*** Chapter found on CYOC by baudrie ***
Megan woke up in a cold sweat and wanted to believe last night’s events had been a nightmare, but any traces of doubt were erased by the her strange surroundings and the creaking of the mattress under her new body. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, a growl-like groan escaping her lips as she felt her back ache in protest. Her large feet hit the wooden floorboards with a heavy thud. She grimaced at them. They were long, and square, and had little tufts of dark hair on the joints of her toes. And even though she knew that they were her feet, they looked completely strange to her. Her ankles were thick and covered in wiry hair that ran up her shins. She hated how much of her gross, old man legs she could see. The faded navy robe she’d woken up in only reached down to just past her roughened knees, and could see her stomach push against the fabric, thankful for the satin ribbon that held the robe closed. Even so, she could see curls of salt and pepper hair peeking out of the neckline.
She scratched at her chin, the heavy stubble felt like sandpaper under her long, thick fingers. Megan put her hands on her thighs, she could feel their girth and musculature underneath the thin cloth, and pushed herself up. She waddled over to the ceramic bowl, unused to her new weight and center of gravity. The floorboards creaked and groaned under every heavy step. Worse yet, she could feel her new organ swinging in between her legs. She reached the steaming water basin and splashed her face with the warm water, hoping she’d wake up from this nightmare. However when she looked up into the mirror, the balding man with bags under his eyes looking back at her was still on the other side of the glass. She felt anger rise up like she’d never felt before. Red-hot energy seemed to surge out of her chest and filled her entire body.
“Aargh!!” she slammed her fist against the peeling wall. She was scared, she was confused, and she was angry. She didn’t want to be old! She didn’t want to be a man!
“Mr. Donaldson, please. You’ll wake up my other guests!" Megan’s anger died away as cold fear washed over her. She turned around, knocking the bowl over. “Careful! Oh, now you’ve made a mess,” the witch said with annoyance in her shrill voice. “Well,” she continued, “I just wanted to let you know that breakfast will be ready soon. I’m sure a man of your,” she chuckled, a dry and ugly sound, “height, needs a hearty meal to start the day.”
Megan’s belly growled, as if to prove the witch’s point. “Come down as soon as your dressed, I’ll have the table ready. And please shave, that scraggy beard is so unbecoming for a family man like yourself.”
“But how am I supposed to-“ Megan began as she looked down to where the water had spilled, but swallowed her words when she saw that the bowl was back on the little table, full of steaming water, a straight razor, brush and shaving bowl sat beside it. “How did you-” Megan cut herself off again when she looked back to see the witch had vanished. Deciding that it was probably best not to disobey the witch, Megan picked up the razor and the brush. “Ok Megan,” her deep voice reverberated in her chest, “you can figure this out.”
She thought about the times she’d seen her dad shave, and the times she’d seen men on TV do it. She scooped up a dollop of cream onto the brush and lathered it onto her cheeks, covering any hair she saw. Carefully and delicately, she ran the blade against her skin. She could feel as the each strand of stubble met the razor’s edge. When she was done, she wiped her face off with the moist towel that hung on the rim of the basin. Megan couldn’t help to feel proud of herself, she’d managed not to cut herself her first time shaving. She ran her fingers over her cheeks. Smooth, but not as smooth as they’d been yesterday, when she had still been herself.
With the stubble gone, she could see the smile lines that were etched in her skin. She almost looked like her dad, she thought. Then she had another thought that scared her even more: she almost didn’t mind the face in the mirror. Deciding that she’d had enough of strange reflections, she walked to the dresser, remembering the old crone’s instructions to get dressed She opened one of the drawers and found a white undershirt and a pair of large briefs. She undid the satin ribbon of her robe and slipped it off. There she stood, naked, a middle-aged man. For the first time, she looked at her body. It was wide and strong. Her hairy stomach hung over her waist, but with the most minimum efforts she could look over her paunch. There it was. Thick and a blushing pink color, nestled in a wiry bush of black hair. She didn’t know what to think. It was strange that the first penis she was seeing was her own. Megan reached down and cupped it. It was sensitive. She weighed her balls in her hand, they were hefty. She kind of liked the way the warmth of her hand felt on her parts.
The distant chime of a bell brought her attention back. She imagined the witch’ face twisted in anger, asking her why she wasn’t ready, and hurried to put on the underpants and the shirt. Megan opened the dusty wardrobe’s doors and found a yellow button up shirt and a pair of corduroy pants. She put them on, struggling a little with the buttons around her wide waist. Next to the door were a roll of black dress socks and a pair of shiny, black loafers. She swung open the door with more force than she expected, she’d have to learn her new strength, she thought, and hurried out onto the hallway.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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