New TG Story, need some constructive criticism

[bane22]

Hey all, threw this together over the weekend after a dream I had. It's not even close to done, don't even have a title (working title is Alternative Debt Reduction). Could use some proofreading and throw a couple of ideas on where to go next (I have a vague idea, but not 100% yet).

Enjoy!

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I take a deep breath and open the door. I’m not looking forward to this. Standing outside is a thin and kind of lanky guy wearing a Hawaiian shirt and tan shorts with a grin on his face like the cat who ate the canary. The biggest surprise is the backpack, duffel bag, and what looks like an equipment case that he’s carrying. Now I’m suddenly worried he’s about to invite himself in to live with me.



“Sup, Tom?” he asks in a cheerful voice that matches his grin.



“Hey, Derek,” I say, trying not to sound to glum. He’s already feeling superior, no need to give him more reason to be.



Without much word, Derek lets himself in. Normally I’d try to protest or rebuke him for not waiting for an invitation to come inside, but he knows he’s holding all the cards. Derek usually isn’t too bad to deal with, as long as you’re both on even footing. But he can be unbearable when he thinks you owe him one.



Derek drops his bags in the middle of my humble apartment. It’s pretty much a bachelor pad in both name and appearance. Most of the furniture is either a hand-me-down or second-hand. The TV works (most of the time), and the one game system connected to it is now old enough that I can probably sell it for a profit.



Being poor sucks, and it’s about to suck even more.



Derek turns to face me, grin still firmly plastered on his face. “So, it’s been 3 months. You got that money you borrowed from me?”



I grimace and take a minute to re-tie my ponytail. With my potato-shaped body, thin limbs, and face that frequently sports stubble, I look a little like the comic book nerd from The Simpsons in real life. “Sorry man. It’s been a tough month. My car is fixed now, but I lost a lot of work, and the landlord’s been on my back about rent. I just don’t have any cash right now. Can I ask you for a little more time?”

Derek’s grin never leaves his face. “Actually, I may have an alternative. One that lets you keep the money and not have to worry about paying me back.”


“Dude, my apartment is single-occupancy only. If the landlord finds out I’m letting someone else crash here, he’ll break my lease.”


Derek’s grin breaks into a look of confusion, before he looks down at the bags he brought and laughs. “No, I’m not suggesting I move in with you. Most of this stuff isn’t mine, it’s actually for you. Come take a look.”


I crouch down next to the bags. There’s a dark blue duffel that looks pretty stuffed, a faded orange backpack, and the equipment case. I could guess the case was probably Derek’s camera equipment (he works as a freelance photographer), but the other bags were a mystery. I kneel down next to the duffel, but before I can open it, I feel something metal press against my neck. There’s a loud hiss accompanied by a sudden pinch, and I yelp trying to pull away. I look up to see Derek still grinning, holding a pneumatic injector with an empty vial attached to it.



“Wha-? What did you-” I stammer, confusion muddling my thoughts.



“Just relax man. Enjoy the ride.”



Starting from the injection point, it starts to feel like tiny ants are crawling over my skin. And everywhere their little legs touch, there’s a tiny spark of static electricity. It’s not necessarily painful, but it definitely feels weird. I roll onto my side, my hands trying to grab every part of my body at once. I almost missed the sensation of my clothes feeling like they’re moving on their own around me. The only sensation I could compare it to is if you ever played dress-up as a little kid, feeling less like you were wearing clothes, and more like they were wearing you.



As I continue to writhe on the floor, the sensations start to change again. I start to feel a new sensation that I wouldn’t understand until later: the feeling of clothes moving against smooth skin (in my defense, I haven’t felt that since I was about 12). My feet kick their way out of my socks, leaving them lying on the floor. The feeling of my clothes growing continues until the waist of my jeans feels so wide that I could hula-hoop in them.

The part I really wasn’t expecting was the sudden tightness around my chest and butt. It was like my clothes, which had felt about 2 sizes too big, suddenly became smaller in very specific places. The last thing I noticed was that I had been crying out (not out of pain, more like out of panic), and my voice seemed to be gaining pitch.



Just as soon as it started, the sensations stop, and I’m left lying in the fetal position on the floor, my clothes covered in sweat. I look up at Derek, who’s grin has somehow gotten even bigger. “Whu-what? What happened?”



