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In Search Of A Story: Strangest Halloween

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In Search Of A Story: Strangest Halloween

Postby justlooking123 » Wed Jun 10, 2015 2:04 pm

The story is about a guy in a college that is going out for Halloween that doesn't know what to be, then he that touches a clear liquid in his doorway and turns into a pregnant woman and goes to the party.

Please post if you have it. Thank you!
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Joined: Sun Jun 07, 2015 1:24 pm

Re: In Search Of A Story: Strangest Halloween

Postby Junglebob » Thu Jun 11, 2015 3:05 am

I wouldn't mind seeing that either. I remember the story was posted on the old forum by a user named reprobate.
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Re: In Search Of A Story: Strangest Halloween

Postby moonpotrz » Sat Jun 13, 2015 6:58 am

Temporary Title: "The Strangest Halloween"

Part 1: "Full Belly Rising" Where we meet our first few characters and one of them ends up wishing his imagination wasn't so powerful.

Of course I’d waited until the last minute. Other people had spent weeks, some of them months preparing and planning what they were going to do for Halloween. I just figured it would come to me when it came to me. Unfortunately it never did. Now it was Halloween and everyone was talking about hitting up the best parties, all of them, it seemed, costume only.

I sat in my dorm room and racked my brain. For some reason the only thing that kept coming to mind was a bizarre one. Not like it’d never been done before, it’s just… it was kind of misogynistic, and I was totally not like that. I had a great respect for women, that just sounds phony when you say it out loud, but anyways... this was why the idea of dressing up like a pregnant cheerleader seemed like such an odd thing to fixate on.

Of course, it was also completely out of the question. The image in my head, a blond in pig-tails with a skimpy outfit, a two piece actually, the top part just barely keeping her swollen boobs from popping right out, the bottom, a skirt to the mid-thigh, and oh that great big naked belly… how on Earth was I going to pull that off? I’d need a wig, major prosthetics, a uniform, all of which would cost money, and more importantly, time, both of which I was running short. But I had to think of something; otherwise I was going to end up spending the night in, watching horror movies on cable, or worse, going out to one of the lame parties. In either scenario I was going to end up with every collegiate young man's nightmare, not getting laid.

I scratched my head, I kept my hair extremely short, its curly you see, and if it has any kind of length at all it just turns into this big blond fro. I was alone in my dorm room, my room-mate was kind of a shut-in, and even he was already out and enjoying himself. I sighed, head in my largish hands, I’m a big guy, over six feet tall and well built, not really fat, just a big guy. Finally I got up and walked towards the attached bathroom me and my room-mate shared. That’s when I saw it, the first oddity in a long sequence of bizarre moments I was to stumble my way through this evening.

At first I thought it was a prank. There was this, how do I describe it, this membrane completely covering the threshold of the door. Was it shrink-wrap? Did my room-mate actually think I was going to run into that? Yet I was fairly certain it hadn’t been there earlier, well after my room-mate had already split, so he couldn't have done this. And it didn’t look like plastic. It was more liquid, and slightly reflective, I could almost see myself in its undulating surface, but I could also see into the room beyond. For some stupid reason I decided to touch it.

It was cool to the touch and my fingers passed right through it. Problem was, when I tried to pull back, my arm was tugged forward an equal amount of force and I ended up with my lower arm stuck through almost up to my elbow. The stuff had covered my skin and felt like water, only it wasn’t dribbling off, it coated me like a coat of squirming paint. I tried again to free myself and was pulled forward in turn, this time I lost my balance and ended up getting my left foot and hand stuck on the other side as well. Now everything was precarious.

I noticed that if I did nothing, I was slowly, ever so slightly being drawn closer on my own. With only one foot to lean back on, I had no leverage, and sweat began to break out on my neck and upper lip as I realized I was trapped. Nothing more to do but give in and pass through I supposed, and all at once I just pushed off my back foot and entered the bathroom.

As the cool substance completely covered my body I felt surprisingly refreshed, but deeply disturbed. Standing on the other side of the doorway the slime hadn’t come off, in fact, I could feel it sliding underneath my fingernails, pouring into my ears, penetrating my nostrils and other orifices I’d rather not like to mention. In no time flat I realized it had utterly dissolved my clothing, and when I blinked the scum from my eyes I could feel the liquid oozing all over me, going deeper than just my skin, seeping into my pores, bonding with my body.

My entire form began to feel malleable, and weak. I stumbled forward and grabbed the sink, my hands unsure, and indeed, soft and deformed by the pressure I put on them as they held on. My legs felt unsteady and I started to choke as the stuff poured down my throat and made it hard to breath. I turned my head wildly and saw the room appear to be getting bigger, the ceiling was too high now, everything was too high up, and it would be a few minutes before I realized that it was me that changed size, shrinking almost an entire foot in height. As the cool liquid slithered all over me I could feel myself getting less massive, losing weight at a rapid clip. For one terrifying second I believed I was going to be dissolved away completely.

Finally after much mental turmoil I felt and saw the tips of my right hand emerging from the crystal clear ooze. The stuff retreated down to my elbow and I couldn’t help but notice my hand and wrist looked different, more fragile, thin and less hairy. By now I could breath normally again but something was making me sick to my stomach, and when I thought of how much of that viscous goop was pooling down inside there I wanted to vomit.

Changes were happening fast now, my left foot and hand were freed and similarly diminished in size. My waist felt terribly thin and other parts of my body felt too fat. All over my muscle mass had reduced terribly, save in my legs where I was perhaps just as strong if not more lithe. Patches of my skin on my belly and legs started to break through, and the exposed pale skin was soft and smooth, it felt younger and tighter.

After a moment or two the slime that remained on me was concentrated around my chest and groin, it was like I was wearing a water bikini. It gurgled and slithered back and forth and as it retreated from my chest I saw something impossible emerge. The shiny reflective oil backed off and out cropped one of the most beautiful pair of tits I’d ever laid my eyes on, and these from a very personal perspective. The ooze evaporated more and more and I just kept blooming bigger and bigger until finally, it had all vanished and I was left with a very modest bust indeed.

I was so mystified by all this that I could barely perceive what was going on below. The same slime that had refashioned my chest considerably was making inroads down below and I gasped when everything I’d known and loved suddenly evaporated along with the liquid to reveal a perfectly formed, freshly moistened cleft. If I hadn’t felt like vomiting before, I certainly did now.

Lastly, what I had taken to be the last remaining portion of the goop trailing down from my skull and between my shoulder blades proved to be freshly minted hair, still wet from the magical lather that had created it. I shuddered in the cool bathroom air, suddenly cognizant that I was completely naked.

Completely naked, and apparently, completely a girl. It was at this point that I screamed my lungs out. It was a high-pierced soprano shriek and it surprised me by its intensity and unfamiliarity. The door to the bathroom, I saw, was now closed, and much of the sound, I’m sure, went unheard by anyone. Had anybody on the dormitory floor heard its muffled edge they probably would have chalked it up to a Halloween movie, or prank. I was through being pranked. But the truth was, the night had just begun.

I stared into the mirror above the sink with large blue frightened eyes. What had happened to me? What was all this, why was I… all girly? My eyes trailed down and saw those perky boobs and it finally dawned on me that I could feel those perky boobs hanging from my body, feel them from the inside, so to speak, feel my nipples stiffening in the cold. I could feel my thin waist and the curve of my hips beneath that, could feel my pert behind and slender legs. Could feel my brand new sex organ… I could feel everything and my mind was overwhelmed.

“No, this cannot be…,” I mumbled, again all light and girlish. My stomach still felt awful, somehow I just knew that stuff had remained inside, how much I couldn’t tell, but there was a weight to it, a rubberiness that was unmistakable. And I could swear it was moving around in there. Perhaps it was still busy making me, I shuddered involuntarily, making me ovaries and stuff.

I raised my hands, amazed that I could actually move in this body, it was like watching myself animate a mannequin on the other side of the mirror. I touched my head and ran my fingers through my hair, which had begun to dry and had a slight curl to it. I blinked my big eyes and saw my lower lip tremble. My perfect little nose in between all this. I was starting to understand that this face, my face, was beautiful.

And if my face was stunning, my body was nothing short of amazing. This was the kind of stuff young men dreamed of caressing, dreamed of possessing, just not such a literal possession as this. I was young and supple and smooth and curvy in all the right places. I was tight and thin and delicate in all the rest. Simply speaking, I was close to perfect.

I grew more brave, and now turned to the side, examining my figure which thrust forth nobly up top, then cinched below before the swell of my buttocks. I’d never seen such a body, not even in the movies, or in the soft-core pictures I sometimes browsed late at night on my computer. Just then I reached up and cupped my breast, felt its heaviness from the outside, felt it fill up my tiny palm, felt its warm flesh give way as I grabbed at it. A ripple of pleasure fired off like an echo down between my legs and I learned that these two assets were now more intimately connected to my private parts than they’d been when I was a man.

I let go and my eyebrow raised up in surprise. When I’d first grabbed at myself I’d seen a small light pink areola disappear into my hand. When I let go there emerged a much darker tip, it seemed bigger too, wider perhaps and definitely, what was that sensation I felt as it hung in the air, was it a soreness? Maybe I wasn’t through transforming after all.

By now the extreme nakedness of my condition was the most pressing thing on my mind. As if it and not the fact that I was suddenly and inexplicably a woman, was the most important problem I faced. What if my room-mate came back? What if a friend dropped by? I needed to at least throw something on and then make up some story as to who I was, and what I was doing in this room. At least until I could figure out a way to change back.

I opened the bathroom door, secretly praying that the strange membrane would be there again, and that I could undo whatever the hell had happened to me, but it wasn’t. Yet there was a surprise waiting for me on the other side, laying on my bed. There, spread out so I could see each individual component, was a complete cheerleader’s uniform from a to z. A skirt, just like I’d imagined it, the barely sufficient top. A pair panties and stockings that went up to the knee. Even a pair of pom-poms and sneakers.

As I stepped into the bedroom, forearm covering my chest and cradling my boobs, my opposite hand shading my genitals as if I was not alone and being watched, I stepped closer toward the clothes. My mind was racing, failing to put two and two together. It wouldn’t have to wait long now, my body would do all the explaining for me soon enough as the rubberiness in my stomach hadn’t relented, in fact it had increased and if I’d been paying attention I’d have felt the soft rise just under my navel were a nascent bump was just taking shape. I tip-toed over and picked up the panties with just the tips of my thin fingers like I was holding a bomb or a something that might burst into flames at any second.

“Cheerleader uniform…,” I muttered, eyes narrowing, “that’s what I needed for my Halloween costume…” and then my eyes opened wide, bugged out, and my mouth dropped to a comic ‘O’. “No! No, this can’t be!,” I said, stepping away from the uniform, afraid to look down. I could feel myself growing, that small bump was protruding more and more, raising up, was unmistakable even now, no girl this skinny would ever had this much pot belly, and this sure wasn’t fat, no sir, it was tight and stretching and getting bigger with every breath.

I stumbled backward and lost my footing, sitting down hard in my desk-chair, the wheels of which sent me skidding backward even further, squeaking as they rolled. Seated, my small belly was even more pronounced, and the cold material of the chair chilled my backside. I stuck to the fake leather exterior.

“P-P-Pregnant?,” I whispered, as if confessing my not so secret plight to a parent or best friend.

