Chapter 6

Danni’s New Day


My eyes open.


It is still dark but I know I am at home, in my bed.  A tugging at my chest reminds me that I am not what I was.  For the first time in days I don’t mind.  I grip my heavy cock and give it a few strokes as I moan in the darkness.  My other hand busies itself with my nipples.


In the quiet shadows of my room I hear noises.  A door closing.  Footsteps in the hall.  I know it is my neighbor stretching for her daily run.  I know this not only from the familiar sounds.  I can feel her presence as though she is standing in my room.


 But more than that…I know things I should not.


She is feeling achy and old.   She is grumpy, half-awake.  Despite all that she wants to run, to feel the breeze on her face and her feet pounding the ground.  She anticipates the joy of the run and continuing her doomed fight against the aging of her body.


I realize I am standing.  In another moment I am at the apartment door.  My neighbor is almost ready.  Her heart is pulsing in anticipation.  Adrenalin is fueling her ambition and her muscles which twitch under her soft flesh.  I can almost feel their strength in my fingers as though I am caressing her firm thighs.


The pulsing of her heart grows quicker.  Her face flushes.  Warmth gathers in her nether regions.  She is puzzled and a little concerned but it feels oh so good.  My body echoes hers, my heart fluttering in my chest and my penis hardening under my sweatshirt.  The elevator arrives but she ignores it, leaning against the wall and moaning like a school girl pining for her boyfriend.


I call to her though I do not speak.  She responds in the same way.  I hear her step outside my door and open it.  She is indeed aging but still attractive.  Her body is toned and athletic and glowing with her perspiration.  Her eyes are dark and half-open.  Her brown hair is back in a pony-tail, girlish but graying.  Her full lips smile dreamily, little wrinkles tracing across her cheeks.


I know what I want and somehow so does she.  She drops to her knees in my doorway and lifts the hem of my sweatshirt.  She eagerly reaches out to grab my erect cock as though she knew it were there despite my girlish appearance.  Her hands are soft but her grip is firm.  Her lips brush the head of my cock.  I gasp and stroke her hair with my hands.  Her mouth engulfs me in blissful warmth.  She begins to bob her head, ponytail swishing about.  Her tongue is delightfully skilled and it is not long before I explode into her hungry mouth.  It is like no orgasm I have ever had, slow and powerful and carrying me along like a raft on the waves.  I am flowing into her, giving her what so desperately desires.


I stagger.  I am drained, empty, falling…


My eyes snapped open.  I was in my bedroom, sprawled across the covers.  Light was filtering in through the window but it was still early.  “What the hell was that?” I muttered to myself and sat up.  My nipples felt raw as they rubbed at my sweatshirt and there was an odd dual ache in my groin.  “That’s what you get for acting like a teenager in puberty,” I muttered but could not help but grin a little as I recalled just how good my self-exploration had felt.  “God, I’m even having wet dreams about the neighbors!”


I rose and staggered to the bathroom.  I rolled my eyes at my reflection.  I had lost the hair wrap sometime in the night and I looked like I had a fuzzy red cape wrapped around me.  My face looked as bleary as a sorority girl’s on the morning after.  “Shower,” I told my frazzled self.  “Then coffee.”


My hair nearly defeated my efforts to strip off my sweatshirt, until I thought to gather the rumpled strands into one hand and pull them inside the neck of the shirt first.  I was disproportionately proud of myself for figuring that out, so much so that I managed to not think about my altered body much until I was in the shower and sighing happily at the feeling of the hot water sliding across my skin.  My mom used to say that there were very few things that could not be fixed by a nice long shower, or even better a bath.  I certainly agreed as I leaned back and simply enjoyed the moment.


