It was just a dream. I was sure of it. As I began to wake up, groggy as hell, I turned my head a bit and long strands of hair fell over my face. As I breathed, I could feel two large breasts, part on my chest, but with a lot of their mass slipped into my armpits as real breasts tend to when a woman lays on her back.
I felt the soft satin panties hugging my hips, crotch and ass. The air conditioner to my right kicks on and a cool breeze flips strands of my hair about and caresses my nipples which harden in response to the cold.
No. No! NO! It can’t have been real. Shit like this doesn’t happen. I was convinced that if I laid there, motionless, not acknowledging these sensations that the dream would evaporate. That I would feel the welcome uncomfortable tightness of morning wood as usual. That my scratchy stubble would be there. That my hair would be short, nearly a buzz cut as it had been this time yesterday.
But none of that happened. I felt the fullness of my bladder, a sensation that is the same in either gender, and knew I wasn’t going to fall back asleep. But I didn’t want to get up and acknowledge reality either. I sat up, and my large breasts rolled forward to hang down, instead of retreating into my armpits. My vision was covered by long brown hair, which I brushed aside with my slender feminine hands.
I refused to look down. I refused to touch anything. If I touched it, it was real. I got up, my tits swinging a little as I did. Probably a sensation a real woman was so used to she wouldn’t even notice, but I noticed. I couldn’t NOT notice. I began walking toward the bathroom.
Walking felt awkward. The boobs were part of it, again, with every movement causing them to jiggle and bounce and sway, I was learning to hate them as much as I use to love them.
But there was more. I was short now, maybe that’s part of it, but I felt like every time I took a step, my body was a little more off balance than it should be. I realized later that with my hips being wider proportional to my body, I needed to sway a bit to walk naturally. This is why a woman’s ass does that sway when she walks…when I walk, now. Again, had I changed over the course of years like a young girl going through puberty, I probably wouldn’t even notice.
I got to the toilet, pulled the red panties down and sat down. The toilet felt enormous under me, but it was the same size. I had dropped from 6’3″ to 5’2″. And I had gotten so slender, and lost so much muscle. Everything was heavier. Everything was bigger.
As I sat there, feeling the urine come gushing out of me, getting on my entire undercarriage instead of a neat, tight stream, I began recalling yesterday when all of this happened. I had been at a party with friends. I am single, and my best friends, a pair of couples, were there. They were talking about the pretty artist girl who had just left. My friend swatted me.
“Doofus! Did you not like Diane? She’s SO pretty!” Tom said.
“Huh? Yeah, she’s pretty. That’s why I know she wouldn’t be into me.” I explained.
“Brian, she was flirting with you ALL NIGHT!” Tom’s wife Tabitha said.
“What? No she wasn’t!” I insisted.
“Remember when everyone was trying to remember the name of that band and you came up with it and she said you were ‘SO smart’? Remember when we were playing party games on the console and she kept asking you how to do things? You didn’t notice how she kept twirling her hair around you?” my other friend’s wife, Laura said.
“Yeah…I guess…” I said.
“THAT is a girl flirting with you, dummy!” Derek, Laura’s husband said.
“Yes, and I for one am TIRED of sending girls into your presence and watching you fail.” a voice said. And suddenly, right there in front of the five of us, was a tall woman in a white women’s business suit, holding a tablet, and wearing glasses. Her blonde hair was done up in a tight bun.
We all practically jumped as we all saw her appear literally out of nowhere. We looked around to see who else noticed and saw that everyone else at the party had literally frozen, as if someone had hit pause on reality. We looked at the woman in white.
“Your confusion is understandable. There are many human legends that refer to people like me, and they all get it at least somewhat wrong. You could call me your fairy godmother, or one of the Fates or any number of things. But I am your caseworker, and I am responsible for seeing that you fulfill your role in the Great Plan.” she explained.
“I have a role? Awesome! I thought I was pretty much just dead weight.” I said, using my usual self-deprecating humor.
“You are. You haven’t made even the TINIEST bit of progress towards accomplishing your role. Normally, that wouldn’t merit a personal intervention like this, but you are supposed to have A LOT of offspring and many of them and their progeny are going to achieve big, big things in the future. You, not so much. You’re a loser. But your kids are winners, so we need to get you producing children ASAP. Especially since there’s going to be a lot of them.” she said.
“I’m going to be a dad? Also awesome! I’ve always thought I’d make a cool Dad.” I said.
“Well, that WAS the plan. But you’ve been fucking it up. I’ve sent so many great potential wives whose compatibility with you is very high. I have made sure they found you attractive, and a lot of them have flirted with you and made themselves available to you. And you just keep fucking it up.” she said angrily.
“What? Bullshit! Like who?” I objected.
“Amy in junior high, remember her asking you to dance, and you turning her down? Michelle, the busty girl in the computer lab that you kept bumping into and helping? She flirted shamelessly with you, and you did nothing. Diane just now of course. Francine at your first job, Nicolette at your second, Debbie at that client site. Remember Kimberly on that vacation?” she said. She actually seemed like she was going to keep going for awhile, so I cut her off.
