by Maxwell Avoi
Shamrock Delight
By Maxwell Avoi
Copyright 2012 by Maxwell Avoi
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Maxwell Avoi writes a lot of sci-fi, fantasy, and occasional bits of realistic erotica. You can find more information about him at his blog: http://maxwellavoi.wordpress.com/
Or at his Twitter account: http://twitter.com/AuthorAvoi
Maxwell can be contacted at [email protected]
Michael woke up naked two days after St. Patrick’s Day in a room he didn’t recognize with a massive hangover and a heavy pair of breasts attached to his chest. The pain from the hangover was bad enough that the shock of the breasts didn’t get him moving at first but eventually he felt the need to address the situation.
He got up and staggered into the bathroom, wondering if he was going to die before finding out what had happened to him. His assault on the commode was comprehensive, during which time he found that the breasts weren’t the only proof of his sudden femininity. His cock and balls were gone as well, and he started to feel a faint concern. When he felt up to it he stood and looked into the mirror.
The woman looking back was the very flower of Irish beauty. Her red hair was tousled from sleep and her face was a bit puffy from the same but her green eyes were bright and her lips were red and full. She gaped back at him. He looked downward and saw that her tits were just as large in the reflection as they seemed to be on his chest.
Panic filled him, worming its way in through a thousand different ice-cold cuts in his skin and nerves. He gingerly touched one proud breast. It jiggled. He felt it from both sides, both the springy sensation at the poke and the warm softness of touching a woman’s breast. He looked around, trying to find anything that might tell him what was going on or some way that this could all be a joke. Men simply didn’t wake up female.
Nothing in the bathroom presented itself. Michael left it and prowled the bedroom area, recognizing that he was in a hotel somewhere. Next to the phone he found a small brochure that told him that he was in Chicago, which was welcome news. His last clear memories were of coming to Chicago to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day with some friends who lived here. After that was sort of a big blur and now there were tits.
He paced, searching for clothing. He found some discarded around the bed as if whoever had been wearing it had simply exploded. Once he gathered it all up he found that he had a full set of clothing sized and fit for a woman about his current size. There was even a pair of sneakers. The clothing wasn’t incredibly clean, bearing the scent of a long night at a bar, but it was all he had.
He struggled into the clothes, having particular problems with the bra and the pants. His hips were dramatically wider now and his large breasts kept getting in the way of everything. All the experience he had with bras involved getting them off; he had to experiment before figuring out how it went on.
Dressed, he went and looked in the mirror again. He couldn’t see how the tightly packed jeans looked but the bra actually made his new boobs look bigger. The shirt dipped low in front, showing several inches of deep cleavage.
“That’s gotta go,” he whispered, and then he said, “’Ello?”
His voice was a woman’s now as well. Even better, he seemed to have picked up a broad Irish accent somewhere along the way. It was disconcerting for a boy from Georgia. One shock among many, Michael let it go for now. He had to find out what had happened and where he was. Finding his friends would be incidental but he was curious about them as well; had they turned him into a woman somehow and then left him here? How? Why?
He looked around for more clues. There were a couple of matchbooks from various pubs in the city, and his phone was on the nightstand. He also found an envelope on the counter labeled “Molly.”
When he opened it, hundred-dollar bills cascaded out. A slip of paper fell to the floor along with them. On it was the word “Blarney,” and a phone number.
Michael kept hold of the note and picked up the cash. There were fifteen hundreds in there, along with a dried, pressed shamrock. He felt a shock when he touched it, as if someone had plugged him into a car battery for a tenth of a second.
Michael sat down and looked at the phone. It was dead and he couldn’t find a charger anywhere. He found that the room’s phone had been torn out of the wall at some point; only a few stripped wires were left dangling from the plug, with no sign of the phone itself. He would have to venture outside if he wanted to find out what had happened to him. He muttered as he stuffed the money into his pocket; the jeans were very tight around his new ass and he had a hard time getting his delicate hand in there.
Cold panic kept gnawing at the back of his mind as he opened the door. Everything felt wrong, from the way that he walked to the way that his new chest bobbed with each step. He walked hunched over, trying to minimize the size of his boobs while doing his best to not think about them. It was a difficult act to pull off while keeping his balance and worrying about running into people in the hallway.
Michael didn’t see anyone in the halls. He made his way to the front desk. The concierge’s eyes flickered down to Michael’s chest and then back, so quickly that he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it or not. “Can I help you, miss?” he said.
Michael said, “I need a phone charger for this model.” The words came out flavored with the dulcet tones of the Emerald Isle, which he couldn’t seem to help.
“Sorry, miss, we don’t have that one. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Michael thought for a moment and then got directions to the courtesy phone in the lobby. Once there, he realized that he couldn’t remember any of his friends’ phone numbers; they were part of the memory on his cell phone, so there’d been no reason to learn them. Swearing to himself, he dialed the number from the note in the envelope. Whoever was on the other end was going to give Michael some answers.
