markgraham
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A Dream Within A Dream
🕑 Added 2021-03-16 17:18:07 +0000 UTCAnother story will be out later this week! There's another big werewolf story for later this month and I'm still working towards two other stories that, if all goes well, should be out this month, too.
This is from a small conversation that came up on Discord over transgender people. It's one of two stories (the other will be a future story at some date) that I want to try that will both take different directions in how the transformation and other changes are handled.
"My name is Emma."
Discordant.
"My name. Is. Emma."
"Hello. My name is Emma."
Cracked.
"Yes, hello. My name is Emma."
A passing car causes bars of light to blink through my window shades before sliding from my floor and up to the wall. My upstairs neighbors are fighting again. Money. Again. The walls are ridiculously thin here.
My cheap cell phone wobbles on the stand connected to the case. It's set horizontally next to a mirror that's propped against my wall. A video is paused on the screen.
"Emma. My name is Emma."
A small makeup kit lies in front of the mirror. My second one and I had to ask my friend Kayla to buy it for me online since someone stole my first one from the apartment's office. There's a metaphor in there somewhere, I think.
With a deep breath, I look down at myself in the mirror.
He's there in the mirror and I have to close my eyes.
Turning to the side, I open my eyes once more. The ends of my blonde hair curl just slightly against my neck. I can still remember the first time I had to pull a few strands back away from my eyes, just a month ago. It took a moment to realize what I'd done and what it'd meant - a small victory that left me happy for the rest of the week.
A nearly androgynous face except my jaw is a little too wide. Just a little too wide for a random passerby to identify me as a woman with a quick look. Kayla thinks growing my hair out and styling it will help, along with makeup. That sometimes even subtle changes can make a huge difference in how you appear to people.
My finger traces my nose. Opening my hand to touch the few light freckles on either side of my face and then down, slowly, slowly to brush my lips. I run the very tip of my finger against the soft skin while staring at myself. Trying to see who I really am.
And then further down to my bare chest. I place my hand against my body to touch my small breast, easily hiding it in the palm of my hand. Still, I think there's something there. In my hands, the skin feels softer where my breasts would grow. I don't care what the doctors say. I think I can feel it. My finger gently touches my areola. I'm sure that's wider now than it was before. It's harder to tell with my nipples. They're maybe a little bigger. Maybe.
Over seven months now. Seven months of HRT and I've stumped the professionals. My doctor even called in other doctors to consult. When I first started treatment, I was cautioned not to expect big differences but I was well below expectations. Well below.
My cock stirs in my shorts, turning and lifting and I look down, away from the mirror again as it points up and hardens. Four long scars, jagged white marks, cover my narrow ribcage. I touch them while grinding my teeth and ignoring my erection. Yet another minor curiosity for the doctors. Absolutely no decrease in sex drive, no erectile dysfunction or shrinkage of testicles or anything like that.
They had me on spiro but the effects have been minimal at best. I've been measured above and below and prodded and poked. Now I'm on cyproterone and they're hopeful they'll see a difference there but, again, they've told me not to get too excited over the idea. I've stopped telling them that I'm just exhausted by all of it and tired of living in a body that's fighting so hard against me because that's apparently alarming to them to hear. For some reason.
There's surgery to remove my testicles as another option but, even if I wasn't too poor to do it, I'm terrified of the idea. And, anyway, what if it doesn't stick? How would I explain that to the doctors? It doesn't matter anyway; I'm barely able to afford the pills.
Even now, frustrated and upset, I can't help but touch myself. Looking up at my chest. Grabbing my shorts to hold my cock and stroke softly. Closing my eyes. Free hand up to my chest. Caressing the breast that's there in my imagination.
The urge is difficult to ignore sometimes but worse when I'm hard. It just surges through my entire body and I'm grinding my teeth again, for a different reason.
"God dammit," I growl, reaching out to grab two tissues while shoving down my shorts.
Angry veins stand out on my shaft. The third damn time since I woke up. I layer the tissues and place them both against the head of my cock while squeezing and pumping myself.
"Maggie," I whisper while my lips tremble.
