by Zoe Brown
Violetta had leaned across the table with an exaggerated groan, sighed heavily and widened her eyes dramatically at me. “There is nothing wrong with being a woman!” She’d hissed at me emphatically.
I’d frowned, confused. “I—”
“Oh, I know, I know,” the smaller Catalonian woman had waved her hand dismissively. “You do not think you think that, but you do, you know. You do not have to feel too badly about it – almost everyone does. The whole world wants us to believe that women are worse than men. That we are ‘less-than,’ or ‘not as good as,’ or ‘icky,’ or ‘silly…’” She sighed and her eyebrows jumped significantly as she threw back a sizable portion of the wine in her glass, “especially those of us who embrace femininity without endorsing gender roles. We are the worst!” She rolled her eyes again. “God forbid that some of us might just enjoy being pretty, might relish beauty, softness, vulnerability, emotionality, sensitivity, maybe even submissiveness, without being content to be made into the little housewife for some big fat man with a tiny cock. Being pretty, being beautiful, being a girl, oh! That is so much worse than being strong, powerful, dominant, thick-skinned, stoic, or having a penis!” She snorted, and I laughed with her.
“Ashton…” Violetta sighed and shook her head. “There is nothing wrong with being a woman. Or wanting to be a woman. It is just another way of… being. No one is born a woman, and you wanting to be one does not make you any more… embarrassed—embarrassing?–than me wanting to be a woman. It does not matter what sex organs I was born with; there are plenty of people with vaginas who call themselves women who would choose to be men in a heartbeat if they had the opportunity, but me…” she rolled her shoulders back and thrust her chest up and out, staring at me defiantly, “I am proud to be a woman. I love being a woman. Even when it is shit, and sometimes, it can really, really be shit. Now finish your dinner, then pull out your phone, text your new friends, and tell them that you are going to become a girl this month, and stop being ashamed of the fact that you have the balls to find out what it is like not to.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I’d thrown her a jaunty salute, but despite my red cheeks, I was smiling, and she returned it a moment later. Later that evening, when we’d finished our meal and cleared the dishes away, after Violet had gone home for the night, I got out my phone, as she had told me to do, and prepared to text each of the two young Werewomen who had helped me uncover this new facet of my personality, these new desires that I was preparing to indulge. Violetta had been right – there were plenty of questions that I could ask them that would help me prepare for my big debut as a girl. There were online forums and such, too, of course, but one could never be sure that anything one posted online was ever 100% confidential. It seemed far less risky to just ask the gender-bending girls I already knew my questions, and to trust that they would keep my secrets just as I had kept theirs.
Despite the energetic remonstration that I’d received from Violetta not long before, however, it still took me about an hour to work up the nerve to message either of the two young Werewomen in my life. I was still afraid of their reactions, and how their reactions would make me feel about myself. To be fair, most of my hesitancy and reluctance had less to do with Brianna than it did with Jade. It was much easier to imagine ‘coming out’ to Brianna. Despite the amount of fun that the two of us had enjoyed together, the sexy young sometimes-redhead who had first planted the idea of me taking some Werewoman and gender-bending myself into a girl, like her, in my mind had no significant emotional attachment to me, and had no real investment in whether I started gender-bending or not. I was just one of a number of hot, handsome men who had shared a few nights with her, affording her the chance to let her feminine side out to play, to be the girl on the inside that she longed to be on the outside. She’d enjoyed her time with me a bit more than most, or so I let myself believe, but I was still just another fancy cock who could supply the means for her to turn herself into a woman and be available for her to ride after the fact. In fact, she’d been pretty cool with the idea of me gender-bending in the past: she hadn’t wanted to me to do so on one of the nights we were together, as she herself, when she was a woman, at any rate, did not swing that way, but she’d even gone as far as to express interest in meeting the girlified version of me after the fact. I wasn’t sure if that was ever going to happen – I was still entirely unsure whether there would even be a second time that I took Werewoman, let alone a time in the future when I might be on Werewoman and in a position to spend time with Brianna. But at least, I reasoned, as I prepared to send my first message to her – because I am definitely saving Jade for last, I told myself with a stomach-churning sense of shame and nervousness – Brianna’s likely to be more excited to find out about my upcoming transformation than she is to be unhappy about it…
Chapter Twenty
Timestamp: Friday, Twenty-Eighth of September, 2018. Now.
