated that, between the fantasies and behaviors, the depression, strong desires for feminization, the remaining participants long term prospects as men were not good. They insisted they would continue to experience these negative side effects, and that the cause of these negative effects was TransformX Itself. If a person had the gene, and it activated, they were supposed to change. And my pill was not allowing them to fulfill their biological destiny. Basically, preventing a werewoman from experiencing their first transformative episode is unnatural. And so was TransformX.”
Rick: ”Was there any data… to back up the claims that this faction was making?”
Sam: “At the time, our data was inconclusive. But disenrollments continued. Even increased. Some participants were bored of living as average men, and wanted to see what their true feminine potential was when transformed. Or so they said. Uniformly, they were all quite pleased with the end result when they turned girly for the first time. Another 20 some percent of the participants went out like this. As you said, preferring the disease to the cure.”
Rick: ”Were any of the disenrollments involuntary? It seems as though, to this point, most of the people who left did so for personal reasons, mental health reasons, whichever the case, it was their choice.”
Sam: “We touched on that, but yes. We had some accidental disenrollments in every year of the study. There were always a few participants who missed a dose or two unintentionally. They would self report to us, and we would do what we could, which wasn’t much other than keep an eye on the situation. After a period of rebetaization, in which they lost much of their masculine essence, the full moon claimed their manhood. Out of all the groups of participants who disenrolled in the trial, this was the smallest group.”
Rick: ”So, with all the attrition from the initial population… how many made it into year 8?”
Sam (casting a downward glade towards the floor): “I was down to 10%. 1,000 participants still clinging to their manhood and my pills. The trial was officially a disaster by year 8. And negative data kept pouring in. More reporting symptoms of gender dysphoria, etc. My investors got jumpy when they saw the annual published materials. Resources dried up. The study fell apart, despite several years of somewhat promising results. I could not attract new investors, and the original investors were pissed that approval looked less than likely. It was a dark time for me.”
Rick: “Any thoughts about circling the wagons? Giving it another go? Or working on a new drug?”
Sam: “No, that wasn’t part of my game plan. I was … pretty much out of time. My cocklust became harder to ignore. The hunger triggered more changes, I was feeding, a lot more than I ever needed to before. All just to feel normal. I could barely focus on work. But I tried to, in those moments of clarity between the transformations, for as long as I could manage.”
Rick: “The aspect of the curse that some find unnerving, this hunger, this primal lust, it was beginning to affect you as well, towards the end of TransformX’s run?”
Sam: “Pretty much, yes. Building a company is hard. The clinical trials require patience too. Patience is not easy for a werewoman. Ever since I had first transformed at age 17, my life was like a game of beat the clock. Make my mark in the business world before my curse progressed too far. Before my cocklust overpowered me. I didn’t know exactly how much time I had at the start. It’s different for all of us. So the waiting on results, it was hard. A few years in, I knew I was only going to get one shot at this. And when that shot missed…”
Rick: ”But there were other headlines that started coming out in those years as well. Tell me about those.”
Sam: “Now, all of the remaining participants had masculinized to some degree while on the pill. They were in their early 20’s now, and despite looking like normal men, were still dropping out of the study like flies. Every month, on the first full moon night, we lost a few more. I hated coming in on the morning after the first full moon each month for that reason. Employees called it subtraction day. They would take bets the week before, how many of the remaining participants will trade in their cock & balls for a pussy, and pair of tits this time? My life’s work, reduced to a office mockery. It was humbling. All of it. My dream was turning into a nightmare. The people I spent my life trying to help did not need help after all. Betrayed is probably the wrong word, but I felt something akin to that.”
Rick: ”Of course patients who ceased medication inevitably transformed. But how they changed was distressing to a lot of people.”
Sam: “That’s right Rick. We began observing what would happen to this group when they ceased medicating. It unnerved a lot of people. myself included. Before the actual transformation hit, they changed in other ways. All presented a host of symptoms. To wit: a decrease in cock size, muscle tone, height, weight, body hair, male sexual behavior and aggression, and an increase in female oriented urges and fantasies. Like those they had experienced before the pill, only much stronger. Within a matter of weeks, they looked like the betas they really were always meant to be. Less like the men the pill had made them. Rebetaization, we called it. And once the process ran it’s course, the transformative cycle soon commenced.”
