Ryan's life changes forever after meeting Carli, captain of the university's soccer team. She invites Ryan to practice with the girl's team, join the sorority, and even gets their nails done together. With the power of friendship and encouragement, Ryan realizes that she wants to join the girl's team in every way, and finds love, acceptance, and joy.
This is a realistic - not magical - mtf transgender transformation story, 7000 words. Excerpt below:
~
“Okay, that’s it, you’ve had your shots,” said the coach, a big, mountain of a man.
“Six! I hit six out of ten,” I said giddily. The goalie was good, but I’d still done much better than I expected.
“Yeah, pretty good. Rudie, was it?” the coach asked.
“Ryan, sir…”
“Well, Brian, we got a real bumper crop this year. I already got 11 who did seven or better. Sorry. Try again next season,” he said, and walked off.
He and the goalie walked off the field together. I could hear them laughing about something, but I couldn’t hear about what.
I stood there, in the field, shaking. Just like that, it was all over. I was nothing. Pathetic. A loser.
It didn’t feel possible, like some bizarre nightmare. I started running up and down the field, kicking the ball blindly as I went, hoping to wake myself up.
The women’s coach, along with one of the female players, slowly walked onto the field, presumably preparing for their tryouts next. I figured it would be disrespectful to take the field from them, so finally, I stopped and kicked the ball over to the women’s coach.
“Woah, you’re pretty fast!” said the pint-sized women’s coach in a squeaky voice, looking me up and down. “Don’t let this one get away, Carli, we need her on the team for sure!” she added to the girl on her right.
“What?” I asked, my voice cracking a little in surprise. “No, I’m not, I’m… I’m…” I sputtered. I didn’t think it would be possible to be more humiliated than I was a second ago, but here I was. “I’m a boy!” I finally spat out.
“Oh, oh, really?” said the coach, chuckling a little. Why did coaches want to laugh at me so much today. “Sorry about that. You’re just, you know…” she said, her voice slowly trailing off.
“You run so gracefully, we were just confused at a distance,” offered the player standing to her side, a tall, big-boned girl with piercing blue eyes and beautifully braided hair. It seemed like kind of a lame cop-out, but, hey, a compliment was a compliment, especially coming from a pretty girl.
“I’m Carli, next to meet you,” she said, offering her hand. She had such a booming, commanding voice, that I knew immediately she had to be the team captain.
“Ryan,” I said, accepting the handshake. Damn! Her grip was like an iron vice. I swear I could feel my knuckles popping. I bit my tongue, trying not to wince and appear even more girly than I already apparently did.
“Oof, did I squeeze too hard?” Carli asked, evidently reading the discomfort on my face. “Sorry about that,” she added, finally dropping my hand and then playfully ruffling my hair. The gesture felt strange - both demeaning and endearing at the same time, in ways I couldn’t quite put into words.
“Carli, you’re going to send someone to the hospital one day with that handshake of yours!” the coach scolded her.
“Oh, dear. You don’t need that, do you?” Carli asked, grabbing my hand again with a look of concern.
“No, no, I’m fine…” I said, trying to pull away. But once again, her iron grip wouldn’t let me.
“A little redness and swelling, but you seem okay. Your hands and wrists do look really delicate. I’m mad jealous! A little hangnail, though. When did you have your last manicure?”
Jonathan is devasted when the woman of his dreams, Marcy, turns him down and places him in the dreaded "friend zone." But Jonathan is in for a surprise when Marcy says she wants to be best friends - literally! She transforms Jonathan into a gorgeous chubby chick, just like her, and the two become best friends, forming a bond even more intimate than an actual romance. This is a heartwarming and funny magical gender transformation story with a "male to bbw" transformation, 6000 words. Excerpt below:
~
“Jonathan, while I’m very flattered, I think you should know, I think we’d be…” Marcy began.
Oh, please, I thought. Please don’t say it…
“We’d be better off as friends,” Marcy concluded.
She said it. She actually said it. The words any guy wants to hear least the in world.
“Best friends. BBFs forever! You know?” she added. The words sounded like pity to me, and pity only made it worse.
“Sure, thing. I understand,” I said, bowing my head, defeated. How many times I had hears a similar speech from a girl I’d liked? Far too many. “I’ll… be getting out of your hair, then,” I said, as I got to my feet.
“Jonathan? You’re not leaving, are you?” Marcy asked, with a surprising burst of emotion in her voice.
“Well. I mean… I guess not?” I hedged. “But, I thought you said… you just wanted to be friends…”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Marcy asked. “Don’t you have any close friends of your own? Friends who are closer than lovers?”
“Well…” I hedged. Closer than lovers? How would that even work? “Not… really, no.”
“No?” Marcy asked, pouting a little. Damn, those lips were sexy, I thought. I tried to shove that thought out of my mind – I wouldn’t get to kiss them anyhow, so what was the point? But I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Marcy was cute and chubby, with a warm smile, with wavy brown hair, rich hazel eyes, and creamy pale skin. I know a lot of other guys might not have been so impressed, but to me, Marcy was just perfect.
“Guys have… buddies, you know. Not BFFS. We don’t, you know, pour our hearts out to each other and paint each other’s nails or anything like that,” I said with a little chuckle.
“That’s a real shame, you should try it sometime,” said Marcy.
“I… don’t think any of my friends would be up for that,” I said, laughing again, this time my voice sounding a little more strained.
“Well, that’s where you’re wrong, Jonathan. You do have a friend who’d be up for it,” she said, winking a little.
“I… I do?” I asked, struggling to think who it might be.
“Of course! It’s me you big silly,” Marcy said, playfully slapping at my leg. The skin tingled a little where she had touched me, and I shifted the way I was sitting. If she touched me again, I was worried I’d start to develop a visible…
This is an excerpt from Transformation Park
“Twenty minutes to magic time!” squealed Katrina vivaciously as she pressed her hands against her cheeks. “I’m so excited, feel my goosebumps!” she said, running over to Landon as fast as her white chiffon dress would allow.
“Wow, those are really…uh, there…” said Landon, a shy, shrimpy geek. He was careful not to let his hand linger long on her arm.
“You’re going to do fantastic, hun, I just know it,” she gushed.
“If you say so,” Landon said with a disinterested shrug.