Without a doubt.

I gripped at my belly as it expanded, the pace quickening, the skin pulling, the tightness ebbing right into my hands. Under all the skin and flesh was a fetus that had doubled in weight in just seconds. It stirred in my womb and I gasped, I’d never felt anything even remotely like the butterfly trapped in a bell-jar sensation that echoed in my belly. I could only sit and watch and feel as the pounds piled on, pounds of amniotic fluid in my womb, pounds of added blood coursing through my veins, pounds of brand new baby and yes, pounds of warm squishy fat that invaded my hips and rump which was still pert but skinny no more.

Even my tits got in on the weight gain, adding a cup and a half of fresh milk-sodden goodness. The soreness was mostly gone, but they felt over-ripe and ready to dribble at any moment.

“I-I-I want to go back, I don’t want this, I want to wake up!,” I shouted, even as the very real belly in front of me, okay, not in front of me but in me, kept rounding out larger and larger. It made breathing harder, I couldn’t take a full breath anymore. All of my inner organs were cramped and odd noises gurgled from inside me. With a startlingly audible ‘pup,’ my navel became an outtie and a faint line descended from it towards my nether-regions, only visible if you looked at the right angle in the right light. And through it all I remained devoid of stretch-marks, I’d acquired exactly the body my mind had imagined when I was thinking up Halloween costumes, only instead of inflatable prosthetics, this was all very real.

And very uncomfortable. With the last few dramatic surges my belly stopped growing and dropped lower whole inches. I gasped a breath and nearly wet myself all at once, my lungs less hampered by my bladder on red alert. Minutes ticked by and I just sat there, still pregnant, vastly so, while footsteps sounded in the hallway as students came and went. And the need to pee never went anywhere. I kept wating for another growth spurt but finally got around to the conclusion that there really was nowhere left for this baby to expand into anymore.

What on Earth am I going to do now? I thought to myself, sitting in my swivel-chair, legs spread, boobs and belly projecting from my otherwise slender body like some sort of soft fleshy but heavy parasites. I managed to stand up, a feat in and of itself and as gravity caught up with me I found my back threatening to arch forward and was alarmed by how heavy my whole body felt on my twiggy thin legs. I took a few experimental steps forward and found my legs moved slightly to the side as they went forward and as such produced a comical waddle typical of some very pregnant women.

Then, out of nowhere, a pronounced knock knock knock on the door. I let out a terrified ‘Eek!,” but had the presence of mind to gather up all of the cheerleader accoutrement and waddle-run into the bathroom once more. Me and my room-mate never locked the outer door and soon enough whoever was there would figure that out and walk right in. I did, however, lock the bathroom door and desperately hoped whoever it was would get discouraged and leave.

“Hey Mark, man, you… hey, anybody here?,” a voice called out. It was the voice of one of my best friends, a guy named Peter. I was so scared I held my breath, back against the door, waiting for Pete to move along. When I heard foot-steps trail away I sighed, turned and faced the inevitably and unpleasant nature of the next two tasks.

Task one: taking a piss. It just seemed so… wrong now. How could I go to the bathroom with one of these things? I thought to myself, mentally distancing myself from the very real vagina between my legs. But I really had to go, there was no avoiding this. I made my way over to the toilet and gently sat down, knees popping under the strain.

It felt nice to sit again, I'll tell you that, it was something wonderful to take the weight off my joints, and I actually started to laugh when I noticed that not only could I not lean forward and see my private parts but I couldn’t even see my feet unless I kicked them forward. I was gigantic, how did women deal with this, more to the point, how did a body even do this? Get this big I mean. The whole purpose for sitting down--that was easy, there was no figuring that out, I simply laid my hands on my belly as if it were a desk, fingers drumming in the bored student way, closed my eyes and released.

Some things hadn’t changed, and the feeling of relief was one of them. Too bad it lasted for all of 6 seconds.

“That’s it!?,” I muttered, clenching all kinds of odd unfamiliar muscles in a vain attempt to continue, but this was like squeezing water from a stone. I just had to face facts that my bladder could only hold a tiny amount now. As I went to stand the unpleasant sensation of still being wet down there reminded me that this whole procedure had become more complicated. I couldn’t just whiz and go, I now needed to tidy up after myself. I dabbed at myself down there and finished the deed.

Now I needed to cloth myself, even if said clothing was going to be a rather revealing costume. I reached over onto the counter and snagged the panties, a plain white pair with no frills or special cut or anything, just a normal piece of underwear. Through some difficult maneuvering I poked my feet through the holes and slid the garment up my legs until I was forced to stand up and fit it in place.

It felt good to not be naked, or at least only half-naked. The cloth hugged me in a manner I wasn’t familiar with, laying tight against my sex and sometimes creeping between my cheeks, but it was better than remaining in the nude.

Next I handled the sports-bra. It too was white and elastic and not too tricky to figure out. As I tugged it down over my breasts I felt immediate relief. I hadn’t realized all of the minute jiggling and bouncing going on that were causing me all kinds of little sharp pains. Now, supported, I looked bigger, but this was mostly due to the effect the bra was having on bringing my two friends together. Looking down I saw some serious cleavage.

Top went on next, material slightly abrasive like some uniforms are, but it was sleeveless and low-cut and mostly white, highlighted with purple here and there along the edges. the matching pleated skirt came next and I rather hated my imagination at the moment for making the damn thing so skimpy. My plump rear-end barely fit in the damn thing and if I sat down in it, well, forget about decency. Stockings and sneakers followed suit and when I looked at myself in the mirror I had to admit, this was the vision I’d pictured in my head. The only difference being it was all real and not some figment of my apparently perverse mind. Dammit, why couldn't I have imagined myself as James Bond, a pirate or something a bit less... full to the brim with baby?

Grabbing my pom-poms I waddled out into the bedroom just in time for Peter to bumble back into my room. I cried out in surprise and in a moment of quick thinking, hit the switch on the wall, putting us both in, for the time being, a rather dark space.

“Mark, um, izzat you?,” Peter asked, squinting in the darkness.

“No, I’m, er, I'm... oh hell, yes, yes it’s me, Pete,” I muttered, at first trying stupidly to disguise my voice, then struggling to come up with a good story, finally giving in and just telling the truth.

“Doesn’t sound like you, and why the hell are we standing round in the dark?,” Peter questioned yet again, looking for a light switch and walking closer.

“Okay Pete, I’m gonna flip the lights back on but you gotta promise you won’t flip out. I’m me, you gotta trust me, it’s just that… something weird has happened, I’ve sorta transformed into my Halloween costume,” I mumbled, turning the lights back on.

“Holy shit!,” Peter yelled, hand rising up to cover his mouth. I knew how I must look from an outside perspective as my friend's gaze gravitated down from my face, first to that eye-catching swath of cleavage and then down to my distended belly. “I don’t know who you are, but if Mark did this to you… way to go Mark!,” Peter continued with his trademark chauvinism.

“Dammit, man, cut that out! It's me! I swear, c’mon, ask me something only I would know,” I replied, hands on my hips in a hopelessly futile pouting gesture. As if to underscore my lack of menace the baby inside me decided to shift to one side, severely distending my belly to the left. Pete hadn't noticed and was looking at the floor.

“Um, okay, this morning, when it was just us at our table in the dining hall, what’d I have for lunch?,” Peter said, convinced that whoever I was, I surely wouldn’t know, or have had any reason to have been told, what some random guy I didn't know had eaten for lunch.

“That’s easy, 2 grilled cheese sandwiches, a bowl of chicken noodle soup, um, some cottage cheese, a glass of chocolate milk and 3 giant chocolate chip cookies, 2 of which you hid in your bag for later, satisfied?,” I finished triumphantly.

“Wow, it really is you, but how… how are you… how… er, how?,” Peter stuttered, taking another step forward. If he reached out he could now touch my naked belly.

“Your guess is as good as mine. 20 minutes ago I was racking my brain trying to think up something I could do for a costume, you know, last minute, and then all these weird things started happening, magical ooze or something, covered my body, anyway, I ended up looking like this!,” I narrated. Peter stepped still closer, any closer and we'd be slow dancing. It was odd looking up at the guy, I’d always had him by a few inches, now he towered over me.

“Damn, man, I hate to say this but whatever has happened to you, knocked up or not, dude, you’re are like, fucking hot!,” Peter finished unexpectedly.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, gimme a break man! I’m a guy, at least, I was… and I am still in my head. Besides, dude, I'm as big as a house!,” I spoke and then thought to myself in my head, “although for some reason I feel sorta different with Peter around. All self-conscious and worried about what I look like, not in a just been transformed into a pregnant cheerleader way, but in a I wonder if my legs look nice in this skirt kinda way, weird!” I blushed and tried to change the subject,

“So anyway, what did you come here for?,” I said, looking down, feeling suddenly timid and exposed. I didn't have to look up to know Pete was helping himself to a heaping portion of my boobs.

“Um, er, oh yeah, I was just coming around to tell you that we’re going to the Blue House tonight, man! A buddy of mine gave me two tickets, tickets, can you believe it that they are making people use tickets? Must be one helluva party, exclusive, know what I mean? Um, I realize you are all, um, popping out and everything, but are we still going, you know, until this whole magic ooze thing wears off?,” Peter extolled.

“Why the hell not?,” I answered. What else was I going to do? Sit around and look into the bathroom every 5 minutes and hope that the liquid door came back? Surely this whole change was only temporary, right? It would wear off like Pete said, and everything would be fine…

“Okay, look, I need to go and change, but I will be back. Dude, if I were you I’d use my time wisely, how often do you get to touch tits like those! Man, I wouldn’t be able to stop groping…,” Peter began, closing his eyes and aping the gesture of grabbing at his own chest--and evidently enjoying it very much.

“I get it, just take off and hurry up, okay?,” I said sourly.

Pete left and closed the door leaving me standing in a guy’s dorm room, pregnant and in a cheerleader costume. A giggle escaped my lips, then a real laugh, finally, a great big belly laugh and I just couldn’t stop laughing. I sat down on my bed and just burst into hysterics, tears welling up in my eyes, this was all just so… funny! Inside my rather largish womb my baby began to kick, encouraged by my laughing. It only made things funnier. I watched as my belly deformed here and there and the giggles subsided slowly into a subtle, then profound awe.

“There’s a… baby in there,” I thought to myself, gently rubbing my side. 1,000 clichés flitted through my mind, ‘what an absolute miracle,’ and ‘life is amazing,’ couple with intense feelings of hope and happiness. Part of this was honest, some of it was the result of incredible surges in hormones my body was receiving, but either way my male mind was no longer all by itself in an island of unfamiliar body. Now it too was starting to change on me.

Pete came back a few minutes later, politely knocking on the door. After i didn't answer he walked right in, dressed like the pirate I should have imagined, and saw me sitting on the edge of the bed with a horrified look in my big blue eyes.

"Pete, I-I-I could end up having to g-g-give birth like this!," I muttered on the brink of tears.

"Whoa whoa, slow down there Mark, er, that's weird, we're going to have to come up with a different name 'cause dude, you are about as much of a Mark as I am an Alice. But seriously, relax. I have no idea how all this happened, but seeing as it apparently could and did happen, it must be reversible, and I'm sure it will just all go away," Peter said, sitting next to me, fake parrot lolling on his opposite shoulder.