I immediately cover my mouth with my hands. The voice that just came out wasn’t mine. And not in the sense that I was trying to do a funny voice or something, I mean the voice I’ve had my entire life has been replaced. There’s a little bit of my old voice in there, but it sounds softer, and even a bit gravellier.



Like a woman’s.



My fears become more real as I take my hands away from my mouth, and I finally get a good look at them. Gone are my slightly pudgy sausage-fingers and rough, mannish hands. Instead, I have slender fingers topped with finely curved finger nails. My hands are much daintier, and even look a little fragile.



My gaze follows up my arms. The soft dark hair that’s lined my arms since puberty is gone, leaving me as smooth as fresh-fallen snow. My arms are thinner, though more from lack of the mushy fat that’s been building since graduating college. I’d almost go so far as to say they looked willowy.



Derek kneels down next to me. “It’s alright buddy, you’re doing OK. Here, let me help you sit up. Be careful, not everything you were wearing fits you anymore.”



I sit up, my legs splayed out in front of me, but I can’t see them. They’re drowning in what used to be a pair of relaxed-fit jeans. Now I can barely tell there’s anything beneath the discarded pants that look like they came off a giant. My glance finally notices the elephant in the room. My body is swimming in my favorite graphic tee, so much so that one of my gently-sloping shoulders is now exposed to the air. But the big concern is the two bulges around where my chest is. My hands reach up and grab the bulges, but I misjudge how much strength I need and I grab them a little too roughly. There’s a strange sensation; a little painful perhaps, but also not unpleasant. I gasp, both from the sudden surprise and feeling.



Finally, all the evidence before me finally coalesces in my head. “What did you do to me, am I-?”



“A woman,” Derek answers matter-of-factly. “Don’t worry, the disorientation should be wearing off around now.”



I start to try to make my way to my feet, but my pants and boxers have little to hold onto other than my butt and hips. I grab the waistband of my pants and stand up, feeling like I’m drowning in the clothes that fit me perfectly just a moment ago.



Derek is still grinning. “Go ahead, check out your reflection in the mirror. I’ll wait.”



I start shuffling my way to the bathroom, leaving my oversized socks behind. With both hands holding up my pants, I make my way to the full-body mirror. I involuntarily gasp when I see my reflection. I look vaguely like my cousin, though some of the details are different. My chest is large enough that it can obstruct my view downward. It’s hard to tell from this angle, but I’d guess I’m sporting D-cups if not DD. It’s hard to tell from under all these clothes, but I think I have a cute, borderline-curvy body.



The face is what really trips me out. I recognize the over-all shape and basic details, but at the same time everything is wrong. My eyes seem a little larger. My lips are a little plumper. My nose is button-sized, and my chin looks gentler. The only thing that didn’t seem to change is my hair, which is still long and brown. Actually, looking a little closer, it might actually be longer, reaching down to my ass.



The shock and confusion finally give way to anger. I turn to give Derek a piece of my mind, and almost trip on my own jeans. I grumble a moment, then reach down and hike my pants up as high as they’ll go. I must’ve lost some height, because even that isn’t enough to let me see my feet. I briefly entertain leaving my pants behind, since my t-shirt hangs down past my thighs, but then remember Derek’s here, and I’d prefer not to risk flashing him.



I come storming out the bathroom, painfully aware that I’m now about as intimidating as an angry kitten. I try my best not to let my awkward shuffling gait detract from my angry mood, but really there’s only so much I can do. “What the hell man?” I shout.



Derek laughs, but holds his hands up placatingly. “Relax, buddy. And keep your voice down, unless you want the neighbors to come see what you’re up to.”



I bite my tongue. He’s right, of course. Still, I’m not happy with this situation, and I intend to get some answers. “What is this?” I ask, anger still mixing into my voice, but I’m using in-door volumes now.



Derek holds up the injector. “Managed to get my hands on that new drug that’s been making the rounds, TG-486.”



I frown. “I thought that stuff hasn’t been cleared for use yet?”



“FDA cleared it, but apparently there’s some issue at the company making it. They’re only making small volumes, so they’re keeping it quiet for now.” I must look like I’m about to break into tears, because Derek takes a more calming stance. “Relax, it only lasts for 24 hours. Trust me, I tried a vial myself.”



I take a moment to try to imagine what Derek would look like as a girl, and my face must’ve given me away because Derek starts laughing. “Yeah, I was pretty much a freak show. You turned out pretty good though, you lucky girl you,” he adds with a wink and a grin.