“Hey, you never got to go to prom – now you’ll get to see what you missed out on!” said Katrina.
Landon gazed down at his feet, kicking a little pebble instead of speaking up. He hadn’t gone to prom because he’d only ever liked one girl – his best friend, Katrina. But she was a couple of inches taller than him, with a gorgeous, statuesque figure, a 4.0 GPA, and personality so overwhelmingly outgoing that Landon felt like lump on a log by comparison. He’d never had the courage to ask her out, and the few guys that did were always politely refused.
“Hey, why the long face?” Katrina said, grabbing his chin and pointing it upwards to look her in the eye. Feeling her warm hands on his face brought back a little smile, at least, temporarily, but he knew he still owed Katrina an answer.
“I know you say teaching me to dance will be a snap,” began Landon, his voice shaking a little. He hated lying to her. “But…but maybe you’d have more fun with somebody that already knows their stuff,” he concluded. It was as close to the truth as he could get.
“Trust me, Landon,” Katrina said. “I’m definitely going to have a good time. And so is everyone, right?”
“Yeah!” cheered the other two women in their troupe, the redheaded artist Daphne and Melissa, who’d had a brief stint as a professional gymnast.
“Sure,” their boyfriends Hikaru and Simon agreed, their tone thoroughly disinterested.
While Katrina, Daphne, and Melissa took selfies together, Landon trudged over to where their beaus were seated.
“Oh, man, I don’t get why Melissa wants to do this again,” said Hikaru, a mountain of a man who was attending college on a football scholarship. “It was bad enough at prom. If she wasn’t so…you know, graceful and all that…I would have knocked her over like three times!”
“Is dancing really that bad?” Landon asked, feeling more nervous than ever.
“Of course!” said Simon, a student from France who spoke with a distinct, lilting accent. “Why don’t girls just go dancing by themselves? I don’t think there’s a…how you say? There’s not a…straight man alive who really likes dancing.”
“Well, at least for you two, you’re actually dancing with your girlfriend,” Landon pointed out.
“You going to finally ask her out?” Simon asked.
“I will…I will…when it’s the right time,” Landon replied, feeling no compunction about lying to Simon. The truth was he’d delay that day forever if he could, since he was certain what the answer would be.
“She asked you to come to this dance, right?” asked Hikaru. “You never know, man, maybe that was her way of asking you out.”
Landon let out a feeble laugh. “Yeah, right. In my dreams! She’s turned down the best of the best, I’m sure she’s just gagging for a guy like me.”
~
“One, two, three. One, two three,” Katrina counted. The inside of the Digital Disco looked like a classical Victorian ballroom, with shiny wooden floors and an ornate, golden chandelier where the disco ball was supposed to be.
“Ok, now you step forwards as I twirl, ok?” said Katrina.
“Ok,” he said. Landon stepped forwards, but froze as he gazed upon Katrina’s beautiful dress swirling around her as she twirled – and subsequently, he forgot to step back, and Katrina stepped onto his toes.
“Terribly sorry,” Katrina said.
“Oh, no, no…my fault,” Landon puttered. “Guess I’m not very good at leading.”
“That’s something I’ve always wondered – why is it that men always are supposed to lead?” Katrina asked.
“I…I…hmm…” Landon paused. “Tradition, maybe? The expectation of men taking the initiative…”
“Not all couples are the same. Maybe some couples would have better rhythm with the woman leading, right?” Katrina interrupted.
“Yeah, I guess,” Landon halfheartedly agreed. What she said certainly made sense on its face, but was this Katrina’s way of trying to gently tell him he wasn’t man enough to lead her?
“But if guys aren’t leading, they’ll have do the girl part,” Landon reminded her. “I mean, what am I supposed to do? Your twirl?”
“Why not? I’d love to see you try?” Katrina said.
Landon rolled his eyes, but Katrina pursed her lips. “Oh, come on. Pretty pretty please?”
“Alright, alright, just once,” Landon agreed. It hadn’t been a difficult concession – he’d have run across hot coals if she’d asked him to like that.
“That’s a good girl,” said Katrina, under her breath.
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing,” said Katrina. “Come on, let me twirl you!”
Katrina stepped forwards, a determined, confident glint in her eye. Landon stepped back a little, and she grasped his left hand and the right side of his waist – precisely how he’d been holding her a moment ago. She took a step backwards, pulling him with her.
“See…isn’t this nice?” she said, as she leaned in and whispered his ear.
Feeling her breath on his skin would have made any experience nice in Landon’s book. But that aside, he had to admit that, yeah, he was enjoying himself. Since he’d started following her lead, he hadn’t made a single footwork mistake.
Finally, Katrina leaned forwards and raised her arm around his head. Landon stepped back and did the twirl.
It felt great – enchanted, even – but Landon could have sworn he’d seen the strangest thing as he spun around. Were Hikaru and Simon twirling with their partners, too?
When he glanced back towards Katrina, she seemed a little taller. Was she standing on her tip-toes? No, she wouldn’t do that while dancing, would she?
“Katrina?” he asked, his voice sounding a little pinched. “What’s going…”
“Shh…” she started, abandoning the Waltz pose and rushing forwards, pulling Landon into an embrace so tight and so unexpected that it nearly knocked the wind out of him. “You did beautifully on that twirl, Landon. You’re really a natural.”
He was a natural? Landon didn’t know what to say to that. He rested his chin on her shoulder – which somehow were the perfect height for him to do so – as Katrina calmly rocked him back and forth.
Landon glanced to the left, towards the large mirror on the wall, in hopes of getting another glance at the other couples.
Instead, the first thing he saw was Katrina dancing with someone, a girl, who he didn’t recognize.
“Is that one of those funhouse mirrors?” Landon asked, his voice sounding less nasal and more girlish.
“No, honey. Just a regular mirror,” said Katrina.
“What…? What’s happening to me?” Landon asked, attempting to break free of Katrina’s embrace and run towards the mirror and get a closer look.
But Katrina didn’t budge, and Landon wasn’t strong enough to break free. For a few seconds, she simply held him place, leaving Landon to futility squirm.
Then, she let go, saying “Of course, let’s get a closer look.”
When they’d made their way towards the mirror, Landon could see that he was indeed shorter, with longer, wavy hair and a more feminine jawline.
