DECEMBER 12, 2024: 

 

“Omigawsh Rach, are you sure about this?”

 

“Hell yeah, girl! Just go with the flow, you won’t regret it!”

 

“You promise you won’t be jealous?

 

“Jennifer Yoshihara, I promise that I won’t, like, be jealous. Besides,” she took my wrist and laid my right palm on her right breast, “There is no way in hell you’d give up these mommy milkers!”

 

“Rachel Yoshihara!” I shouted, shocked by her public display of breast-ffection. Quickly withdrawing my hand after a reflexive squeeze, I hid the hand under my left arm, as if doing so would absolve it of its crimes against the pact. “We can’t do that in public, honey!”

 

“Pfft, like anyone’s around,” Rach husked, laying the top swagger on thick.

 

“Omigawd, Rach, wait until we—fuck, girl!” When Rachel was on she was on and now I was finding it hard to focus. Suddenly, I found myself being spun around to face the entrance of the Gayly Bug.

 

“Now, go inside…” Rach giggled, “...and have some fun, y’hear? Oh, and get me one of those scones!”

 

Pushed through the doors I found myself back inside of the Gayly Bug for the second time that day. With no customers to preoccupy him, Danny was idly checking his phone. Wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible, I stiffly sped walked to the counter, my mere presence getting the shorter man’s attention.

 

“Oh! Hey, Jenni…” he welcomed, his voice soft. “Can I do anythi—”

 

“I’m available,” I said quickly, cutting the poor man off by accident. “Omigawd, Danny, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off!!”

 

A brightness warmed over Danny’s face as he took a more amused stance, “Oh? No, no, please, by all means, cut me off some more!”

 

“Omigawd, please!” I blushed, getting caught up in Danny’s flow before I could even calm down myself, “Daniel, please!”

 

“Please what?” the twink with blue hair asked, tapping away at his phone.

 

“Omigawd, listen, just, like send—”

 

“—you the ticket? Yeah, I sent it to you over Telegram just now.”  

 

Pulling my phone out of my woefully plain purse I checked Telegram, saw the ticket screen shot, then downloaded it in case my phone was in a spot with bad service. “Omigawsh Danny, thank you so much!” I gushed, having a hard time peeling my eyes away from his sheepish smile. He could pretend to play a cool game at first, but it was reassuring to know that he wasn’t above sincerely gushing over the girl he had just asked out in front of her.

 

Girl…

 

“I’ll…uh…meet you there?” I asked, unsure of what I was doing.

 

“Yeah!” Danny smiled, “Ten ‘til, or is that too close to the start…?”

 

“No, no! Ten ‘til sounds fine!” Holy shit, why could I not stop giggling?

 

“Perfect! It’s a date?”

 

I heard the question mark at the end of his sentence and let it hang for a moment, scared of what I wanted to say. Suddenly, a hopping up-and-down Rachel caught my eye from outside, her face painted with excitement. Smiling, I turned back to Danny and said: “It’s a date!”

 

“Great!, see ya then!” he returned, before turning his attention back to a customer.

 

I exited the store excitedly and crashed into my wife for a hug, “Holy shit, Rach!” I squealed downward into her chest, “Thank you so fucking much!”

 

“No probably, honey,” Rach whispered, petting the back of my head. “Hey, where’s my scone?”

 

“Fuck the scone! We’re going home and you’re banging my butt now!”

 

“BUT SCONE?!”

 

***

 

APRIL 03, 2024: 

 

“Wait…you want me to wear suits?”

 

“Of course, Jen, babygirl, you nail that androgynous look,” Paul’s revolting smile did not make this any easier to parse.

 

It was silly—I’m sure—for a cishet guy forced into transitioning to save his and his wife’s lives to actively feel weirded out by being asked to essentially be more masculine, but here I was now, being asked to perform a masculine role—albeit, as a supposed ‘cis woman’—and feeling weird about it. “A-are you sure?”

 

“I’m positive, babe. You’ll nail it—and I know a great group of cougars with plenty of cash to drop who will just love a tomboy like you in a nice suit and tie!” 

 

I should have wanted this. I should have been celebrating a chance to deepen my voice, to stand and move like a man again, and to stretch my long-atrophied masculinity.

 

And yet…I was not looking forward to it. 

 

My eyes shot back and forth between the floor, Paul and my locker space, filled with the attire I was expected to wear. Sure, the suits looked nice on the hangers, but would they look nice on? Would they just make it apparent that I was not a cis woman? What would Paul do if he found out I was a man? What would he do to me if he found out that I had a—

 

—I wanted to vomit.