She's beautiful and bubbly and my heart aches for her every time. Her tits are also far, far larger than my own but touching myself provides a small boost to my imagination. I just want to roll myself against her. Nuzzling into her, kissing her, exploring her soft body with my hands and mouth until-
"Ahhh, fuck," I groan, my cock surging, cum gushing into the tissue and around my dick.
I can feel it moving through the shaft. I'd hoped, I'd really hoped, that the therapy would work. That my testosterone blockers would do their fucking job and I could focus more on who I wanted to be rather than the constant reminders of what I was.
The tissues join the others in the trash can and it still takes time for me to go limp. I lay my hands in my lap with my head bowed. It's a kind of meditation that I've been trying lately. I'm not sure if it physically helps but it gives me time to clear my mind and work on calming myself so it helps mentally. That's something, at least.
My breath huffs out as I close the makeup kit. I can't do it today. It just doesn't feel right after everything else. With one last look at myself in the mirror, I lay it down gently, kill the video on my phone and stuff it in my pocket after pulling my shorts back up.
All of my clothes hang from an old rack I found near a dumpster in the back alley of a thrift store. I touch a flowery dress at the end, one of the few pieces of clothing I've purchased for when I'm feeling more confident in myself. Instead, I grab a plain purple t-shirt. I can't help but look down at myself. It's baggy enough that my nipples don't really show so I pull it tight and only then can I see them, barely. I'll try again tomorrow.
At the door, I pause and touch the calendar hanging there, noting the date even though it's impossible not to know. Sometimes I feel like I'm drowning in days, tracking my doses and appointments as well as progress (or lack thereof) along with my work schedule. But those are the easy ones. My finger slides over two days and I lay my forehead against the wall with a heavy sigh before snatching my keys from their hook and walking out, locking the three bolts behind me.
Hands in my pockets, shoulders bent, folded inward and breathing shallowly. Everything smells this deep in the city. Piss on the sidewalk and against the walls of buildings, the unwashed and slightly washed masses, food from questionable trucks with expired licenses, and businesses spewing god knows what into the atmosphere. I gag briefly and grind my teeth while pressing my hand against my nose.
It's a short walk to the subway but it's barely better inside. Now it's the same but muted smells mixed in with harsh chemicals that do little to burn away the miasma. I try not to touch anything so I just stand with my hip barely brushing the wall. A homeless couple are sleeping in the front. People come and go, bags under their eyes and on their laps, defeated by life. Some high school kid is blasting his music while tapping and nodding and occasionally singing along. A few people yell at him to turn it off after a few minutes and then it ratchets into screams and a fight almost breaks out. I move back, on edge, heart racing and hands clenching, lips curling back while staring at everyone. Goosebumps lifting against my nape and down my spine. My stop arrives before anything happens so I race off until I'm above ground again where I finally relax, panting with my hands on my knees to try to recenter myself.
Once calm, I hurry down the sidewalk, staying under the street lights. I've learned in my years of living here that it helps to separate prey from predators if you project a certain level of confidence so I square my narrow shoulders with my hands out to my sides while taking even strides. It's tiring and I often forget to do it but I don't want any trouble.
As soon as I get close to the tattoo parlor where I work, I walk faster and shove at the door, rattling it in its hinges.
"Hey, Emma!" the owner calls out after looking up from the stool where he's working.
"Ah, it's just, ah, Brad. Today," I whisper but I have my head down and I'm running my hand through my hair and shuffling my feet. A few other coworkers say hello and I wave nervously but hurry to the desk by the front door to get set up.
He tries. Tony, the owner. He's not so old - younger than 40 and a big, rough guy but he tries. I heard him talking to a few of the others to understand what I was doing and why but now he just calls me Emma even when I'm not presenting. It's a little upsetting but I have to remind myself that he's coming from a good place. He's trying, at least. I'm worried that if I tried to explain the nuances, he'd just feel hurt and confused. It's my fault, anyway, for talking about it at work when I'm not ready.
Maggie is working at the other side of the little building. There's four girls there, giggling and talking excitedly. They reek of alcohol and Maggie looks annoyed when she asks if they've made up their mind for who's going first. I can hear them goading each other one but Maggie just rolls her eyes and slides over to the doorway to close the privacy curtain.