“Oh…oh my gosh…” Landon said softly.
“You think that’s something, check this out!” said Katrina. She grasped Landon’s hand firmly, then restarted the waltz.
Landon kept his eye on the mirror as they did the basic three step. He could see himself growing shorter and shorter, until he was barely five foot one, while his hair grew longer still, fluttering around him even at the smallest movement.
As Katrina pushed forwards and Landon did a big dip towards the mirror, he could see eyeshadow forming on his eyes and rogue on his cheeks, and his glasses had vanished. Katrina leaned into the dip and planted a kiss on his lips. When their smooch ended, Landon could see glittering lipstick on his lips – though he could see by its much lighter shade that it wasn’t rubbed off from Katrina.
Katrina pulled him back up, and then took another step forwards, lifting her arms and pushing Landon towards another twirl. This time, he saw he saw the hem of a blue dress flaring up around him, and when he stopped, his suit was gone. In its place was a blue and white sink dress, which clung to a petite set of curves. Landon cupped his small breasts in the mirror and noticed that he now had pink fingernail polish as well.
“Don’t you look gorgeous,” Katrina purred.
“You don’t exactly seem surprised,” Landon replied.
“I told you I going to have a good time, didn’t I?” she said, reaching out and twirling her finger around a few strands of his lustrous, flowing hair. “Let’s call you…Lindsay, does that sound good?”
The name danced across Landon’s ears like music. It wasn’t so much that she liked the name, it was as if she was finding out what her name already was. But the thrill of being designated with such pretty name didn’t eliminate the rest of Lindsay’s questions. “You…you wanted this to happen?”
“Of course! What girl wouldn’t?” she asked incredulously. To illustrate that point, she pointed behind them, towards the other couples.
Hikaru leaped forwards into the air towards Melissa. She caught him and started spinning him around, and with each rotation, his massive girth became smaller and smaller. When Melissa put him down, the top of his head barely came up to her breasts. He had the puffy, pink cheeks of a Japanese schoolgirl, and his hair was done up in braided pigtails.
“So kawaii!” said Melissa. “Aren’t you, little Haruka?”
“What did you call me?” Haruka asked in an impossibly high pitched voice, as her suit transformed into a pink petticoat.
Meanwhile, Daphne was dancing behind Simon, her arms wrapped around his waist, which was rapidly shrinking and becoming more wasp-like. Simon’s chest was swelling as well, making an obvious indentation in his suit, before that melted into a red sequined gown with a plunging cleavage. At least an E cup, Simon’s new figure was an impossibly curvy hourglass. As he blinked, staring at the strange person ahead of him in the mirror, his eyelashes grew longer and thicker, and then were augmented further by an overabundance of mascara.
“What do you think...Simone?” Daphne asked. But Simone was speechless – she couldn’t stop staring at her new breasts in the mirror.
“Now that we’re ready, group photo!” said Katrina. She set her phone down on a chair, and then pulled the six of them together. She, Melissa, and Daphne all stood behind their new girlfriends, as they were all taller now.
“Say cheese!” said Katrina, her voice as cheery as it might be on any ordinary girl’s night out.
The picture was taken, and the couples resumed dancing.
“Don’t be so nervous, Lindsay,” said Katrina, stroking the back of her head. “We’re an item now, you and me…just like you’d hoped.”
So, Katrina knew. She knew all along and…and…this was her way of making her wish come true.
“Come on, Lindsay…isn’t that what you always wanted?” Katrina pressed, squeezing Lindsay so hard the breath was forced from her lungs.
“Yes, yes it is,” said Lindsay, tears of joy running down her cheeks and smearing her makeup.
“Let’s go to the bathroom together and I’ll fix that face of yours,” said Katrina, as soon as Lindsay stopped.
“Okay!” Lindsay agreed, and hand in hand, they left the dance floor.
Over a dozen sexy transformation stories await you in Transformation Park! Get the ebook today on Amazon!
In Transformation Park, every ride and concession stand can transform reality. Get fattened up on the Hansel and Gretel Ride, attend a gender-bending ball, or watch your crush steal your muscles in the "Test Your Strength" booth. Over a dozen erotic transformation tales of all kinds await you inside...
You can read the first section of the book, "Hansel and Gretel," free on this site. Hansel and Gretel (spoiler alert!) contains weight gain, age progression, and gender change.
This is an excerpt from Transformation Park
Fairy Tale Land: The Journey Begins
Jim made his way down the winding cobblestone paths of Fairy Tale Land, past the ornate castle and the giant trees, towards his destination: The Hansel and Gretel ride. It hadn’t opened yet, but he dutifully planted himself down at the start of the rope line, twiddling his thumbs for what felt like an eternity before another soul arrived.
“At last, some company!” Jim exclaimed. “I guess I’m not the only fan, huh?”
“Fan?” Emily asked, tucking a few errant tresses of her short, dark hair behind her ear as she spoke. She had bright green eyes that were hidden behind glasses, and a plain, green dress that displayed her modest, slender frame.
“I figured anybody else standing in line for Hansel and Gretel before it opens has to be a fan of the story,” said Jim, who had a gangly frame and a tight fitting, black leather jacket. “Right? Right? C’mon,” he said, playfully elbowing her.
“I’m more of a student of literature,” Emily replied. “My dissertation is on cultural tropes of women in modern representations of traditional folklore, so I wanted to see how accurately the depiction of…”
“All aboard the Hansel and Gretel adventure!” a witchy voice announced, as the doors opened. “Remember, good little boys and girls must keep their arms and legs inside the cart at all times…”
“Come on,” Jim said, as they made their way to the old-fashioned looking wooden cart. “Wouldn’t it be tempting to live in that gingerbread house?”
“Tempting – that’s the problem,” said Emily. “Being surrounded by junk food like that? That would make it hard to count my calories…”
When a single cart arrived, Emily demurred, saying “you go ahead.” Jim got in, but the ride didn’t start and a second cart wasn’t arriving.
“I…I guess it wants us to ride together,” said Jim, and reluctantly, Emily sat down next to him.
The ride started to chug to life. At first, the cart drove past the woodsman’s hut, and the witchy narrator explaining the dire state of Hansel and Gretel’s family, and the evil stepmother’s plan to abandon the children in the woods.
