Snuggle Bunny 2: Terra Incognita
by: Sarah Barndt

 

Mike and I were in our room when the lights flickered. I knew immediately that those nerds down the hall were messing around again. I would have liked to kick their asses many times. Though I was a lacrosse player, my lean, wiry build was no match for that line-backer who hung out with them. Mike, on the other hand, was a bit short, about 5’7, and pudgy. The flicker caused his computer to crash and he was pissed. He went to the nerd’s room to see what was going on and I tagged along to back him up. We walked into the room and froze. We could see those 4 guys, caught in some beam and fading from sight. We watched, our mouths open, until they vanished. Deirdre, the dyke resident advisor, came in and asked us what happened. We didn’t mention what we saw for fear of being assumed insane. We all walked cautiously into the room. We saw a machine with a label on it that said ‘Dimensional Scanner’ on the desk. Deirdre touched it before we could warn her and bluish sparks danced around the room. Mike staggered and I felt dizzy. Suddenly, the scanner was gone. So was Deirdre. We looked at each other and RAN back to our room.

However, the fun wasn’t over yet. Our room had changed. It now looked like some room in the girl’s dorm. Everything was all frills, lace and flowery prints like that ‘Laura Ashley’ stuff. It smelled better, too. Suddenly Mike said,’ Look out the window, Ted. This is weird.’ I looked. The flag on the quad had changed. It now had... 52 stars! Was this the future? I wasn’t sure because I saw a few cars that looked like 1955 Studebakers! My Dad collects old cars. We talked for several minutes until we could calm down. We both agreed that whatever had made those nerds vanish had done the same to us. We were in some alternate reality!

While we were deciding what to do next a woman of about 30 came in to the room. Her clothes were definitely 1950’s fashions. She looked at us and said, ‘Ah, the new girls. I was looking for you. Here, read these orientation manuals. Someone will be by take you to registration in an hour or so. Try to read it by then. OK? Any questions?’ We just shook our heads, too shocked to react- or wonder why she called us ‘girls’. No sooner had she closed the door when we dove on those manuals. Mike and I spent about 20 minutes reading them from cover to cover, each page more frightening than the last.

I finished and put the book down, my hands shaking. I could hear Mike sobbing, a little. Why not. We were doomed. In this new reality humans go through puberty twice. First at 12 or so, like we did, then again in their late teens or early 20’s, only this time they change sex! This was no longer Huxley College. It was Huxley Academy for Young Ladies in Transition! We were going to spend the next year here and turn into........ into women!

Mike thought that maybe we wouldn’t change because we really weren’t from this reality. Hey! Maybe so. The manual had said the first sign of ‘the change’ for males was enlargement and sensitivity of their nipples. I pulled off my shirt. So did Mike. YIKES! My nipples had swollen! When did that happen! Carefully I placed a finger on it. OH NO! It was really sensitive! We had become males of this dimension- and now we were turning into females. We worried about our families but then I remembered we would be kept out of contact, except letters, for the first 6 months. That was a relief. It would give me some time to adapt. Yes, adapt. I was, if anything, pragmatic. I knew I wasn’t leaving this reality. Heck, I didn’t even know how I got here- and the guys who did know weren’t back where I started either. I was here for good.

Another woman, Mrs. Wheeler, came by to take us to registration. She was a nice grandmotherly type, maybe late 50’s. I had a momentary shudder as I realized I would be just like her in 30 or 40 years. As we walked down the still-familiar halls it was readily apparent that this wasn’t the Huxley I had known for 3 years. Everywhere I looked I saw women- no, men in transition. Everyone wore women’s clothes no matter how ‘far along’ they were and ranged from hulks in dresses to hot babes in bikinis. I was getting slightly nauseated from the fear and tension. These people had known about this their whole lives. It was ‘natural’ for them, while I had less than an hour to accept the idea. Mike seemed to be a bit worse off than me. I could tell by the way his eyes darted around, like a caged animal. We entered an office where we signed our names in a book and then were lead to a doctor’s office. A pleasant nurse, in the old style white uniform, came in and had us undress. We were then told to shower and shave all over. "Be glad, ladies," she bubbled. "Now that you’re in transition, most of that awful hair won’t grow back. You’ll never have to shave your beards again." I only had my morning stubble to deal with, while Mike had been trying to grow a goatee. I stepped out of the shower as hairless as I had been when I was 10. Nurse Judy gave us robes to wear, and slippers. They were, of course, pink. The manual had said we would be put into women’s clothes upon arrival- and stay in them the rest of our lives.

After a fairly rudimentary physical, where I was given a jar of cream in case ‘my nipples hurt’, we were taken to another room to be measured. Since our bodies would be changing so much, we would just be issued clothes and exchange them as our sizes changed. We’d start buying our own clothes during the second half of our transition, after our changes had progressed further and our bodies were more typically female. I saw a calendar on the wall. It was September 7, 1958.