Rick: “Powerful stuff. Must have been hard for them... and for you too… seeing and hearing about this happening to them. In the end, lack of funds ended up shutting down TransformX. At that point, how many participants did you have?”
Sam: “The final results were pretty shocking. Out of 10,000 participants, 9,957 had eventually disenrolled or been disqualified. All of the investors said I was selling a product nobody wanted long term. That the profit potential wasn’t there. That my putting in less time at the lab was becoming problematic. My increasingly unorthodox management style could no longer be tolerated, That they were divesting what they could, pulling up stakes, and suing me. For what, I could not yet determine.”
Rick: ”Was that about the time the data leaked to the public too?”
Sam: “One of our executives leaked some of the data we collected with to the media. Suddenly, my achievement, my triumph of chemistry, was rebranded as a failure! The drug nobody wanted. The very people it was supposed to help had roundly rejected it, in favor of their girly biological destiny. Headline creators had a field day. Werewoman drug company goes tit’s up. Things like that. My company was ruined. My reputation in tatters.”
Rick: “So the investors bailed, the media lambasted you. What was the reaction from the general public?”
Sam: “Werewoman haters despised me, because I am a werewoman, of course. So there’s that… But also, because I had promised the world a cure, and failed to deliver on a big stage. They felt I had failed to save some of their boys from werewoman life. And worse, in doing so, proven it was foolish for anyone else to even try.”
(Sam took a long sip of water before continuing.)
Sam: ”Werewoman supporters despised me, because I had encouraged people to supress their authentic selves. Werewomanism is not a disease to be cured, but a gift to be embraced by those with the gene. Most werewomen were happy with their condition. To the werewoman supporter crowd, transformx caused harm by preventing the natural change, forcing patients to live a lie.”
Rick: ”You sure took a lot of heat in that news cycle. And what did you do during these troubled times?”
Sam: “So… it was a real low point in my life. Locking the door to the lab and office for the last time. Wondering what to do next. But there was no market for what we are selling anymore. And I was out of time. My cocklust was out of control by now. I didn’t have any other ideas to pursue. Or the focus and concentration required to pursue a good idea if it landed in my cleavage. It was and is too late for me. Too late for a normal career.”
Rick: “What about the patients still participating at the very end?”
Sam: “I felt I had a duty of care for those still enrolled. Sadly, there was not much I could do for them. I got what supplies I could for the people still taking TransformX, all 43 of them. I had to buy them back from the holding company at market rate, before they were destroyed. I saved enough to last about one year per participant. And no more would ever be made. My investors owned the formula now, so even if I tried to…”
Rick: ”You would be violating their copyright? Even though it was your break through, your work to begin with? I have heard reports that.. some of the remaining participants were not too happy with that arrangement?”
Sam (nodding yes): “I still feel horrible about what happened next. Poor guys, they believed in me, I let them down. All 43 came to see me, not at once, they came separately or in small groups. They were begging me for more transformx. Or to have me teach them how to make it. I wanted to help.”
Rick: ”What sort of help could you offer them?”
Sam: “Not much. Just to try and accept it. That they had a better run than most boys born with the gene. But there was nothing I could do for them now. It was sad to see them in that state. To varrying degrees, they had begun reverting from masculine men back into androgynous beta male bodies. Some were just starting to, others were well on their way by the time they came to see me. But I had nothing to offer, except an apology. One by one, they too ended up succumbing to the transformative cycle.“
Rick: “That could not have been easy… these guys, they wanted to remain male.”
Sam: “I feel horrible for them. Even the ones who are currently suing me. See, all my life, since I changed, people said what I was working on was impossible. A waste of time. That werewomen are bound for sex work. Why fight it? I tried so hard to prove them wrong. To set a good example. To prove that a werewoman can do anything a man or a woman can. Science, business. That we are not defined by our lust and our hunger. Maybe it was naive of me.”
Rick: “The curse can be limiting, careerwise, as many have observed. Is the rumor true though? Are you currently employed in the sex trade?”