I roll my eyes. “Very funny. So what was the point of all this?”



Derek grins again. “Well, let’s just say I had an epiphany on how you can pay me back.”



My mind immediately goes to the worst possible place. That must’ve reflected on my face, because Derek immediately looked shocked. “What, no! Not like that, don’t be gross bro! You’re still my friend, I wouldn’t make you stoop to that kind of low.”



I breathe an internal sigh of relief. Derek is a pretty above-the-board kind of guy, and asking me to sell myself would be way out of character for him. Still, it’s safe to say we’re in uncharted territory. “Well, what is your plan to get your money back then?”



Derek’s grin returns. “Go ahead and open my backpack this time. I promise no more surprise injections.”



I give him a withering glare, but kneel down again next to his bags. I unzip the backpack, only to find a surprising amount of women’s lingerie. And not just the everyday wear stuff, we’re talking the “notice me” garments. Some of them I’d even say are more garments in spirit. One of them I almost mistook for a handkerchief. “Uh, why are you walking around with a bag full of spicy lingerie? Is there something you haven’t been telling me?”



Derek snorted. “Funny, but they’re not for me there, sexy lady.”



The color drained from my face, as I’d already forgotten my newfound ‘condition.’ I look up at Derek, and he’s all set with an explanation.



“One of my new clients is a company that makes, shall we say, ‘specialty ladies’ garments.’ Their website is going for kind of an underground style influencer vibe, so they sent me a bunch of their stuff and said to find some local ladies and make it look something like a cross between a professional photoshoot and, I quote, ‘a girl just snapping selfies in the privacy of her home.’ All the ladies I know shot down the idea, so I figured I’d solve my problem and yours.”



I take a deep breath. “So, I help model for you and we’re even?”

Derek smiled again. “Look at it this way: this isn’t really your body is it? What do you care if photos of it end up online? Do you think anyone would see pictures of how you look right now and be able to tell it’s really you?”



He made a fair point. And if one afternoon of humiliating photoshoots that can never come back to me will clear one of my biggest debts, then it’s a bargain. I look down at the floor (which is a lot closer than I remember it, I must’ve lost a good 5 or 6 inches), and mumble, “Alright, what do I do?”



Derek’s smile somehow got even bigger. “Excellent choice monsieur!” He kneels down next to me, and pulls some black lingerie out. “Go get changed into this. And hurry it up, makeup girl will be here any second.”



My face turns bright red. “I have to wear makeup?!”



Derek gives me an incredulous look. “It’s a modelling gig, bro. The au natural look will only get you so far. Also, when she gets here, you’re Tess now.” He begins shooing me away, gesturing to me to go to another room.



I grab the lingerie, and start shuffling again back to the bathroom. I shut the door behind me, turn my gaze back to the mirror, and take a deep breath. Mentally preparing myself, I relinquish my hold on my jeans and they crumple to the floor with a soft “floomph.” A pair of comically-oversized boxer shorts joins them momentarily. I step out of my former apparel, and finally get a good look at my supple and shapely legs. They’re as smooth as the rest of my body feels, and my feet have become positively tiny. I’d guess I’m a size 6 or maybe even a 5 (though that’s in men’s shoe size, I don’t know if it's the same for women).



I look at my new feminine self in the mirror, draped in my t-shirt like it’s a re-purposed nighty. Bracing myself even more, I lift my shirt up and slide it over my head. The massive amount of fabric feels like I’m taking off a camping tent. Once the shirt is removed, I flick my hair aside and finally get a good look at my new body. My face flushes at the sight of the naked woman in my mirror. She (or “I”) looks VERY sexy. Breasts are large, but not comically so. Figure has curves in all the right places, and is slender everywhere else. I try to ignore the fact that my “little buddy” is now absent along with all my body hair.



I turn to get a look at my backside. My ass is a perfect tear-drop shape, without being too large. I cross my ankles, so that my feet are standing on the opposite side of where they normally stand. My legs cross and my butt seems to tighten up, looking even more luscious. I turn back to face the mirror and try a smile. I look awkward and unpracticed. I relax a moment and try a softer, sweeter smile. The result makes my face practically glow. Either the serum Derek gave me makes you look like a supermodel, or I really struck out in the genetics lottery.