Before long, I was dressed in white, cotton panties, a training bra, a plaid, sleeveless dress with a stylized "H" on the pocket and worn over a white blouse with a Peter Pan collar, and black pumps with a 2" heel. Mike was in the same uniform. They also asked us if we wanted our ears pierced. Transition was the best time to do it. You got permanent holes right away. Mike declined, but I accepted. Mike looked at me with a face of betrayal. I’d talk to him later. I think I yelped as the small gold studs went in. Mrs. Wheeler took us back to our rooms, carrying our first issue of clothes. The hem of the dress felt so strange against my smoothly-shaven legs. I still couldn’t get over it. Here I was- in a dress, and I wouldn’t be taking it off- ever again.

Mike was annoyed. "How could you get your ears pierced? Do you WANT to be a girl?" "Of course not," I snapped back. "But unless you know how to travel between parallel universes, I don’t see us leaving here any time soon. And HERE, males turn into females at a certain age. It’s as ‘normal’ to them as not changing sex is to us. If we start talking about an alternate reality, they’ll lock us up in a padded cell- -- and we’ll still turn into women. In this reality the only ‘dimensional scanners’ exist in comic books. Deal with it." Mike had a rough night, but we talked some more and he started to get a grip. At least we had each other to talk to. He got his ears pierced the next day. The next three months were very stressful.

We began having daily classes in cooking, sewing, knitting, baking, laundry, house-keeping and child-care. It seems this ‘academy’ was someplace well-off people sent their kids, so we also had classes on deportment & etiquette, ballroom dancing and ‘grace’. I wasn’t just turning into a female, they planned to turn me into a ‘lady’, too. We also received some instruction on hair and make-up, but that sort of thing would become more important during Phase 2 of our training. They had us grow our hair and fingernails, however, which seemed to be growing a bit faster than normal. They said that happened in transition. Mike didn’t like this one bit. I could tell he was resisting, as if defiance would stop the changes. He wasn’t the only one, though. Some others seemed ‘annoyed’ at their plight, though most embraced it as a natural part of life. I was somewhere in the middle. I wasn’t scared, really, but I felt terribly uncomfortable in dresses and bras. If only I could wear slacks once in a while. But I hadn’t even seen a pair of slacks in weeks, only on Dr.Mason, but he was a male. The thing I hated most was sitting to pee. I wanted to do it standing, while I still could, but it was nearly impossible in a dress. Everybody tried at first, but the giggles you would hear when anyone saw a damp spot on the front of your skirt was a deterrent. I had to content myself with standing when I was alone in my room. Nonetheless, I had to give up the practice after about six weeks. By then my dick was too short and sensitive to hold anymore. After that, each time I sat on a toilet I knew I was one step closer to being a woman. But I got on with my life, unlike some people. Mike still complained about putting on bras and dresses as if they were emitting ‘girl rays’ that were changing him. I did what I had to. I could feel my body changing. It was already obvious I was getting smaller. Though my height hadn’t really changed yet, I was definitely slimming. Mike obsessed about every change, real or imagined. Not me. Overall I was handling this pretty well--- until my tits started to grow.

My nipples had been sore since the beginning, but in the 6^th week they really started to throb and ache. For a moment of insanity I wondered if Mike wasn’t right and I hadn’t brought this on myself by sitting to piss. The cream helped a little but they still throbbed. I came to welcome wearing a bra, and I gave up another newcomer habit of sleeping naked and began wearing the lacy nightgowns I had been given. I didn’t want to, but I needed to keep my chest covered. After a week my sore nipples had expanded into throbbing cones, jutting above a chest that was losing musculature rapidly. I could feel my mammary glands growing now. One morning I woke up and the bodice of my nightgown was damp and clinging to my chest. NO! I had begun lactating! The manual had explained that a small percentage of changees experience ‘spontaneous lactation’ when their breasts start to grow. It was normal and not a problem, but I was supposed to report it. That morning at breakfast I told Mrs. Wheeler. "Lactating? Already? My goodness. Welcome to the world of mammals, honey." She took me to the doctor. He examined my new ‘boobies’ with a surprisingly cold hand. I yelped when he pressed them too hard. He was nice, though. "You’ll be fine, Miss Barndt. This occurs in almost a quarter of all changees. It lasts a week or two. Just be sure to follow Mrs. Wheeler’s advice. Girls who have spontaneous lactation almost always become very buxom. Do as she says concerning bra size, proper support and the like. Ok, dear?" OK? That’s it? He practically patted me on the head as he sent me back to my room. They were definitely treating me, all of us, like ditzy, helpless females and I didn’t like it one bit. I walked back to my room almost as stunned as I had been the first day. My BOOBS were growing. I had BOOBS. I was going to grow BIG boobs. Now I was starting to panic. I was pretty sure I could handle becoming a woman, but I had expected to be an average woman. I hadn’t counted on becoming some top-heavy cow. I knew what men did. They would look at my tits all the time, and make jokes and.... and... I crossed my arms over my still flat chest and felt the bulge of the breast pads absorbing my - milk. I ran back to my room sobbing - like a little girl. Mike and I talked for hours that day. To make matters worse, our Adam’s Apples were shrinking, giving us a slightly more youthful ( feminine?) voice.