“Stepmother sure is a bitch, huh?” said Jim.
“Actually,” Emily began, “the depiction of stepmothers as villains is due to the social pressure to uphold familial lineages, as well as a pernicious attempt to de-legitimize women who have…”
“Whatever,” Jim mumbled, rolling his eyes as he tuned her out.
But when the ride took them into the forest, it suddenly lurched to a halt. Jim and Emily sat silently for a moment, wondering if the unexpected stop was supposed to be part of the ride.
“Hey!” Jim finally called out. “I think this thing’s broken!”
Nobody replied.
“No cell phone reception…so I guess we just have to wait…” Emily said.
“Just wait?” Jim said incredulously. “You mean stay trapped in here for an hour while they fix it? No thanks!” he said, unclasping his safety belt.
“They said not to put your arms or legs outside of the cart!” Emily called out as he left
~
When Emily finally left the cart too, it had been over an hour. She didn’t want Jim to have been right all along, but she couldn’t very well wait around forever.
It didn’t take her long to reach the gingerbread house. Ordinarily, she’d have avoided it like the plague, but it was the next stop on the story, so it might be the way out.
“Hello?” she asked, when she walked inside.
“Hello, my dear,” said a woman, as she hobbled down the stairs. From her black robes, her hook nose and sagging, plump figure, Emily assumed she must be the woman playing the witch. “Won’t you stay for a nice cup of tea?”
“Oh, thank God! An employee! Look, my cart broke down – any chance you can escort me to the exit or something?”
“Your cart broke down, did it?” said the witch, stroking her pointy chin. “I seem to remember instructions saying good little boys and girls aren’t supposed to put your arms and legs outside!”
“I waited for over an hour!” Emily protested. “Jim just left right away! So like a man, to just take off like that and then expect the world to accommodate him.”
“Yes, men can be…reckless on occasion,” the witch ruminated.
Hansel and Gretel: Up in the Attic
One Hour Earlier
Jim only had to walk a few feet forwards before he was greeted with a powerful scent – one which unmistakably let him know he was on the right track: gingerbread. Like a cartoon character whose nose was ensnared by a smell tendrils from a cooling pie, Jim raced ahead through woods, eager to find the source, his earlier plan to find an exit all but forgotten.
He had to stand in awe when he finally came upon the gingerbread house. A veritable mansion, the place was festooned with every kind of candy imaginable, from frosted coconut “snow” on the red licorice roof, to graham cracker sidewalks to a gumdrop strewn front lawn.
But though the sight and smell of the sweets made Jim’s stomach noisily growl, they weren’t what he wanted to see the most. Where was the witch, he wondered? Was she going to be a model or puppet of some kind, or would they hire a real actress?
He couldn’t resist a peek inside – who knew what he’d find?
“Hello?” he called out, as he pulled the candy cane doorknob and stepped inside. “Anyone here?”
Nobody answered.
Jim glanced around anxiously. There weren’t any tracks for the cart, so Jim knew he wasn’t intended to enter the house, but the lights were on inside.
“Jim…come up to the attic…” came the raspy voice he’d heard on the speaker.
“Oh, boy!” he said excitedly, barely cognizant of the fact that she’d said his name. He leapt up the stairs two at a time, flinging the attic door open when he arrived.
Inside was a small room, covered in cobwebs and smothered in dust. There was a vanity mirror in the center of the room, the desk of which had a few strange looking bottles and an old, black pointed witch’s hat.
Something about that hat seemed to draw Jim in; he just had to feel it, touch it, try it on. As he crept forwards, he saw a witch’s face in the mirror. She was old, but had a fiery spark in her eye, and her lips were pursed into a lusty-looking grin.
“Go ahead Jim, try it on!” she urged. Entranced, he did just that, without giving it a second thought.
“You wanted to find a witch, Jim? You’ve found her!” she said, concluding with a terrible cackle. Then, her visage vanished from the mirror, and Jim was left staring back at himself.
Or, at least, he thought he was. Those bags under his eyes certainly weren’t there this morning. Must be the mirror, Jim thought, taking a corner of his shirt and wiping away the dust.
In the clearer reflection, Jim could see even more features which looked out of place: His nose was longer, and slightly curved forwards. As he watched, a tiny little wart bloomed near the tip, growing larger. The hair at his temples looked a little silvery, and his eyes seemed to yellow. What was going on?
Maybe it was the hat, he decided, and took it off. As Jim did so, a mess of long, oily hair tumbled around his face, like shadowy tendrils.
Meanwhile, Jim’s transformation continued unabated. Harsh lines burrowed their way into his face, creasing his forehead with years of worry and his cheeks with the signs of a perpetual sneer. He glanced down and saw that his shirt was starting to change into a dark shroud. As he reached down to feel the fabric, he could feel his flesh was becoming softer and larger beneath it. His chest grew two ripe breasts, which sagged considerably from a trifecta of aging, weight, and bralessness. His hard-won washboard abs vanished beneath a middle-aged woman’s fleshy gut, which poked out beneath the bottom of his robes. Jim reached down between his legs, and felt his cock and balls shrink and wither away in his hands.
When he looked back into the mirror, there was no denying what he’d become.
Jim thought about what the witch had said, that he’d “found” a witch in the attic. Did that mean he was the witch now? He’d had always sympathized with witch in the story and, later on, he’d developed a preference for older women. Now, he’d become the very type of woman he’d once lusted over.
As a finishing touch, the image of the fat old witch blurred before his eyes, as Jim’s vision dimmed. As it did, the reality of the situation finally flooded back into clear focus. As a witch, what the hell was he supposed to do now?
Jim heard the door open downstairs. “Hello?” Emily called out.
A crooked smile slowly crossed Jim’s dry lips. He knew exactly what to do.
Hansel and Gretel: Tea Time
“Won’t you please stay and have a cup of tea?” the witch asked. “Being a witch is pretty lonely, you know…”
“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to chat about the effects of acting in a fairy tale re-creation. In most entertainment mediums, women are objectified as passive sexual objects, but you’re instead you’re serving as the recipient of different form of misogyny, right?” Emily asked, as the witch boiled water.
“You’d be surprised at how many men find old witches like me attractive,” came the witch’s coy reply.