“Okay, I get it. Are you saying all those girls would have slept with me if I’d asked?” I asked.
“No. I’m not your pimp. I put compatible, interested women into your life. I don’t make them fuck you. They have free will, just like you. I organize coincidences in collaboration with their caseworkers. It’s you who has to make something of the opportunity. And you haven’t, and I’m tired of it.” she said.
“According to Article 69, Subsection Q-3, paragraph 11: ‘If the subject is of sufficient future importance, and the caseworker gets prior approval via form 12-G from 3 superiors, reality manipulation is permissible as a means of resolving a situation.’ I have 3 approvals on my 12-G. I have decided to change your reality. Diane was my one last gift opportunity to you. That girl is like a 7 of 10, and you’re like a 4…if I’m being generous. You should have leapt at the chance. Her caseworker strenuously objected to the potential pairing because Diane is so sweet and kind in addition to being pretty. He only relented because of just how important your kids will be. He knows Diane would have adored having so many children with you. Now I have to employ extreme measures.” she said.
“What…what do you mean?” I asked.
“I am going to turn you into a very attractive woman, reverse your biological age about 10 years, and have you produce kids that way.” she said, as matter of factly as if you were telling someone that you were going to hold the elevator for them.
“What? That…you can do that? Why would you do that?” I asked.
“Because you are a complete failure as a man. As a pretty woman, all you’ll have to do is say ‘yes’. Nature, and me, will take care of the rest.” she said.
“Well, I won’t. I won’t say yes. Ever. And we’ll see how pretty I am after I eat like a horse and never exercise.” I challenged.
“Don’t make me play hardball. I can make you a nymphomaniac and make you obsessed with your body, and obsessed with having babies. I can’t violate your free will, but I can give you mental disorders such that the difference is academic. If I don’t see you willingly going out and trying to find a husband and get laid and get pregnant, I will do these things to you, and maybe throw in some others as punishment. I already have the 12-G authorization. I can do ANYTHING I want to you now, and it’s fair game. Don’t piss me off.” she warned.
“What if…what if I promise to be better about this? I can make finding a wife a higher priority! You could make me more attractive as a man! This isn’t the only solution!” I protested.
“Look, you don’t think I’ve considered EVERY angle? Your life touches hundreds of others. I’ve run the numbers and simulations. This choice produces the best outcome for everybody. I understand your reluctance. Gender is a big part of how we define ourselves. It’s jarring to have that changed. That’s why I let your four friends here hear all of this. They can be your support network.” she said.
“Also, you have to have a lot of kids. I’m not allowed to say how many, but let’s just say that you’re going to have to get going on this. Now, you know everything you need to know. It’s time to make this happen.” she said, and just like that she was gone.
Also just like that, I was a woman. There was no morph, no poof noise, no smoke bomb, no flash of light. Laura, at 5’6″ was the shortest of us before, and now she towered over me by 4 inches. I looked down and was wearing a pair of tight women’s jeans, a red tank top with a plunging neckline. I had a red lacy bra on underneath. I was wearing jewelry, makeup, the whole 9 yards.
And in that same instant, the party resumed. The five of us stood there stunned for quite awhile. A casual acquantiance walked by and casually dropped a “Hey, Bree, you look great tonight!”
That is when I freaked out and ran out of the party. My friends gave chase and caught me rather easily. I’m not an athletic woman, but then, I wasn’t an athletic man either.
I have to give my friends all due praise. They tried to be supportive. Laura and Tabitha offered to teach me how to be a woman. Tom and Derek insisted that I needed to look on the bright side, that I had gotten ten years back, and that at least this way my life would be fuller.
But I wasn’t in a place where I wanted to hear that noise. I got into my car and drove home. The seats and mirrors were already calibrated to someone of my size. Fortunately, I didn’t live far from the party, because partyway there, the amount of alcohol I had ingested started to hit me. I wasn’t a heavy drinker, but when you lose as much body mass as I did, and the amount of alcohol stays the same…well, fortunately, I got the job done, went inside, stripped to my panties and passed out on my bed.
And that pretty much brings us up to speed as I sat on the can, my pussy wet from having just peed. I took some T.P. and wiped myself down. I used a lot of T.P. because I was trying to not feel or touch it. It was a Saturday. I didn’t need to be anywhere. That was a relief at least.
I got into the shower, and bathed as quickly and perfunctorily as I could. There was no masturbation, no use of the detachable shower head. I ran some soap over me, avoiding the boobs, then I put in shampoo. I had a bottle of separate conditioner in the shower for some reason. Clean is what matters, so I ignored it.
I got out, towel dried, I couldn’t avoid dabbing the towel on the genitals to dry off. I brushed my hair and let it air dry. I soon found out that hair this long takes forever to dry, and hair this long without conditioner becomes a frizzy tangled mess.