I awoke, stretched and yawned, noting the bulge of my breasts in the bodice of my peach nightie. At least they didn’t throb anymore. This was, what, my 100^th day here. Brushing the hair out of my eyes, I went to the bathroom. Damn! My ass felt so BIG! Actually, it wasn’t really big, by female standards, but it was much fleshier than I was used to. At least it wasn’t as big as Mike’s. She (we’re encouraged to speak of each other in feminine pronouns) was starting to get a real caboose back there. To be fair, she didn’t eat much at all, but she had some fat from the outset that was being moved around. I put my nighty in the hamper and checked my scrawny, little girl, body. My tits had grown into jiggly cones that were beginning to outgrow my AA cup teen bras. Why did I have- these, while Mike was still in a training bra. It wasn’t fair. Thank goodness my lactation had stopped. Muscles were just a memory now and there was definitely some widening of my hips. I was down 50 pounds and almost an inch shorter, according to my last check- up. I felt so tiny and this was only the beginning. My dick, what was left of it anyway, was little more than a crimson bump between my legs that tingled almost painfully every time I peed through it. I got dressed in my uniform but for the past 2 weeks I have been wearing a panty girdle and hose. Mrs. Wheeler said I needed to wear one now that I ‘was getting some shape on me’. The irony was the artificial support of the girdle would, in time, allow my abdominal muscles to go slack, giving me a LARGER ass and hips. In a few years I wouldn’t be able to go without one. My nails were getting longer, too, but I had learned to attach my stockings to the girdle without causing runs. I needed to wear barettes now to keep my hair out of my eyes.

At breakfast I sat next to Herb. He was my source of information on the world outside. He was kind of short and scrawny when he got here but he had been putting on weight lately. When I first arrived in 1958 I had visions of becoming rich by knowing what stocks to buy, who would win the World Series, you know. No such luck. History seemed familiar up to around 1914 when President Woodrow Wilson successfully negotiated the end of ‘The Great War’ and formed the League of Nations, so no Bolshevik Revolutions, no Great Depression, No Hitler, no Cold War. After that, most of the names I knew had different histories and after 1930 or so I had no idea who any of these people were. Fortunately (for the author anyway) fashion and music hadn’t changed one little bit. The president was some guy named Garnett, from the Populist Party (whatever that was) and before him was someone named Mandon from the Continental Party. It was a completely different world, one without an IBM to buy at $1 a share. Our days were fairly informal. There was one afternoon and morning session and no one had more than 5 sessions a week. This school was here to socialize us. Today I had gym. Being an athlete, I had looked forward to gym at first, but all we did was play volleyball- and I was starting to hate it now that my chest jiggled when I jumped. I could tell everyone was looking at my tits. Worried about their own futures, no doubt.

Tonight Mike, Herb, Bill and I had a slumber party. It was required for our socialization class. I felt like a freak dressed in a babydoll nighty with my hair up in rollers and cold cream on my face. But everyone else was the same so it wasn’t too bad. Herb brought the snacks, naturally. I couldn’t get over it. She was actually chubby now. She had been waifishly thin when she arrived but now she was the first to us to have real hips! Bill was a black girl who was looking forward to ‘getting a man-catching booty’ and kept complimenting me on my ‘nice rack’. I looked at Mike. She understood. They had had their whole lives to get used to this. They had both been males; dated females, even Herb; had sex as males (not Herb) yet they were looking forward to ‘catching a man’ and having babies! I wondered if I ever would, you know, think like them. The idea of sex with men still scared me to death. Mike and I had learned to cope with this, but it was plain we hadn’t accepted it.

I began a regular weekly appointment at the school hair salon. My first visit was annoying. Sharon, the stylist sat me down. "How come I nevah saw ya heah?" she asked in her gum-chewing, Bronx accent.

"I’ve only been here a little over 3 months. My hair wasn’t that long until now," I answered politely and wishing this was over.

"Tree munts? Ya grew a set like dat in tree munts? Oh, sweety. Enjoy lookin’ at ya toes while ya still can. Da boys is gonna love you. Dat’s fa shoor." She said almost enviously. I fought back a tear.

 

In a few days I will have been here 6 months. That means I begin Phase 2 and can have visitors and get out once in a while. I’m really curious to see my family. In this reality they are pretty much the same from what I can tell from their letters, though my Dad seems slightly more successful than he already was. My older sister Evelyn is now my older brother, Paul. Well, he was Evelyn until 2 years ago....... You get the idea. Mom is, well, Mom as far as I can tell by her letters. For Christmas she sent me some things like jewelry, racy underwear and a hair dryer. Naturally, she was so certain I was looking forward to being ‘just like her’ that she never even considered the possibility I wasn’t happy to be growing ovaries. And tits. I’m up to a C-cup and I’ve shrunk 3 inches. My entire frame is much slimmer now; girly, with dainty feet and delicate hands. My legs are kind of shapely and my hips have widened a lot. My hair has turned a darker brown and is getting curly, my complexion is more olivey, too. My mom is Italian and I guess I AM becoming more like her. I hope a little of the old ‘me’ survives this. I don’t want to become some Italian housewife saying ‘mangia, mangia’ all day. I have to decide on my ‘girl name’. I’ve chosen Sarah.