Sam: “When the company finally collapsed… there was nothing left but lawsuits, bad debts and worse memories. So to answer your question, yes. I became a sex worker. What other choice did I have? I had a tax problem, debtors to repay. At the same time my cocklust is peaking. My curse had progressed so much… I was effectively useless as a business leader and a scientist.”
Rick: “Is there anything you took away from all this, lessons-wise?”
Sam: “I learned a lot about the world from my experience. The business world was good to me, while it lasted. But really it only delayed the inevitable. The main thing I learned is that… there is no fighting what we are. People transform for a reason. And changing, being different, it is nothing to be ashamed of. As a werewoman, we do what we can. We do what we love. We do what we are born to do. I realize that now. I’m just so sorry… to all the people I hurt.”
Rick: “Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Tonight I am joined by Ms. Erin Phelps, a participant in the TransformX clinical trial and litigant in the upcoming class action lawsuit against the company founder, Ms. Sam Watson. So tell me more about your participation in this trial, Ms. Phelps.”
Erin: “They really worked for me, the pills. Transformx. They worked so well, I just kept taking them like I was supposed to. And I was pretty happy with my guy life, because I had been dreading the werewoman curse since first hearing about it, and learning I had the gene. Transformx made it so I didn’t have to worry. And I was grateful.”
Rick: ”So the drug, it worked for you. Well too, you say. Unlike many of the other participants. You made it to the end of the study as an enrolled patient. And you were happy with the performance of the drug. Tell me, what happened next?”
Erin: “I was happy to be on the stuff, Rick. And I believed in the company. Right up until the day the big story broke. I remember when I heard the news. It was a shock to my system. Transformx Bankrupt. Scandalous clinical trial exposed. CEO apologizes. Company closes its doors. It was surreal.“
Rick: “Sounds like it. I can only imagine. Were there any further announcements concerning the trial?”
Erin: “A year’s supply of a drug I had taken every day for 9 years shows up. There is a note from the company founder explaining that this is all that is left. That’s when it all became very real. This is *actually happening.* It’s over for transformx inc. And no more pills will ever be made. It was a real problem for me. Things were going well as a guy… I didn’t want to girl out!”
Rick: “Terrifying stuff. Especially since you and TransformX went back so many years.”
Erin: “I was shocked. I was one of the first kids enrolled in the study, there at the beginning. And not a moment too soon. A skrawny sophmore, 15 years old, a beta hovering on ultra beta. I was just starting to have feeding fantasies.. I was a perfect fit for the study, my enrollment could not have been timed better. So I took the pill, and I got good results. Really good results. I shot up from 5’6” to 5’10 in a year on the stuff. My cock grew! It wasn’t magnificent mind you. But it was just shy of 6 inches, which meant I was safe from the being ridiculed as a potential werewoman in the gym showers. Or by potential girlfriends.”
Rick: “Sounds like you were on track for a pretty normal, male, high school experience by now.”
Erin: “It’s true. I even made a sports team. Basketball. I was what you would call a bench warmer, but still, on the team, photo in the yearbook and all. And that got some attention from the girls in school. I started dating one. Not bad for 17 year old me. By now, I should have been actively changing into a girl, not dating one. We even did the cliche prom night sex, and I was… ok at it, i guess. First times are awkward.”
Rick: “And after high school, did TransformX continue to deliver results?”
Erin: “It kept me male. And I did ok girlwise in college too. I played ultimate frisbee. Joined a frat. Did ok in classes. All because of my pills. I took transformx for granted a lot… but sometimes I would think about how it had literally saved me. Saved me from the life of a werewoman. Gave me a chance to become a man. Opened up possibilities *outside of* sex work that, if not for the pill, wouldn’t be there.”
Rick: “So no ill effects for you, just a happy customer, sounds like. How did you manage to remember to take your pill every day, without fail?”
Erin: “I made a ritual of taking it each morning. I never forgot. My manhood depended upon it. And when I graduated and had my degree in business, I set about building a life. By now, the pill is part of my routine. Got my real estate license. Sold some houses. Met a girl, Lisa, we got close… I was even ring shopping. Considering marriage ffs. I was just a normal dude, and all thanks to transformx.”
Rick: (notices his guest tearing up, and hands her a tissue.). “I know this must all seem painful for you to recall now.“
Erin: “Sorry… (sniffle) All that…. It seems like a lifetime ago now. But when the news came out, that is where I was in my life. It was devastating to have to rethink some things i had long been counting on continuing forever. Like continuing to be male.”