I put on panties, and pulled a matching bra out from the drawer. Did I want to put this on? I thought about the short time I’d been braless this morning. The swinging, swaying, bouncing. I was definitely going to wear a bra. After struggling awhile, I did an online search for putting a bra on properly and put it on backwards, spun it around and then put my boobs in the cups. So much easier.
I wanted to wear the least girly thing I could. Simple jeans and a t-shirt seemed like a winner. But my jeans and t-shirt were so tight. I looked great, but this was not what I wanted.
I went downstairs and looked at my phone. My four friends had bombarded me with texts and voice mails. They meant well. But I did NOT want to acknowledge reality, and this change would be all they would want to talk about.
I decided I needed coffee. I went out to the coffee shop, and I instantly realized the hell my life was about to become. I had literally 4 guys hit on me in the 10 minutes I was at the coffee shop. A guy in line with me, then the barista who was basically a teenager, then while I was waiting for my coffee a second customer, and then as I walked toward the door, a guy who obviously wasn’t done, but had been watching me…leering at me more likely…the whole time got up, and pretended to be leaving at the same time so he could get the door for me and hit on me. Like I can’t open a door?
I told all four of them to ‘fuck off’. No, not figuratively. As I got back in the car, I was startled to see HER in my car. Fate.
“I’m not saying you have to sleep with the first guy who propositions you, but those four boys were all trying to be nice and you were a bitch to them. Do you remember what it felt like to be rejected by a girl? Oh, you don’t because you hardly ever asked any out!” she said sarcastically.
“Well, it hurts. Those four boys put themselves out there for you because of how pretty you are…even with no makeup, no jewelry, wearing jeans and a t-shirt rather than something nice, having unkempt hair and so forth. All they were asking for was a chance to get to know you. And a couple of them weren’t bad looking. Start dating. Sooner than later. Doesn’t have to be today, but don’t dawdle. Otherwise…Well, let’s just say nymphomania is a much more serious condition than the way your culture treats it.” she said, and was gone again.
All I heard was, ‘Doesn’t have to be today…’. When I got back to my house, the gang was there, waiting. I considered driving away, hoping they hadn’t seen me, but then I noticed them noticing me.
“Brianna, we want to take you out for a girls’ day out!” Laura and Tabitha said. “The boys will tag along, but you’ve got a lot to learn.” Tabitha added as she held my frizzy hair in her hand. They literally would not take no for an answer. I gave in simply because they had more willpower than me.
And so we went. They took me to a salon where they did my hair up nice, they got me a mani-pedi…which, hey, that was actually pretty enjoyable. They got me a makeover…which wasn’t so enjoyable. We stopped in store after store after store trying on clothes. They taught me terms of fashion, what matches with what, how to select items that can be used as part of multiple outfits.
The thing is, along the way…I was getting hit on more and more and more. It seemed like I couldn’t walk by a single man without him making a pass at me. Derek assured me that this was not the case, it just felt like it. My first got the same ‘fuck off’ treatment as the coffee shop guys did. Only I added ‘creep’ I think.
Laura chastised me in language that sounded A LOT like Fate’s. “Brianna, you heard her. If you don’t get going on this soon, she’s going to take choice out of your hands. I’m sure being sexually active as a woman terrifies you, but wouldn’t being sexually active AGAINST YOUR WILL as a woman be even more terrifying?”
“Look, I am still well into the denial phase here. Don’t drag me out before I’m ready. She said it didn’t have to be today. Ergo, they get told to fuck off.” I said.
“Yeah, but if you would at least go out on dates with someone, it would keep that Fate lady off your back.” Tom pointed out.
It was a good point. Dating at least was a form of stalling. I turned and walked into the roleplaying games store. I looked around for a guy that looked as much like what I had been as I could find. Found him. A little chunky, low confidence, dressed sloppily, the t-shirt had a nerdy joke on it. He may as well have been a clone of the old me.
I walked right up to him. “Hey, you. I want to go on a date with a nerd. You win. Meet me out front of the west entrance to the mall at 7pm tomorrow and we’ll go somewhere. Make reservations, plans, whatever. Don’t bring any condoms, we’re not going past first base…if we even get there. And don’t try getting me somewhere secluded. Deal?” I asked him.
“Uh…” he hesitated, looking around. Fuck. I know exactly why he’s hesitating. His confidence is so low, he can’t imagine that a chick like me would be interested in a guy like him. He thinks I’m pranking him.
“My name is Brianna Meyers. This is not a prank. It is not a pity date. Yes, it’s weird, but I have reasons. I’m not promising that us dating goes anywhere, but I’m also telling you that the chance that it does is nonzero. This is something I want to try. What else were you doing on a Sunday night after 7 that would be cooler than this?” I asked.
And so he agreed. His name is evidently Curtis Peterson. Evidently, being a hot chick puts confidence in you. There’s NO WAY I would have had the stones to do something like that as a guy. I walked back out to my group. They clapped for me.
Great, one day as a woman and I had a date…