I snap out of my reverie when I hear the door to my apartment open, remembering Derek had mentioned a makeup girl. I pick up the panties he’d given me, and start pulling them on. It turns out to be a thong, with just a small cloth triangle covering my front. The rear has even less fabric, practically cutting me in half. Weirdly though, I didn’t hate the sensation? I prayed that this was just part of my temporary “condition” and continued on.



The bra took a few tries to get down right. Eventually i figured out to put it on backwards, then spin it around after I’d latched it and thread my arms in. The bra covered a bit more than the thong did, but I still feel very exposed.



There’s a soft knock on the door. “Almost done in there?” Derek called.



I suddenly feel very self-conscious. “Uh, I don’t know if I’m ready to be seen like this.” I reply in a loud whisper.



Derek’s voice drops to match my own. “Then put your t-shirt on while you get your makeup done. Just hurry up, I’m paying her by the hour.”



I slip the t-shirt back on over my new underwear. The shirt does a good job of covering me, and surprisingly my new undergarments seem to be holding everything in place. My breasts don’t feel like they’re going to bounce off my chest anymore, and while I’m painfully aware of the thong’s presence, at least it isn’t as uncomfortable as I always thought they looked. Steeling myself, I open the door to find Derek’s already walking back to the living room. I can hear him say, “Sorry, it’s her first day and she’s a little nervous.”



I shuffle my way after him. I hold down the hem of my t-shirt, even though it’s long enough to be completely unnecessary. By that same right though, it’s the last piece of my armor, and all that stands between the rest of the world and my bare new self. I’m met by a woman who’s about the same age as me and Derek. She’s dressed casually and setting up a tackle box full of makeup products on my dinner table. Derek gestures for me to sit next to her, and I obediently do so.



The woman finishes setting up and turns to me. “Hi, I’m Lindsay!” she says cheerily.



“Hi, I’m T-” Derek, who’s standing behind Lindsay at this point begins vigorously shaking his head and waving his arms. I immediately catch myself, and clear my throat. “Uh, Tess. My name’s Tess.”



Lindsay began applying a powder pad to my cheeks, leaving me to look up at her wide-eyed and doe-like. “This your place, sweetie?”



I froze up, not sure how to respond. Yes, this was my place, but that was when I was a man. Unlikely as it might be, what if she mentions to someone I live here and they pay a surprise visit?



Luckily, Derek thought on his feet. “It actually belongs to a buddy of mine. He’s away for a few days and said I could use it.”



Lindsay chuckles. “I was gonna say, this place seems a little too “broke-macho” for a little bunny like you. Looks like you helped yourself to his laundry though.” I remembered I was dressed in my oversized t-shirt still. I decided the best thing to do would be to let the subject drop.



Derek had other ideas. “Don’t tell, but I think she has a little crush on the apartment owner,” he said with a wicked grin.



“What? No I-” my protest trailed off as my mind tried to keep up. Yes, I was in a girl’s body, but my sexual preferences still seemed to be the same. Heck, I even got turned on by the sight of my own body. Then I remembered that this was still my own apartment, and Derek was just needling me.



Sadly, it seems I’d fallen for Derek’s evil plan. The confusion had caused my protest to fall off, making me sound like an actual schoolgirl with an actual crush. Lindsay got a good laugh out of that one. “So, you planning on seducing him when he gets back?” she asked with a devilish grin, as she began to work on my eyelashes and eyeshadow.



“But I – No, you see – I don’t-” my protests felt even weaker as they sputtered out. The two of them got a fun laugh out of that one.



“God, you are just a little bunny rabbit, aren’t you?” Lindsay cooed, like she’d just found a box of puppies. “You are working that naive little Miss Innocent thing down to an art! How long have you been modelling?”



Derek finally decided to step in to help again. “Believe it or not, it’s her first time.”



“Oh, I’d believe it. Don’t let this industry chew you up sweetie, just get in, get paid, and get out.”



She had no idea how much I wanted those words to come true.



I held still and tried to keep my mouth shut while Lindsay worked her magic. I have to admit, part of me kinda liked how I felt so attended to and cared for; I literally just sat there and she worked on making me look beautiful. Derek and Lindsay conversed amongst themselves, to which I only partly paid attention to. My head was still spinning with all the new sensations and possibilities that had been opened up, though in the back of my head there was always the concern that I was stuck like this. The idea of having to start life over from scratch was a little terrifying.