Rick: “What were you prepared to do about it?”
Erin: “It seemed that all i could do was just enjoy whatever time I had left as… ‘me’… as a real man… before the curse began to affect me too. And I did. I mean, as much as I could.”
Rick: “Did you have anyone to tell about the news you just received?”
Erin: ”No, not really. I had kept this my little secret all those years. My pill. My condition. No one knew. Other than my mother who was at the diagnosis appointment and helped me enroll in the trial as a minor. But when I started getting to the end of my last years supply… oh God… I didn’t know what to do!“
Rick: “What did you end up doing?”
Erin: “I contacted a few people from the study I knew. Some had already stopped, and provided me a few pills they had left over… if they had not already flushed them. A few others in the study were still hoarding them, like me, and didn’t have any to spare. Scrambling only got me a handful of extra pills. Not even a full months supply. My strenuous efforts didn’t buy me much time.”
Rick: “No one is making TransformX. The few people still in the trial like yourself are not giving theirs up. A few pills from former participants didn’t amount to much. So… did you resign yourself to changing into a woman at that point? Succumbing to the transformative cycle?”
Erin: “No actually. Not yet. I can still remember taking that last pill. Since the announcement of the company folding, I’d been working out more. Trying to gird myself for battle with my own body. With my own gender. Anything to keep my manhood intact for as long as I could. And for about a month after I stopped doses, things were pretty much the same for me.”
Rick: “But the other shoe was sure to drop at some point.”
Erin: “I had heard from others… guys I knew from the study… what to like, look out for and stuff. And in the second month, it all started happening to me too.”
Rick: “Tell our audience about these symptoms so they know what you went through.”
Erin: “I lost my muscle tone, the gym was just exhausting me, and I wasn’t able to do things that once came easy to me. My running times were down. Things that used to be light felt heavy. I noticed I was getting shorter. And that… my cock… it was shrinking too. Girth and length. I had powerful fantasies of being a woman, the kind i had not experienced since before starting the pills. I was almost scared to make love to my girlfriend… and she was starting to notice my changes too.“
Rick: “It would be hard for her not to. How did she react when you told her? And when did you decide to disclose your… unique situation to her?”
Erin: “i knew she was going to find out. I was less hairy, less muscular. Shorter, about 5’8” now… and when we banged… I came really quickly, and was definitely failing to please her. Thats when I had to come clean. Naturally, she was furious… how could I decieve her like that? I should have told her the moment we met, or at least the moment I lost my supply of TransformX, etc. She commented like, it’s no wonder my sales were slumping, and I seemed so distracted.”
Rick: “Devastating. For you, and for her. Did she stick by you, or…”
Erin: “She unloaded on me first. Then she cried. And then she left. I didn’t blame her. I had seen how the change had affected others in the trial, and I knew my time was coming. My betaization as a male was just the start. There was a girl in me. And she was growing. Soon, she would break free, under the light of a full moon, whether I liked it or not.”
Rick: “How did you feel about that?”
Erin: “I’m hesitant to admit this… but the closer it got, the less I hated the idea.”
Rick: “Really? That’s surprising. What led to this turnabout in outlook?
Erin: “Lisa leaving sort of made me deal with my situation. The fantasies were getting stronger. The first time I jerked off to cock, Imagining that I was on my knees, female and slurping and sucking as my tits bobbed… knew it was close. Feeding fantasies are **not** a good sign.”
Rick: “It must have been troubling, waiting for the moon to unleash the curse and not being able to stop it.”
Erin: “By now, I was resigned to my girly fate. I can remember waiting for the full moon to rise, alone, in a house i could no longer afford, having lost my real estate job when Lisa left. But the change didn’t hit that month. Half of me was relieved. Half of me was just impatient, eager to get it over with.”
Rick: “Sort of a staying of the execution if you will.”
Erin: “I still knew it was coming. And the following month, I continued to shrink all over… my cock was down to 4 inches. I stood at 5’6”. Skinny. A borderline ultra beta. I knew the Next full moon would do me in. But maybe… I could forestall the onset of my transformation. Get back some of the maleness i lost. And so, with about 2 weeks until change day, I sprung into action. Tried to control my urges and feeding fantasies to focus on my mission.”