My new skin was more sensitive but it tolerated the heat as well as it had before my transformation.  My hair, on the other hand, seemed to have an amazing capacity to soak up water.  I soon had a heavy mass sticking to my back and bottom and realized I would need the industrial strength dryer that Barb had made me buy.  “Next time,” I told myself, “I’m getting a shower cap.”  Deciding I may as well wash it since it was already wet, I grabbed a bottle of the new shampoo and started working it into my scalp.  I was not sure how to wash the rest of my new hair though.  I recalled seeing a former girlfriend pile her hair on top of her head to wash it so I gave that a try.  It was like trying to hold handfuls of sand.  Strands kept escaping from my hands and hanging in my face or sticking to my wet skin.  I growled and grumbled and finally managed to get shampoo to most of my hair.  I promised myself that no matter what Barb had to say about it I was going to the barber shop and getting a flat top. 


Finally done with my new mane of uncooperative hair, I relaxed in the warm spray until I noticed something else.  I smelled anything but ladylike after my nocturnal explorations.  I contemplated the array of new bottles and bars and packets of soaps on the shower shelf with a dubious eye.  What’s the difference between a body wash and a shower gel?  I wondered.  I shrugged and grabbed the body wash.  The greenish liquid did a fine job washing my new body but unfortunately carried with it a sweet floral scent.  I stoically ignored the aroma and concentrated on washing my girly self.


By now I was getting used to the curves that had replaced my former masculine body but it was still a voyeuristic thrill to feel the heavy swell of my breasts or the sweeping curve of my hip.  I still appreciated the sight of so much bare and delectable feminine flesh even though it was my very own.  I smirked as I felt my cock beginning to stir.   “Down, boy,” I whispered even as I gave it a quick dose of the body wash as well.


I had to pause when I finished with my penis and my fingers came to the other new addition to my anatomy.  I gingerly touched the thick outer lips of my new vagina and wondered what to do.  I knew of course that it had to be kept clean, but what did that entail?  The whole concept of feminine hygiene was one that guys normally avoided like the plague and I had been no exception.  I finally settled for lathering up the whole area with the body wash and rinsing with the shower head.


This nearly resulted in me needing another shower.  The pulsing water on my new vagina sent me into a blissfully erotic state that lasted long after the last of the soap had washed away.  My over-eager maleness echoed my womanhood’s excitement and soon I had an erection that rivaled the one that started my fun and games of the night before.  “Oh no,” I whispered.  “I have things to do today.”  Steeling myself, I turned the temperature control over to cold.


“Yikes!” I screeched and bounded out of the shower.  The sudden temperature change had done its work.  I was certainly no longer aroused but now I was cold and dripping water everywhere.  It took two towels and a lot of patience but I was eventually dry enough that I no longer looked completely like a drowned rat.  My hair was still sopping wet though so I set to work with the hair dryer and a random brush from my new collection.  The result was a mass of curls that was as unruly as ever but at least they were clean unruly curls.


I patted my smooth cheeks and smiled at my reflection in the mirror as I contemplated the fact that there was at least one advantage to my change – I would never have to shave again.  The smile did not last long though when I considered the other body parts which women did have to shave. I decided to save that experience for another day and returned to the bedroom to get dressed.


I hated to admit it but I needed to start wearing appropriate underwear.  I had gotten away with the sports bra the day before but it was definitely not something I wanted to do for a full day.  I held up one of the less frilly ones that Barb had bought me and sighed.  “In for a penny, in for a pound,” I whispered and attempted to strap the thing on.


In my different roles in life I have worn a lot of different clothes and equipment.  Typical male clothes of course, but also football pads, backpacks, web gear, Kevlar vests, even scuba gear.  None of it was as difficult and uncomfortable to put on as that stupid bra!  I first tried to do what I had seen a girlfriend do.  I put my arms through the shoulder straps and reached behind myself to fasten the hooks in back.  I soon concluded that either my former girlfriend was a contortionist or my fuller figure would not let me use that method. 


The realization that I had larger breasts than nearly all of the girls I had known had me blushing again so I quickly went to Plan B.  I tried fastening the hooks first and then putting my arms through the straps.  This worked, except that the straps were far too loose and just slipped right off my shoulders.  I spent the next fifteen minutes fussing with the straps, trying the thing on, and fussing some more with the straps.