Mike has chosen Grace and it is appropriate. She’s lost a lot of weight and has acquired a lean, blond patrician look reminiscent of Grace Kelly. She’s only in an A-cup so far, but as they say, we’re still growing. I heft my plump breasts. Why is this happening to me. I’ll be a cow!

Now that I’m in Phase 2 they changed my uniform to a plaid skirt with the same white blouse and a maroon Huxley blazer. I also have a gold chain around my neck with my new girl name. I have to wear it for the next month at least. I’m allowed to wear regular clothes on week-ends and am encouraged to try different styles. Herb chose the name Alice and, as usual, we sat together at lunch. All of us were completely smooth between the legs now. I not only spoke of myself as a female, I was starting to think of myself as one. My indentation didn’t go too deep but it lead to my developing uterus. My testicles were now functioning ovaries that would cause us (ME!) a lot of physical changes during the next three months. Alice was really big now. Not her bosom, she was still in the A-B range, but her overall size. She had actually grown 2 inches taller, and at 180 pounds, was almost twice the size she was when she arrived. But you know something? She liked it! Herb had always been small and weak, prone to colds all the time. Alice liked being a big, robust woman. Her dream was to be a ‘big, happy Mama with a dozen kids," and she spent most of her free time practicing cooking and baking. She was getting to be a very good cook, which may have accounted for her already 46 inch hips, bubble-butt and heavy, but shapely, legs. Now Grace, on the other hand, was starting to look like a Vogue model, all slim and blond with great cheekbones. I am so envious. (jealous?)

Chapter 2

Today had been a very bad day. To start off, I began menstruating. Mrs.

Wheeler said my flow was nice and heavy. That meant I was real fertile. Gee. I was so proud I became nauseated. Nothing like hearing you have ovaries the size of golf balls to make a guy want to stick out his chest. Oh wait. Those are my tits. I wandered back to my room with my sore nipples rubbing in my too-tight bra while I held my hand over my aching, uh, uterus. The sanitary pad and belt felt like a diaper. Maybe I can be the one to invent tampons. What was I thinking! At least I didn’t have to wear a girdle today, though now my dress felt tight and I could feel my ass jiggle. Oh, please. Don’t let me get a big, fat ass like Alice. Grace was coming out of the shower as I entered. She really had a great shape, for a girl I mean. The one thing that I couldn’t get over was how big and soft everyone’s ass was. Grace was slim by any standards, including her ass, but her cheeks still rippled with every step. Sure, it wasn’t the massive rumble of Alice’s huge butt, yet it was still soft and plump and jiggly... just like mine. We were girls now. Girls had big butts. For the last few weeks I had been VERY aware of how much of me was sticking out the back. Almost as much as was sticking out in front. I now wore a D-cup and had shrunk to 5’7". Officially a ‘girl’ height. I was miserable.

Speaking of misery, I got a letter from Mom. She was coming to visit this weekend. Could it get any better? Now she could actually STARE at my tits as she talked about ‘woman things’ with her new daughter. In this reality, my mom may have been a guy once, but she acted just like the version that never had, gossiping with the neighbor women, and giggling and whispering whenever they talked about their many and various discharges that ‘men don’t understand’. I suddenly had a severe cramp. Well, I certainly understand NOW mother. The only other mail was from the author. He complained that I was several pages into the story and hadn’t taken a bubble bath yet. ("Why did I bother writing a claw-foot tub for you!") Nag, nag, nag. My period was making me feel so yucky. I wanted to take a bath anyway.

I got out of my clothes and put the stained sanitary pad in the container for them that had appeared in our bathroom a few weeks ago. To tell you the truth, it had always been there. I just recently figured out what it was for. At least I wasn’t flowing- at the moment. As much as I dreaded doing it, I examined my mutating body in the mirror.(it’s about time, sweety!- the Author) Darn. I looked so girly now. I was smaller- rounder-WIDER. My hair was long- over my shoulders; enough to hide my pierced ears. I had developed very womanly hips. Why shouldn’t I. I was a woman. I needed plenty of room for my big uterus, didn’t I? Of course the real FEMALE thing about my anatomy was my... oh, heck.. I may as well call them tits. I pulled back my shoulders and stuck out my chest. Damn! I was soooo big. I placed my hands under them and lifted slightly. You would not believe how heavy they felt. Grace was only a fullish A-cup so far. Heck. Even big, fat Alice is only a women’s B-cup. I remembered that awful day I started lactating. They looked like two strawberries stuck to my chest, with some loose flesh around the edges. My figure was still boyish then. I had wide shoulders and slim hips. But, of course, they grew. The loose flesh became pointy cones that jiggled incessantly. The shoulders narrowed. The cones became two round peaches that bounced with every step or sudden movement. The hips spread... and spread. Now my tits were firm, slightly sagging, footballs with wide aureoles and thick, rubbery nipples that swung heavily with any movement, bra-less or not. Mrs. Wheeler said I was just starting my ‘growth spurt’. I couldn’t believe it. I was turning into a cow. I don’t even know why I’m learning to wear make-up. No one’s going to be looking at my face anyway.