Eventually Lindsay finishes her work, and holds up a hand mirror for me. The results are nothing less than astonishing. While I thought I’d looked pretty cute before, now my face was drop-dead gorgeous. My lips are the brightest shade of red I’d ever seen. My face looks smooth and alluring, with some nice accents traced around my eyes. I gasp a little at my reflection. “Wow,” I mumbled, truly surprised by the results.



Lindsay has a look of pride on her face. “Glad you like it, honey.” She looks up at Derek. “Sure you don’t want me to stick around?”



Derek smiles amiably. “Girl, you know I can’t afford you.”



Lindsay laughs. “That’s because I do work like this,” she retorts, pointing her thumb at my face. She begins to pack up her things, then hands me several white packets. “Facial cleansers, for when you’re done.”



I take the packets, at once grateful for any help an actual Bonafide woman could give me, but also a little hesitant since I’d never needed to clean makeup off before. Fortunately, Lindsay seemed to take my silence as shyness. She says her farewells and exits as quickly as she arrived, leaving me and Derek alone.



Derek had been busy setting up his equipment while I had my face done, and my little apartment felt a bit more crowded now. He had his professional camera set up on a tripod, and had assembled a pair of collapsable studio lights flanking. The sight of all this photography stuff pointed at my couch suddenly makes all of this feel much more real.



I must’ve been staring for a while, as Derek seems to sense my discomfort. “Well, c’mon and have a seat, let’s get this thing started.”



I sit down on the couch, keeping my legs close together. For some reason, the lack of, shall we say, ‘equipment’ was making me feel vulnerable. Derek fixes me with a skeptical look. “Bro, this is a shoot for lingerie, not a nerdy t-shirt shop. Lose the shirt.”



I look down and realized I’m still wearing my old shirt. I take a deep breath, then carefully pulled it up over my head (making sure not to touch the fresh makeup on my face). I toss the oversized shirt far enough away that it wouldn’t appear in any photos. Left only wearing the skimpy underwear I’d been handed, I wrap my arms around my torso and tried to sink as far into the couch cushions as I could.



Derek rubs the bridge of his nose. “I know you’re new at this, but we need to actually SEE the underwear you’re modelling. Loosen up a bit.”



I try my best to sit as comfortably as possible, but between feeling exposed and feeling like my couch had suddenly grown (remember, I shrank quite a few inches), I found it difficult to sit comfortably. Finaly, Derek steps in front of the camera and approaches me. “OK, try not to freak out, but I’m gonna manhandle you a bit. Normally I just make pose suggestions and let the models play around a bit, but obviously you’re in a special circumstance.”



Derek proceeds to adjust my position, moving my arms, legs, and overall pose on the couch. The end result had me in a pensive look, like I was wondering what I was going to do next. Derek promptly snapped a few photos before changing my pose again. “Try smiling a bit, imagine you’re having a good time,” he suggested.



Easy for him to say.



I tried smiling at the camera, and Derek rolled his eyes. “C’mon, I know you’re new at this, but this isn’t school picture day. Put some effort into the smile!”



I remembered back to the smile I’d given the mirror earlier while I was getting changed, and tried to replicate it as best as I could; lips parted just enough to show a few hints of white teeth, smile just enough to show I’m happy without going overboard. Derek seemed to love the look, as he ended up snapping a lot more pictures. Eventually, I started to feel myself get into the spirit of the shoot, and tried a few poses on my own.



Finally, Derek headed back over to his backpack and handed me a handful of white lacy cloth. “Next product to model!”



I take the cloth and hold it up. It turned out to be a teddy, and quite the see-through number at that. I give Derek a skeptical look. “This looks pretty skimpy.”



Derek shrugs. “Yeah, that’s kinda the idea. Remember, not actually your body and can’t be traced back to you!”



I sigh, wondering if I should be looking into just paying the money back to Derek the old-fashioned way. Then I remember how broke I am, and decide to just go for it. I begin fiddling with the latch on my bra, but Derek stops me. “Man, you can just get changed in the bathroom again, I don’t need to see you naked. Trust me, I’m having confusing thoughts already.”



I nearly smack my own forehead. I’m so preoccupied that I almost stripped in front of my friend. I sputter out a few apologies, then take the teddy and slink back to the bathroom. I emerge a moment later feeling even more embarrassed. The teddy technically covers more space on me, but the majority of it is sheer, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. Derek seems to play it off, though I wonder how well he’s ‘compartmentalizing’ our friendship right now.