“What? Really? I guess age is no escape from the perils of the male gaze,” Emily said with a chortle. “At least we’re safe when we have our girl time, right?”
“Right, right…you want some honey in your tea, my child?”
“Oh, no, I don’t eat honey unless it’s been certified organic, and even then the hypoglycemic counts are…” Emily began, but the witch already started stirring it in.
“Drink up,” the witch said, pushing forwards a mug, which bore an image of an angry, anthropomorphic tree on the side.
Emily had done her best to resist the sights and smells of the gingerbread house, but when the aroma of that cinnamon clove tea reached her nose, the last shreds of her willpower faded away.
“Just a sip,” she told herself, “just to show I’m a good guest and to know what it tastes like…”
It was the most sumptuous tea she’d ever had. Emily couldn’t help but gulp the rest of it down noisily, the heat from the drink causing her puffier-looking cheeks to become flushed.
“Wow – that’s…that’s…” Emily sputtered.
“What’s life without a little indulgence once in a while?” asked the witch, as she poured Emily a second cup and added even more honey than last time. “Go on, you deserve it.”
Emily nodded, but before she could take another sip, the witch placed her bony hand over the top of the mug.
“Wait, this time I’ve got to give you a snack! You can’t have tea without cookies, can you?” said the witch.
“I…suppose not,” Emily agreed. Cookies were strictly a no-no, but she’d just skip dinner to compensate, she promised herself.
The witch darted outside, and then returned with chunk of the gingerbread siding, topped with a few fistfuls of coconut snow and a giant gumdrop.
“Hope you know I can’t eat all that!” Emily protested. The witch just dropped the stuff onto the table in front of her, the impact causing the tea in the mug to slosh back and forth a little.
“Just have a few bites, my child…” began the witch, and Emily happily obliged. “So, I suppose a woman like you must have lofty career aspirations?”
“Maybe I’ll become a professor of humanities, something combining comp. lit and gender studies,” Emily began, dipping a tiny sliver of gingerbread into her tea before munching it down.
“Sounds like an awful lot of work,” said the witch, smiling a little as she saw the flabbiness of Emily’s arm increase with each dunk of her cookie. “Why not try something a little more slow-paced?”
“Maybe…just do stuff on social media, you know, to raise awareness about the consequences of stories…” Emily suggested. Now she wasn’t bothering to dunk each bite, instead she was stuffing her face as fast as she could. “That slow paced enough?” she said with her mouth full.
“I was thinking more…just lazing around and eating all day,” said the witch.
“Wait…what?” Emily asked, before letting out a little belch. “Excuse me,” she added quickly. She looked for a napkin, but being unable to find one, she attempted to discreetly wipe her newly-plumped lips on the edge of the tablecloth.
“No need to apologize, my child. Just eat your heart’s content,” encouraged the witch. But Emily, embarrassed by her behavior, sat in her chair, frozen in place.
The witch slowly got to her feet, her old hips creaking a bit as she stood upright. Slowly, she shuffled towards Emily, her arms outstretched.
Finally, she made her way behind where Emily was seated, placing her fingers on her shoulders and gently massaging her. “You’re so tense, my dear. Just relax and enjoy your sweets.”
Emily had spent most of her life somewhere between shy and standoffish. It had been years since she’d had so much as a hug, let alone a shoulder rub. The human contact felt kind and reassuring, and it was just the push she needed to resume her gorging.
Of course, getting Emily to get back to eating wasn’t the only motive the witch had for giving Emily a massage. Without good vision, copping a feel was the only way the witch could verify the results of her handiwork.
As she lifted the big gumdrop to her face and started chowing down, the witch could feel Emily’s shoulders growing rounder and broader. When she moved her hands down a little further, she could feel love handles beginning to force their way free of her top.
The witch leaned forwards just a little, and moved her fingers down, feeling the warm, soft, spongy texture of Emily’s tummy poofing out further and further with each bite. “Let’s give this thing some more room to grow,” the witch cooed as she undid the button on Emily’s jean shorts.
Emily would have objected, but the witch’s gentle ministrations were certainly helping ease the pain of her overstuffed gut. When the only thing left to eat was the frosted coconut, she grabbed it by the handful and threw it into her gaping maw, which only highlighted her developing double chin. A few pieces of coconut missed her mouth, tumbling down onto her developing bust and falling into her growing cleavage.
Those big breasts were thrust against the side of the table as Emily leaned down and licked up the last few grains of sugar that clung to the table’s surface. Her growing rear end stuck out further and further as she did so, nearly knocking the witch over.
When at last Emily had eaten everything, she leaned over onto the table, closed her eyes, and drifted off to sleep with a dull snore.
“Sleep tight, Emily,” said the witch. “When you wake up, I’ll really get started fattening you up!”
Over a dozen sexy transformation stories await you in Transformation Park! Get the ebook today on Amazon!
What will Deiser find in the basement of the Candy Factory? This is a fully illustrated teaser from Sweet Tooth Satisfaction. You can read for free via the link below via Dropbox PDF. Be warned: Desier is NSFW!
Owl Eyes: From Scientist to Waitress
Ever since I can remember, I’ve been haunted by my first name. Maurice. My parents, who were uneducated but hoped I would surpass them intellectually, chose the name because they thought it invoked the image of a bookworm. It sounded more like a good name of an English butler to me, but I suppose I had to concede that they had good intentions - and predictive power, too, though the latter claim carries a significant caveat.
I did indeed grow into a bookworm - that much is indisputable. But did my parents anticipate my erudite nature with my name, or did the name help push me down the path of scholarliness? When I was a child and I introduced myself, there would often be a sneer or a giggle. Maurice just wasn’t what they were expecting, especially from a black boy. If only my parents had named me a strong, traditionally African name, say Shaquille or Darnell, instead of the French name Maurice, I might have been perceived as more masculine, more cool. My socialization might have gone differently, and I might never have sought refuge among books.
When I was 12, I found my first hero. I read in the back of a newspaper that the first ever African American had been awarded the Grandmaster title in chess - a man named Maurice Ashley. He later became a chess coach, an author, and a public speaker. I attempted to start a chess club at my school to follow in his example. The club, along with my newly aquired glasses, cemented my status as a nerd at school, and sadly, I proved to only be a mediocre player. Worse, my shyness prevented me from inviting many people to join.