The warm soapy water felt delicious (delicious?) as I slid in. Obviously, my surging levels of estrogen were starting to effect my mind. They said that before we left here we’d be ‘proper women’ with a fully developed maternal instinct. I wasn’t sure what that would mean, exactly, but it certainly had something to do with getting pregnant. I wasn’t really one of these people. Would I actually start to want babies? Right now the idea was frightening. Were Grace and I destined to teach girl’s gym? The idea of sex with a woman was something I was used to, I hadn’t been a virgin, but now... whatever I did to her, she’d do to me. Right? Would that be any better? As you can see, Grace and I weren’t adjusting as well as some of the others. I had to get used to this- somehow. That or go mad. I took a deep breath and began to massage my new clitoris. Yow! That hurt. I tried again, more gently this time. OOO That was better. Uuu That was MUCH better. Wow. Now my nipples were stiff. I fondled my plump breast. Mmm That felt OK, too. The nipple was really big, from this angle. Could I? I stretched my neck forward as I pushed the breast up. Yes! My lips encircled my OWN nipple! Needless to say the water cooled off before I did. Maybe this wouldn’t be half bad- if I just gave it half a chance. What choice did I have anyway?

Mom and Dad looked the same, except Dad smoked a pipe and called me ‘kitten’ now. Mom, however, looked like pictures of my grandmother from this era. Her hair wasn’t just colored, it was dyed jet-black and done up in a poofy, upswept style that might have come from an old Ann Miller musical. She was also about 30 pounds heavier and wearing a dress that showed every ounce of it, too. Her nails were long and red and she absolutely dripped jewelry. The confident, together, career woman I had known had become an Italian Princess. She almost ran up to me, her large bosom rippling, mincing in her snug dress and high, open-toed pumps. She hugged me tightly. Feeling her breasts on mine made me shiver.

"Oh, honey. Let me look at you," she gushed, finally releasing me. "I have to say it. You’re built like a brick shithouse. Isn’t she Hank?" My Dad nodded, removed his pipe and said, "She’s a looker, all right." Come on, Mom, I thought to myself. Drop the other shoe. "And she’s got such big tits already. I swear she’s bigger than me, now."

That was the sound of a shoe dropping.

"I don’t want to talk about it here, mother." "Of course, honey. I understand. Hank, she doesn’t want to talk in public. She must be having her period. Is that right? Are you having your period, Sarah? Hank, cancel the restaurant. Her flow is heavy; she’s got awful cramps. OK, honey? Want a Midol?"

No one heard my prayers at that moment because the earth didn’t swallow me up.

"No, uh, mother. My flow’s not too - heavy. Let’s go to the restaurant," I said in as calm a voice as I could. I had to get away from here.

Chapter 3.

In spite of my instincts for self-preservation I found myself spending more time with my mother. Yes, it was gross to talk about OUR menstrual discharges, or her cellulite (Never have kids. They ruin your figure. Oh, not that I’m not glad I had you, honey.) But, you know something? We really did have more in common now. Occasionally I was concerned about my periods. Who could I ask. Grace? That would be the blind leading the blind. My dad? I couldn’t talk to him about personal stuff when I had been a guy. Had been a guy. It still seems strange to see those words. After hanging up on Mom. I got ready for bed. I was in the 9^th month of my transition now. I’d shrunk to 5’-5" while my breasts had grown to a E-cup. Jeez, I’m enormous! Good thing my ass has grown or I’d tip over. I have to wear a slumber bra or I wake up sore in the morning. I rub cold cream in my face to remove my make-up and to moisturize my skin. I really hate this. Not because I am being forced to do it......... I want to do it. I genuinely want to keep my skin soft and I’m worried about getting wrinkles already. This estrogen bath on my brain had made me soooo vain. I was always so casual about my looks before. Now I obsess on every little thing. I haven’t told anybody, but men’s crotches are beginning to interest me. I saw Elvis on the Ed Sullivan Show last week and my panties got damp! I wanted to die from embarrassment.

Grace is adapting to her new looks but her beauty is causing her problems. If she were plainer or more average looking she wouldn’t have so many men checking her out all the time. It’s the constant attention that’s wearing on her. It’s a lot like what I have to go through because of my, uh, generous bosom. I can’t go anywhere and not be noticed.

Grace and I both envy Alice. She is so comfortable and accepting of her new life. If we can’t be changed back into males (which we can’t), we wish we could be as serene as Alice rather than so self-conscious all the time. Of course, neither of us want to have anything else in common with her. She’s over 200 pounds now, though at 5’9 it isn’t quite as bad as it sounds, but she’s getting a big belly and an ass that is not to be believed with thick, shelf-like hips. Though fleshy, her legs are probably the shapeliest in the school. Her room-mate Bill, now Aretha, had turned into a tiny, petite porcelain doll with very delicate features and smooth, mocha skin. I envied her ballerina figure- she still envied my ‘booty’. You know something. We had all turned into typical women, obsessing about our bodies and always comparing ourselves to everybody else.