[bane22]

I think I'm going with the title Alternative Debt Restructuring. See, because the guy is transforming, like a restructuring? Yeah I know, it's a stretch.

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Derek has me pose both standing in front of and sitting on the couch. I begin to feel like one of those dolls that artists use to create poses for them draw. I spend the whole time painfully aware of just how much of this body is exposed, though to his credit Derek remains a professional. I take a moment to re-assert that I’m attracted to women, and am a little relieved when I saw Derek bend over to pick something up and I felt zero attraction. Lindsay on the other hand...



Before I can entertain the thought, Derek hands me a garment that’s sealed in a plastic bag. “I think you’ll like this one, it covers up a bit more than the others.”



I eagerly take the bag and zip back to the bathroom. I tear open the package with the anticipation normally reserved for kids on Christmas. My enthusiasm fades as I unfold the pre-packaged outfit.



It’s a French maid costume.



There’s a dress (though just barely, it only just goes past the tops of my thighs) which naturally shows off a lot of cleavage, feeling like its actually lifting my boobs up. There are wristbands styled to look like formal cuffs, a fluffy white headpiece, and a pair of thigh-high stockings. I grumble to myself, but change into the costume.



I step out wearing more clothes than any other photoshoot so far, but feeling more exposed than ever. Clutching my arms to my chest, I return to the living room. Derek gets a look at me and naturally bursts out laughing. I can feel my face flush as I roll my eyes and look away.



Between guffaws and wiping away tears, he manages to say, “Looking good there, buddy! Do you clean the outside of the windows as well as the inside?”



“Just hurry up and take your stupid pictures,” I say between clenched teeth.



He holds up a pair of black high-heels. “To finish the look.”



I arch an eyebrow. “I don’t know how to walk in those things.”



“Me neither. Good thing you won’t be walking a whole lot, just standing for pictures, right?”



I slip the heels on. It feels like I’m constantly trying to slide forward. The shoes aren’t quite a perfect fit (maybe off by .5 inches or so), but they seem to do the job. As I clomp my way back over to the unofficial modelling area, I can’t help but feel like some prehistoric pterodactyl awkwardly stomping around for food. Fortunately, I can handle standing still and making it look like I know what I’m doing.



Derek poses me so that it looks like I’m curtseying. I officially want to curl up and die of embarrassment. We get a couple shots that look like I’m tidying up my own apartment (including me picking up the clothes I’d been wearing earlier when I was still myself). This feels like insult to injury for me, but Derek seems to love the shots he’s getting.



Once we’d filled whatever Derek’s quota was for shots of this outfit, he hands me another. Back in the privacy of the bathroom, I’m a little relieved to discover it’s a satin robe. While it is short (stopping at around mid-thigh length this time), it at least looks semi-normal. That relief proved to be short lived, as it turns out the back of the robe is almost completely see-through. I take a moment to consider, then slip the thong back on. It’s not much coverage, but it's better than nothing.



Derek seems to either approve or not notice my addition of the underwear to the shoot, and we soon fall into a pattern. He snaps a few photos, hands me a new outfit, I change, and we repeat the process. I wish I could say the garments got less embarrassing, but that would be a blatant lie. One of them was a cupless-teddy. Derek tried to have me cover myself with my hands, but I’m pretty sure I accidentally flashed him at some point.



Eventually the sun began to set outside my little hole-in-the-wall apartment, and I could see the outside day light begin its slow fade to orange. Derek finally seems to run out of sexy, exposing, or borderline-fetishist outfits for me to wear. “Looks like you’re about done. Want to see what you look like?” Derek motions for me to come see the digital screen on his camera.



Curiosity got the better of me, and I peek over his shoulder. As egotistical as it might sound, I look extremely hot. While my facial expressions lacked variety (in my defense the look I gave the camera wasn’t bad, just the only one I really knew how to do), I have to admit that Derek was pretty good at this. I’ll even go so far as to say that I missed having guy-parts at that moment.



“Wow,” I murmur. “Can I get a copy of some of these?”



Derek chuckles to himself. “This might lead to the first time in history someone has actually jerked off to pictures of themselves.”



“Oh my god,” I muttered as I turned away to try to hide how red my face had just become. I’m a reasonably modest guy to begin with, but combine today’s activities with Derek’s little joke, and I was beyond flustered.



Derek laughs again at my discomfort. “Alright, you’re done buddy. Go get changed.”



