Date: Mon, 2 Oct 2000 06:44:55 EDT
From: Sarah Barndt
Subject: Snuggle Bunny 2

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 6th 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
100th 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 9th 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.