Work progresses, slow but steady. Our boss orders sandwiches and coffee for 'lunch' around 1 A.M. and I devour it, hungry for more but ignoring the nearly constant gnawing in my stomach. And then morning rolls around I'm done and dragging myself back to my apartment, dozing on the subway and then stumbling up the small concrete steps, through the heavy front door and down the hallway to my own room.
After barely taking my shoes off, I just collapse into my futon. My head is pounding and I feel a flash of anger and anxiety and just general emotional malaise. Everything's out of whack so I just close my eyes and wait for it to pass while a few tears soak into the mattress.
---
The next day is the start of a four day 'weekend' for me. Midweek but I don't care. I have all kinds of plans to get things done but I can't seem to concentrate. It's just- it's just so fucking frustrating.
My pencils and art book lay open to an unfinished sketch. I stare at it in between pacing. Scratching myself. Walking in a loop. Staring down at it again. Wiping an angry tear away. I want to work on my art. I don't want to work a front desk my entire life. There's already a seat waiting for me at the shop. An apprenticeship when I'm ready but, I just- I just- I'm so fucking tired. Fuck!
I sweep the book and pencils away and hug myself while standing in the middle of the room, raising my head and swallowing and rubbing my eyes with my forearms. Finally, I just crawl back into bed. I have a few episodes from some TV shows stored on my SD card so I just play them with the volume down while pulling my covers up to my nose with my eyes shut against the pressure building in my brain.
Drifting in and out of sleep, waking to eat occasionally before crawling back into bed. Curling into a fetal position and then turning to my stomach. And my back. Twisting beneath the blanket. Back to my stomach. I can feel it stirring again and it takes a moment to realize I'm thrusting, humping like some dumb animal. Giving over to stupid, base urges. I try to ignore it but it's not going away and I scream and grab tissues to give myself some relief before throwing them aside and burrowing deeper into my blanket.
Eventually I fall into a deeper sleep.
---
I wake to a dead phone late in the afternoon. Hungry already. Shoving blankets aside to plug in my phone and dig through my shelves to find some crackers and cans of tuna. Shoveling the food into my mouth with my fingers after barely pulling back the lid. Almost cutting myself on the sharp edge. Four cans and three sleeves of salty wafers later and I want more but force myself to stop. Licking my fingers and then shoving my face into the cans, tongue dragging over the bits of tuna trapped into the curves. Drinking the juice. Wiping my hands over my face and cleaning my fingers again.
Time physically wears down around me, reminding me that I need to go. I have to pack and that means finding my backpack first. My old high school backpack my parents bought for me when I was a freshman, before I let some things slip and they cut me out of their lives. An extra change of clothes, a few granola bars and other food and a bottle of water.
My wallet goes into the backpack and my keys join when I step out of my apartment and lock the door. The bus station is opposite the subway. I keep my head down, breathing through my mouth with my tongue out slightly. Eyes on the concrete. Fast walking down the sidewalk until I'm there and I buy a ticket. And then pacing outside, waiting and waiting and waiting, growing more restless with every passing minute.
When the bus arrives, I'm first in, hustling down the long aisle to the back where I throw myself into the seat, pulling my knees up with my backpack against my chest. Shivering with a groan. I already feel warmer than I should. A drop of sweat courses down my back. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing as the bus pulls away and merges into traffic.
I'm clawing at my backpack and trembling while we draw closer and closer to my stop. Sweating more and grinding my teeth. When they finally pull over, I'm up instantly and rushing past the few people riding the bus with me. And then out into fresh air. But I'm still moving, walking past the end of the bus and down onto a small path. It's dark already and the state park is closed but I ignore the chains blocking my way, hopping them easily while walking deeper into the woods.
My chest is pounding and my cock is growing hard, twisting, rubbing against my thigh until it's trapped between my stomach and my underwear. Hand against the tree, clenching and clawing as shards of bark shower around my arm.
Pure white stress lines show in my fingernails. They pull back, falling free to reveal smooth black claws curving just beneath my nailbeds.