This comparison issue was about to get worse, now that the weather was warm. My mom began to use the pool for weekend barbeques, complete with handsome young men from my Dad’s company. Yes, the fun continues. It was swimsuit weather... and I had the rack-of-all-racks to display. Fortunately, I had Paul to look out for me. He made sure the boys kept their distance, though he couldn’t pry their gaze off my tits. It was funny. As the younger brother I had always resented my older sister’s mothering, but as the younger sister I welcomed my older brother’s protectiveness. Another change. I had had my Dad’s red hair and fair skin as a male. I always freckled or burned in the sun. Now I had my Mom’s olive skin and was soon very tan. Aretha had a good laugh when she noticed I was darker than her! I only wore tank style swimsuits so when I peeled them off my giant bosom, between my brown limbs and vast white chest I looked like a panda. I was so busy trying to hide my chest during these weekends that I didn’t notice the looks being exchanged between Paul and Alice. Not at first anyway. I didn’t get it until both Paul and Alice started asking me questions about the other. Who’d have thought my brother was a ‘chubby chaser’. But I loved Alice dearly as a friend and played the role of go between.

Chapter 4.

Life at the school has settled into a mindless routine. Now that we are in Phase 2 we work on our looks--- a lot. Besides wearing our uniforms, we have make-up classes where we learn about day make-up, nigh make-up, formal make-up, make-up for outdoor formal occasions, make-up for outdoor informal occasions and on and on. We dress for dinner every night. As a test we do not know if the event is formal, black-tie, white tie, etc. until 2 hours before. Then we spend the rest of meal critiquing each others choices. This poses as a learning experience but Grace and I recognized it for what it was. It was a socialization exercise designed to make us vain, self-absorbed and competitive with other woman. In other words, a male domination ploy. But you know something, knowing what it was didn’t help at all. We were women now and had no choice but to live this life. Grace adapted quicker than I did. I think it’s because her family was dramatically more affluent in this life. Before her Dad had been a successful manager in a large company. Now she was a debutante. It seems her great-grandfather was not only the first lawyer to be hit by a car, he was the first to sue for whiplash. He made a fortune overnight and the family never did a days work again. She seemed to get more of a high society accent after her weekends home. It was funny at first but lately she seemed to be getting a bit snobby. Maybe we were all adjusting to our new lives. Much to my eternal chagrin, I was acting more like my mother every day. At home I seemed to chatter constantly and felt it was my duty to see to it that everyone enjoyed their meals.

Alice’s family was overseas so she came home with me a lot. Did you ever notice that time in your life, usually around 19 to 22, when the girls you grew up with start to act like women? You know, suddenly they have the mannerisms and body language of their mother? Or your mother? Anybody’s mother? It’s scary. I noticed that in Alice one weekend when she was helping set the table. She was wearing a snug, short sleeve body shirt and a flowing, floral print, knee-length skirt. She was bare legged but had on high heel sandals that revealed 10, red-painted, chubby toes. Each step exuded sensuality as her big hips rolled, or she walked with her hands dangling. This was no fat girl trying to hide her body. This was a full-bodied woman enjoying her sexuality. I recalled the waifish Herb who used to shiver in a draft and smiled whenever I looked at the lushly-padded, bovine creature estrogen had made of him. Occasionally I would notice her placing both hands on her stomach and making slow circles. In time I realized she wasn’t rubbing her belly, she was rubbing her uterus. She was celebrating the ultimate symbol of her, of our, womanhood. No doubt about it. Her nesting instincts were in full flower. Scarier still, I didn’t behave that way. I should have been happy about that but I had become female enough to want to fit in. How’s that for conflicted emotions. I saw, in blinding clarity, that I was relating to men around me differently than I had before, but it was as a girl- not a woman. There was a subtle, but important, difference that I wasn’t privy to. More to the point, Paul noticed the change in Alice and seemed to like it---very much. Usually when I couldn’t find Alice, I couldn’t find Paul either.

I was allowed to wear pants again, well, if you could call them pants. The shorts I wore these days fit like a coat of paint and if I didn’t watch my step you could see the outline of my vulva. No way I could feel manly in these. I wore halter tops on weekends. I just needed some relief from the bras I had to wear. Of course, I couldn’t go out in public much without ‘proper support’. This wasn’t about modesty. This was about not flopping around like a cow all day. I didn’t just have breasts anymore I had become a pair of breasts. Nearly half the thoughts I had in a day had something to do with my breasts. Would this hold them up? Am I jiggling too much? Damn my back is sore. I thought back to a ‘boy clothes’ party we had a few months ago. It was sort of forbidden to dress in your old boy clothes, but sometimes someone would get a key from the office and late at night the changees would meet in a secret location and get drunk wearing their old clothes. I remember everybody had a good time... except me. I was the only one who couldn’t fit into my old clothes anymore. No. Alice couldn’t either but she was happy about it.