 

“Omigawd, Jenni! Looky at all these cute dresses I get to wear?”

 

My blurring vision corrected itself at the sound of Rachel as she trotted gayfully to where Paul and I were standing. My voice caught in my throat and I was unable to reply immediately.

 

“Like, holy shit, thank you, Mr. Paul, sir!” The entirety of her tall, blonde frame bounced up-and-down in place excitedly as she laid a dress over her form and modeled it for me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that she wasn’t aware that Paul was probably just trying to get us to let our guards down.

 

Fortunately, I’d made damned sure that she knew not to trust Paul back when we first accepted this job. If he—or any of our clients—ever found out about our…basically, we’d be fucked. Probably?

 

I guess I shouldn’t put it past them to fetishize us instead.   

 

What the fuck were we getting ourselves into? 

 

***

 

DECEMBER 12, 2024:

 

“A-are you sure about this?”

 

“Less talk, more cock!” I giggled between the kisses I was planting between her neck and face. I half-expected her to say “That tickles!” with the way she was giggling..

 

“F-fuck, Jenni!” Rach gasped as I pushed her onto her back on the air mattress, its sustainability be damned.

 

I could feel Rachel slide her hands down towards her cock, which was straining against her jeans. Suddenly, an idea popped into my head, and I reached for her cock and touched it first. Rachel gasped, making me break into a fit of giggles, barely able to press against the base of her cock to keep it down while I unzipped her jeans, pulled down her pink panties and watched as her long, thick monster rise out like a long ladder being risen against the walls of Helm’s Deep.

 

“Jenni?” Rach gasped, hands instantly jumping to my hips to support them.

 

I had thankfully long since abandoned my jeans at the entrance to the door and now raised my hips to position my asshole over the giant monolith that was my wife’s cock. That same pulsating from before spreading throughout and warmed my crotch, telling me to stick something in down there. “Fuck, Rachel! I need this so, so, so bad!”

 

“Yeah I bet, slut,” my wife giggled, using both of her thumbs to massage whatever the fuck those muscles were called.

 

Pulling my panties aside, my useless cock fell out of its tuck, and reminded me of its unfortunate existence. Ugh, I was so fucking tired of that thing. All it ever did was remind me of how much I never wanted to use it, of how much I couldn’t even use it, even if I’d suddenly wanted to penetrate. “Fuck, I should just get rid of—”

 

Rachel pressed her rod through the opening of my cheeks, sending a signal right up the full length of my spine and into my brain. “Oh, fuck?” W-was that an orgasm? Wait, “R-Rach, lube up first!” I shouted, nearly not caring if the fucking neighbors heard me.

 

“Oh shit, right, right,” she giggled, maneuvering me until I was on my knees and could move off of her completely. Rach scrambled to her feet and dug through our stuff until she pulled out her lube, nearly fumbled the damned canister like a receiver in American football might have fumbled a catch, then finally got back to the mattress and began pouring the liquid out. 

 

Without thinking, I pushed my hand in the way so that it would catch the lube and began applying it to the proper places myself.

 

“Wow, you like, are horny, aren’tcha?” Rach giggled, getting into position behind me. I could feel the rock of the mattress and her hips as she prepared herself to thrust at me from behind.

 

“J-just do it?!” I begged.

 

“Like, do what?” the pink princess giggled, her desire to see me suffer apparent on her face. Fuck, she was hot when she got like this.

 

“F-fuck me in the ass, you dumb bimbo!” I shouted back, determined not to lose ground.

 

“Good girl!” my wife cooed, sliding the tip of her cock between my great divide. 

 

The ways HRT had changed how my body perceived pleasure were on no better display than now. Rachel slid her cock carefully between my cheeks, each passing inch sending shockwaves through my body. It felt as if an eternity had passed before her tip even reached the outer rim of my hole. I couldn’t believe how completely and utterly weak my body felt.

 

“Should I keep going, girlie?” Rach asked, slowly and deliberately.

 

“Y-yes, please,” I managed to huff out, no louder than a whisper.

 

“Okie-dokie!” my wife sing-songed before thrusting her stormbreaker into my vortex and obliterating whatever sanity I had left. 

 

Each thrust of my wife’s drill bore through the entirety of my body, digging closer-and-closer to my soft, pitiable mind. Pleasure wiped away the soldiers defending any-and-all doubt in my mind like an overwhelming enemy force. It was as if the age of horseman was watching the tank wipe it clean off the battlefield. 

