Owl Eyes (TG, Race Change)

[Mytransformations]

Introduction:

Ever since I can remember, I’ve been haunted by my first name: Maurice. My parents, who were uneducated but hoped I would surpass them intellectually, chose the name because they thought it invoked the image of a bookworm. It sounded more like a good name of an English butler to me, but I suppose I had to concede that they had good intentions - and predictive power, too, though the latter claim carries a significant caveat.

I did indeed grow into a bookworm - that much is indisputable. But did my parents anticipate my erudite nature with my name, or did the name help push me down the path of scholarliness? When I was a child and I introduced myself, there would often be a sneer or a giggle. Maurice just wasn’t what they were expecting, especially from a black boy. If only my parents had named me a strong, traditionally African name, say Shaquille or Darnell, instead of the French name Maurice, I might have been perceived as more masculine, more cool. My socialization might have gone differently, and I might never have sought refuge among books.

When I was 12, I found my first hero. I read in the back of a newspaper that the first ever African American had been awarded the Grandmaster title in chess - a man named Maurice Ashley. He later became a chess coach, an author, and a public speaker. I attempted to start a chess club at my school to follow in his example. The club, along with my newly aquired glasses, cemented my status as a nerd at school, and sadly, I proved to only be a mediocre player. Worse, my shyness prevented me from inviting many people to join.

In addition to my passion for books, I also developed a love for computers. After graduating college, the first in my family ever to do so, I started work as a software designer for a company involved in virology research. The pay was decent, but what good is a spacious apartment if one lives in isolation?

Explaining that I work in a lab filled with deadly viruses tends to put off potential friends and partners. That lab was such a serious and somber setting that there was little time for socializing with my co-workers, meaning that I had very few chances to make friends even inside the office. Brian, the most popular person at the office, rarely spoke to me. Stephanie, the girl I had a little crush on, never seemed to want to chat with me or even make eye contact. Earlier this week, I had been invited to g a Hooters restaurant that was a block away from the office for Brian’s bachelor party, but I wasn’t into that kind of thing. Besides, I knew Brian and the rest of my office mates barely noticed I existed.

I knew my parents were proud of me and my accomplishments, but it was difficult to accept that 26 years after my birth, they were still the only ones who used my name with affection. Others that knew me respected me intellectual prowess, but they were never attracted to me as a person. To everyone, I was unimportant, unmemorable or both. And with my line of work and my lacking social skills, I doubted anything would ever change that.

The Shift:

I fell asleep alone in my bed on Thursday night, as I normally did. There was absolutely nothing unusual about Thursday. But before I even opened my eyes on Friday morning, I know something was amiss.

I remember distinctly the first thing I was aware of - a soft, overwhelmingly warm sensation draped over my body. It was simultaneously wondrous and frightening. The former because of the pleasing nature of the sensations, and the latter because I knew that this was not how my bed felt.

I pulled my head out from under the covers to find myself in a bed with a very plush pink quilt - not my usual thin, brown one. The mattress felt softer underneath me as well. The walls were pastel colors, and the room was smaller than my own. I quickly ran through the logical possibilities in my mind, as I lay in the warm, soft bed.

Was I dreaming? It felt real enough. It didn’t have that choppy, artificial quality my dreams often possessed.

Had I been kidnapped and brought here in my sleep? I was not restrained in any way, and this room seemed like an odd place to hold a captive. Besides, who could possibly stand to gain anything from abducting me?

Perhaps I had moved to this room in the future and then suffered some type of amnesia last night. That didn’t make sense, either - why would I choose to live in a room that looked so girly? Was I staying over at a future girlfriend’s house - perhaps sleeping in her bed? It was an exciting thought, but then I realized that the bed only contained one pillow - hardly evidence that there was ever two people sleeping here together.

All attempts to use logic to discern what was going on vanished the moment I looked at my hands. They were white, and what’s more, they were small and delicate, like a woman’s. They even had painted, hot pink nails, with small, tiny chips on a few of the corners.

I moved them back and forth in front of my face, splaying and playing with my little fingers just to make sure they were indeed mine. I saw a mirror on the far side of the room and decided I needed to have a good look at myself. There was nothing else that I could do.

I pulled myself out of bed very gingerly, resisting the temptation to look down at myself. I wanted to see what had happened all at once.

When I approached the mirror, I felt like I was looking through a window. I could see a white, blonde woman in a pink nightgown approaching. I knew there was nobody else in the room, but I still couldn’t believe it was me. When I stopped walking, she stopped walking. When I smiled at her, she smiled back, revealing a stunningly beautiful grin. She was me and I was her, there was no denying it. The bespectacled, nerdy, insecure black man to whom I had grown so accustomed being had vanished, and this white woman had taken his place.