This led to Plan C, which involved a lot of unladylike cursing, dire threats on the life of the person who invented the bra (or his descendants), and a masculine urge to grab some duct tape to make the thing fit.  Finally I stood in the middle of the room, panting, slightly sweaty, but with my new boobs safely nestled in a bra that almost fit. 


I looked at my clock and growled.  Almost an hour had gone by since I had awakened and I was still only partly dressed.  At least the rest of the clothing was relatively simple.  My new boxers fit much as the old ones had, if a little more snug across the bottom.  I grabbed the least feminine of my new shorts and a plain white shirt (oh very well, blouse) and decided I was ready to face my brave new world.


The apartment’s computer had already started the coffee for me.  Of course the timer had been set for my normal schedule so it was not exactly fresh, but I was past caring.  The familiar aroma had me humming happily in anticipation as I prepared a cup the Army way: pour it in the mug and drink it.  As my platoon sergeant used to say, “If you wanted a cup of cream and sugar, what did you order coffee for?”


I took a big sip -- and spluttered, yelped, and spit the incredibly bitter concoction into the sink.  “What now?” I wondered.  I checked the coffeemaker’s settings, certain that something must have gotten messed up, but it was set to my normal preference – extra strong and extra hot.  Gingerly, I tried another sip with similar results.


I know, only the insane try the same thing and expect a different outcome, but I could not resist another sip.  It was definitely my brand of coffee but it was so bitter that tears came to my eyes.  After a moment’s thought I rummaged through the cabinets until I found the little box of sugar that I used in my rare and generally unsuccessful attempts at cooking.  I added a spoonful to the coffee and tried again.  Better, but still undrinkable.  It finally took three heaping teaspoons to make the coffee bearable.


I looked at my mug and shook my head.  It did not make sense – why did I still like the ultra spicy burrito I had eaten the night before but did not like black coffee?  It was as though my sweet tooth was suddenly in high gear.  “Great,” I sighed.  “Next thing you know I’ll be drinking cappuccino.”


I shrugged off this latest oddity and turned the news on while I put together a bowl of cereal and some toast.  There was not much new to be said.  President Rice was planning to address the nation that evening.  They replayed part of her first news conference about The Return, which I had missed while lying in the hospital and humming “Comfortably Numb.”  She looked stoic and calm and reassuring, everything a president should be, but she also seemed slightly frazzled despite her trademark professional hairdo and carefully done makeup.  The statement was what you would expect – remain calm, best minds in the country looking into it, etc.  I gave a mental shrug.  What else could she say?  Even the Pentagon with its penchant for contingency planning could not have been ready for this.


The news program went to commercial and I had to smile.  A harried mom was chasing her screaming kids around until her problems were solved by tickets to the local children’s museum.  I had seen the ad itself a thousand times and normally would have ignored it, but the sheer normalcy of it after the news was comforting.  I was wondering what ads might be like as the world adapted to all of the changes people were going through when the doorbell rang.


I froze for a moment.  It had to be Ryan at the door.  I glanced down at my transformed body, with its smooth legs and curving hips and my bosom clearly displayed by my blouse and barely contained by my bra --  my bra! -- and my fleeting sense of normality was shattered.  I fought an urge to run back into the bedroom and hide under my sheets until he went away. 


The doorbell rang again and I smacked my hand down on the arm of my chair.  “Get over yourself, Daniel!” I growled.  I quickly stood and marched myself to the door, ignoring the sway of my hips and the swishing of my hair, and yanked it open.


Ryan jumped and nearly lost his armful of groceries.  There were two bags in his arms and another at his feet, along with a case of beer.  “Uh – hi!” he yelped as he regained his balance.


“Hi, Ryan,” I replied.  I was torn between being amused by his antics and perturbed at how far I had to look up to see his face.  The last time I had seen him I had been at least an inch taller than him.  Now my head was even with his chest.


Ryan peered over the grocery bags at me, his gaze spending an uncomfortable amount of time on my chest.  I cleared my throat and his eyes jumped up to meet mine.  “Wow, you look…umm…I mean, how are you?” he blurted.