In addition to my passion for books, I also developed a love for computers. After graduating college, the first in my family ever to do so, I started work as a software designer for a company involved in virology research. The pay was decent, but what good is a spacious apartment if one lives in isolation?
Explaining that I work in a lab filled with deadly viruses tends to put off potential friends and partners. That lab was such a serious and somber setting that there was little time for socializing with my co-workers, meaning that I had very few chances to make friends even inside the office. Brian, the most popular person at the office, rarely spoke to me. Stephanie, the girl I had a little crush on, never seemed to want to chat with me or even make eye contact. Earlier this week, I had been invited to g a Hooters restaurant that was a block away from the office for Brian’s bachelor party, but I wasn’t into that kind of thing. Besides, I knew Brian and the rest of my office mates barely noticed I existed.
I knew my parents were proud of me and my accomplishments, but it was difficult to accept that 26 years after my birth, they were still the only ones who used my name with affection. Others that knew me respected me intellectual prowess, but they were never attracted to me as a person. To everyone, I was unimportant, unmemorable or both. And with my line of work and my lacking social skills, I doubted anything would ever change that.
The Shift
I fell asleep alone in my bed on Thursday night, as I normally did. There was absolutely nothing unusual about Thursday. But before I even opened my eyes on Friday morning, I know something was amiss.
I remember distinctly the first thing I was aware of - a soft, overwhelmingly warm sensation draped over my body. It was simultaneously wondrous and frightening. The former because of the pleasing nature of the sensations, and the latter because I knew that this was not how my bed felt.
I pulled my head out from under the covers to find myself in a bed with a very plush pink quilt - not my usual thin, brown one. The mattress felt softer underneath me as well. The walls were pastel colors, and the room was smaller than my own. I quickly ran through the logical possibilities in my mind, as I lay in the warm, soft bed.
Was I dreaming? It felt real enough. It didn’t have that choppy, artificial quality my dreams often possessed.
Had I been kidnapped and brought here in my sleep? I was not restrained in any way, and this room seemed like an odd place to hold a captive. Besides, who could possibly stand to gain anything from abducting me?
Perhaps I had moved to this room in the future and then suffered some type of amnesia last night. That didn’t make sense, either - why would I choose to live in a room that looked so girly? Was I staying over at a future girlfriend’s house - perhaps sleeping in her bed? It was an exciting thought, but then I realized that the bed only contained one pillow - hardly evidence that there was ever two people sleeping here together.
All attempts to use logic to discern what was going on vanished the moment I looked at my hands. They were white, and what’s more, they were small and delicate, like a woman’s. They even had painted, hot pink nails, with small, tiny chips on a few of the corners.
I moved them back and forth in front of my face, splaying and playing with my little fingers just to make sure they were indeed mine. I saw a mirror on the far side of the room and decided I needed to have a good look at myself. There was nothing else that I could do.
I pulled myself out of bed very gingerly, resisting the temptation to look down at myself. I wanted to see what had happened all at once.
When I approached the mirror, I felt like I was looking through a window. I could see a white, blonde woman in a pink nightgown approaching. I knew there was nobody else in the room, but I still couldn’t believe it was me. When I stopped walking, she stopped walking. When I smiled at her, she smiled back, revealing a stunningly beautiful grin. She was me and I was her, there was no denying it. The bespectacled, nerdy, insecure black man to whom I had grown so accustomed being had vanished, and this white woman had taken his place.
It was immediately obvious to me that not only was I a woman, I was just the kind of woman for which I would have gone crazy in my old body. Wavy, platinum blonde hair gently cascaded down my shoulders. I had beautiful green eyes and perfectly shaped little nose.
I longed to see more of my new body, so with great trepidation, I removed my pink nighty. I didn’t know how to remove it per se, but instinctually my delicate fingers reached in back and started undoing a knotted tassel. The act of lifting up my arms raised my breasts slightly, which I could already tell were very large. I casually tossed the nighty behind me and turned back to stare at my new body.
My breasts were indeed very large - and suspended in front of me. From their disproportionately large size and their complete lack of sagging, I could tell that they must be fake boobs. I squeezed the lower part of my breast cautiously, and it felt a little firm, confirming my suspicion. Moving up the breast, I found the natural tissue, which was more soft and giving. When my finger nearly brushed my coral pink nipples, I felt a little tingle. When I deliberately played with it, rolling it between my fingers, I could feel it much stronger, and I could feel the little nub becoming firmer.
My body was just my type. I had always liked big breasts, and these were stunningly, eye catchingly large. I’d always preferred thin women with just a little bit of softness to them, and this body was very lithe, with a little bit of roundness around the middle, just a hint of a poofy tummy.
There was an artificial tan on my skin - that much was obvious from the tan lines around my breasts and my underwear. The natural shade was very pale, and stood out in stark contrast to rich, dark tan everywhere else.
I looked down, past my toned golden thighs and delicate ankles to my feet, which also had pink painted nails. The toes were very small, looking a tad odd as I deliberately wiggled them about. My old feet were large and contained a few errant hairs, but these feet were so small and frail looking I could imagine that children’s shoes might still fit.
After a few more minutes of ogling myself, I returned to the important task at hand - trying to figure out what had happened to me, and why. Clearly, I had a new body - perhaps I had transformed into this body, or perhaps I had somehow swapped bodies with someone else. My apartment had changed, or somehow I had found myself in someone else’s. But I knew one thing had not changed - my mind. I still had my old memories. I still knew who I was before this had happened. I knew my name was Maurice. I knew I worked in a virology laboratory.
The theory came to me suddenly - what if somehow I had caught a virus from the lab? Perhaps others at the office were affected in similar ways. Perhaps they were hard at work finding a way to reverse the process. The idea quickly took full possession of my mind, and I resolved to get to the office to check it out.
Of course, I couldn’t very well leave the apartment in my underwear - I needed to dress myself. Somehow, I intuitively knew were the right clothes were, and felt drawn to jeans and a black, oversized T-shirt. This certainly didn’t appear to be the garb of such a lovely young woman, but I went with my instincts and put them on.