"You really think so?," I said softly, partly hating how weak i sounded, hating the fact that I needed support, emotional or not, hating my lower lip trembling like this.

Peter moved closer and put his arm around my paper thin shoulders. "Sure I'm sure. Look, the way i see it, you were looking for a costume, you found a costume in whatever bizarre way, and when you don't need it anymore, when Halloween is over, it will all go away and this will be like some joke or something." I was listening to his words and they made sense, but a part of me was also noticing how good his arm with all those fake costume tattoos felt on me, felt the swell of his bicep on my shoulder. It felt good and strong and it completely unnerved me. So much so that I did the unthinkable. I farted. loudly.

"Dude!," Peter said, sliding away the length of the bed. All I could do was blush and laugh.

"I-I-I'm so sorry, it's just, the baby and all the crowding... I've had to do that for a while now, I was trying to hold it in."

"You could have at least warned me or something," Peter said, fake scowling. There was something in his voice, some tone he had adopted for most of this conversation that was weirding me out. I'd heard him talk this way before, almost always around women, in particular women he was trying to... no, I was just imagining things.

"Okay, so we going to this party or not?," Peter said, unsheathing his fake plastic sword. I looked around the room and considering taking off the costume, putting on my baggiest clothes and crawling underneath my bedsheets. That just sounded pathetic and lonely and not what i needed right now.

"Let's do it," I agreed.

"Alright," Peter confirmed things and reached out his hand, "so what's it going to be, Marcie? Marsha? Marla?" I reached up and took his hand and managed a smile.

"The last one, but only for tonight. And Pete? While we're out I'm Marla, if anyone asks, Mark is back in his room, sick or something. It'll just be easier that way," I cautioned, standing up and fixing my skirt.

"Marla it is then, and with that he stepped to the side and let me walk out first and I just knew he was checking out my ass the whole time.

Part 2: "Better Know a Pregnant Chick" (said Stephen Colbert style  ) or, how our protagonist is forced to invent her own back-story and becomes more and more unwillingly or willingly involved with her best friend. There's a slight twist at the end that is partially inspired by k3tsm's comment so... who says I don't give the readers what they ask for?

“So like… what’s our story?,” Peter the Pirate said to me in the mostly deserted hallway. It already had a faint aroma of stale booze and not too efficiently cleaned up vomit, despite the fact that everyone who lived her was under 21 and technically not allowed to drink. Such is every college dormitory.

“Um, our story?,” I returned, misinterpreting his question as something more personal than it was.

“I mean, how do I know you? Who are you? People are going to ask when they see us hanging out…,” Peter said, and it all made sense to me then. He wasn’t trying to make it appear to everyone that we were together...

“Oh, I see. Do you want to be cousins?,” I offered, as some guy walked by us whom I didn’t know and I noticed him checking me out up and down.

“No, I don’t know shit about my cousins. Do you know anything about yours? I see them like… 3 times a year. Besides, we look nothing at all alike, and I want to be able to talk to you normally, y’know, like we are good friends,” Peter said, adjusting his eye-patch.

Did he want to be able to talk to me normally like we were just friends because he thought of me as ‘just friends’? Or did he want to not be my cousin because he didn’t want anyone to have a problem with him flirting with me? I played the devil’s advocate, and agreed,

“Hmmm, you might be right about the cousins bit seeing as we don't look at all alike. How about this. I’m your good friend from high-school. My parents weren’t cool with me getting knocked up so young and not being married and all that. So I moved in with my sister who lives around here in the city. I wanted to go out one last time before, well, before going out wasn’t possible.” I thought it sounded plausible.

Peter objected. “So… why hang out with me of all people? How good of friends are we? Have we ever dated?”

“What? No!,” I reacted, probably too harshly. “No, we’re just long time friends. Maybe best friends.” I said this knowing full well that as a guy, I’d had no female friends that I was ‘just friends’ with. Call it shallow or whatever, the more time I spent with a girl, the more I found them sexually attractive. And I’m sure I’m not the only guy out there that does this.

“So you chose to hang out with me and come to a college party full of horny guys?,” Peter said, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I think this will turn most of them away,” I said, grabbing my belly. “And you know what? It ain’t half bad having people looking at me for a change…” We reached the elevator and headed down.

“Uh, I’m not so sure that most guys are going to avoid you. Mark, sorry, Marla, I’m sure you are aware of this on some level but I have to say it again, you’re like, a knock-out or something. I mean pregnant or not I’ve never seen…,” Peter began to say.

“Seriously? You really think so?,” I said, getting all warm and fuzzy on the inside. I’d never been much of a looker as a dude, besides, guys do most of the looking and being on the receiving end of approving glances was completely new to me. New and, pretty nice. Peter stood next to me and I could suddenly smell his faint mix of cologne and sweat and guy smell. It was something similar to the way I usually smelled when I went out, only now it… it made me feel different. It was making me feel like I…

“Totally. In fact, I would be honored to personally escort you to the party and keep you out of harm’s way, if you are into the whole suave pirate chauffeur angle…” Peter said this and offered me his elbow.

“I… I… I would love to,” I accepted, taking hold of his elbow.

Now let’s get something very clear. My mind, my maleness and my male memories were all still very much in play. However, I was continuously bombarded by sensations and stimuli which my mind had begun to interpret differently. If a hot girl were to walk by me at this moment I probably would have looked her up and down, but I doubt it would have really done anything for me. The perusal would have been partly out of habit, partly what my mind was telling me I should be looking at. On the other hand, I probably wouldn’t have openly looked around for some good looking guy, but when presented with one, someone like Peter even, well, it was starting to have an effect on me, even deep enough to start effecting my conscious thoughts. And with all those female hormones running through my veins…

The house we were going to was a good ways off, and I wasn’t exactly speedy. Peter did a good job of adjusting his pace and was keeping things light, keeping me laughing. Suddenly he started in on the questions.

“So, Marla. How does it feel like to be a Marla and not Mark?”

“I’m not sure what you mean by that,” I answered, not too subtly reaching up and fixing my top, which had slid down some.

“Well, I guess I’m thinking, how does it feel to suddenly be a chick? What does that feel like? Doesn’t have to just be about the pregnancy,” Peter continued.

I thought about it a moment. “Um, it’s complicated. At first I thought it was going to be all like me kind of wearing a girl suit, rather, a pregnant girl suit, but I quickly found that wasn’t right at all. Then I thought I would just keep feeling how different I was, just keep being freaked out about… down there, or constantly focusing on my boobs and stuff,” I began.

“Well, they are spectacular,” Peter remarked.

“Thanks for your candor, Pete. So yeah, anyway, that didn’t happen either. There’s less and less of a disconnect. This body feels… mostly normal, I imagine it would feel even more normal if I didn’t have to lug around an extra 40 pounds. I doubt even pregnant women get used to this. Not really. But its not as weird as you’d think,” I returned.

“Does it like, move around in there and everything?,” Peter asked, stupidly.

“Fuck yeah! It’s doing it right now, wanna feel?,” I asked, coming to a stop under a big leafy tree. There were the usual frat-like noises coming from the surrounding blocks, parties were happening everywhere, and people were out and about, most of them in some form of costume, many of them pretty boring. But right then it felt like it was just Pete and me on the sidewalk.

I took his hand and placed it on the left front side of my drum tight belly. Soon enough, the baby stirred and I saw Pete’s eyes widen like he’d just felt the impossible. In a certain respect he had. If you’d have asked me earlier in the day that by the time night fell I’d be a big fat pregnant bombshell I’d a said that was pretty impossible.

Pete’s hand felt nice, it was warm but not clammy, his fingers splayed wide, they felt strong and caring all at the same time. I was embarrassed to think this but it felt a little too good on my skin. I shivered and turned away to start walking again and we didn’t really say anything to each other the rest of the way.

We got to the party about 15 minutes later. The night was still very warm and very young. Everywhere out front of the house were all kinds of monsters and ghouls, and the obligatory scantily clad sorority girls who despite my huge bare belly and what felt like the entire acreage of flesh I was showing off still managed to out do me for how little clothing can constitute a costume.

A mountain of a man answered the door, and Peter presented our tickets.

“Say, Pete… who’s the slut?,” the mountain said not so under his breath. “Or should I say congratufuckinglations, man, way to hit that shit!”

“Watch it Arnie, this is Marla, a good friend of mine, and although I wish I could take credit for her present condition, unfortunately I cannot,” Peter said, winking at me. I was simultaneously horrified and flattered. Speechless either way. My mind was still remembering the way his hand felt and wondered what that brief touch would have been different as a caress…

The mountain grunted and mumbled something about the kegs being “out back.”

Inside, the party was packed, explosively warm, incredibly drunk, and awfully loud. Everywhere were beautiful people holding drinks, all of them costumed, some of them in masks hiding their identities. Some I recognized, others were strangers to me. Pete had been right, this was the cream of campus. A lot of upperclassmen too.

“Don’t mean to leave you alone like this, but I need a drink. Can I get you a coke?,” Pete said, pointing his thumb towards the door to the backyard.

“Sure, but don’t take long!,” I said, giving him my best butterfly lashes. Christ, I was getting good at the whole damsel in distress thing. Yet within seconds a moderately drunk Junior swooped in and struck up a conversation with me, placing one hand on the stair railing preventing me from going anywhere further into the room.

“Wow, that’s a helluva costume, are you… holy fuck, that’s real!,” The guy said, blundering his hand into my stomach. I had begun to sweat profusely in the oppressive heat that smelled of human bodies and booze breath. My skin had a certain sheen on it, like many other mostly naked girl bodies had acquired in my near vicinity, only I was clearly the most attractive person in the room, if you didn’t take my family way against me. The difference between this clown’s touch and Pete’s was like night and day. It made my skin crawl.

“Well, I’d say you could go ahead and touch it and see for yourself but looks like you already gone and…,” I managed to squeeze myself away from his sweaty palm and into an unoccupied corner near the stairs.

“So, like, how far along are you,” The guy pressed on, squinting. Okay, so he was drunker than I thought.

“That’s an excellent question actually,” I began, looking around for some sort of port in this storm when Peter returned with a beer in one hand and a fizzing coke in the other. “Pete, darling!,” I overdid it, grabbing his arm and almost causing him to spill my drink, trying to let the guy accosting me know I was out of bounds. It felt nice to grip his arm like this, and I almost forgot why I’d done it in the first place. I was definitely reconsidering the ‘we’re just friends’ routine, at least overtly.

“Oh, Yeah, here’s your drink Mar,” Peter returned, slowly putting two and two together. The guy stumbled off. Due to the crowded nature of the house Peter was practically on top of me. I couldn’t help but angle my huge belly into his side.

“Are we the only ones who aren’t shit-faced?,” I asked, looking around at various stages of debauchery. One couple was making out right next to us and although it mostly grossed me out, I could even hear it over the booming dance music, I was sort of envious too. Male, female, whatever, it had been a while since I’d hooked up.

“Might be, might be…,” Peter said, answering my question with a curious expression on his face. He looked like he was trying desperately to think of something to say, and trying hard not to think of the good part of me that was pressing up against him. It wasn’t working, because every time his eyes came around they caught glimpses of my sweaty but stunning face, my virtually omnipresent cleavage, and on and on. Much to his horror, Peter had begun to react in a most physical way to my close proximity.