Unfortunately, there was no one home to answer the call. A machine picked up instead. The voice was just as broadly accented as Michael’s new one. “Top o’the mornin’ to ya! Leave a message an’ I’ll get back when I can.” It was a woman’s voice, one he didn’t recognize.
Michael hung up, not knowing what he might say. He headed out the front door and found that he was standing in afternoon sunlight. The passerby gave him appreciative looks and he barely kept himself from giving the entire world the finger. A sign down the street struck a faint note in his mind, and he dug down into his pocket to find the matchbooks. Sure enough, one of them was from the bar down the street: Paddy’s Staff.
When he got closer, he found that the sign showed a stylized picture of St. Patrick striking at a snake with his staff. The saint was winking at Michael, who didn’t want to think about a saint winking at him in his current form.
The pub had just opened and there was no one in it yet besides the bartender and one waitress. The girl took one look at Michael and made a disgusted noise before heading back into the storage area. The bartender laughed and said, “So you survived. Welcome back, shamrock girl.”
Michael frowned at him. “So you’ve seen me before, then?”
The bartender laughed. “Yeah, you’re hard to forget. Why?”
“I, ah, I don’t recall much about that. I found this matchbook, so I was hoping you could help me out. Also I need a charger for this brand of phone if you have one.”
The bartender shook his head. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember. I’d never seen a girl drink like that. Not too many men, e
ither.” He leaned over and looked at the phone, incidentally sneaking a glance or two at Michael’s chest. “Yeah, I think Rhonda back there has one of these.”
He leaned back and called back to the store room, and a few moments later the waitress came back out. She glared at Michael and said, “What.”
The bartender rolled his eyes and said, “We need to borrow your charger for your phone, just for a little while.”
“What for?”
The bartender jerked a thumb at Michael. “She needs to charge her phone. Why did you think?”
Rhonda turned her gaze on Michael again. Michael was glad that looks really couldn’t kill; his heart would have exploded in his new chest if Rhonda had had her way. “I left it at home,” she said, her voice flat.
“Whatever. Go clean something,” said the bartender.
She stalked back through the doors and he turned back to Michael. “Yeah, sorry about that. My name’s Victor, by the way. Call me Vic.”
“Yeah, hey. Why is she so pissed at me?”
Vic snorted. “You really don’t remember, huh? You flirted with her boyfriend, and maybe more. It was hard to be sure from where I was. I was busy. But you and your shamrock thing pissed her riiiight off.”
“My shamrock thing? What shamrock thing?”
He shrugged. “You had some kind of bet or something. I didn’t get the details, but you sure seemed to be collecting shamrocks. It was like watching Mardi Gras girls collect beads.”
Michael paled. “You mean…you mean I…”
Vic waved his hand. “No, no, nothing like that, just…well, you know, I don’t know. You left with a couple of guys who gave ‘em to you. But you came back pretty quick, so I didn’t think anything of it. You stuck with that loud guy outside of that.”
“Tell me about the loud guy.” Michael pocketed the phone again, disappointed and scared. How on earth had this happened? Any information might give him a hint.
“Yeah, uh, he called himself something weird, something Irish. Busy night, you know how it is. I don’t remember many details. Anyway, he was dressed like a leprechaun. All green and with one of those hats and all. Tall for a leprechaun, though.” He chuckled, but it trailed off when he saw that Michael wasn’t amused. Vic cleared his throat and said, “You came in with him and you left with him. I mean, you left with him when you finally left for real.”
“And what…that’s it?”
Vic shook his head. “You two were already pretty lit when you walked in. If you’re really looking to find out what you were up to, I’d look for a place that sold you a lot of booze.”
Michael sighed impressively and nodded. “Well, okay. Thanks for the help, anyway.”
“Yeah, no problem. Oh, hey, we had a few of these left over, thought you might want a souvenir.” Vic rummaged under the counter and held out a laminated four-leaf clover. “For luck.”
Michael gave a rueful grin and took it. Once again, he felt the weird shock run up his arm. This time, though, it was a hundred times stronger, enough to make him close his eyes for a moment and sway on his feet. “Th…thanks,” she said, when she could speak again.
“Are you okay?” said Vic.
Michael shook her head as if flicking away a fly. “Yeah, I’m…just a hangover, you know?”
Vic grinned. Michael was struck by how confident and even attractive the grin was. “Yeah, I bet. Well, good luck out there.”
Michael smiled back. It was really nice of Vic to give her such a great present. Michael found herself standing straighter and even pulling her shoulders back, giving Vic a much better view of her magnificent breasts and cleavage.
Michael pulled the matchbooks out of his pocket with her other hand and spread them on the bar in front of Vic. Then she leaned on her elbows, framing that bottomless cleavage so that Vic had an even better view. Michael felt strange, but it was a good kind of strange. She felt daring and wild, and for the first time since waking up her body didn’t feel strange. It felt wonderful, and she knew that the shamrock had something to do with that. Vic’s gift had helped Michael in some way that was connected with whatever had changed her, and she was grateful for it.
She nodded to the matchbooks and said, “Can you maybe tell me which one of these is closest?”