Panting. Sweating. Stumbling but forcing myself onward, deeper and deeper into the forest. Groaning with a deepening voice. It hurts to breathe. My lungs are pressing against my rib cage and I imagine I can feel muscle building in my chest, straining against my ribs until they crack and re-form, wider. And wider.
Stumbling once more but falling this time and screaming, kicking while rolling from my back to my stomach. Bending to grab my shoes to yank them off before clawing at my shirt. Shrugging out of my backpack and throwing my shirt to the side. Trying to grab my sweatpants but screaming again when my spine breaks, shoving my face into the dirt. My nipples ache, sore and tingly as I push myself up on my hands and knees while rolling my head. Teeth clenched, eyes closed against the pain while hairs sprout from my forehead and cheeks.
Shoving back against a nearby tree with a shout, scrabbling at my pants, carving red lines into my thighs that heal instantly. Kicking my legs until I'm free and clawing at the dirt beneath me.
Staring down at my throbbing, aching cock. It's bouncing against my thin stomach but skin is gathering around the base. I want to touch it. I want to stroke it. I want to bend and shove my mouth down over it but I growl and clench my fists. Already the skin along my palms is filling out while my fingers pop and shift, widening my hands by inches.
Light fur covers my stomach. I'm panting again. Staring back down. My face is cracking and stretching forward. Tongue lapping out. Breathing in my scent. Watching the excess skin of my sheath slide down to cover my testicles and then up to surround my dick as it strains forward into a canted point. Thicker now. Longer.
The goddamn reason my therapy isn't working.
The sheath is sealing itself to my belly while my dick throbs against me, bouncing lightly. It's swelling at the base, twin knots forming. My tail brushes against the dirt and twigs beneath me. Fur covers my belly and chest, hiding the soft skin flesh of my nonexistent breasts.
Muscles twitch in my ears. I howl in pain and everything starts to go dark.
---
Light filters through trees. I'm covered in dirt and blood and fur that's slowly receding. I groan and roll and scent the air, standing on weak legs to follow the trail to my backpack and discarded clothes. I eat, dust myself off and get dressed to hike even deeper.
It's only the second night of the full moon.
---
Back home, weeks later with a makeup tutorial playing on my phone while sitting in front of my mirror. Eyes flicking to the video for a moment and then back to the mirror, leaning in to work on my technique. Cloth pads to the right with a bowl of warm, soapy water for when I make mistakes. And a towel to dry myself. I have hours before work and-
I look down. And then set my brush down. I lift my shirt and stare. I saw a soft bulge against my shirt but now that I'm looking, it's obvious that there's a thin layer of fat beneath my breasts. But the real tell are my nipples, and my areola. Breasts! The skin is swollen and sore and itchy but I can actually feel something there now!
"Oh my god, oh my god," I gasp, touching myself, sliding my hand along the curve and then up, gently touching my nipple. Staring at the little holes in the tip. They're darker now, too. Pink before but more of a- a- grayish brown. Little bumps cover my areola with a few hairs poking through the surface.
I can't- I can't stop touching myself and it's not even sexual. It's just- It's just-
Tears well at the corner of my eyes and my lips tremble. I try to keep a straight face but I can't and I'm bawling, bent over with my arms crossed. My head aches as I just let everything out. And through the whole thing, my dick doesn't twitch once.
My makeup is ruined but I don't care. I wipe it all away while taking ragged breaths until my throat isn't quite as sore and I can actually speak again. And then I look at myself in the mirror.
"H- Hi. I'm Emma. I'm Emma."
---
The bus lurches and I moan, squeezing my eyes shut. My nails snap back, separating from my fingertips. The wrinkled skin beneath opens to show the tips of my claws. Pain pulses through my hands as they threaten to tear apart. Blonde hairs tickles the edge of my jaw and I feel the goosebumps at my nape when the fur grows in, toying with my longer hair.
I'm already up and running before the door closes. The driver yells at me but I snarl in return, jumping from the aisle to the ground outside with barely a pause before sprinting away. Trees are a blur while I race past, leaping and running until I've lost myself. Golden lines crack my grey eyes.