“Nnnnngahhhhhhh!!” A frustrated groan ripped right from between my lips as my body shuddered once more. Tossing the slowly lengthening tresses of my steadily darkening hair back over my shoulder as my head snapped back, my body strained against the forces at work upon it, arching towards yet another climax, which shot yet another load of my male juices spurting into my clothes. In the silvery reflection of the Elevator car walls and doors, I watched my trembling, shuddering, panting and increasingly diminutive, slender form as years fell away from my face, my skin there tightening and firming up all over, frown lines erasing themselves in an instant, crows’ feet smoothed completely away by invisible, sensually caressing hands. The modest freckling and wearing of fifty-odd years of life reversed itself in a matter of moments, leaving only smooth, clear, and increasingly soft skin behind. The light, almost invisible stubble of my facial hair (I was a fairly close shaver for a guy) likewise melted away without a trace, leaving only fresh, smooth, soft skin in its place, plumping up with youthful vigor.
The whole effect left me looking more than a quarter-century younger than I had just a few moments before. In fact, I now looked young enough—Holy shit, I look like I could be starting graduate school! I looked like a young man… maybe? The waves of dark hair cascading down my neck and over my shoulders was starting to seriously look like the shiny, glossy mane of a beautiful young woman now, and that was casting some serious doubt on the gender of the individual looking back at me from the reflective surfaces of the elevator, even though my facial features were still more masculine than not. But if what I could see in the reflective surfaces of the elevator was still identifiable as a man, it was a man in his early-to-mid-twenties, at the very latest. And yet even with all of that, the modern miracle of pharmacological sex-enhancement drugs was just getting started with me.
The downward revision to my height ceased around what I guessed to be about five feet and… mmm, five inches? Shorter than I’d expected, but what I’d read online led me to believe that I might get a bit of that height back towards the end of my change. My chest (in terms of width and diameter and bulk) was also much shrunken, and the dimensions of my arms were similarly reduced. My muscles had all shrunk away, leaving me with legs and arms and pectorals that were no more developed than those of an unathletic, slender young graduate student – of either gender. The smartly tailored business shirt and suit jacket that had fit me so seamlessly earlier that day now hung off of me like someone else’s clothing, and the hem of my pants legs were pooling around my shoes. My hair, now a deep, dark mahogany brown that was really very similar in color and silkiness to Amy Cho’s own lovely locks, and both fuller and softer than it had ever been before, was creeping down over my shoulders and still growing. The front of my pants was damp with my semen. My chest was heaving with panting breath, and I could not stop moaning and groaning as invisible hands wrapped themselves around my body and shaped and remolded it one feature at a time.
“Unnnhhhhhh…” Groaning at the pleasurable sensations of my transformation, I shrugged out of my suit jacket then, tossing it
beside the women’s backpack on the cushioned seat to the rear of the elevator, and turned back to regard my reflection again. It was just about then, at my most androgynous looking, that the pink, gender switching pill I had swallowed began to initiate the second half of the transformation my body was undergoing, pushing me decidedly out of androgyny… and towards femininity…
“Nnnnnnnnnggggg—AhhHHHH!!” I moaned again, my voice cracking loudly in the middle of the second word and shifting up half an octave as my vocal chords began to tighten, raising the pitch of my voice further away from the round baritone I possessed as a man, and towards what sounded like a woman’s richer, warmer tones instead. I coughed again as the chords continued to tighten, then moaned, intensely, when I felt the nipples on my chest beginning to ache and throb with a build-up of the same localized, concentrated erotic pressure that had transformed my hands about a minute before.