Just then a huge oaf nearly crushed me completely before I dodged to the side, and fell forward. I reached out and grabbed onto Peter, but not before my hand brushed a certain unmistakable something that had recently taken shape in his tattered pants.

“Oh my God… I can’t believe… I can’t be here anymore!,” I said, freaking out and pushing him away, heading for the door. Leering glances and awkward attempts at groping me commenced as I struggled toward the door.

One asshole got his finger underneath the back of my top and when I took a step forward my right nipple popped into view. Horrified, I turned slightly to free myself and reached up in a desperate attempt to pull my top back up. Yet all I did was put a tremendous amount of pressure on my nipple and before I knew it something leaked out.

I barely got a glimpse of it before restoring my own decency but some of the stuff had even made it onto the arm of the guy in front of me. A cowboy or something. I never even paused to apologize but just kept on going, gratefully finding the fresh air and less crowded confines of the street.

As I stormed down the sidewalk as best a girl my size and shape could storm, my mind was a mess. Part of me knew that this was the right thing to do. I had been leading on one of my best friends, and not only that, but I was turning him on! But this wasn’t the worst part, the worst part was that some part of me was secretly pleased I had done this… had this effect on someone as picky and hard to please as Pete.

I had made it all the way back to my dorm room bed before Pete managed to catch up with me. This time he didn’t just walk in after he knocked.

“Who is it?,” I asked, knowing full well who it was.

“Mark, er, Marla, whoever you are right now, listen! Just… can I come in and talk?,” Peter pleaded. I consented and he came inside.

“What took you so long?,” I said softly, looking away at the floor.

“Well, funny story. I tried coming after you first thing but all I succeeded at doing was spilling my beer on one guy and simultaneously spilling that guy’s beer on someone else. Needless to say there were some pretty angry folks. Rather than run away I solved things, turns out one of them lived there—I gave ‘em enough money to get another keg.”

Peter was from a wealthy family and throwing money at a problem wasn’t a stretch. It was his de facto move.

“Anyhow, I made my way towards the door, figuring you’d left, and knew I was heading in the right direction when I heard some dude gossiping on how some busty chick had sprayed breast milk all over another guy's arm.”

I stifled a laugh. I'm not sure why I thought that was funny. It was... gross, and embrassing and a lot of things, but not really funny. Maybe it was the way Peter was talking, that little smirk he had on his face.

“So… are we cool?,” Peter wondered.

“Yeah, of course we are, Pete, I’m sorry, I just…,” I said, looking up at him.

“I know. Look, I’m sorry too, it’s just… I’m still me and you’re… well, I know you are still Mark somewhere, but try telling that to a 19 year old who hasn’t been laid in 6 months and has got the hottest girl he’s ever spoke to hanging on one arm.”

“To tell you the truth, I… didn’t run away just because of you or how you... I ran away just as much because of me. Pete, some of me wanted… some of me liked… maybe even most of me liked… Pete, I don’t know what’s going on. It all seems so wrong, I’m so confused!” I shrieked.

“Look, if you need me to take off, I’ll be more than happy to split and leave you alone,” Peter offered, thumbing towards the door.

“No! I don’t want to be alone. I’d rather you stuck around. Do you just… wanna watch a movie tonight or something? Order out? I’m fucking starving and mixed up and…,” I rambled.

“Okay. Why don’t you grab something else to wear so you can change out of that costume and into something less… well, I’m sure that isn’t most comfortable outfit. While you’re in the bathroom I’ll order us a pizza. Sound good?,” Peter said.

“Sounds awesome,” I agreed. I couldn’t help but smile. However long this lasted, at least I wasn’t going to be alone. At least somebody knew I was going through this bizarre thing and maybe even if they didn’t completely understand what I must be like, they’d at least try.

“Alright, I’m going to go back to my room and grab my phone and change out of this ridiculous get-up myself. See you in a few…” Peter spoke.

“Don’t take too long!,” I replied and this time I did nothing to hide any kind of desperation or wanting in my voice. It was almost the reply of someone… well, let’s not go there just yet.


John Jaspers wasn’t feeling very good. The thing is, he hadn’t had that much to drink. Not really. But now he felt, in his own terminology, way nauseous and there was this ugly splotch on his forearm were some chick’s warm drink had splashed on him a few minutes earlier.
John had seen a lot of drinks in his day, but he ain’t never seen whatever it was that chick musta been drinking. It was slimy and silvery and when he went to rub it away it more or less evaporated. But soon enough the skin where it hit, well, it went all tingly and turned pale and mostly hairless. Seconds later the splotch had doubled in size and John was feeling sick as a dog.

John was lucky in one regard though. He didn’t have to go far to get to the bathroom. He lived in this house, and had a bathroom all to himself on the second floor. The only way you could get there was through his bedroom, which he kept locked during parties for obvious reasons. As he made his way up the crowded stairs, John felt increasingly bad. Dizziness and weakness plagued him, this was not the effect of bad booze or alcohol abuse.

In his room he had just enough time to make it to the toilet before everything came up, and I do mean everything. John wretched and vomited until there was nothing left. He knelt before the can, cowboy hat set on the sink lest it fall from his bowed head and in the toilet bowl. When it was all said and done, John opened his eyes. He felt 30 pounds lighter, and his head had cleared and the sickness had passed. He almost could say he felt downright good, that is, until he couldn’t help but take a gander in the toilet and became very very still.

There, swirling in all the bile and different sized chunks of half digested food, was more of that silvery ooze. John blinked several times, as if he could will away the unsettling image. And sure enough, each time he blinked, less and less of it remained, the stuff was disappearing as fast as it had evaporated from his arm. But how had it gotten into his stomach in the first place?

John stood up with a bad case of the chills. His skin was sweaty and riddled with goosebumps. He felt… not very much like himself, and his costume, the western style shirt, pants, chaps, and boots all hung on his frame like he’d fasted for a month. Little things didn’t make sense. His hair was tickling the back of his neck, but he kept it short and that couldn’t be. John absentmindedly ran his hand through his hair and felt 6 months worth of growth from his normal crew cut.

But that wasn’t all. The splotch he’d worried about earlier? It was gone. In its place…, well, his whole skin was that pale smooth softer variety.

“Somebody must have slipped me something in my drink,” John mumbled, but then doubled over as tremendous cramps stabbed at his insides. He moaned in pain and fell to the tile floor, fingers clawing through his shirt to his guts which felt like they were turning inside out. Turns out, they were, in a manner of speaking. In the time it took for one of his house-mates to climax in some freshmen skank in the room nextdoor, John Jasper's sex completed an inversion, rendering his reproductive organs entirely feminine.

The pain had largely abated but John’s mind wouldn’t let him get up. Pathetic whimpering echoed in the bathroom as the sweat from John’s body was now even effecting his costume. John’s boxers were now a more flattering pair of panties; jeans were low rise and skin tight.  Budding breasts jiggled forward into a western button down shirt that was now missing a few key buttons up top--for a reason. John’s hair was now shoulder length and a dark reddish brown. When the brand new young woman reached her feet she was introduced to a beauty that had its equal, perhaps, in just one girl on campus.

Yet the reconfigured John was taller than ‘Marla’ at about 5’5”. Her curves were less substantial than the other 'new' woman but her face was even more stunning, the kind that grace magazine covers and make men and women alike stop for a moment with their grocery bag in front of them and wonder ‘who is that?’ Yet like ‘Marla’, John’s lithe body would only remain so for a few minutes longer. Already, if she were paying attention to the bubbling sensation in her belly instead of ogling her own tits, John might have guessed that something was amiss. Instead John was maybe 4 months gone before it occurred to the poor befuddled soul that there was something growing inside, something moving.

‘pop!’ ‘snap!’ ‘pop!’ went the buttons closest to her navel as Ms Jasper’s burgeoning belly took shape. And it wouldn’t stop until she was roughly 24 hours away from her first contraction.

End part 2.

Part 3. "When in Doubt, on with the Casual Sex."

“Ugh, can we not watch the one movie where the alien rips open the dudes body from inside please?,” I said, wresting away control of the remote. After attaining the clicker, my opposite hand remained on Peter’s arm, warm and innocent. We were laying next to one another, well, sitting really, reclining with our backs against a mound of pillows facing a television on my dresser across the cramped dorm room.

“What? You love this movie. I realize you’re all bun in the oven on me and all, but the Mark I know…,” Peter began, attempting to regain control of the remote.

“The Mark you know is Marla now, pal, and if you want to have however many pounds of squirming baby collapsing your lungs and kicking your bladder, I’ll happily trade places. Until then I'm turning the channel!,” I retorted, digging my nails into the hand that was grabbing at me.

“No thanks, and besides, I don’t suppose it would be as much fun ogling those truly epic boobs from a first person perspective,” Peter said, laughing. I glanced down. The tee shirt I was wearing was awfully tight, and the guy had a point. I managed a laugh and countered,

“You know, it seems like dinosaurs roamed the Earth when I didn’t have these, but honestly, I officially no longer see what the big deal is, and if, no, when I get changed back, I’m definitely going to only date flat chested girls.”

“You can date flat-chested girls right now, date, then start to make-out, the two of you stripping each other...that’d be hot!,” Peter jabbed, tickling my side and causing me to bust out laughing. My shirt crept higher and higher up my enormous belly. It surged forward, up and down as I laughed.

“Man, it moves around a lot more when I laugh, must be good for the baby,” I mumbled.

“No, 5 pieces of three-cheese basil and sausage pizza is what is good for the baby. Oh, by the way, you got a spot of sauce on the corner of your lip,” Peter said, dabbing at his own face.

“Here?,” I said, trying hard to wipe at it.

“No, silly… here,” Peter said softly, touching at my lower lip with his thumb. He let it linger and I looked at him, suddenly very serious, and he looked me right back in the eyes. Things got really quiet, and awkward.

“So anyways, what did you want to watch?,” Peter said, trying to change the subject as fast as possible. I didn’t give in.

“Pete, you are thinking about having sex with me right this very minute, aren’t you?,” I asked, turned to the side and putting my hand on my hip. I half-smile broke upon my face.

“No! no way! Scout’s honor. I am totally not thinking about how ridiculously hot you are, or how nice your boobs are, or what it would be like to…,” Peter played along.

“What it would be like to what? Hit that shit?,” I said, slapping my own ass. A clap sound echoed in the room like question that needed an answer. I had changed into a pair of basketball shorts and the elastic band was riding low on the underside of my belly.

“Well, that’s one way of putting it,” Pete responded, with wide eyes. I got up on my knees, belly pushing out from beneath my shirt and looming right in front of Peter’s face like a pale skinned beach ball.

“You mean to say you find all this attractive?,” I asked, really turning things up, sliding my hands down from my neck, around the engorged curves of my breasts and down my belly before clasping them together coyly as low as I could.

“Mark… we’ve been through this. The answer is yes. How many times do I…,” Peter began. I raised a hand up and scratched my blond head.

“I haven’t felt like Mark very much, not in a while now,” I said, lowering my eyes down at Peter. I could see my effect upon him and it was thrilling me in a brand new way I’d never known. This was a powerful feeling, and a sexy one, I’d never felt truly desirable before… Yet deep down a part of my brain was fretting, nearly on the edge of panic. It was afraid because it wasn’t being paid any attention. A longing, a physical longing was welling up inside me and drowning out the male part of my mind. It wasn’t even merely curious about what sex might be like on this side of things, it was close to demanding I do something about this. Now.

