I reached for the square cushion on the chair and pelted Baccha with it.
"Stop staring at my chest!"
Again the same smile and shaking head. Ugh. Was this karma for all the times I'd creeped out some poor girl by bugging my eyes out at her tits? I contemplated sauntering over to the record player and putting on track six of OK Computer, but I didn't want to give Baccha an excuse to check out my ass.
Liar.
Who said that? No, I knew. It was the oh-so-feminine voice deep inside of me, the one who couldn't bear to imagine living a life that wasn't all art and creation, who practically leapt up and down in glee when I'd ditched the second half of the Zoom class yesterday. Was she the one, I wondered as Baccha got up and went for the box of cigarettes, was she the part of me that had swerved me off the path so well-trodden last Friday, and unto this completely different and unbelievably psycho path I was on now?
"Look," Baccha said, having lit up, "I'm honestly a little curious."
"Okay. And So?" I demanded unnecessarily, folding my arms.
"I mean this in the most unpervert way possible, but why don't you show them to me?" He said, in a voice sosoft that I found it difficult to believe that he had any ill intent. Which is exactly why I doubled down on the offensive.
"Fuck you," but even as I said it I couldn't help it; the beginnings of a smile crept across my outer lips.
"I'm not sure I'd go that far," he countered quickly, mirroring me, "but hey: it would help me assess the extent of the reality warping that's going on here."
I rolled my eyes. I swiped the cigarette from his mouth and started for the bathroom. "Yeah, yeah. A quick look alright? In here."
Under the orange light I rolled up my tiny top, felt the material bounce off my nipples and trace the surface of my growing globes. A side glance in the mirror confirmed yet again that they were still ballooning in size. They were fuller on the top compared to yesterday, and more close-set too. I would have to get some bras, I thought, and it felt like the most natural thought in the world.
"Wow," he said, "they're real."
Comment of the century right there, folks.
"Shut up," he said before I could contribute my usual dose of sarcasm, "I mean, the effect is like, total. This isn't gynecomastia or something."
"Yes, Baccha," I sighed, feeling like a fool, a totally hot B-cupped fool, "I'm not on steroids, this isn't Fight Club."
What happened next I should've seen coming, but I had both hands busy holding up the shirt. So I was helpless to retaliate, and could only flinch as Baccha reached out a hand and softly caressed my left boob.
"Relax," he said, like he was cooing to a baby, "just breathe."
I became deathly afraid suddenly that he was going to latch on to it and start suckling. He didn't of course. Then I hyper-focused on the way his fingertips were curling, lightly making and breaking contact with the skin. It was maddening, because it felt like heaven. I took his good advice and focused on my breath.
I snuck another side glance at the mirror. My goodness, to say that I'd changed a lot would have been like saying macaroni and cheese-filled omelettes were delicious: an understatement. The glow-up was so, so visible. For starters, my skin was perfect. I'm not bragging here; even under the dim marigold tint, it was obvious that I'd lightened up at least by a shade. No blemishes visible, as if all my pores had shrunken overnight. My face was fully feminine now, and the presence of ultralight shadow of stubble did nothing to detract from this. I didn't doubt that in a day or two even that would disappear, much like my leg and arm hair.
For all intents and purposes, aside from the things that dangled between my legs, I was a woman. Holy shit what would happen to my penis? Would it eventually shrink and disappear, open up into a pussy or something? I really wasn't sure that I was ready to experience all that. Or would I have both, be like a medical hermaphrodite? Well, Ryan is a unisex name . . .
My distress must have been plain, enough to warrant Baccha peeling his eyes away from my tits. Then the massaging stopped.
We stood like that, just blinking at each other. It was like we were both struggling for words.
"What's on your mind?" He asked finally.
"This, is a lot." I managed to put together.
"Hmm." He dropped his hand and then stifled one of those snickers I knew so well.
"What is it now, asshole?"
"You looked so disappointed when I did that!"
"Is everything just written on my face now, or are you making this shit up?"
"You were turning red, like it was last night all over again."
I looked at my reflection. My face and neck were flushed. Damn.
"It . . . felt good." I admitted, shrugging slightly as I made eye contact with him. He probably wasn't buying my shy-girl/nonchalance act anymore. I wasn't even sure I was. In the moment, all that existed was the feeling,the innermost feeling of pleasure. And the source of it was Baccha's hand on my tit.
I already knew what would happen, but all the same I could've never anticipated how strong a reaction I'd have when he placed both of his hands on me.
"Woah, woah," he said as my knees buckled and I tumbled forwards and into him. I was taller than him, but he was better built. He'd been a rugby player before we'd met; clearly some of that physique remained. I felt his sturdiness, the coils of muscle tensed now into support.
"Big-time virgin move, huh?" I said as I recovered, straightening up.
"Don't worry about it, doll." And the hands went right back to where they belonged, all was right in the world. I even let it slide that he called me doll; it barely registered.
"Ahem."
Fucking hell. I knew that voice anywhere. Horrified, I turned slowly, but Baccha, peering over my shoulder, just went ahead and greeted her.
"Yo, Constance!"
"Do I know you?" She said in retaliation.
I pushed his hands off me and rolled down my top, hoping she wouldn't catch me do it. Wishful thinking of course. Once again, I'd been caught in a compromising position.
First time as a woman, though. Standing between both Aunt Constance and Baccha, I wondered if that was a cause for celebration.