I had to laugh.  “I’m ok, all things considered.”  I held the door and waved him in.  Ryan gathered up the other bag and the case of beer but hesitated.  “Come in, already.  I promise not to bite.”


Ryan flushed but stepped inside and strode into the kitchen.  I had to hurry to catch up, taking at least two steps to his one.  He busied himself with stacking the bags on the table and pulling a variety of frozen food items out of two of them, including a box of my favorite burritos.  “I wasn’t sure what all you needed and I know what a terrible cook you are so I just tried to get some basics.”  He kept his eyes on his hands and the groceries as he spoke.


“Hey, I’m not that bad a cook.  You’re just upset about the last poker party,” I said, moving closer to him and trying to catch  his eye.


Ryan grunted and turned away towards the refrigerator, where he began stacking the frozen things in my freezer.  “Well, yeah.  What possessed you to try and make Scotch eggs in a microwave?”


“Hey, it’s the only thing I know how to work in here!  Besides, they tasted ok after a few beers.”


Ryan snorted and almost looked at me, before rooting through the remaining bag and throwing things into the fridge.  I could not see past him clearly but a lot of it seemed disturbingly healthy, leafy, and green.  “What’s with the rabbit food?” I wondered at his back.  I was getting over my own nervousness and starting to get annoyed with him.


Ryan did not turn around but I could see his ears turning red.  “Like I said, I didn’t know for sure what you might need.  I thought maybe you’d want to, well, eat a little healthier now that…well…”


I leaned against the freezer door so that I could see his face, at least in profile.  “Now that what?  Now that I need to maintain my girlish figure?”  I waved a hand down at the curves in question and he could not resist taking a look out of the corner of his eye.


Ryan abruptly straightened up and closed the refrigerator door.  Finally he looked down at me and said, “Yes.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t know what to expect and I made a bad assumption.”   He seemed to have developed a nervous twitch.  His eyes would start to drift down, then jerk back to my eyes, then down again.  “I’m so sorry…this is just so strange…”


“Ryan, it’s ok.  This is really awkward for both of us.  This is only my third day in this body and you’re only the second person I know who has seen me like this.  I’m just as nervous as you are, trust me.”  He looked dubious at that last bit and I had to smirk at the expression.  He was barely past twenty-one and looked more like a boy than a man when he was this unsettled.  I reached out to touch his arm, intending to reassure him.


The world narrowed down to the beating of Ryan’s heart and the erection he was trying to hide.  He was aroused and becoming more so but was also on the edge of flight.  Adrenaline poured through his lean body making his muscles leap and his breath rasp in his ears.  Primal emotions surged through him in a dizzying array.  He wanted her and wanted to get away and wanted to protect her and was so very jealous--


I wrenched my hand from Ryan’s arm. “What the hell was that!” I gasped as the strange sense of awareness faded.  I shook my head and looked up at the younger man.  “Why are you jealous?” I blurted.


“What!  How could – what are you talking about?” He said, backing away from me, his eyes wide and darting about wildly.


I held up my hands and shushed him like I would a child.  “It’s ok, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that.  I’m still on edge, you know?”  I went on in that vein for a few moments but Ryan clearly was having none of it.


“I have to go,” he told me.  “I’m glad you’re, um, feeling better.  See ya!”  With that he grabbed his keys and fled, the door to my apartment slamming after him before I could thank him again for the groceries.


I stared at the door for long moments after his departure, trying to make understand what had just taken place.  How I had been able to sense what was happening inside his body?  It seemed almost like the empathy that Kathy had gained, but she had only described sensing emotions.  I had felt his heart beating as though it were my own, not to mention other parts of him.  Had she failed to mention the physical part?  I was also wondering about my dream of the night before.  The experience had been so similar to the one with Ryan – had it really been a dream at all?


Finally I gave up speculating and busied myself with putting away the rest of the groceries.  I had come to two decisions.  First, I needed to see Kathy and have her tell me more about her empathic ability.  Second, I would have to find some way to get Ryan to talk to me.