It was immediately obvious to me that not only was I a woman, I was just the kind of woman for which I would have gone crazy in my old body. Wavy, platinum blonde hair gently cascaded down my shoulders. I had beautiful green eyes and perfectly shaped little nose.

I longed to see more of my new body, so with great trepidation, I removed my pink nighty. I didn’t know how to remove it per se, but instinctually my delicate fingers reached in back and started undoing a knotted tassel. The act of lifting up my arms raised my breasts slightly, which I could already tell were very large. I casually tossed the nighty behind me and turned back to stare at my new body.

My breasts were indeed very large - and suspended in front of me. From their disproportionately large size and their complete lack of sagging, I could tell that they must be fake boobs. I squeezed the lower part of my breast cautiously, and it felt a little firm, confirming my suspicion. Moving up the breast, I found the natural tissue, which was more soft and giving. When my finger nearly brushed my coral pink nipples, I felt a little tingle. When I deliberately played with it, rolling it between my fingers, I could feel it much stronger, and I could feel the little nub becoming firmer.

My body was just my type. I had always liked big breasts, and these were stunningly, eye catchingly large. I’d always preferred thin women with just a little bit of softness to them, and this body was very lithe, with a little bit of roundness around the middle, just a hint of a poofy tummy.

There was an artificial tan on my skin - that much was obvious from the tan lines around my breasts and my underwear. The natural shade was very pale, and stood out in stark contrast to rich, dark tan everywhere else.

I looked down, past my toned golden thighs and delicate ankles to my feet, which also had pink painted nails. The toes were very small, looking a tad odd as I deliberately wiggled them about. My old feet were large and contained a few errant hairs, but these feet were so small and frail looking I could imagine that children’s shoes might still fit.

After a few more minutes of ogling myself, I returned to the important task at hand - trying to figure out what had happened to me, and why. Clearly, I had a new body - perhaps I had transformed into this body, or perhaps I had somehow swapped bodies with someone else. My apartment had changed, or somehow I had found myself in someone else’s. But I knew one thing had not changed - my mind. I still had my old memories. I still knew who I was before this had happened. I knew my name was Maurice. I knew I worked in a virology laboratory.

The theory came to me suddenly - what if somehow I had caught a virus from the lab? Perhaps others at the office were affected in similar ways. Perhaps they were hard at work finding a way to reverse the process. The idea quickly took full possession of my mind, and I resolved to get to the office to check it out.

Of course, I couldn’t very well leave the apartment in my underwear - I needed to dress myself. Somehow, I intuitively knew were the right clothes were, and felt drawn to jeans and a black, oversized T-shirt. This certainly didn’t appear to be the garb of such a lovely young woman, but I went with my instincts and put them on.

I felt drawn to the bathroom too, where I brushed my teeth and found myself applying a liberal dose of pink-shaded lip gloss. I was amazed to see my delicate, feminine fingers naturally reach for the mascara and eyeshadow, and even more amazed to see myself apply it correctly to my gorgeous green eyes.

After that, I made my way to the closet, where I found what was apparently my shoe collection. Dozens of pairs of shoes lined three shelves, each show more ridiculous looking than the last. Most were high heeled and were adorned with flowers, sequins, or other frills and froo-froo. I felt drawn to a pair of red heels with lace roses. They fit my tiny feet surprisingly snugly.

I grabbed a salmon colored purse on my way out the door, and found a small Suzuki car had replaced my Dodge. Naturally, it was pink as well. Far more important was the fact that I knew where I was - on a street fairly close to my office.

In the car, I had to admit that I had my doubts about the virus theory. I knew of no virus which could possibly explain such a rapid change in race and gender, and even if one did exist, how could it change my apartment and my car as well? It wasn’t a logical theory, but I needed to see it through. It was the only testable hypothesis I had, and I knew I’d be a pretty poor scientist if I just let it languish without making sure.

When I drove up to the large, nondescript grey building, I found my parking space was occupied by a Hummer, so I had to park one block over, in the mini-mall. I exited my car, purse in tow, and started to make my way across the lot.

I saw a young, pretty waitress exit the Hooters in the lot.

“Marcy, there you are,” she called out to apparently nobody in particular. Was she wearing a an earpiece and taking a cell phone call, I wondered?

“Marcy, get over here! You’re 15 minutes late!” the woman shouted again. I kept walking, but the waitress ran over to me faster than I could walk in my heels.

“Are you deaf, Marcy? Your shift is up,” she said as she grasped my little wrist with her hand. I turned around, looking at this woman intently. If what she said was true, I had a new career as well. And a new name.