Vic tore his gaze away from Michael and concentrated on the matchbooks. Finally he tapped one and said, “This one.” His voice made Michael shiver when it sent ripples through her altered body. It was strange but good and she wondered if she should pursue it.
Finally she settled for saying, “Thank you, Vic. I sure appreciate it.” She gathered up the matchbooks and pocketed them again, and then she slipped the plastic-coated shamrock into her cleavage. She winked and said, “How can I reward you?”
Vic coughed and grinned. “Just a kiss, shamrock girl.”
Michael laughed. “Call me Molly, boyo.” She leaned over the bar, feeling her breasts bulging out of her top, and Vic leaned in for a kiss. She put her hand around the back of his head and held him, putting all her passion into her lips and tongue. When she finally pulled back he was breathless. Michael seriously considered something more than just a kiss but something stopped her. She pulled back reluctantly and then blinked as she realized what had just happened.
Michael blushed and stammered, and Vic grinned again. The grin was still enough to make Michael shiver but she didn’t give in to her desire this time. She said, “Uh, thanks. I…thanks.” Then she turned and left quickly, not quite fleeing. She still felt strange and the weirdest part was that she felt much more comfortable in her new skin. She didn’t know what to do about it; the best that she could come up with was to ignore the new sensations and try to concentrate on her quest.
She felt hot and tense, as if she were a little too big for her new skin, and her nipples felt different as well. She realized that they were hard and she hoped that they weren’t showing through her shirt. She thought that she might want to remove the shamrock but now that she was back on the street she couldn’t think of a graceful way to fish in her cleavage. She shifted her focus back to her quest again, hoping that the tension would ease.
The next place was Hot Damn, a bar based around a hell motif. There was lots of red and black, and judging by the few customers already there it catered to more of an edgy clientele than Paddy’s Staff did. Michael made her nervous way toward the bar, only to be intercepted by an enormous guy who appeared to be made out of a large stack of bricks sewn into a leather jacket. He rumbled at her, looking displeased, and Michael froze. She noticed the breadth of his shoulders and the way that his muscles flexed under his jacket and she wondered what he would look like without the garment.
He said, “Oi, Molly. Told you an’ Blarney, you’re banned.”
Michael blinked up at him. “Banned? Why, what happened? I honestly don’t remember the last couple of days, and I want to find out why.”
He glared down at her for a few seconds and then said, “Bullshit.”
“No, really! I don’t know where I am, even.”
He made a strangled noise, and it took her a moment to figure out that he was laughing. For the first time, his gaze flickered down her body. “Fine. Come sit.”
It turned out that his name was Leo and he was the head bouncer. He turned the door over to another guy, not nearly as solidly built but still impressive, and he took Michael to a corner booth. Leo wedged himself in with difficulty.
“Okay, what happened? Why am I banned?” said Michael, mentally cursing whatever it was that forced her to sound like a lilting leprechaun.
Leo shrugged massive shoulders and said, “You two were causing problems. Mostly we figure you’re a hooker, and who needs that kinda trouble. Blarney was doing all kinds of weird shit.”
Michael was surprised at his coherence. “What kind of weird shit?”
Leo raised and lowered a shoulder again. “The guy’s freaky lucky. Like, the kinda lucky that makes you wonder if he’s got more than just regular luck, you
know? Like magic.”
Michael felt ice water trickle down her spine at the words. “What was he doing?”
“Stuff like, guessin’ any number that anyone thought of, no matter how big it was. Or guessin’ birthdates. I watched him draw all four aces out of a shuffled deck five different times. All kinds of stuff.”
“And why did you think I was a hooker?”
He snorted. “You were actin’ like it. You sure you don’t remember anything?”
She shook her head, scared of what he might reveal but needing to know it anyway. She was also still eyeing his shoulders and aware that her nipples had hardened again. “No, what was I doing?”
“You were doin’ any guy who handed you a four-leaf clover. Mostly you took ‘em to the bathrooms, and after two or three trips we figured you were either dealin’ or hookin’, an’ either way we didn’t want that shit here.”
“Oh.”
“So I asked you an’ Blarney to leave. He was makin’ friends, and they got upset, and he started a fight. He didn’t fight himself, but he sure started one. Damndest things I ever saw. I couldn’t even get ahold of him, and I don’t think I saw one thing hit him.”
“Shit. I don’t remember any of this.”
“Yeah, well. You’re still banned. I’m only talkin’ to you ‘cause it’s slow and you’re hot.”
Michael felt an irrational blush of pride at his words. “Oh. Well, thank you, you’re pretty good looking yourself.”
Leo regarded her for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t get the shamrock thing. Is that a code? I can’t figure it.”
“What shamrock thing?” Michael thought she knew but she wanted to be sure.
“You went with every guy who gave you one. Is it a code?”
“Why not give me one and find out?” Michael said. She was shocked at the words that came from her mouth, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
Leo grinned and dug in his jacket pocket. Michael felt apprehension and curiosity at the same time, hoping and worrying that he would have one on him. He did, a shamrock in a tiny sealed bag. He held it between two fingers and offered it to Michael, his expression skeptical.