Rick: “And that mission was?”
Erin: “To track down Miss Watson. I had written a letter to the transformx founder pleading my case. But I got no response. So I visited her at her new… job… and she had nothing for me. Just her apology as she mopped up cum from her hair in between customers. Nothing she or anyone could do for me now.”
Rick: “That wasn’t what you were hoping to hear. How’d you take this news?
Erin: “I was doomed. Soon, I would be like her. And it made my lil beta cock so hard. There was officially no stopping this. But in a way, it was liberating too. I could stop pretending I wanted to stop the change from hitting. And the following full moon, it finally happened. My transformative cycle began with my first change. Age 25, after 10 years on the pill. And a couple months off of them, I was a girl.”
Rick: “So this lawsuit then, what are you hoping to achieve with it?”
Erin: “I feel let down by Ms. Watson and TransformX. I feel like they made promises they could not keep to their patients, like me, who enrolled in good faith. They promised to supply pills for me for 20 years, 15-35, which would have effectively cured me of my condition. But instead, they abandoned me to the mercy of the moon. And look at me now…”
Rick: “Indeed. Though I must say you did turn out quite lovely.”
Erin: “Thanks Rick, I appreciate it, but what I am hoping to achieve with this lawsuit is to make sure that the next time a drug company makes a promise to their patient, they will keep it. More than the money involved, it’s about that.”
Rick: “That’s all the time we have tonight. I would like to thank Ms. Watson and Ms. Phelps for joining me. And to let my viewers know that, on next weeks show, we will be discussing the mysterious disappearance of Rhode Island. It was here, attached to the United States, as recently as Monday. But it seems to have broken off completely, and was last seen sailing East through the North Atlantic at a speed of 35 knots. Is this another Russian trick, or did an entire state just unilaterally relocate? More on that then. Until next week, I’m Rick Deacon, and this has been Deep Dive with Deacon.”
Hello everybody,
The following is a story loosely based upon the theme present in the feature film Zerophilia. It contains none of the same characters, but a similar plot. I caught the film on Showtime the other night, and chances are if you're on this site as a reader/writer you'd love this movie. This story is intended to be a chapter one for a serial story, and I welcome participation from any author on this site. If you have ideas for the plot, write them out and post them as a follow-up chapter with my blessing.
With no further ado here is the story...
(6:15 pm today in Los Angeles California)
Rrrringgggg ... Rrrringgggg ... Rrrringgggg ... Rrrringgggg
“Hello?...Speaking...Of course doctor, I have a moment go ahead...Well that sounds good...Wait you found what?...You're sure?...Oh that's not good, is there anything I can do?...OK I have a pen...Alright I'll check it out, thank you for calling...Yes I'll be OK, I guess...Sure, Monday afternoon sounds good for a follow up appointment...Alright, thanks...Bye.”
Colin Pope placed the cordless phone on it's charging station and hung his head in a visibly downtrodden manner. If anyone had been observing him at this moment, they would have certainly picked up on the negative vibe. No doubt about it, anyone watching would have been compelled to ask him what the doctor just said during that call. But aside from himself, Colin's small apartment was empty.
The topic of the conversation between the nameless doctor and Colin happened to be the results from a recent physical exam. The physical had gone astonishingly well, at age 21 Colin was as healthy as a horse. But he also had some blood drawn as part of the routine check-up. Blood which was sent to a lab for testing. The results of these tests was troubling indeed for Colin.
He sat on the couch trying to process the information known only to he himself and his health care provider. Colin searched his memory for any offhand knowledge about what he had just been told.
“Z people, what have I heard about Z people?” he asked himself aloud.
Colin wasn't exactly Mr. Current Events, but Z people had begun revealing themselves to the general public a few decades ago. He'd heard a thing or two about them. Unlike so called X people (women), or Y people (men), Z people were neither. Z's shifted genders back and forth, sometimes willingly and other times involuntarily. Z's appeared in the media once in a while, fighting for equal rights, against discrimination and persecution, but Colin had never done any serious research on the topic.