Before I had a chance to object, she started walking back towards the restaurant. I followed her in a daze. Inside, the place was covered in pine - wood floors, chairs, tables, and walls. Little sun lamps hung from the ceiling, and a dozen TVs were attached to the walls, each one covering a different sports event. She took led me past the tables, and into a back room containing dozens of lockers.

“Get changed and let’s go,” she said. I looked up at her, full of fear. I couldn’t handle any job working with the public - especially something so intimate, like being waitress. I was far too shy and socially awkward for that.

Her face fell when she saw how worried I looked. “I won’t tell anyone you showed up late, ok?” she said, trying to sound reassuring. “But you’ve got to get out there,” she added.

Part of me wanted to bolt right then and there. I wanted to make my way over to my office, and check out my virus theory. In truth, I would have run over to a snakepit if it meant I could avoid being a waitress.

Sadly, I knew that any attempt to test my theory was doomed to fail. As I rifled through my purse for the key to my locker, I did not find my employee keycard for the lab, which meant there was no way for me to get into the building. I found no ID with “Maurice” on it, which meant there was no way for me to prove who I was. And with my story, who would ever believe me?

With all that had happened today, I didn’t want to lose my job. With great reluctance and shaking fingers, I opened up my locker and found a Hooters tank top and mini-skirt. So this was why I didn’t bother to dress up before heading out today - I knew my work clothes were right here.

I quickly pulled on my Hooters uniform and I checked my reflection in my makeup mirror. I looked amazing. The white tank top made eyeshadow heavy eyes pop, and my proud, artificial breasts looked mouthwateringly luscious in the tank top.

Still, even if I was the image of beauty, I knew I’d be in trouble fast. I’d never been to a Hooters. I knew nothing about the menu. I didn’t know how to carry a loaded tray - in fact, I was naturally quite clumsy, especially when I was nervous. And I certainly didn’t how how to be friendly, chatty, and flirty - the qualities I’d be expected to possess in this position.

It was early in the day, and from her location up front, my co-worker was apparently the hostess. I was the only waitress at the moment, through the restaurant was devoid of patrons. Perhaps they had just opened?

In a couple of minutes, the first customer arrived. He was a large, older man, with a bushy white mustache. The hostess - Susie, from her nametag - seated him at one of the smaller tables, and smiled and nodded towards me. I grabbed a tablet and a pencil from the bar and headed over to him. One customer paired with a single waitress in an empty restaurant? I knew I’d have to be really chatty.

“Hi, I’m Marcy, and I’ll be taking care of you today,” I heard myself saying as I stepped towards him. It was the first time I had spoken anything as the new me. My voice was pleasant sounding, with a very distinctive feminine lilt.

“I like the sound of that,” he said with a wink. “First time coming to this place, so what’s good here?” he asked.

“Um...” I paused for a moment, not sure what to say. “The wings,” I blurted out. “Everybody raves about them.”

“Sounds good to me,” he said. I wrote down wings on the tablet, surprised at my own handwriting. It was so curvey, loopy and light, compared to the heavy handed, stubby handwriting I was used to producing.

“Anything to drink?” I asked. I don’t know how I managed to stop my voice from shaking, but somehow I did.

“Sure, get me a bottle of your finest champagne,” he said.

“Oh? What are we celebrating today?” The question seemed to tumble out of my mouth, uninvited. Of course, I knew it was the right thing to ask. But I casual conversation had never been this easy or natural for me. It was as if, somehow, part of me knew exactly what to do and who to be. I decided to let my instincts continue to guide me.

“Lean down and let me whisper a little secret to you,” he said. I complied, and I could feel his warm breath on my ear for a moment, and even felt a little bit of a tickle from his mustache. “Today, I became a millionaire,” he said.

“Wow! Congratulations,” I said. “I’ll go get that bottle of bubbly for you,” I added, and scurried off to the kitchen. The wings were ready very quickly, and I quickly returned with them and the champaign.

I bent over as I placed the basket of wings on his table. The man’s eyes stared right at my cleavage, and I saw him lick his lips.

“Mmm...looks delicious,” he said. “The wings look pretty good too,” he added, feeling absolutely no need to conceal his lechery.

I let out a high pitched giggle and threw my head back, causing my wavy hair to cascade around me as I did so. “That’s hilarious,” I said as I gave him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. I opened up the campaign with a loud boom, and poured it, somehow knowingly exactly when to stop before it bubbled over the edge of the champagne flute.

“So,” I began in a hushed tone, “what happened? Did you win the lottery?”