My backpack drops behind me. I slowly lower myself to my knees with a howl of pain, palms pressed against my temples. My spine raises in a wave, arching from the base of my skull and down until my tail snaps and I'm shoved forward, catching myself with one hand to push back up to my knees.
Howling again as I tear my cheap shirt apart. My small breasts quiver against my chest but lift when I lean back to scream. A narrow line of sweat-soaked fur covers my body from my neck, between my breasts and down to my belly button, and further, disappearing into my sweatpants.
"Fuh- fuck you," I growl, falling to my side while kick my shoes off. My pants follow and I roll again, pushing myself up. Trying to stand.
Fire burns through my body. I grind my teeth together until they crack. My canines crowd my mouth but my tongue is worse. It unfolds, laying against my chin before I lick my nose. Gaps open in my gums when my face stretches forward. I fall back against the tree and stare down.
"You don't- you don't-" I stutter before growling.
The wrinkled skin surrounding my testicles grows smooth as layer upon layer of new flesh covers it. A nub of skin twists into place low on my belly and then expands, connecting to my sheath to pull it tight against my stomach before dragging it higher to half cover my cock. It droops before me, red and smooth with that strange flat pointed tip. Half flaccid.
Pain pinches my stomach. I snarl and claw at my belly, pawing through sweat-soaked curls of fur. My pale skin darkens in several spots. I'm panting, hanging my head, trying to maintain focus.
Puckered skin twists while wrinkles form and tiny holes open. Milk ducts form beneath in pulsing waves of stabbing pain that drives me to my knees. My cock flops uselessly before me.
Despite the fur spreading over my belly, I see them. Teats. Teats growing in twin columns, dripping thin translucent droplets of milk that soak into my fur. My tail wags slowly. I can't hold back but I- I-
---
Sunlight against my closed eyes. I feel heavy. My joints are aching. I groan and roll my head forward, shivering when the ends of my hair brush the fur fading against my shoulders.
That's... wrong. My eyes crack open. Hair touches me mid-back but that's not what makes me shout in surprise.
My breasts - I have breasts, full and heavy against my chest. My cock droops slightly, flexing and twisting as the tip pulls back into a rounded head. I wince when the knots deflate and then dissolve. Thankfully, the sheath retracting isn't painful. In fact, it's embarrassingly enjoyable most times when it rubs against the shaft within.
I've studied charts during all of this, dreaming of what size I might ultimately end up as. That only made the inevitable worse when the fucking infection or curse or whatever the hell it was worked against me with the massive increase in testosterone and whatever else flooded my body.
Finally, I touch them. And heft them, caressing them by sliding my hand over their curves. I think- I think 32C? My claws dent the flesh until they withdraw back into my fingertips. I don't even notice my fingernails growing from their nail beds because I can't stop staring at my breasts.
And now I'm crying. Again. Naked, covered in mud and twigs and god knows what else, while lying back against a tree trunk. Ugly crying with big fat tears that course down my cheeks and over my breasts.
When I'm finally calm again, I hunt for my backpack. Despite everything else fading, my hearing and sense of smell always remain and I'm grateful for their guidance. I creep through the forest nude, my cock flopping and waving while my breasts shift oddly, tugging at my back and chest. My increased strength helps there in a surprising way. I can't stop touching them every so often, as if ensuring they're real and not fading like the fur and claws and fangs.
When I find my backpack, I learn that my spare shirt no longer fits. It's tight against my chest, showing the curves while bunching up beneath my tits. I don't care; I'm practically giddy from all of it and, right now, everything is a delight.
And then I decide I really don't care and I strip back out of my clothes before folding them and tucking them away in my backpack. I have two more nights of the full moon. I'm in nature. It's warm. I'm going to enjoy myself while completely and utterly naked. I'm already looking forward to finding a grass spot under the sun to nap later in the day.
Later that night, I store my backpack and sit, ready when I feel the first twinges. Fur starts first, spreading between my bosom and down. I moan, lifting my chest as it tickles the nerves beneath my skin. My cock unwinds and unfolds, straining and trembling while hanging before me, flesh already growing red while the sheath forms in place, pulling it against my stomach.