I felt drawn to the bathroom too, where I brushed my teeth and found myself applying a liberal dose of pink-shaded lip gloss. I was amazed to see my delicate, feminine fingers naturally reach for the mascara and eyeshadow, and even more amazed to see myself apply it correctly to my gorgeous green eyes.
After that, I made my way to the closet, where I found what was apparently my shoe collection. Dozens of pairs of shoes lined three shelves, each show more ridiculous looking than the last. Most were high heeled and were adorned with flowers, sequins, or other frills and froo-froo. I felt drawn to a pair of red heels with lace roses. They fit my tiny feet surprisingly snugly.
I grabbed a salmon colored purse on my way out the door, and found a small Suzuki car had replaced my Dodge. Naturally, it was pink as well. Far more important was the fact that I knew where I was - on a street fairly close to my office.
In the car, I had to admit that I had my doubts about the virus theory. I knew of no virus which could possibly explain such a rapid change in race and gender, and even if one did exist, how could it change my apartment and my car as well? It wasn’t a logical theory, but I needed to see it through. It was the only testable hypothesis I had, and I knew I’d be a pretty poor scientist if I just let it languish without making sure.
When I drove up to the large, nondescript grey building, I found my parking space was occupied by a Hummer, so I had to park one block over, in the mini-mall. I exited my car, purse in tow, and started to make my way across the lot.
I saw a young, pretty waitress exit the Hooters in the lot.
“Marcy, there you are,” she called out to apparently nobody in particular. Was she wearing a an earpiece and taking a cell phone call, I wondered?
“Marcy, get over here! You’re 15 minutes late!” the woman shouted again. I kept walking, but the waitress ran over to me faster than I could walk in my heels.
“Are you deaf, Marcy? Your shift is up,” she said as she grasped my little wrist with her hand. I turned around, looking at this woman intently. If what she said was true, I had a new career as well. And a new name.
Before I had a chance to object, she started walking back towards the restaurant. I followed her in a daze. Inside, the place was covered in pine - wood floors, chairs, tables, and walls. Little sun lamps hung from the ceiling, and a dozen TVs were attached to the walls, each one covering a different sports event. She took led me past the tables, and into a back room containing dozens of lockers.
“Get changed and let’s go,” she said. I looked up at her, full of fear. I couldn’t handle any job working with the public - especially something so intimate, like being waitress. I was far too shy and socially awkward for that.
Her face fell when she saw how worried I looked. “I won’t tell anyone you showed up late, ok?” she said, trying to sound reassuring. “But you’ve got to get out there,” she added.
Part of me wanted to bolt right then and there. I wanted to make my way over to my office, and check out my virus theory. In truth, I would have run over to a snakepit if it meant I could avoid being a waitress.
Sadly, I knew that any attempt to test my theory was doomed to fail. As I rifled through my purse for the key to my locker, I did not find my employee keycard for the lab, which meant there was no way for me to get into the building. I found no ID with “Maurice” on it, which meant there was no way for me to prove who I was. And with my story, who would ever believe me?
With all that had happened today, I didn’t want to lose my job. With great reluctance and shaking fingers, I opened up my locker and found a Hooters tank top and mini-skirt. So this was why I didn’t bother to dress up before heading out today - I knew my work clothes were right here.
I quickly pulled on my Hooters uniform and I checked my reflection in my makeup mirror. I looked amazing. The white tank top made eyeshadow heavy eyes pop, and my proud, artificial breasts looked mouthwateringly luscious in the tank top.
Still, even if I was the image of beauty, I knew I’d be in trouble fast. I’d never been to a Hooters. I knew nothing about the menu. I didn’t know how to carry a loaded tray - in fact, I was naturally quite clumsy, especially when I was nervous. And I certainly didn’t how how to be friendly, chatty, and flirty - the qualities I’d be expected to possess in this position.
It was early in the day, and from her location up front, my co-worker was apparently the hostess. I was the only waitress at the moment, through the restaurant was devoid of patrons. Perhaps they had just opened?
In a couple of minutes, the first customer arrived. He was a large, older man, with a bushy white mustache. The hostess - Susie, from her nametag - seated him at one of the smaller tables, and smiled and nodded towards me. I grabbed a tablet and a pencil from the bar and headed over to him. One customer paired with a single waitress in an empty restaurant? I knew I’d have to be really chatty.
“Hi, I’m Marcy, and I’ll be taking care of you today,” I heard myself saying as I stepped towards him. It was the first time I had spoken anything as the new me. My voice was pleasant sounding, with a very distinctive feminine lilt.
“I like the sound of that,” he said with a wink. “First time coming to this place, so what’s good here?” he asked.
“Um...” I paused for a moment, not sure what to say. “The wings,” I blurted out. “Everybody raves about them.”
“Sounds good to me,” he said. I wrote down wings on the tablet, surprised at my own handwriting. It was so curvey, loopy and light, compared to the heavy handed, stubby handwriting I was used to producing.
“Anything to drink?” I asked. I don’t know how I managed to stop my voice from shaking, but somehow I did.
“Sure, get me a bottle of your finest champagne,” he said.
“Oh? What are we celebrating today?” The question seemed to tumble out of my mouth, uninvited. Of course, I knew it was the right thing to ask. But I casual conversation had never been this easy or natural for me. It was as if, somehow, part of me knew exactly what to do and who to be. I decided to let my instincts continue to guide me.
“Lean down and let me whisper a little secret to you,” he said. I complied, and I could feel his warm breath on my ear for a moment, and even felt a little bit of a tickle from his mustache. “Today, I became a millionaire,” he said.
“Wow! Congratulations,” I said. “I’ll go get that bottle of bubbly for you,” I added, and scurried off to the kitchen. The wings were ready very quickly, and I quickly returned with them and the champaign.
I bent over as I placed the basket of wings on his table. The man’s eyes stared right at my cleavage, and I saw him lick his lips.
“Mmm...looks delicious,” he said. “The wings look pretty good too,” he added, feeling absolutely no need to conceal his lechery.
I let out a high pitched giggle and threw my head back, causing my wavy hair to cascade around me as I did so. “That’s hilarious,” I said as I gave him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. I opened up the campaign with a loud boom, and poured it, somehow knowingly exactly when to stop before it bubbled over the edge of the champagne flute.