I frown. “Into what? Nothing I own fits me anymore.”



Derek starts to say something, then stops as if he hadn’t considered that. “Oh yeah, I forgot about that.” He thinks for a moment, then says, “Just put your t-shirt back on. It’ll cover what needs covering. It’s not like you were planning on going out tonight, right?”



He had a point with that last statement. I’m not the biggest social butterfly out there, but even if I wanted to go out, I’m pretty much flat-broke. I scoop up my t-shirt (which I’d folded and put on the table during my French maid shoot) and let it hang by the shoulders. It still looks large enough to double as a picnic blanket. I also recall that, while the soft cotton fabric didn’t bother me as a guy, it had felt a little coarse against my newly-tender nipples.



I look up at Derek with doe-eyes, and he just sighs deeply. He goes back to his backpack and retrieves the least-revealing bra and panty set he has. “Here, I’ll tell them they got lost during the shoot or something.” I snatch the items like a hungry man grabbing a sandwich. I go back into the bathroom and get changed one last time. I return draped in my t-shirt nighty, and feeling surprisingly okay with wearing a bra underneath.



I hand Derek back the last of the garments I’d been wearing, and he finishes packing up his stuff. “Well, I’d say this makes us even. Thanks for playing along.”



I try not to grumble too loudly. Afterall, I didn’t have much say in today’s shenanigans. Then a thought occurred to me. “How am I supposed to get something to eat? I’m out of food.”



Derek sighs dramatically and shakes his head while grinning. “Looks like I’m always coming to your rescue,” he says with faux-exasperation. He reaches into his pocket and produces a handful of bills, which he places in my delicate hand. “This one’s on me for being such a good sport. Order yourself a pizza.”



“And what about tomorrow?”



Derek snorts. “You’ll be back to your normal handsome self tomorrow. You can go grocery shopping when you’re a guy again.”



I sigh, feeling a little defeated. “And what do I do until then?”



Derek shrugs. “I don’t know, I’m not the guy with a pair of boobs to play with all night long. When’s the last time you touched girl-flesh anyway?”



I instinctively blush. “Uh, I guess since college?”



“Sounds like you’re overdue then,” Derek begins hoisting his stuff up. “And since I have no desire to see my friend play with himself – er, herself,” he smirks at the correction, “I’m getting out of here. Have a lovely night, girlfriend!”



Derek showed himself out. With the sound of the front door closing, I was officially alone in my apartment with my new body. I stand there, feeling paralyzed with the sheer number of options open to me for how to spend my night. On the one hand, the smart thing to do would be to just treat this as a night in. Order my food, stretch out on the couch, and watch TV until I pass out, effectively killing time until I revert to my old self.



On the other hand, I’ve got an opportunity that most guys only get to dream about. Really the only thing in the way of that is my sense of modesty.



I begin pacing around my apartment, hearing the light slap of my dainty feet against the linoleum of the kitchenette and then transition to the worn yet soft carpeting of the living room caressing my souls. My shirt’s collar slips off my left shoulder, and I take moment to readjust. I pause for a moment, then pull my collar out so I can look straight down. My breasts fill most of my view downward, nestled in the bra I’m wearing like they’ve been holstered. If I arch my head a bit I can see my panties, and the disturbingly smooth crotch they’re covering. I decide it’s time to get better acclimated to this new body, and head back to the bathroom.



Parked once again in front of the full-body mirror, I take a little comfort in knowing that I’m alone now and can take my time a bit more now. I remove the shirt once again and let it land on the floor. As I look over my new body, I start to take in new details. My thighs are just thin enough to have a gap between them. My tummy is smooth, devoid of both fat and muscle. I unhook my bra and let it slide off my chest, allowing my breasts to hang free. They look sort of tear-drop shaped, but not so much that they look cone-shaped or drooping. They look orb-shaped, and just sort of hang there. I idly wonder if the women of my family have naturally big breasts or if this is just a side-effect of the chemical.



Another thought occurs to me: with my body so much slimmer, have I lost any musculature? I turn to the single window in the bathroom. This window has always been stubborn to open, usually requiring a decent amount of effort to open. I unlatch the window, slip my fingers under, and try to lift. Nothing happens, the window doesn't so much as budge. I plant my feet down, square up my shoulders, and give it much more effort. With a recalcitrant squeak, the window finally lifts up. I practically stumble back from the increased effort and breathing hard. I wasn’t exactly a body builder before, but I’ve definitely gotten physically weaker.