Later that day I stopped by Grace’s house. She met me in a crisp white tennis skirt. She placed her hands on my shoulders a gave me one of those ‘girly kissy face’ pecks and said, "Sarah, dahling. You’re just in time. Care for a game?" Her accent always got thicker when she was home. Unfortunately, I was having PMS that day.

"I can’t play tennis anymore, Grace."

"Why not, dahling?"

"In case you haven’t noticed... I’ve got big tits,"

"Oh. Of caws. Sarah, dahling, I don’t know how you manage with such lahge boozums. Yet you still look good in, almost, everything," Grace said in that annoying ‘pencil-in-your-teeth’ debutante accent she had acquired.

That did it. I placed my hands on my hips. Stuck out my chest ( and that’s a lot of chest) and said, "Listen, you skinny bitch. Don’t go looking down that button nose at me. At least I’m built like a real woman. Not some little boy."

"Oh, rahlee. Well, I’ld rahtha be boyish than built like a stripper! At least I know what color shoes I’m wearing without having to ask."

I stormed off. I didn’t speak to her again until Sunday night when she got back to the dorm. I really shouldn’t have taken things so personally, but I was getting touchy about my chest. It was, literally, weighing me down and making it harder, or impossible, to do the things I liked to do. Grace knew I liked tennis and was trying to be a friend, though the dig about my clothes was annoying. But Mike used to tease me like that all the time and it was OK. Why did it bother me now. I straightened my shoulders against the weight of my breasts and clenched my thighs together, feeling the nothing between my legs. That’s why. We were girls now; vain girls, and face it. We BOTH were turning into our mothers. Yes, her accent got thicker, but my hair was getting higher and fluffier, too. We made up like girls. We looked at each other for 1 second, burst into tears and hugged, sobbing apologies. Then we talked for hours while eating junk food. I could still remember when two mumbled ‘sorry’s and a friendly punch on the shoulder would have been enough. Not anymore.

As the summer drew to a close we prepared to check out of the school and begin our lives as women. At the farewell dinner Grace was voted ‘Most likely to become a Model’ and I was voted ‘Cutest Couple’. Haha. Nice joke. I was so weepy saying goodbye to everyone. Aretha said she would stay in touch and Grace only lived two blocks away, so that wasn’t a real goodbye. Alice was from another state but that didn’t matter either. She and Paul were engaged! She was moving into our house until the wedding! I was going to be the maid-of-honor, of course. Yippee?

By now, much to my chagrin, I was my mother’s daughter. My hair was high and fluffed in an elaborate style and upswept in back. My ears, neck and wrists were bejeweled. My dress was snug around my shapely hips and plump behind, the skirt having a slit, the bodice also snug and low-cut, though successfully entraining my 42F bosom. My slim waist was encircled by a matching silk belt and above my well made-up face was a wide brimmed hat. My father and brother came for my bags. I didn’t even think to help. I merely waved my hands limply and indicated which were mine and then strutted on my high heels to the car, gossiping with my mother like the 5’ 4" Italian princess I had become.

I had to admit that I was coming to enjoy my new life as the pampered daughter of a well-to-do family. When this first began I resented being sidelined. I had always intended to take my place in my Dad’s business and I would build upon it. I thought that was no longer possible. I was, of course, wrong. As a male I would have devoted my strength and intellect to the family, now I was to devote my uterus and ovaries. But I didn’t know that yet. I blissfully passed my time lounging by the pool, shopping with Mother or Grace, going to my weekly salon appointment, or having lunch with Alice, my future sister-in-law. Daddy bought me the cutest, pink & white convertible (I don’t know what kind it is) but I never drove too far. I just couldn’t remember directions anymore. At school I was compelled to act vain and vacuous and I resented it but in time I had to accept that I really was vain and vacuous now. I was no longer even capable of being who I had been. A very wise woman once said "Thinking causes wrinkles" and I no longer wanted wrinkles, nor was I in much danger of getting any.

Chapter 5.

It was the third month of my new life as Sarah Barndt, pampered princess. It was nice. Oh, it was not without some price. Menstruation, of course, but even that was an excuse to do even less than I already did. I really had to watch my weight now. One piece of cake was enough to make my dress tight the next morning, so I lived on a diet. Overall, though, it was an idyllic existence. Some days I could almost feel my intellect dribbling out of my ears as my thoughts become more self- centered, my world ever smaller. I could spend whole days lounging around like a house cat, and almost purring like one, too. But the ‘no free lunch rule’ existed in this world, just like in the other one.

There was a knock at the door. I was dressed in a halter top and wrap skirt, with high heeled sandals and a turban. There was a nice looking, muscular man at the door with a new born baby in a carriage. He smiled when he saw me like we were old friends, but I had no idea who this was, though he seemed a bit familiar.