It seemed like that would change shortly. During his phone conversation, Colin jotted down a web address recommended by his physician. Entering the link into his address bar, the screen lit up with information about Z people.
We-R-Z.com was a Z people support website that had some articles, posts and rants. The content was produced by Z people, other Z people were the intended audience. They'd gather here to share stories and support one another. Scared witless to be in their ranks, Colin read on to see what was in store for him.
According to the information on the site, being a Z was a genetic condition, and approximately 5% of people world-wide were potential Z's. However for reasons unknown, only a small percentage of potential Z's actually triggered the condition out of dormancy. The rest lived on never knowing about their genetic difference.
Colin sighed in relief. Apparently nothing his doctor had said to him indicated that his gene was active. Though the conversation was sort of a blur, Colin was almost certain he had heard the word 'recessive' as he spoke to his doctor.
Colin swallowed hard as he clicked on the list of symptoms that a recessive Z was going active. According to the opening paragraph, once the chromosome was identified in a patient, additional tests could determine when and if it started to go active. Once this occurred, an incubation period of about one year in length was common among Z people. During that year, the soon to be active Z person will exhibit several of the following symptoms:
1.Persistent fantasies featuring gender transformation, some sexual in nature and others innocent day-dreams were common in the study population. These day-dreams and fantasies appeared during early incubation and terminated with the first transformation.
2.An increasing fondness for and interest in the clothes of the opposite gender was prevalent amongst those observed. This phenomenon occurred during the early and middle phases of incubation and persisted until transformation.
3.Vivid, realistic and recurring dreams where the patient is in the body of the opposite gender were reported in virtually all study candidates. Reports of such lucid dreams were frequently reported by participants only during the late phases of incubation.
And all of these symptoms were followed by a sudden, dramatic transformation where men became women and women became men. This event was only the first of many changes an owner of an active Z chromosome is fated to experience in their lifetime.
Colin was relieved because although the Z chromosome had been found in him, he exhibited none of the symptoms described above. As far as he knew, he was in the clear and not in danger of going active. He searched for ways in which the condition was triggered, which seemed to be a contentious issue.
Some posters insisted they had 'willed' their Z chromosome into activity after finding out they were potentials, others claimed that was impossible. Dissenting posters claimed that the Z chromosome switching on is a random occurrence. When it comes, who is affected and who isn't does not seem to follow any pattern. Furthermore, to these posters, a dormant Z cannot influence their activation or continued dormancy.
A Z who identified her (him?) self as being from Hong Kong indicated that she and her twin brother had both tested positive as potential Z's during childhood. Her brother grew up hoping that he'd get the chance to experience life as a woman, she grew up dreading the prospect of spending even a second of her life as a man. Yet it was her Z chromosome that kicked into gear while her jealous brother's remained recessive. She changed, he never did. Based on this and similar examples, Colin accepted the idea that he couldn't will this away.
A few posts on this topic were outright ridiculous, one poster claimed that, quote, 'it was something I ate.' that caused his Z chromosome to activate. Another thought it was his upbringing, a single mother raising an only son, that caused him to slip out of recessive mode and transform. Some even claimed a severe allergic reactions set off their metamorphosis. These posts seemed less credible, and sort of silly.
Colin found his favorite theory next. An intelligent sounding poster pointed out that 90% of active Z's experienced their first transformation between the age of 15 and 20, with a few being younger and a few being older. This gave Colin hope, at 21 he was essentially in the clear if this poster was accurate. According to his theory, the rush of hormones that occurs in late adolescence will either activate a dormant Z chromosome, or it won't and nothing else will. The poster's basic conclusion added up to the old cliche' 'it's either meant to be or it isn't.' If it is meant to be, chances are it'll show up between age 15 and 20.
There was one topic that almost all the posters agreed upon. Once a transformation did occur, it was important to find a balance between male time and female time. Balance is important to a Z's well-being, and to prevent undo strain a Z must listen to what their body is telling them. Forcing a transformation, or straining to prevent one, could have horrible effects on a Z.
Some Z's discover after the transformation they really enjoy life as a member of the opposite sex. They will force their body to transform into their preferred gender more often, and resist the pull to revert for longer periods of time. Say for example a male-born Z person constantly forces himself to change into a female, and spends excessive amounts of time in that form. After a certain point he will be unable to change back to male mode again. So for a Z, forcing a transformation could be quite risky.