I have to pull my tits apart slightly to even see it now. I'd laugh but the pain hits and I'm howling and curling into a fetal position on my side, spitting blood and drool when my muzzle stretches my face and fangs take root.
My hands explore my stomach ceaselessly. I try to feel anxious but the fucking wolf won't let me feel more than anger and hunger and the need to hunt.
But, they're there and I mentally say a prayer of thanks to whatever deity is listening. Pinching pain preceding the growths of my teats once more, pushing belly fur aside until the dark little nipples lay exposed. I growl and moan and caress them until my mind starts to go.
---
I have to skip my doctor appointments when I make it back to the city. Unlike the changes brought by the wolf, my tits remain. I'm a bundle of happiness and wonder. The first night I'm back, I play with myself, laying in bed with fantasies running through my mind as I pinch my large, dark nipples and massage my breasts, squirming and moaning until I reach a hand down to stroke myself, not even caring or remembering to grab tissues.
One hand on my tit, the other on my dick, pumping while I play with myself but- but, I'm not getting hard. I feel the urge, I feel the blood and it stirs but it bends, soft in my hand I cry out in frustration. My voice cracks slightly, high in pitch but I don't notice.
Finally, I push my shrunken testicles aside to slip my index finger into my ass, curling the tip to press up while rubbing back and forth. My whole body feels like it's on fire, burning with slow heat. I can't stop moaning and I don't notice the little cute 'yes, yes, yes, yes, yes' repeating as I raise my hips in little circles until-
My dick surges, spraying a little gout of cum against my belly and the curve of my breasts. I shudder and whine and drop my ass, causing my tits to shake. Laying there, breathing hard with both hands on my tits until I can move and clean myself up.
---
The doctor's office starts leaving voicemails when I don't return their calls and eventually my social worker calls as well.
I listen to my phone ringing while curled up beneath my blanket.
My stomach hurts. Sharp cramps pulsing like claws tearing through my belly. I've already pooped three times since I woke up and I'm breathing through my nose when I feel the pain. It's too early. This isn't the night for the full moon but I don't know the rules; I'm learning as I go. Maybe, after a year, there's something new. I just pray that I'm wrong.
It's too much today. The world is too heavy. I just want to fade away, dwindling down further and further and further until I'm just a quiet speck of nothing. The TV programs run quietly on my phone but I ignore them as I just shrink into myself.
Sleep is a blessing.
But, days later, it's time again.
---
My eyes are gold and my claws tear strips from my backpack. I'm growling in my seat while licking my lips with my broad tongue. The bus had a flat tire that took forever. I almost walked off but I waited instead and that was a mistake.
I bury my head into my backpack to moan loudly, my throat compresses and cracks and a high, feminine sound, tinged by the roughness of the beast, issues forth.
If I wait longer, I'll kill people. I stand and stagger, tearing into the seats in front of me, ripping thick padding free. My feet ache in my shoes but I shove forward. Drool drips from the corner of my mouth. My jaw cracks, straining forward.
"Let. Me. Off here," I growl, standing behind the driver. He glances up at me briefly and back to the road.
The cramps have returned, sharper now, with teeth as well as claws tearing into my belly. Gouging my stomach. I can smell faint blood and it's driving me crazy.
"Lady, I can't," the man says. "I can't just-"
I step onto the stairs. The door resists for a moment when I push but my triceps bulge and it cracks open, slamming to the road with a loud squeal until the back tires bumps over it. The driver is screaming and the other passengers are joining in. I jump.
There's pain. My backpack is torn away. I'm tumbling and tumbling until my claws bite into the dirt at the side of the road and I slide with a growl. Bloody flesh shows briefly until I start to heal. My shirt and pants are in ragged strips against my body that show patches of blonde fur.
The bus is squealing to a stop so I turn and run, dropping to all fours before pushing up to two feet and then four again. My shoes burst over my feet and the claws slicing through the tips of my toes give extra purchase. I race away and the world is a blur.