"Hi, uh, Sarah. Pretty name by the way. You don’t remember me do you," he said calmly, his eyes meeting mine after a brief visit to my chest. ‘No. I really don’t," I replied apologetically. "Not surprising," he replied. "We both look a lot different since the last time we saw each other." He took a deep breath.

"Sarah, I’m Melinda Vann........ and this is our daughter, Larken."

Melinda Vann! That was the last girl I had sex with in my old life!

Apparently I had sex with her in this life, too.

I had her, him come in and we sat down to talk.

The night we had sex would have been the day before I went to Huxley to transform. Melinda, now Kevin, explained that she had been in transition, too, but got pregnant. Oh, no. That meant her transition was delayed until she delivered the baby, and gestation was 14 months in this reality, then she went through a rapid, and painful, transition. That baby was MY daughter! They had taught us about this at Huxley but I never dreamed it would happen to me! Pheromones from Larken, pheromones I had already inhaled, would alter my body until it was indistinguishable from a woman who had actually given birth! I would start lactating! Custom would require we get married, too!

Kevin looked at me longingly. Why was he suddenly the handsomest man on earth?

"Sarah. Will you marry me?" he asked expectantly and help out a ring. My hands trembled as I took the ring; My voice quavered as I replied, "Yes" In a pheromone induced flush. My cheeks were hot; my nipples stiff.

Driven by primal instincts I had learned about but was only now experiencing, I reached behind my neck and released my top, picked up Larken and..... and.... and placed her to my breast. Her lips found my nipple and began to pull hungrily. I had no milk for her, but I would soon. I let her suckle anyway. Now my own daughter was altering my body. By morning I would no longer be a hot, young woman.... I would be a new mother. After a while she got sleepy and I put her in the carriage for a nap.

Right about then I realized that Kevin was holding my hand and we were walking to my room. I’m not sure who was leading whom. I was still bare-chested as we walked up stairs. My huge breasts were jiggling and bouncing together. I could feel some stirrings in my abdomen. I was ovulating! I was about to have sex for the first time and it was going to make pregnant! The old me took over and I was trembling with fear. I wanted to run away but I was already so deep into an actual estrus cycle that I couldn’t resist. My panties were wet and squishy already. Oh dear. I must reek of sex.

We entered my room and threw ourselves into each other’s arms. Our tongues swam together. This was my first real kiss by.... and to... a man. There was more firsts to come. I ripped off my clothes and, like the bitch in heat I had become, dragged Kevin on top of me. He nuzzled and nipped at my throbbing breasts. I had never been so horny in my life! I could feel his cock pressed against my sopping pubic hair. This was it. I was about to become as female as I could get. It was..in. UUUU. I yelped just a bit as my hymen tore.

OOOOOO

In...further....further....further....further. How big was he! I was being stretched into delicious anguish. Deeper, deeper.....deeper.........in. At last. I felt stuffed and I could feel warm, heavy balls bouncing against my ass. Back, back..oooooo...back. IN! UUUUUUUUUU I came for the first time, with a man. In and out, I shrieked and clawed his back, bit the pillows and begged for more. What had happened to me? How did I get like this. Finally I felt Kevin shoot his load into me. My vaginal muscles clamped down. OOOOOOOOOOOOOO. I held him inside me for a long.

Morning came and I awoke like from a bad drunk. I was confused and it almost seemed like someone else did what I had done last night. Kevin was beside me, snoring contentedly. I sat up in bed and felt odd. Oh no. My breasts were bigger! And heavier! My nipples were brown and seemed as big as thumbs. I hefted their incredible weight. I was lactating. Someone must have put Larken in my room because she was there crying. I shuffled over to her. No! My uterus was bloated and distended, too! I took my- daughter to my breast and fed her. It wasn’t bad, really, but now I really felt like some fat cow.

None of my clothes fit anymore. All I could find was a flowery housecoat. I put on some fluffy slippers and pinned up my hair. Down in the kitchen Mom was making breakfast. She was dressed like I was. No, I was dressed like her. That was me now- MOM. She looked at me and started to weep happily. I did the same. We hugged and she told me how happy she was. I only stepped back when my tits started to leak. We sat and talked, two grown women, housewives, discussing men, sex, babies, weddings and my impending pregnancy. We both knew Kevin had gotten me pregnant last night. Later that day we went shopping to get me a new...larger... wardrobe. I wore one of Mother’s dresses. It was a bit loose on me, but only a bit, and it wasn’t loose everywhere.

A year later I was matron-of-honor at Alice and Paul’s wedding. Since I was still nursing Kevin Jr. my tits were enormous and I wet the front of my gown during the ceremony when a baby cried. Everyone thought it was funny... except me of course. Six months later I was a very pregnant bride’s maid at Grace’s wedding.

Did I adjust? Did I accept my new life and embrace the joys of womanhood? No. I never did. Each day is a blend of dream and nightmare. My hormones keep me behaving properly, but at least once a day I remember how it felt to be a man- and I miss it. Oh. Have to end now. The babies are crying.

The End

 

 

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© 2001 by Sarah Barndt. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.