“Ohhhhhhhhhhh!-Nnnggggh—AHHHHHH!! Yes!” Loosening my tie the rest of the way, I tossed it over my shoulder towards the cushioned bench behind me. Then, glancing down at my flat, shapeless chest through the baggy material of my now oversized business shirt, I saw through the white cotton of my male dress shirt as the protruding tips of swiftly thickening and firming nipples gradually began to become visible under the soft, thin fabric, the areolae around them moderately darkening and widening in preparation for the breasts that were soon to follow. “Yes..." I groaned once more in a warbling, frequently cracking voice, which shifted up another half octave, inching up into the alto range and continuing to change, “Ma—ke me a woman, please…"
The pill was certainly doing its best to comply! My hair, now a rich, full, silky dark mahogany brown, was down beneath my shoulders now and still growing, tumbling slowly past them and on down my back. My voice continued to crack and shift well up into the alto range, still climbing as I moaned and groaned in response to my tight, changing nipples, and while my chest heaved with arousal and anticipation. The pair of dark, thick, round nipples on my chest grew steadily more visible through my tailored shirt, taunting me with the hint of the womanhood that was almost mine.
✽✽✽
Timestamp: Saturday, Fifteenth of September, 2018. Thirteen days ago.
‘Coming out’ to Brianna had been just about as straightforward and as easy as I’d expected it to be. The beautiful, young sometimes-redhead had initially responded to my message with a pouting emoji, and an expression of disappointment that my ‘fun cock’ wasn’t going to be available for her to ride anymore ‘once I realized just how much fucking sexier it is to be a chick,’ but otherwise she’d been encouraging and supportive, asking me when I was planning to change the first time, and whether or not she’d get a chance to see me out and about as a chick while I was ‘en femme,’ as she put it. I’d had to gently deflate those particular hopes, and reaffirmed my intention to just ‘try things out’ for a weekend and see whether I even enjoyed the experience enough to warrant a repeat some time in the future, and outlined for her my plan to resume life as a normal, hetero-sexual male after the occasion, regardless of whether or not I planned any occasional sneak-away trips with a pair of breasts and a vagina in my future.
Brianna had responded to the confidence and assurance with which I made the pair of those assertions with a slightly skeptical bit of advice that I ought not to underestimate how much taking Werewoman could change a person – in more than just the obvious ways – but when I restated my reassurance again, she didn’t object any further. She just wished me luck, and let me know that regardless of what happened or how I chose to proceed in the future, she hoped she’d have the chance to see me again, that she’d had fun with me, as lovers, and could imagine having fun with me a friend, too. I told her that she could definitely count on a very-male Ashton contacting her again soon to set up our next fancy-date-outing together. She didn’t comment on that assertion either.
On the subject of ID cards, however, Brianna had somewhat more to say: it turned out that when she was out and about as a woman (which wasn’t as often as it was likely to be for some Werewomen, since she was so dependent on other people to provide the drug for her and was rarely out and about without a beau-of-the-moment there to handle most ID-related issues for her) she actually just carried her regular old male ID cards, along with a small, laminated rectangular info card that had pictures of both her male and female faces on it, as well as an explanation that she was on Werewoman, and the contact numbers for a couple of close friends who knew about her gender-bending. “Just in case I get stopped for something, or get into an accident, or something…”
As soon as I finished talking about ID things with Brianna, I immediately switched over to the now-dormant messaging thread between myself and Jade that had previously been buzzing with our flirty sexts, texts, and other messages only a few weeks previously, not giving myself any chance to procrastinate or delay out of fear of what Jade’s response to my gender-bending news might be. Taking a glance at the time as I composed the message, I figured that the odds were pretty good that the sexy, young bartender was still at work, and that I probably wouldn’t hear back from her until later that evening, which helped me to steel myself for actually composing the message itself. In the actual text of the message, I simply stated that I had finally decided when I would take my first dose of Werewoman, and that I was wondering if she could tell me what she did for ID now that she lived most of her life as a woman. I reminded her that I remembered what she’d told me about not having changed her ID documents over to show her as female before she came out to her boss, but that I didn’t know if anything had changed for her in the intervening months between when she started working at the Lounge as Jade and now, and that I’d heard that some Werewomen used fake IDs and others used their old IDs (some of them with little laminated info cards, ala Brianna’s explanation.) I told her that I was wondering whether I should sink some money into getting some real, or well, ‘fake real’ ID, through ‘a guy I know,’ or just wing it and see what happened.