I gently took hold of the bottom of my shirt and slid it upward, oh so slowly, letting Peter greedily devour every inch of flesh I exposed until I was just in shorts and a sportsbra. I then carefully gave him even more to look at, my large, swollen boobs, nipples hardening as the excitement in my grew to a fever pitch and my sportsbra was snapped across the room. ‘Fuck,’ I thought to myself, ‘who needs foreplay, I can’t believe this but I’m already getting wet…’

Peter was frozen, like a deer in a very particular pair of headlights. I lifted one leg up and straddled his chicken legs, bring myself closer and closer to the rest of his reclining body. I bent forward so that my chest was at his eye level. He was speechless. Then, all at once, he was frantic, stripping off his shirt and lowering away his own pants. I didn’t need to look down to see if he was ready.

I rather deftly removed the rest of my clothes and nudged my way still closer. Peter’s hands were on my shoulders now, tentatively, like he was afraid to touch any other part of me. I was breathing heavily now, my chest rising and falling like I was working out, and on my knees I eased my way forward until it brushed up against the folds of my opening.

“Mmm,” I moaned, closing my eyes, as the slightly tickling sensation rippled deep inside me. Whatever male memories and hang-ups I once had were completely exploded. For the time being, I was all girl and had exactly one thing on my mind. I reached down and grabbed something that ended up being smaller than I would have guessed, and manually helped it slip inside me, my lips closing around it, my body hugging it from every side.

“Oh dear sweet Jesus,” Peter said, the words all dribbling out of his mouth at once. I put a single finger on his mouth and looked at him sternly before raising my hands towards the ceiling and settling myself further and further down. He pushed deeper and deeper on the first long slow entrance, and I was surprised by how it just kept filling me and filling me. Guess he was big enough.

“I don’t suppose we need any protection,” I said, lowering my hands to rub my belly. He put his own hands on mine and I closed my eyes again, never hearing a response. Though my body was heavy, I was able to lift up enough, using my thigh muscles, then settle back down, over and over, and evidently, judging by the sounds he was making, Peter liked this just fine. It wasn’t doing much for me, but then again this was all new. What was I to suspect?

The digital clock on my night table read 11:55pm. My room-mate’s bed stood empty across the small amount of floor. The television was on, the loud commercials somewhat covered up our voices and the bright spray of color from the screen painted my naked back and cast my dark round shadow on the wall.

Moments later he came, and as he did something funny happened with the power in the building. The television blinked off, then sputtered back to life, and the alarm clock’s time now read 12:00, but pulsed over and over telling anyone who cared to notice that it had been forcibly turned off and needed to be reset. I fell to Peter’s side and clutched at my head, something had happened, but I couldn’t tell what.


The person who had once been John Jaspers stared into the mirror, stunned at what her eyes were telling her brain. There in the glass, stood a cow-girl, in tight leather sex-pot pants with fringe and everything, tall boots, and a western shirt that buttoned up the front, or at least tried to, before splitting wide open around the largest belly John had ever seen. She was still wearing a cowboy hat and long wavy brown hair splashed down all over her shoulders. There was a sheriff’s badge pinned to the left side of her small but tender left breast.

John had remembered dressing up as a cowboy, but after that things got really hazy. Something about a party, the noises from which she could hear continued downstairs. An accident. A stain. Then nothing. Nothing at all but stumbling back into this bedroom and finding herself in this confusing body that made no sense.

“I’m… not supposed to look like this… I think?,” John said aloud, as his very own name disappeared from his memory. “I c-c-can’t stay here!,” she said, and grabbing a large man’s coat from the bed and wrapping it about her pear shaped form, opened up the window and exited out onto the fire escape, the chill October wind tugging at her hair.

Part 4: "The Man in the Mirror." Where things get even more complicated for our hero as identity itself is called into question. This is a very plot heavy and talky chapter, expansion and TG and sex free, so if you are just reading for the, er, 'sweet spots' of the story, you may want to skip past...


All was right with the world and I lay next to Peter, nuzzling up against him as much as my big belly would allow. I peered over at the night table and saw the clock was all wonky but it surely must be after midnight at this point. I hadn't come close to coming, but a certain sense of warmth and well-being that any good 'romp in the hay' produces lay over me like a warm blanket.

“Mmm,” I cooed, pulling a bed-sheet up to cover our naked bodies, “That was exactly what I needed.”

“You mean, it wasn’t weird or anything?,” Pete asked, rubbing my exposed arm. There was something off in the way he asked the question.

“Um, you mean about having sex and being pregnant? Yeah, I'm great. Its perfectly fine to have sex right up until birth, in fact, sexual arousal can hasten birth…,” I answered, bringing my leg up on top of Pete’s as he lay on his back.

“Are you feeling okay?,” Pete asked, a look of concern crossing his face. he was looking at me like he didn't recognize me.

“Well, after school wouldn’t let me attend anymore, I've been pretty bored, so tonight was really fun. By the way, it was totally cool of you to let me tag along to your college party tonight. I know we don’t get to see each other very much now that you’ve graduated and all, but I miss hanging out. And hell, I’d thank you for the sex too if that weren’t a creepy thing to do. Just know I appreciate it. It’s nice to feel attractive these days, most men wouldn’t touch me with a ten foot poll…” I felt Peter get increasingly uncomfortable as I went on. Finally he sat up and practically said strongly,

“Who… who do you think you are? Do you think you are actually supposed to pregnant? Do you think you are a cheerleader?” I didn’t understand these questions or where they were coming from.

“Pete, it’s me, Marla Jenkins. Mar-la. Jen-kins,” I pronounced phonetically. “And yeah, though it embarrasses me that I have no clue who the father of this bastard is, yes, I’m ‘supposed’ to be preggo. And as far as a cheerleader is concerned, dude, that was just a Halloween costume. You know as well as I do those bitches in my class would never have me as a cheerleader…” I sat up. Pete was really freaking me out. Or was this some sort of joke?

“Are you messing with me or something? Do you have amnesia? You do realize you’re a dude right, Mark?,” Peter said, stressing the name.

“What the hell are you talking about? I’m about as much of a ‘dude’ as Hillary Clinton. Okay, bad example as she’s pretty butch, but seriously, are you trying to be as much of a freak as possible?,” I responded sitting Indian style now, my great Buddha belly resting out into my legs.

“No way! This is… terrible! Now you don’t even know who you are anymore? Shit. I wonder if it is part of the magic, or maybe its because its past midnight. Maybe both…,” Peter mumbled, mostly to himself as he got up and walked around, putting hand to his chin in a thoughtful gesture.

“Hey, calm down and start making sense. You are creeping me out. Look, I don’t know why you are acting like this…,” I began.

“I’m acting like this!?,” Peter said, turning around and pointing his thumb at his chest in a dramatic motion. I slipped out from underneath the covers, my large perky breasts softly reflective in the dim light of the television as they were still slightly sweaty from the sex. I sat on the edge of the bed then got up slowly, pressing my hand to my lower back as I got up and my belly lowered, causing me to widen my stance. I was carrying low now, and it was only a matter of time before carrying low wouldn’t be an issue anymore.

“Peter, snap out of this. Look, if I knew it was going to drive you batshit crazy if we had sex, I never would have came over. But a girl has needs you know? Sometimes I just feel like I have all this crazy sexual energy. Some pregnant women have this super high libido, and I’m definitely one of them. Sometimes I feel like I’m just going to pop, okay, bad metaphor,” I muttered, rubbing at my naked belly. “But I’m going to let you sort your broken brain back together again while use the bathroom. Seriously Pete,” I said, shaking my head.

I left him standing there naked and speechless. I did my business with the door open, then when I cleaned up and turned and looked in the mirror I screamed.

“What is it!?,” Peter called out, running in the bathroom.

“Is this one of your stupid pranks or something!? How… h-h-how is it doing that?,” I said, staring at my bizarre reflection in the mirror. I was looking into the eyes of young man that I couldn’t recognize, I’d never even seen before. He was maybe a couple of years older than me, and he was copying every single move I made.

“Hey, that’s you!,” Pete said, pointing at the mirror. “That’s the old you! This is good… I think. Well it must be, it proves the old you isn’t totally gone.”

“That kid in the mirror is not me!,” I shrieked, holding my hand over my boobs like one would in front of a stranger suddenly barging into your bedroom.

“Mark, yes it is. That’s you, rather, that’s you before sometime earlier this evening when you went all witchcraft on everybody and transformed into a pregnant cheerleader,” Peter explained.

“Mark? But I’m… Marla…,” I whimpered. “Oh this is ridiculous! It’s a hallucination! A trick. I don’t know how you are doing it…,” I said, marching out back into the bedroom only to hear a key in the doorknob tinkling.

“Shit! Your room-mate is back! Get some clothes on!,” Peter hissed as the door opened and a drunk Muslim kid stumbled in with a slightly less drunk raven-haired girl. They found time to cease French-kissing and groping each other wildly to stop and stare at the strange sight before them. There stood Peter, a good friend of Ahmad’s former room-mate and some blond sexpot with a bun in the biggest oven he’d ever seen. Both of them were naked and struggling to find clothes.

“Pete? What the hell are you doing in here? And who the hell is this friend of yours?,” Ahmad questioned. I fumbled to put my cheerleader costume back on. It was even smaller than I’d remembered.

“Dude, did you guys just fuck on my old room-mate’s bed?,” Ahmad asked.

“Um, funny story,” Peter began, zipping up his jeans, stalling for time. "Let’s just discuss this at a later date. I’ll leave you two to do whathaveyou…,” Peter said, putting his arm around my shoulders and leading me out.

“It was nice to meet you,” I whispered naively to the dark-haired girl as I was ushered out.

“Hey, is this your pizza?,” I heard Ahmad inquire before the door was closed and we made off down the hall. It never opened back up.

“Pete, was that even your room?,” I asked, more confused than ever. Peter sighed in frustration.

“No. No, that was your room. You, as Mark, share that room with Ahmad. Or at least you did until sometime earlier tonight. What disturbs me is he referred to his room-mate as his ‘former room-mate.’ I wonder where he thinks you’ve gone?,” Peter posed.

“Aside from magically transformed into a pregnant chick? Or sinisterly stuck in the bathroom mirror?,” I fired back, getting tired and cranky. This costume, while sexy wasn’t very comfortable, and right now all I desired was a comfortable bed and one precious night of sleep. There hadn’t been many lately, not with the kicking and the being utterly impossible to find a position to sleep in that didn’t feel terrible after 10 minutes.

“Okay Marla. Tell me this. Where do you live?,” Peter said stopping suddenly and putting his large hands on my shoulders.

“With my sister downtown,” I replied snidely. “I moved in after my folks kicked me out.”

“Yes, I know why you moved in. Whats the address?,” Peter continued.

“I-I-I don’t know,” I said, lower lip starting to quiver.

“What is your sister’s name?,” Peter pressed.

“Well that’s ridiculous. It’s… um, well it’s right on the tip of my tongue, it’s… I don’t know!,” I replied. Try as hard as I could, no name came to mind.

“Well what does she look like? What does she do for a living? How old is she? Do you know anything outside of the shitty little story we made up about you before the party?,” Peter said, eyeing me curiously, proud that he had figured something out.