I cross my arms and lean on the window sill, taking a deep breath of fresh air. The warm breeze outside feels great on my skin, and I bask for a bit in the fading sunlight. As I gaze out on the world, I see a few people walking down the sidewalk outside. It was no one I recognized, but it felt nice to be reminded that the world continues to move on, even when my world has been rocked to its core.



Suddenly I remember I’m completely topless, and not a man anymore. Just as the figures on the sidewalk seemed to start looking up in my general direction, I quickly hit the floor like I’m being shot at. I awkwardly cover my bare breasts with my hands, even though I’m definitely out of sight now. After sitting there for several minutes, I quick pop back up to close the window. Unfortunately, I’ve already forgotten my reduced strength, and it takes both hands and quite a bit of effort to close the window back up. I lower the blinds and take a deep calming breath. Clearly, I need to be more careful of what I do, as even everyday activities like opening a window can threaten to expose me (in more ways than one).



At this point I happen to catch a glimpse of the shower. I consider the idea of doing a little ‘exploring’ while getting cleaned up. Afterall, I reason with myself, I haven’t had a shower yet today, might as well take the opportunity. In the back of my mind, I wonder what happens to any dirt or grime that’s on me when I transform (or for that matter, if anything happened to any existing grime that was on me when I transformed earlier). Ultimately, practicality won the day, as I definitely need to get cleaned up.



I suddenly remember that I’m still wearing the makeup from earlier, and that Lindsay had given me some facial cleaner pads. I retrieve them from the living room. Luckily, they have instructions printed on the packaging and while my first attempt at cleaning my face left huge streaks of makeup all over, the second and third wipes bring me back to the ‘au natural’ look. Something about having the layers of foundation, lip gloss, and eyeliner removed makes me feel refreshed for some reason.



With that taken care of, I strip off my underwear and fire up the shower. Once the water is warmed up, I tentatively step in. I’m not sure what I was expecting would happen when I stepped under the steady stream of steamy water; maybe all my senses would light up, or the roof would collapse. Instead, it felt like most every other time I’ve stepped into the shower. Sure the sensation was a little different (I chalk that up to a more sensitive body), but ultimately it just felt like a shower. I smile a bit, feeling a bit more secure.



That feeling goes away as soon as I look down. The sight of my breasts greets me, and they look just as attractive as ever, but now they have a wet sheen to them. Unable to resist the temptation, I begin to play with my breasts in the shower. I smush them together and watch how the various trickles of water stream down the valley I form.



My nipples perk up and poke out at the sudden attention they’re getting. Out of curiosity, I give one of them a playful flick. A wave of pleasure seems to flow over my body, and I gasp involuntarily. I begin tracing circles around both nipples now. It feels like my blood has been replaced with champagne, bubbly and happy. I begin to sigh and moan as my head spins with euphoria.



My hands seem to move instinctively to my butt next. I give one of my cheeks a playful slap. I instinctively jump a little, surprised at how good this feels. I begin massaging my butt with both hands. The champagne seems to flow through my body now, making me feel tingly and upbeat.



That just leaves one last place to explore.



Cautiously, I let my hand brush against my front door. Surprisingly, it doesn’t feel overwhelming or immediately sends me over the edge. Instead, it just feels like my hand touching part of my body. Clearly, I’m going to need to get more adventurous. I let my index finger trace the outer folds of my vagina. My body shivers on its own, despite being immersed in warm water. I begin to let my fingers probe further inside me. The more I push in, the more intense the pleasure I feel. Before long, my head is spinning with natural endorphins, and any attempt to regain control is being thoroughly rebuffed. My body wants what it wants, and it’s going to get it.



After a few minutes of touching, rubbing, and the occasional gasp, it feels like a dam has broken in my head, and pure orgasmic ecstasy comes crashing through my entire being like a tidal wave. I begin uncontrollably crying out loud. Any attempt to regain control is quickly rebuffed as I reach climax. My legs feel like pool noodles, and I crumple to the floor into a ball of ecstatic bliss. My vision even seems to cloud for a second, though that might just be the steam from the shower.



Finally, the orgasm subsides, and I’m left sitting on the floor of my shower gasping like a fish out of water. When my head clears, I finally make my way back onto my feet (though my legs still feel shaky).