To my surprise, and slight consternation, Jade’s response was almost immediate. I winced as I opened the notification, expecting to see a gloating celebration of my male weakness in succumbing to my gender-bending desires in her text, and figured that either she wasn’t working that evening, or that things in the Lounge had to be running fairly slow that night. Fortunately, however, her reply to my message wasn’t the least bit gloating, and to my relief, much more encouraging than I had expected. As much as Jade might have been emotionally smarting from getting her hopes up about us (before realizing just how desperately I wanted to try becoming a woman, just like her), she seemed more than ready to support me as I took my own first steps into part-time-girlhood. She claimed to be excited for me, proud of me for finally deciding to ‘Woman Up,’ and eager to hear all about my experience after I got back. In response to my question, though, she said she was afraid she didn’t have anything new to offer me. “If I could afford fake ID I’d be able to afford full-time womanhood, and I could just file the paperwork to have the government sign off on my legal name change and gender transition, find some doctor to approve my change of gender, and never look back. But even then, I don’t know if I would. I’d still have my mother to deal with, after all, and my family, and… maybe someday I’ll get there. Until then, I’m just winging it. Maybe I should get one of those little laminated dealies, but ‘pretty privilege’ doesn’t suck either…”
We texted back and forth for a good ten or twenty minutes after that. Jade filled me in on some of the more recent events in her life, and in exchange I shared with her some of the more recent plans I’d been making for first foray into gender-bending. In response, she had plenty to say: she was excited to know that I’d be getting away for an entire weekend as a girl – ‘That’s awesome, really, I wish I’d had a whole weekend as a woman the first time I’d transformed, I’d have really loved that,’ –was jealous of my plan to book a resort for myself somewhere down along the California coast li
ne – ‘aww, shit, is it too late to sign-up to be your wingwoman for this trip? I wanna fuck me some hot beach bodies!’ – and encouraged me to make sure that whenever I had my first transformation, that I made sure to give myself the time to really enjoy myself: “As much as I loved being fucked by Theo, looking back now, I actually wish I could have been alone for my first change. Your first change into a girl is something extra special. None of the ones you ever have again after that will be quite as powerful, or as passionate. Your body will be a bit… confused about things, the first time. Some things will happen a bit slower than normal, so that you can really, really enjoy the experience, and some things will hit you really, really, hard, and fast, and you’ll never forget the impact of the first time your ass expands, or your boobs come in, or something. Promise me—take some time, make sure you’re alone, and really just… fucking enjoy the experience of becoming a woman for the first time, alright?”
✽✽✽
Timestamp: Friday, Twenty-Eighth of September, 2018. Now.
“Yes… yes… oh yessss…” I whimpered in a shifting, creaking, slowly changing voice that was beginning to climb ever higher and higher up the scale towards a woman’s soprano tones. I was so excited as I gazed into the reflective surfaces of my elevator car, because I could see that, on my face, my remaining masculine features were swiftly beginning to disappear. With a visible twitch that felt like an erotic tickle running through my face, my sharp beak of a nose snapped softly and reshaped itself, shrinking down into a softer, smaller, and cuter one, with a slight upwards angle at the end of its cute little tip. My blocky chin likewise twitched, snapped, and then shrank, leaving my face much softer and oval-shaped overall.
“Ohhhhh… yesss…” I panted in a rough, cracking voice that screeched up into a higher register each time that I spoke, reaching down into my wet, sticky pants to caress my cum-soaked, throbbing cock as I watched my face grow ever more feminine. My pale, thin lips began to slowly inflate themselves, pulsing with sensual tingles, darkening and plumping up and out, coming to reshape themselves into the beautifully pouty, kissable cupid’s bow shape of a beautiful woman’s mouth. Meanwhile my eyelashes thickened, darkened, and lengthened, and my eyebrows began to shed the bushy fullness of Ashton’s masculine brows, reshaping themselves into the high, thin, perfectly shaped arches on a woman’s tapered forehead profile. Looking into the mirror, I grinned and moaned when I saw the makings of a beautiful young woman’s face grinning back at me.