“I don’t know! Peter, whats happening to me! I live with my sister! I really do! She lives downtown and I, my parents are mad and they kicked me out. You’re my best friend from high school and…”

“What about your other friends? Name another person in your life that you know anything at all about,” Peter demanded.

“I just don’t know! Oh, Pete, I’m scared! I’m losing my mind! Everything is so unfamiliar and yet I know this is me! All of this, this is me, this baby is me,” I said, grabbing at my mostly naked middle.

“Relax, we’re going to figure this out. I didn’t want to scare you, I just need you to understand that something weird is going on, for some reason you think you actually are this fictional character you dreamed up for Halloween,” Peter said as we recommenced walking. “The only thing I can think of right now is that we head back to my place and wait this out. Make you comfortable, try and get you to remember your old life. Maybe then it will come back.

We reached Peter’s dorm-room and entered. Mercifully he had a single, for which he paid nearly twice as much to live in than the rest of the folks on this floor.

Was what he was saying true? Was I really somebody else? And how was that possible? And what about the baby inside me? If I was really some guy named Mark, where had the baby come from, and where would it go if I wasn’t a girl anymore? These thought tormented me as I lowered down onto Pete’s bed, feeling the cool sheets on my mostly bare cheeks as my skirt ruffled up when I sat. This body sure felt like me…

end part 4.

Part 5: "And then there were 3" Where strangers become friends and friends become something more than that altogether.

I sat alone in Peter’s room, huddled under the covers of his large maroon comforter. It’s general bulkiness helped hide or least camouflage the distended belly I carried beneath it. Pete had given me a large tee shirt which I now wore over my bra and panties, the former were chafing my enormous pregnancy-enhanced breasts, the latter were doing a good job of slipping down between my cheeks. Such were the joys of a mother-to-be.

It was hell to get comfortable when you have an extra 35 pounds of baby and fluid filled womb taking up all of the space your insides can possibly provide. I picked at my underwear between my legs, which was pointless because with no abdominal muscles to speak of I could lift my fat ass up off the mattress in order to pluck out the offending wedgie. So frustrating, you have no idea.

Peter had left me alone for a quick walk down the hall and a shower. This fancy pants luxurious single and the guy still needed to share a bathroom with every other dude on this floor. Before he left he told me to ‘think about who I really was.’ i.e. Mark Jenkins, his good friend. A guy. A dude. With a dude body, presumably with junk and everything… I’m sorry but, ew, the thought of all that was just too much. I mean, I like the male anatomy as much as the next straight girl but the idea of actually possessing that stuff? And how was that even possible? People didn’t just didn’t magically change sex, babies just didn’t magically appear out of nowhere, right? No, whatever Pete was talking about, was crazy talk. And the longer he stayed away, the more I forgot what we were talking about anyhow. The more Marla I became.

I was just drifting off to sleep when there was a knock on the door. Had Pete forgotten his keys or something? If he had, why bother to knock?

I threw off the blanket, rubbed my eye for a moment and then rested my hands on my belly, waiting for another knock, or at least a hissed “hey Marla, it’s me Peter!” But that didn’t come. Laboriously I got to my feet, knees popping, back arching, legs waddling towards the door. I was almost there when the knock repeated itself. Cautiously I peeked through the peephole.

It was a brunette. In some sort of trench-coat. Her image was all distorted in the fishbowl lens of the hole, but I could tell she was looking nervously this way and that, like she was being followed or afraid of someone or something. Was this Peter’s girlfriend? It was cool of him to let me stay at his place for Halloween, but he should have told me if he was planning a late night booty call. I could have gone downstairs to the night café and eaten a small army or something. Besides, I’d already spent some ‘quality time’ with him this evening, and like most men his age, let’s just say stamina was not his forte. Hell, I could probably walk to the end of the hall and back and they’d be done. But not so fast, maybe she was just a friend of his. A friend that knocks on your door at 1:30 in the morning…?

Finally, after making her wait some more and observing that she wasn’t going anywhere, I unlocked the door and poked my head around to say presumptuously, “And you are?”

The girl was taller than me, by a good 4 or 5 inches, very good looking, but there was something odd about her coat, like she was smuggling something. She managed to say, “I-I-I don’t actually know. I was hoping you could help me out with that, actually.” The tall girl walked in, and I shut the door behind her.

“What do you mean you don’t know who you are?,” I said snidely, moving towards the bed to mercifully sit down. ‘That’s better’ my whole lower body said. I shook my head, hair flying this way and that--I had had enough of these identity crises for one night. “Look, what is going on here, and why are you standing there like that, all hunched over and…”

That was when she swept open her coat and let it fall to the ground. What was uncovered made my belly look, well I was still pretty damn big, but this girl was packing some serious fetus. “You’re pregnant!,” I said, as if I wasn’t myself in the very same state. She was also wearing some sort of costume, her shirt, what struggled to cover her top and sleeves anyhow, was a western style plaid number, and she had the fringey leather chaps on over a dark pair of jeans. Boots too. Everything but the spurs, six-shooters and ten gallon hat.

“Yes, it appears so,” pregnant brunette cowboy replied, patting her own exposed pale dome. “It’s just that, I can’t remember anything earlier than this evening, it’s like I have amnesia or something. I got really sick, was throwing up, thought I had drank too much, but that’s silly, why would I be drinking in this condition? Anyways, then everything went blank. All of a sudden I have this feeling I’m not who I am supposed to be, I know that sounds stupid… so I left this party and something drew me toward this dorm-room, like a homing beacon, crazy right?”

“Yeah, crazy,” I thought, wondering who this insane broad was and why she wanted in Peter’s room so badly. The guy was like a preggo magnet or something. But who was I to judge. Pete was a nice guy, she could have ended up at a worse place. “Well take off those boots and stay a while. We’ll figure this out. At the very least it will be nice talking to somebody who can relate to being as big as an apartment block. Oh, by the way, Peter will be back in a few minutes…”

I was cut off by the door opening. Simultaneously the brunette mumbled quizzically, “Peter? Who is Peter?” The very same freshly showered young man filled the doorway and stopped short.

“Who… who the hell are you?,” He said, pointing and putting on a perplexed face, a towel wrapped around his waist and not a stitch of clothing besides. All of a sudden he was seeing double.

“She doesn’t know,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“I don’t know,” she echoed, eyes big with fear. The brunette got up, not as tall now in her stocking feet and made her way towards Peter. “Are you the father of the *ch1ld* inside of me?,” she asked innocently.

“What!?,” Peter said, backing up as much as he could while still closing the door. “No! I mean, certainly not. I don’t even know who you… but hey, that costume does look sort of familiar…” Peter said, words trailing off into his thoughts.

“Ugh! I thought by coming here I would get answers, but there is nothing but confusion!,” Cowgirl moaned. “This is all so frustrating!,” She complained, then suddenly, “Excuse me but I have to use the toilet,” and slipped away behind the bathroom door.

“Mark, hey Mark!,” Peter said, trying to get my attention.

“What?,” I said, staring off into space, “Oh, you mean Marla, you mean me. Pete, we’ve been over this, I’m Marla, see, boobies!,” I said, clutching my chest and jiggling my boobs up and down.

“Um, fine, whatever. Marla. That ‘girl’ in the bathroom? I think I know who she is! She’s the frat boy you spilled your drink on while you were running away from me at the party!,” Peter said triumphantly.

“Frat boy? Pete, honey, enough with the gender confusion tonight. She’s about as much of a man as I am,” I said, crossing my arms.

“Exactly! You did something to him, made him a her, only ‘she’ doesn’t have a fake story and therefore doesn’t know who she is! In fact…,” Peter said, walking towards the bathroom…

He opened the door brazenly and the girl inside gave a startled ‘Eep!’ I was close on his heels and by the time I tried to stop him from opening the door I merely helped knock him right into the small room.

“Excuse me, is this how you treat all your guests?,” the girl said primly, daintily cleaning up after herself while Peter turned away, blushing. Nameless girl hitched up her jeans, an epic task, and Peter turned back.

“You, frat boy, take a look in the mirror,” Peter said. The girl did so and proceeded to shriek. Then I shrieked too, because there were now three men standing on the other side of the mirror. “Oh for crying out loud Mark, we’ve already been over this.”

“What is this some sort of prank or something? Have these men been watching me take a pee the whole time?,” Brunette said, slowly coming to the realization that one of the images in the ‘window’ was mimicking her a little too well.

“One of those men is you. I know this all doesn’t make sense, but you have to trust me. Your brain won’t want to, but unlike dummy here,” Peter said, elbowing me, “You at least have a fighting chance of remembering who you are. Think very hard.”

We all walked back into the larger part of Peter’s dorm-room. Cowgirl sat on the bed next to me and Peter paced in front of us. I was surprised when a very loud hunger pang sounded from cowgirl’s gut.

“I’m sorry,” she said, blushing, “All of this is so much and it’s just, I’m so hungry. It’s hard to concentrate on anything else”

“Yeah, now that you mention it,” I muttered, rubbing my own belly.

“You just ate half of a pizza!,” Peter said, exasperated that we were already this far off track. His mouth worked but nothing came out. Probably gonna be more of his ‘you’re not who you think you are b.s.’ Seriously, aside from the mirror jinx, there was nothing that made his story sound remotely plausible. I was growing irritable with him.

“Pete, be a dear and run down and get our guest something from the night café. Some cheeseburgers perhaps,” I began.

“And chili-fries! Oh, and pickles, lots of pickles. And a milkshake,” Cowgirl babbled, abandoning her previously polite behavior.

“Should I be writing this down?,” Peter said sarcastically.

Minutes later he was de-toweled and re-clothed and back out into the hall. Silence filled the room though I could practically hear cowgirl’s brain humming along with thoughts of consuming vast amounts of greasy fast-food.

“How is it that I know exactly what I want to eat, but not who I am?,” Cowgirl mumbled. Which got me to thinking…

“So, you want an identity, let’s make you one,” I said, cozying up against her.

“What do you mean?,” she said, eyes brightening.

I wrapped my spindly arm around her shoulders. “Well, we have to call you something, we’ll just start by giving you a name, and go from there,” I stated. “What do you want to be called.

“Amy,” She prompted replied.

“Okay, Amy, well that was very easy, now for some backstory. Let’s say this. You met Peter and I at a party earlier tonight. That's why you don't know us very well. You were just happy to be out and about, like me, what with being so close to your due date and all. But your friend who you were partying with decided to hook-up with some random guy, and you hit it off with us so well, that you chose to come back to Pete’s place to crash for the night and let your friend get some action of her own.”

“That sounds… reasonable, I guess. So we just met? That’s why we've never hung out before?,” Amy asked, scratching her head.

“Exactly,” I replied as something mischievous rose up in me.

“But everything isn’t so sweet and innocent. No, you see, you’re a complete horn-ball, how do you think you got yourself into this?,” I said, waving at her expansive belly.

“I’m a what!?,” Amy replied, slightly offended.

“Sure sure, you are polite as can be, all sweet and proper to all appearances but you’re are also a great big tramp. Also, you’re bi, in case you were wondering. You’re an equal opportunity lay. In fact,  Pete and I are just your type. Part of the reason you agreed to come over tonight was in hopes of getting a little something-something yourself. You know, before the baby comes and completely destroys your promiscuous sex life,” I said with a big evil smile. I was enjoying this way too much.