Eventually I stop, barely winded. I've torn the rest of my clothes off while running. The cramps are worse. I'm howling from the pain and rolling, kicking my powerful legs while clawing at the ground and my own body. My furred breasts quake and slap together while I spread my knees and push my feet into the ground, lifting my ass while my tail curls between my thighs because of the pain.
My testicles pull back with a strange sensation reminiscent of the few times I've tried to push them into the inguinal canals when tucking my cock. The wolf made sure that never worked properly. At least in the past. One testicle vanishes, pulled inside and the other follows.
My sheath hasn't formed. I raise my hips and look past my tits to see my cock flopping as it shrinks. It's withdrawing as my testicles flow through my growing cervix, up and to the sides into the separate fallopian tubes until they exit and latch on, changing further into my ovaries.
Folds of skin swell between my thighs as my cock continues to shrivel. The blood scent from earlier is still there but there's something new. I know that scent. It's impossible but I know it.
A line opens between the folds of skin hidden behind the fur between my legs. Drops of blood seep down the thin lines of my new vagina but each drop grows more and more clear until they're translucent.
My mind is fading but so is the cramping pain. I go to all fours and raise my head, forcing my head up into a beautiful howl. After several seconds, other howls join mine. When I turn to look for the hidden wolves, the beast stares out through my eyes and I fade away into nothingness.
---
I wake next to a river, hidden beneath jutting rock and earth. I lay there quietly, listening to the sounds of the world around me. I remember the night before but I'm too afraid to check yet. I let the changes recede, wincing and twitching until they're all gone and I'm human again.
And then I reach down. Further down, biting my lip when I feel my labia. Tracing my finger up to the hood at the very tip.
I yank my hand away. My heart hammers in my chest and I almost pass out while hyperventilating. Little black specks explode in the corner of my eyes. Instead, I roll and sit up. My hair brushes against my back and I freeze, suddenly sure something is touching me. Until I reach back and feel the new length and weight of the strands. I can't imagine the snarls I'll have to deal with after spending a night in the woods.
Leaning back, I can see it. The smooth mound, covered in wild, curly blonde hair. I gently flatten the hairs to see the little bulge of my clit and the thick labia hiding my inner lips. My head throbs and there's an ache forming behind my eyes.
It doesn't make sense. It makes no sense at all. I just- I just can't- It doesn't make sense.
That night, I force myself to stay present through the pain. And I watch. I watch the labia roll and fold, pushing outward into thick black spade-like pussy lips. Tight lips that drip clear cum when the heat hits and I'm shaking and bucking and howling to be touched.
---
I'm still working out what to tell everyone. What to tell the doctor and my social worker and- I just don't know.
I've had a while to think of it. Plenty of time to myself to puzzle through what happened based on the nights I changed. All I can think is that the wolf gave up. Or the hormones overwhelmed it. Whatever causes me to change during the fool moon just... accepted who I was and decided that that's what I needed to be. In the same way I heal any new injuries incredibly fast, the beast took a look at what my body was trying to do and decided I was hurt and needed to be healed.
Even my face is different now, subtly. My coworkers do their best not to crowd me or ask questions and try to just keep going as if nothing has changed but I catch their curious looks and whispered conversations, asking if anyone else noticed the changes.
I just wish the wolf could deal with mental "damage". The depression is still there and some days it's bad. I'm scared to get medication for it since there'd be a ton of questions but, maybe. Maybe in the future I can do that. If I find a different provider or doctor or dodge their other questions in just the right way. If it gets bad enough, I swear to myself that I'll talk to them.
Now- now I just need to work up the courage to talk to Maggie.
One step at a time.
Comments
Heather Graham
I think this is just about my favorite comment. It means a lot to hear this for something I wrote. I was worried since it's basically wish fulfillment but I also really liked the idea of the mechanics and trying to make it work in the main character's world. It makes me extraordinarily happy to hear that it meant something more than a simple sexy story.
Mia
Hey, Lyc, I know I should comment more, but I thought you'd appreciate hearing how much I loved this story and keep thinking about it. It was sexy of course, but I think it was actually part of cracking my egg, so to speak. Thanks for writing this and really nailing some emotional things.