“So,” I began in a hushed tone, “what happened? Did you win the lottery?”
“No,” he replied, then started again excitedly. “I own a small biotech company. The stock price just went through the roof, because we secured a patent on a process sequencing the peptides of the P360 taxonomic group, the Bunyaviridae virus family.” He stopped talking for a moment, then glanced up at me, looking as though he expected me to be bewildered. “Well, I guess to you, it’s like I won the lottery.”
Of course, that wasn’t the case at all. In fact, I had all sorts of technical questions I wanted to ask him. But all these questions were from the perspective of someone who worked virology, not the type of questions to come from a waitress. I smiled, and let him believe I knew nothing of what he said. In his mind, I was just another blonde bimbo, and there was no reason to disabuse him of this notion.
When the man was finished with his chicken wings, I talked him into ordering a cheesecake. When he was finished with this, I brought him the bill. He paid and as he rose to his feet he thanked me for, in his words “giving an old man a lovely afternoon.” When I brought the bill back to the register, I saw that he had left me a $500 tip.
As the man left, he let two other parties in the door, and I was soon made responsible for them as well. Waitressing was coming quite naturally to me, and after a few more minutes I couldn’t even remember why I had once been afraid. As the hours passed, the restaurant became more crowded, and more waitresses started coming on duty. Even the Friday night dinner rush didn’t phrase me, though. I was taking orders and flirting like nobody’s business.
Finally, towards the end of the evening, I saw a customer walk through the door that did frighten me: Brian. I had stupidly forgot that today was Brian’s party. Stephanie followed him, and then three other men who also worked in the lab.
I knew that they couldn’t possibly recognize me. But the fact that they were a very real, living link between the old me and the new me was terrifying. What if the fact that I knew them would prevent my waitress instincts from taking over? What if I was only capable of interacting with them the way Maurice did things, instead of how Marcy did things?
The first thing Brian did when he took his seat was look me up and down. I had never seen him with that look in his eye.
“We’re lucky,” Brian said as the party took its seat. “We got the hot waitress,” he said, to hoots from everyone else that the table.
“Professionally every girl who works here is beautiful,” I said, my eyes on Brian the entire time. “But personally, I have to say...how right you are,” I added, as everyone giggled. It was one of the first times I had ever been laughed with, as opposed to being laughed at. It felt good.
A few minutes later, I was bringing a platter of wings over to Brian’s table. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a young man at the table next to me drop their fork. As they leaned down to pick it up, they inadvertently tripped another waitress, who had her own platter of food. Without even thinking, I lunged forward, and I managed to catch the tray midair. My own was safe as well, perfectly balanced on the other hand.
Patrons from both tables applauded, and I did a little courtesy as I blushed. When I served the food at Brian’s table, I made sure to lean extra low as I served each plate and wriggle my shoulders seductively. Brian, handsome looking with his curly hair and strong jaw, was already checking me out, but soon I had everyone at the table’s attention. Including, unbelievably, Stephanie’s.
She was looking cute this evening, as she always did, with her pixie hair cut, her deep brown eyes, and her delicate physique. I initially figured she was there only because Brian was her friend, but from her looks at me I started to suspect there was something more. When the rest of the party’s eyes were drawn away to watch a buzzer-beating basketball shot on the TV, I looked right at her, batting my eyes a little. She responded by smiling, blushing a little, and nervously chewing her lower lip.
“So what is it that you folks do for a living?” I asked the crowd, pretending that I didn’t know.
“Virolog...” Brian said, then stopped himself. “Just science stuff,” he finished somewhat condescendingly. He thought I was a bimbo, too! I smiled and played along, pretending that ‘science stuff’ was impressive. I’m sure that made him feel important.
After several rounds of beers, the inhibitions of the group started to fade. Each guzzle from the frosted mugs made the laughs louder and the attempts to flirt with me more obvious. Tentative glances quickly progressed to ‘accidental’ brushes of the hand. By the end of the evening, those had given way to naked, honest propositions.
“If I wasn’t getting married tomorrow, I’d ask you to come back to my place,” Brian said through slurred words.
“Are you sure that’s going to stop you?” I said with a laugh. I didn’t know if I was just playing the part or if I was serious.
“Some of us don’t have that obstacle, Brian,” Stephanie said, grabbing my hand as I brought out the check. “I think she’s mine.”
“Or perhaps there’s plenty of me to go around,” I said, eliciting more laughter, and feeling thrilled at their desire for me. All my fears were unfounded - I was Marcy, even to those who knew me as Maurice, and I had succeeded with flying colors. It no longer even occurred to me to want to ask them about what had happened to me, or why. All I needed to know was that I never wanted to go back.
And I never did.
~~~
If you love gender change and race change, consider From Nathan to Nanako: Changed into a Cheerleader. Nathan's an awkward, gentle giant: a big, shy, oaf of a man who crushes hard on the head cheerleader at his school, Daniella. Nathan tries out for the football team to impress her, but even though he doesn't make the cut, he manages to get invited to one of Daniella's famous parties. Little does he suspect that it's a party for two, and Daniella is bent on satisfying her unique tastes.
Come one come all, to the magical candy tour. Indulge your cravings. Feed your desires. Consequences? Who wants to worry about those? Sweet Tooth is an illustrated furry/anthro story about a small group touring a candy factory, who find the place is more than it seems. The magic can range from concepts as clean and simple as "eat candy, get fat" to multi-topic changes, involving ethical dilemmas and game theory. Transformations involve both males and females and include weight gain, gender change, age progression, species change, macro, inflation, and more! You can check out a NSFW, gender change themed excerpt of this story, called Deiser, via PDF.
The first ever crowdfunded Transformation ebook, The Transformation Mall contains 11 short stories and vignettes about a variety of characters. Shops can cause weight gain, female muscle growth, age progression, punk changes, gender changes, personality and sexuality shifts, and much, much more, including several brand-new transformation types. At over 34,000 words, The Transformation Mall is easily the longest and most detailed project I've ever done. You can read the first chapter, Cougar Clothes, for free on this site.
A lonely young man gets to meet his favorite porn star in the flesh - but she's got a few surprises in store for him. He's going to star in her newest film, but to get him ready for the camera, she's going to have to make some changes, transforming him into her ideal co-star.