“That doesn’t sound like me,” Amy said, putting an innocent finger to her lower lip.

“Trust me, it’s all true. You don’t even know the father of your baby is, am I right? Yup, lots and lots of sex, with lots and lots of people. Not that you are gross or have an STD or anything, you’re careful and all that. Now can I persuade you out of that costume and into something more comfortable? One of Pete’s tee shirts or something?,” I inquired, standing up.

“I guess so,” Amy said automatically, her eyes blank and suggesting she was still processing everything she was just told. I threw her a shirt which she tugged on while I used the bathroom. When I came back she was sitting on the bed, Indian style, dressed in Pete’s ill fitting tee shirt and her own skimpy pink underwear. I was silently jealous of her long thin legs as mine were sort of stocky. But at least I had her in the boobs department, twice over, at the very least. It looked like I had gotten Pete’s biggest shirt because the one she wore just barely crested her outtie. I sat down on the bed, and absent-mindedly thought about food again.

“You know, you have really pretty eyes,” Amy said to me, after a surprisingly long silence. A look of clarity coming to her face as if she had figured some deep mystery out.

“Oh, gee shucks, go on…” I said, but was cut off as Peter returned with what appeared to be most of a McDonalds. Amy’s reaction was instantaneous. She grabbed a pillow and covered her lower body while at the same time looking at Peter very seriously. The type of behavior a person would have if they were very concerned about making the right impression on those around them. What you do around a boy you might like.

“I see you too have a preference for my clothes,” Peter said, setting item after item on a small coffee table. “You’re lucky, it’s almost 2 and they were closing soon and…,” Peter said and turned around, baffled by how fast we were putting the food down. He helped himself to a fry or two, but mostly just checked his email. I’m sure he was still worried about his little gender transformation fantasies, but even he couldn’t be concerned with them all the time.

Or so I thought. Conversation was reasonably sparse, but I managed to inform Pete that our guest had a name.

“Amy? Oh for crying out loud, that is not his name! Come on Mark, what have you been doing while I was gone?,” Peter said petulantly.

“Oh nothing…,” I said, looking away.

It was getting very late and magic spells or not, everyone was tired and ready to lay down. Pete was kind enough to let us wash up before him and get ready for bed. When he took to the bathroom I couldn’t help but make things even more interesting.

“Come on, we’ll take the bed, and honey, you don’t need a shirt, and that bra looks like it hurts,” I said sympathetically.

“Yeah, it does,” she agreed, and in moments the two of us were sitting in Peter’s bed, dressed in only our panties. Amy smiled at me shyly and reached for my thigh under the covers and began to rub it gently. I looked over at her and decided what the hell, how often was this opportunity going to present itself? I kissed her gently, just barely brushing my lips against hers, which were trembling as much from crazy amounts of desire as they were from fear and countless other mixed feelings. It was at that moment a shadow fell across us. Looking up I saw Peter in his boxers, toothbrush dangling from the corner of his mouth, stunned expression on his face.

“Coming to bed?,” I said with a wicked smile.

“This is a joke, right?,” Peter said, slack-jawed, staring at the two beautiful young pregnant women laying prone on his bed.

“No honey, I did some, er, creative writing on poor Amy’s brain while you were out fetching us snacks. Let’s just say, she likes you about as much as she likes me,” which was emphasized by the fact that Amy was now nibbling on my ear-lobe like it was an intricate piece of candy. Both of our chests lay exposed, my boobs large and tightly swollen, Amy’s surprisingly small for a woman of her advanced condition but equally perky, almost painfully so. Our bellies, now rubbing up against one another under the sheets, remained hidden from view. Amy entwined her long legs with mine.

“This is so messed up. This is just so messed up. This can’t be happening, I can’t deal with this right now,” Peter said, but his body was betraying him, his boxers offering little to disguise the effect Amy’s performance was having on him.

“I assure you it is happening, and here’s my advice: take advantage of it!,” I said, as sultry as I could. Peter stood there, looking away, out into the darkness that lay beyond his windows. There wasn’t much of a negotiation happening, it was far too late in the evening for him to put up much defense. But just in case I grasped the blankets and pulled the back.

Now on display for all to see, were Amy and my own gigantic bellies, pressed up as tightly as space would allow, jostling this way and that, indenting just slightly from the pressure where they met. Amy’s leg was wound round mine like a snake and she had begun moving her kisses down to my neck. It was making me incredibly hot.

It turns out, Peter’s bed was just big enough for the three of us. He slid in behind me just barely fitting on the edge, his startlingly rigid anatomy pressed up between the cheeks of my boy-short underwear. His broad chest swallowed my scrawny back, and his free arm reached around and cupped at my breast, giving it a healthy squeeze. It then moved lower and began rubbing furiously at my belly before sliding upon Amy’s and back and forth as our bodies pressed together. My free hand tip-toed down to Amy’s panties and dipped below, gently stroking the area of her inner thigh, just before it met her lips. She reacted by gasping silently, which Peter must have saw because he pressed his organ even more strongly against my behind.

I shifted onto my hands and knees and motioned for Peter to slide underneath me so that he could slot himself between us. Amy pouted when I pulled away, her lips shiny with half-dried spit. But her eyes shifted low to Peter’s groin and they lit up. Peter lay on his back for a moment, his arms wrapped around both of us like some millionaire playboy with his sycophantic, albeit strangely shaped lovers. There might have been some truth to that sycophantic part, because both of us couldn’t keep out hands off of him. He was crushed between our distended bodies like sand in the tightest width of an hourglass, but if it bothered him you wouldn’t have known it by the look of ecstasy on his face, eyes closed, mouth partially open, breath coming in small sips.

Amy then dove beneath the covers, meandering down to the foot of the bed as best a heavily pregnant woman with beanstalk legs can, but she must have found something she liked along the way, because Peter began to tremble like a leaf about to fall from a tree. I took advantage of this situation by cozying up to him more, my fingers running through his short hair. I thrust my chest out towards his face, mere inches from his nose, and he opened his eyes and nearly went cross-eyed. With Amy tending to his needs down below, he once more grabbed my breast and began pinching the darkened nipple. This made me shiver with pleasure, or maybe that was Amy’s stray hand, moving up to find my own underwear. I had to admit, the girl was talented, with one of us in her mouth and her fingers lightly tickling me before settling in for more serious business.

Peter sat up slightly and took my breast in his mouth, gently rolling his tongue along the edge of my areola, somehow in sync with Amy’s clockwork below. His kisses soon grew more violent, and he even bit me once or twice before softly suckling. What happened next surprised him as much as it did me. I began to leak something, or rather, he began to feed. And far from recoiling in disgust, he made this sort of cooing noise of contentment and couldn’t get enough. The warm viscous liquid kept coming out, and as much as Peter was enjoying it, I was too, it felt like nothing I’d ever experienced. Add it to the building sensation between my legs, I was starting to lose it.

And then, as would only happen on a night like this, Peter drew close, and I drew close at exactly the same moment and when he came he didn’t even let go of my breast, and when I came I was the only one able to call out, and I did so loudly for the three of us. After writhing a bit uncontrollably, Peter fell backward, breathing heavily through his nose, mouth closed. Amy wiggled out from the foot of the bed and politely excused herself while she could go tend to the unfortunate but necessary oral hygiene issues. I slid out of bed soon after when I knew she had a chance to follow up her spit or swallow decision with some toothpaste and mouthwash. She stood there in front of the sink with a big dumb smile on her face before it changed to concern, or at least, confusion.

“Are you wearing a single pasty? Or is that glitter or something?,” She said, pointing at my chest. I looked down and sure enough there was a splotch of metallic looking something dabbed over my nipple with tiny drops and flecks here and there around it.
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Re: In Search Of A Story: Strangest Halloween

Postby moonpotrz » Sat Jun 13, 2015 7:09 am

“It’s so shiny,” I said under my breath, wiping at it but I found it was mostly evaporating or rubbing right into my skin, like soapy water or something. Weird, that… that couldn’t have possibly come from inside me, could it?” I said, hands on my hips.

“I doubt it,” Amy said, before pinching my nipple suddenly to no discernible effect save me wincing. “You think it came from Peter then?” The two of us walked slowly out of the room and saw Peter, laying on the bed, completely naked and gripping his stomach like he was dying.

The guy trembled all over and had the look of a piece of parchment. His well muscled body looked like it had been deflated and while he was never hirsute, his skin looked much too pale and much too smooth. His eyes were closed and he moaned softly under his breath.

“Marla, has his hair always been that long?,” Amy asked, pointing at the pillows where Peter’s head shifted back and forth. “Oh my God, it’s growing! It’s getting longer! Marla, what’s going on? What’s happening to him!?”

What indeed. By now Peter’s body had reached it’s lowest weight, an anorexic shell, but thankfully body fat was starting to move in and replace some of the toned muscle that had left. Peter’s body continued to change, the girls looked on in awe as his legs looked lithe and thin, his waist tight and his neck elegant and long. Both of us gasped when the sickening cracks of his hips creaking wider were both visible and audible. And above all we couldn’t shake the growing concern over that face. His face was becoming more and more feminine every second. This was made all the worse by how stunningly attractive that face had become.

Suddenly, without warning, Peter stood up and bolted past us into the bathroom. Amy actually lost her balance but thankfully plopped down in the desk-chair with a heavy “oomph.” I turned around in time to find Peter puking his guts out into the toilet. I couldn’t watch this for very long, and as I entered the bathroom, he finished. When he looked up at me there was no longer any doubt, Peter wasn’t a he, he couldn’t have been farther from it.

Breasts had begun to form on her chest. They hung forward as she knelt, and when she stood up they were already twice as big as when I first noticed them. Girl-Peter was starting to put on more weight, she no longer looked so painfully thin as pounds packed on to her thighs, butt, and waist. Peter put her hands on her belly and whispered, “I know where this is going,” in a devastatingly scared alto voice. She turned his back to me, that long thin back with most of the vertebrae poking out up until those boney little shoulderblades staring me in the face. Peter then whimpered, and grunted several times, as if being struck in the gut, and when I closed the gap between us and put a comforting arm around her shoulders I saw what was happening.

Peter was already 20 weeks pregnant. Her breasts were large and full, nipples just starting to become a ruddy pink. Her breasts were almost as big as mine, and given that Peter’s female shape was taller and thinner than my own, before the baby weight, they looked bigger than my modest offerings already. Peter just stood there, holding her belly in her tiny hands, watching as it pushed forward stubbornly, like a balloon filling up every last square inch with compressed air. Only this wasn’t air, this was heavy and alive, and every so often a tiny mini-bump with poke here and there, a foot or a fist, sometimes the whole head nudging to the side.

“I… I should have been more careful,” Peter mumbled, voice slightly higher than before, unmistakably his but also unmistakably girly.

“Pete, what are you talking about, this isn’t your fault, I don’t know what this is, but there’s got to be a way…,” I was cut off by a startled ‘Oh!’ from the other room. At first I thought Amy had reacted to seeing Peter, through the doorway perhaps, but no, she wasn’t even in view. I left Peter for a moment and walked in to find Amy still sitting in the chair, spread eagle, only there was a small, barely visible stain in her underwear that was spreading.

“I don't think… I don't think this is good,” Amy said, before her eyes closed and a minor contraction swept her groin.