“No,” he replied, then started again excitedly. “I own a small biotech company. The stock price just went through the roof, because we secured a patent on a process sequencing the peptides of the P360 taxonomic group, the Bunyaviridae virus family.” He stopped talking for a moment, then glanced up at me, looking as though he expected me to be bewildered. “Well, I guess to you, it’s like I won the lottery.”

Of course, that wasn’t the case at all. In fact, I had all sorts of technical questions I wanted to ask him. But all these questions were from the perspective of someone who worked virology, not the type of questions to come from a waitress. I smiled, and let him believe I knew nothing of what he said. In his mind, I was just another blonde bimbo, and there was no reason to disabuse him of this notion.

When the man was finished with his chicken wings, I talked him into ordering a cheesecake. When he was finished with this, I brought him the bill. He paid and as he rose to his feet he thanked me for, in his words “giving an old man a lovely afternoon.” When I brought the bill back to the register, I saw that he had left me a $500 tip.

As the man left, he let two other parties in the door, and I was soon made responsible for them as well. Waitressing was coming quite naturally to me, and after a few more minutes I couldn’t even remember why I had once been afraid. As the hours passed, the restaurant became more crowded, and more waitresses started coming on duty. Even the Friday night dinner rush didn’t phrase me, though. I was taking orders and flirting like nobody’s business.

Finally, towards the end of the evening, I saw a customer walk through the door that did frighten me: Brian. I had stupidly forgot that today was Brian’s party. Stephanie followed him, and then three other men who also worked in the lab.

I knew that they couldn’t possibly recognize me. But the fact that they were a very real, living link between the old me and the new me was terrifying. What if the fact that I knew them would prevent my waitress instincts from taking over? What if I was only capable of interacting with them the way Maurice did things, instead of how Marcy did things?

The first thing Brian did when he took his seat was look me up and down. I had never seen him with that look in his eye.

“We’re lucky,” Brian said as the party took its seat. “We got the hot waitress,” he said, to hoots from everyone else that the table.

“Professionally every girl who works here is beautiful,” I said, my eyes on Brian the entire time. “But personally, I have to say...how right you are,” I added, as everyone giggled. It was one of the first times I had ever been laughed with, as opposed to being laughed at. It felt good.

A few minutes later, I was bringing a platter of wings over to Brian’s table. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a young man at the table next to me drop their fork. As they leaned down to pick it up, they inadvertently tripped another waitress, who had her own platter of food. Without even thinking, I lunged forward, and I managed to catch the tray midair. My own was safe as well, perfectly balanced on the other hand.

Patrons from both tables applauded, and I did a little courtesy as I blushed. When I served the food at Brian’s table, I made sure to lean extra low as I served each plate and wriggle my shoulders seductively. Brian, handsome looking with his curly hair and strong jaw, was already checking me out, but soon I had everyone at the table’s attention. Including, unbelievably, Stephanie’s.

She was looking cute this evening, as she always did, with her pixie hair cut, her deep brown eyes, and her delicate physique. I initially figured she was there only because Brian was her friend, but from her looks at me I started to suspect there was something more. When the rest of the party’s eyes were drawn away to watch a buzzer-beating basketball shot on the TV, I looked right at her, batting my eyes a little. She responded by smiling, blushing a little, and nervously chewing her lower lip.

“So what is it that you folks do for a living?” I asked the crowd, pretending that I didn’t know.

“Virolog...” Brian said, then stopped himself. “Just science stuff,” he finished somewhat condescendingly. He thought I was a bimbo, too! I smiled and played along, pretending that ‘science stuff’ was impressive. I’m sure that made him feel important.

After several rounds of beers, the inhibitions of the group started to fade. Each guzzle from the frosted mugs made the laughs louder and the attempts to flirt with me more obvious. Tentative glances quickly progressed to ‘accidental’ brushes of the hand. By the end of the evening, those had given way to naked, honest propositions.

“If I wasn’t getting married tomorrow, I’d ask you to come back to my place,” Brian said through slurred words.

“Are you sure that’s going to stop you?” I said with a laugh. I didn’t know if I was just playing the part or if I was serious.

“Some of us don’t have that obstacle, Brian,” Stephanie said, grabbing my hand as I brought out the check. “I think she’s mine.”

“Or perhaps there’s plenty of me to go around,” I said, eliciting more laughter, and feeling thrilled at their desire for me. All my fears were unfounded - I was Marcy, even to those who knew me as Maurice, and I had succeeded with flying colors. It no longer even occurred to me to want to ask them about what had happened to me, or why. All I needed to know was that I never wanted to go back.

And I never did.

[Aahz]

That was nice and a good read. Thanks.

[Apsm]

I Just want to point out a spelling error: "butter-beater" I think is "buzzer-beater".

Otherwise, even if it was low on process, it was interesting to see things from a different perspective.