In other cases, a Z will suppress the urge to change genders in an attempt to live a normal life as their birth sex. Some Z's, choosing to ignore their true nature, are successful at preventing a transformation for months or even years after their first changes. But eventually, the Z chromosome becomes strained and the individual is forced to change gender. When Z's change under these circumstances, the transformation lasts for quite some time. Once the other gender forces its way out, it is loathe to go back in. According to the site, the longer a Z goes without changing, the less it takes to trigger a transformation. A modest amount of stress, a pleasing sexual encounter, or even a lapse in concentration could lead to transformations occurring at less than ideal times.
Such Z's that continually resisted the change to the point where it forced itself out ran larger risks. There were details about a few reported cases of a Z fighting the transformation so hard, they actually froze between genders. In each of these cases, the Z person had repeatedly battled their condition by refusing to give into their body's desire to transform. In the end they resembled the character Bob from the movie Fight Club.
Still there was hope, even though the middle path seemed to be quite a balancing act in the literal sense. Once the first transformation occurs, the Z person quickly becomes aware distinct feeling that precedes a transformation. Some of the more credible threads advised surrendering to that feeling at the first opportunity and shifting phase for a while. By letting out their other gender on these occasions instead of forcing it out or resisting the change, a Z person would settle into a comfort zone of sorts.
Colin marveled at how these comfort zones varied widely between Z people. Even within their small community, there was a wide variance between the frequency and duration of their transformations. Some Z's only felt the call to shift for a few hours each week, still others felt the need to change much more frequently and for longer. One poster claimed that from Monday through Friday, he was an average guy with a decent job. Then on the weekend when the urge to change arrived, he would go with it and spend 'his' weekends as a 'her.' After falling asleep Sunday evening, at some point during the night, he would revert back to male mode for work on Monday morning.
Colin was fascinated by the possibilities despite himself, and began to wonder what it might be like to live that way. He pondered for a second before focusing on the clock on the bottom right corner of his monitor. 1:10 am. Colin had spent nearly 6 hours in front of his computer without realizing it, so he closed his browser and shut down the machine. His alarm was set for 6am tomorrow morning, it was definitely passed Colin's bed-time.
As he lay under the covers of his bed, Colin's thoughts drifted back to the site and the stories he'd read on it. The way some of them sounded, being a Z was a curse from God. Then there were others who praised it as a blessing. One enthusiastic Z's story really stood out in Colin's mind. The post was written by a born male Z person who insisted that going active was the best thing that ever happened to him. Colin couldn't help but become aroused as he recalled the post. The author described examining his female reflection in the mirror immediately after his first change into a woman. All the poster's fears and concerns about being an active Z melted away as he beheld his new self.
Colin blushed in embarrassment, he remembered getting a little hot reading the post earlier. Despite himself, Colin began to envision a female version of himself. He conjured up a mental image of a girl, average in height, thinly built and with the same shade of light brown hair only longer atop her head. His vision was adorned with delicate female facial features, and all the amazing curves you'd expect to find on a healthy 21 year old woman. As his mind wandered to where it never had before, his body responded to the beautiful visage of the fantasy girl.
Colin was rock hard at the thought of himself as a girl. Even though he had never entertained the notion before, something about possessing the body of a woman excited him greatly. The fantasy he'd concocted gave him goose-bumps. Masturbation followed, not really by choice but out of a deep seeded need for relief. Even though his physiological reaction to these thoughts was pleasant, in the seconds before release something he had read earlier gave him pause...
...Persistent fantasies featuring gender transformation, some sexual in nature and others innocent day-dreams, were common in the study population. These day-dreams and fantasies appeared during early incubation and terminated with the first transformation...
But it was too late to stop his orgasm, after which his fantasy came to an abrupt end. Colin was suddenly filled with shame and anxiety. The thought of being a girl got such a strong response from his body it was unbelievable and undeniable. Colin began to wonder about the implications of having such a fantasy. Could it reveal anything about the state of his Z chromosome?
As sleep claimed Colin Pope that night, he secretly wondered if anyone else in the galaxy had a day as strange as his.