“I thought that sex could trigger *ch1ld*birth, but Ames, you didn’t even… nobody even gave you any…,” I said, tiptoeing around the dirty words and then it dawned on me. Amy hadn’t even had sex and was now in labor. What did that say about me? Granted, I wasn’t as big as her, but I hadn’t even given birth any thought. The idea of birth, the physicality of it swarmed my mind and I was immediately terrified. I instinctively tightened all my muscles down there and would have closed my legs if I didn’t need them spread for balance. I left Amy and returned to the bathroom to find the completely naked and ridiculously large Peter sitting on the toilet, marveling at her belly. She might even be carrying multiples, that was some belly.

“Holy shit!,” I blurted out. Peter looked up, but strangely, with a smile.

“Are you surprised? I’m not. Not really. I was asking for this after all. On some level I was asking for this,” She said, standing up.

“Pete, what are you talking about?,” I said, feeling the inevitable disquieting twinge where I really didn’t want to.

“Shush, it’s Patricia actually, you can call me Trish,” She said, with that same goony smile. I barely heard her words because the twinge had become a knife.

“Ow-ow-ow-ow-OW-OWOWOW!,” I began softly before waddling out of the room to sit on the bed. Patricia followed.

The newly pregnant woman said in that oddly calm manner, “Labor pains. I know. I’m about due myself…”

Part 7: For Some, There's No Going Back

Peter Mackenzie took good care of his dorm room single. With his wealthy parents help, it was furnished nicely and Peter was meticulously clean and industrious student, not prone to your more typical co-ed piles of dirty laundry, rows of empty beer cans and the like. But this was not your typical night for one Peter Mackenzie. For one it was Halloween, or at least had been until the clock tripped midnight 3 hours earlier. As we all know Halloween is an evening for mischief and trickery, where people are not always who they appear to be. But what happens when people begin to dress up, and their costumes allow them to be more themselves than they’ve ever felt before? A good question, and one that a few people at this particular State University were in a unique position to find an answer to.

Peter Mackenzie’s normally immaculate dorm room single was a mess. His clothes lay scattered everywhere, mostly t-shirts, all of them rumpled and worn looking. His bed was unmade and it was very evident that someone, perhaps more than a single someone, had made use of it in the recent past. Fast food wrappers were clumped up and strewn about a desk. It was very unlike Peter to have his room fall to such disarray but then again, Peter was very much unlike Peter at the moment.

Peter, or as he just introduced himself to me as ‘Patricia,’ sat naked upon the closed toilet seat in his bathroom. It was very clear, even from my vantage point from across the room, that Peter was no longer a ‘he.’ Patricia sat with her knees placed tightly together out front with her enormous pregnant belly looming out far over her thighs. Her hands cradled her distended midsection affectionately.

But how could this be? How could the man I’d just slept with, in a three-way no less, suddenly be a woman, and not only a woman, but one as far along with *ch1ld* as I was. I was reminded yet again just how far along I actually was when a second twinge of pain sliced back between my legs. It began as a cramping sensation in my stomach followed by a rippling, tightening feeling in my lower belly. It was a contraction, not the first of the evening, and surely not the last. I did my best to ignore it.

“It feels so wonderful… doesn’t it?,” Patricia said, rubbing her tight middle, looking up at me with eyes full of awe.

“Er, it won’t feel wonderful for long, judging from how big you are… but Peter, why are you all…,” I stammered, with a hand on my lower back, which was starting to hurt like a bitch.

“I told you, I’m not Peter, it’s Trish. Just like you were once a man, so was I, but now I’m Trish,” she said in a soft, calm voice. With this inner serenity and her figure she resembled a round Buddha on a porcelain throne.

“Oh cut the crap, Trish. I’m tired of this magic voodoo shit. People don’t just change sex, to say nothing of getting knocked up overnight,” I said, walking toward her. I hadn’t reclothed since we’d all gone at it moments ago. I folded my arms over my large naked swollen breasts.

“You’re looking at the proof, darling. You may not remember who Mark is, who you were, but you definitely remember who I was. And if this has happened to me, why is it so strange that it might have happened to you as well?,” Trish said. She stood up, taking her time, and I watched as her strong looking leg muscles flexed and her big belly cantilevered up and over her straightening knees. Her back began to curve and I saw that Trish was a good 6 inches taller than me, along with being much slimmer about the legs, shoulders and chest than I was. She also had the most beautiful auburn hair that fell to her shoulders in perfect little ringlets.

“That very well may be…,” I said, as my feeble cheerleader-reduced mind tried to process the inherent contradiction in what it viewed was a contradiction. The fact that I had no specific memories of this pregnancy, of growing bigger, feeling my belly becoming more and more prominent unnerved me. In my head it seemed like I really had become pregnant overnight. But that was impossible. I’d always been a girl, and there was no such thing as magic. “No, it can’t be… tru-uu-uu-ooh-oh-OH!,” I couldn’t finish as an contraction grabbed me and wouldn’t let go. They were coming closer together now.

“Mark. I’ve got a hunch… I’m going to help you out. You don’t deserve this. You shouldn’t have to deal with all this motherhood stuff. It was an accident, or some sort of tear in reality. And I have an idea that I know how to fix things,” Trish said, walking toward me. As we walked out of the bathroom I never noticed that although my reflection in the large mirror over the sink was ‘Mark,’ Trish’s image reflected accurately the new woman she’d become.

Out in the bedroom we were greeted by the sight of a third massively pregnant young woman, this one seated in a desk chair which she had inadvertently soiled. Her water had broken.

“Amy!,” I said, waddling over to her. I’d completely forgotten the poor girl was here too. Her eyes were closed and there was a grimace on her face. “Hey Trish, she’s even closer to delivering than I am. What’s this plan of yours?”

“Here, put some clothes on, the both of you,” Trish said, while tugging a t-shirt on over her upper body and straightening it out as far down as it would go. She then put on a pair of men’s pajama bottoms with a draw string and hiked them up as far as they would go. Amy and I dressed in similar outfits, none too flattering in our condition and not very decent in that my large breasts were nearly visible through the tight white fabric.

It was now well after 3am. There were some people out and about in the halls but almost all of these were very drunk and paid little attention to 3 heavily pregnant co-eds scampering down the hall in men’s pajamas. Most probably thought what they saw was a dream. Trish led us to a room I had already been to, the same room Peter and had slept together in for the first time. He told me it was my room, that I lived here, but that didn’t make any sense. I lived with my sister downtown. I didn’t go to college…

Along the way Amy whimpered as the labor pains grew more severe. And as we stood outside the room Trish had led us to the inevitable happened.

At first it felt like I was peeing myself, only when you pee there is control. You can start and stop it all you want. With this, a warm fluid began leaking out between my legs and there was nothing I could do about it. A light trickle, and I pressed my thighs together in vain to make it stop. It was warm and slightly musty smelling. Then as Trish fiddled with a key in the door, a sweeping gush poured out, not a torrent like in the movies, but the equivalent of a large glass of warm water came flooding out, staining most of my right thigh.

“Oh, this is so not good!,” I said, as Amy looked over and smiled sympathetically.

“Shit, we don’t have much time,” Trish said, shouldering the door open after unlocking it.

Ahmad, the fellow that lived here was gone, a note on the dry erase board read something to the effect that he was off ‘getting some.’ But my eyes strayed from the note very swiftly as an eerie light emanated from the bathroom.  Trish walked in ahead of us and said victoriously,

“I knew it! Halloween is over, and that is your ticket back to normality,” Trish said, pointing at an odd wavering film that covered the threshold to the bathroom.

“What is that thing?,” I said, walking up to it. I very much wanted to touch it, to feel it on my skin.

“It’s some sort of gateway. Or modifier. If you walk through that, everything will go back to normal. You’ll be Mark Jenkins again. You’ll be that ‘stranger’ in the mirror you keep freaking out over. You too, Amy. You need to walk through that to make things right,” Trish lectured.

“What about you? What about you going back to Peter?,” I asked, before a contraction brought tears to my eyes.

“Mark, you and John… you were transformed into costumes. A pregnant cheerleader and a pregnant cowgirl. You were both either thinking about costumes, or wearing one, and as such, you became something that you are not. You were free to rewrite your identities. I wasn’t wearing a costume when this happened. This is who I’m supposed to be, I just didn’t know it until now. I am supposed to be Patricia Mackenzie. I’m supposed to have this baby.”

I looked at Trish and knew she was dead serious about not going back. I glanced over at the bathroom doorway. The more I looked at my distorted half-reflection in the membrane that squirmed there, the more I remembered that this Marla person wasn’t who I was. I wasn’t some knocked up t33nager.

I didn’t even skip a beat. I walked right up to the threshold and passed right through. Unlike the first time, the change was instantaneous. I fell forward onto my hands and knees and drew a deep breath. The first I’d been able to since a baby had occupied much of my insides. I stood up and wrapped a towel about my body as the passage had removed all of my soiled clothing as well.

Next came Amy, or as I would come to know him, John Jaspers. He too was changed instantly and I handed him a towel as he looked about the room embarrassed. After allowing us both to step through, the membrane looked weak and had become smaller, it did not reach the frame in any direction any longer and was growing smaller as we watched.

“Peter!,” I called out one last time, using my friend’s male name. “C’mon man, you can still make it!” She just stood there silently and shook her head no. Then in one quick spasm the threshold closed, blinding everyone in my dorm room. As my eyes adjusted all traces of Marla the pregnant cheerleader were erased. I walked into my bedroom wearing a towel and saw Patricia, a good friend of mine, wearing funny clothes.

“Mark?,” She asked, looking at me with a skeptical expression.

“Trish, what’s going on?”

“Oh nothing. But, I, um, well… I think I might need you to drive me to the hospital. Now,” the tall young woman demanded.

“Another sonogram,” I muttered, suddenly filled with memories of taking my friend to the doctor so many times these past few months.

“Um, no, this is the real thing,” Trish said, pursing her lips. John walked into the room and scratched his head.

“Man, I knew I drank a lot tonight but how in the hell did I end up in your room, Jenkins? Oh, and your girlfriend is leaking,” John said offhandedly.

Sure enough, Trish was letting go. I scrambled into some jeans, grabbed my keys and we were off…


Early the next morning as Trish was resting comfortably in a hospital bed, Ahmad walked lazily back to his dorm. He rubbed the sleep from his eye as he took the elevator up to his floor and wondered if his roommate Mark had gotten as lucky as he had last night.

‘What if there’s some chick in the room?,” He thought. But it was his room too. As he approached the door he saw something odd on the floor. In the center of a dark stain on the floor where a person who no longer existed had once stood, feeling her water break, there was something metallic looking, and shiny.

Ahmad reached down and gently poked the shimmering little spot, and pulled his hand back when he discovered it was still wet. As he keyed the door open little did he know that the ooze was seeping in under his fingernail and entering his bloodstream…
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Re: In Search Of A Story: Strangest Halloween

Postby jfingers » Thu Nov 19, 2015 7:18 pm

This is a fun story even if it is a bit long. I often fantasize of transforming a woman to be pregnant. I never even considered it for a man. There definitely should have been more fucking and sucking and less awkwardness and confusion. At least, that's what I fantasize about. Although, come to think of it, 'Queen Bea' had zero F&S and I liked that just fine, probably because the heroine kept getting bigger and bigger and totally loved it.

Fine story, just the same. Did you write it? Will you write more?
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