 

Each thrust a fire of an entire fleet’s main cannon.

 

The literal canon of my mind now overridden.

 

History, written by the victor.

 

I’d lost. The battle was over. The war was over. I didn’t even know what war I had lost, only that I had indeed lost it.

 

I was Rachel’s good girl, and as I passed out, face-first into the sinking battleship that was our mattress—to drown in the seas of pleasure—I could just barely make out my silly wife yelling:

 

“Oh shit, I think we, like, popped the mattress! Jenni? Jenni, are you awake? Fuck, I haven’t cum yet! Jenni!! JENNI WAKE UP I WANNA CUMMY IN YOUR TUMMY!!!”

 

***

 

DECEMBER 12, 2024: 

 

“Rach, are you actually upset with me that you didn’t cum, or are you just doing a bit?” I asked as I tweaked my hair in the mirror. It was nearing 11AM now, which meant we only had half an hour to get to the salon appointment Miss York had made for me. I’d considered canceling the appointment after last night, but my morning had been so chaotic at this point that there wasn’t any point. Things were actually on the up-and-up for me after a rough night and while emotionally I was drained beyond comprehension I really didn’t want to turn Miss York down, since I knew that she would be making a surprise second visit to the club for the week tonight. 

 

Rachel made some sort of pouting noise as she slipped her tennis shoes on and double checked to make sure her ass still looked good through the pink skirt layered over leggings. It was surprisingly ankle-length, a rarity for Miss Mini-Skirt Seattle. “Chirp!”

 

“Rach you are adorable, you know that?”

 

“I love you too, girlie. Chirp!”

 

Rach and I caught the bus into the city and arrived at the salon just in time. The process of getting hair extensions was actually pretty interesting to experience, but what caught my attention the most was the finished work. I hadn’t had such relatively long hair—now riding down to the small of my back—since I was a twelve year old child. Being able to see myself in the mirror with so much hair threw me for a loop at first. I thought that I had grown accustomed to seeing a woman in the mirror, but in many ways actually having long hair was even more breath-taking than I’d imagined it could be. 

 

“Oh, wow!” Rach exclaimed, “You look amazing, Jenni!”

 

A weird feeling that I couldn’t describe washed over my shoulders. Standing up from the salon chair to test how the hair moved with my body, I was surprised how much heavier my head now felt. Still, it was a nice feeling, so I turned to the mirror and did a cute peace sign pose. Rach slipped up to my left, phone in hand, and positioned her hand up for a selfie. As the phone counted down from three I watched the two girls on screen posing as cute-sexy as possible and realized that they were, in fact, actually me and my best friend, now completely unrecognizable to anyone that would have known us a year ago.

 

And it was pretty fuckin’ awesome.  

 

Hair installed, Rach and I took another bus to a café near the club to chill before having to walk back into Hell. We sat in the back of the café for some privacy. Rach picked at a scone, criticizing the scone’s inferior taste to ‘the gay ones from the gay place’. As I idly listened to my goober of a wife go on about the proper taste for a scone I idly tossed-and-turned over the word ‘gay’ in my mind. 

 

Was I gay? I mean…I’d pretty much accepted that I was a girl at present—or at least, did not want to stop pretending to be a girl—and I didn’t want to medically or socially detransition, either. I’d never felt anything regarding how I used to look, just over a year ago.

 

But now…I was cute? Hot? Sexy? Women looked at me with either envy or thinly veiled interest. Men…well, some men…typically looked at me with lust. For being a woman. The thing I enjoyed being. So…did that make me trans? But…I hadn’t even known that I was trans beforehand. Sure, it took Rachel eighteen years to figure it out, too, but for as long as I had known her, in all the smallest and biggest of ways, Rachel had also clearly been trying to rebel against the gender she had been so mistakenly assigned at birth.

 

Me? I just went with the flow, and never felt any worse for it.

 

Actually, I never felt anything. That was the problem: if I’d felt gender dysphoria I’d at least know. It’d at least have something to explain to people. Instead, all I had was…gender euphoria?

 

Hurriedly, I pulled out my phone and began searching the internet. The world around me might as well have been a black void. All that mattered now was—

 

A soft hand laid atop my left hand as I scrolled through search results with my right. Looking up, I saw the concerned look of my wife. “Oh, sorry, did you say something?”

 

“Jenni, honey…why are you looking up ‘gender euphoria’?” she asked with a calm and understanding that I wasn’t used to her having. She was acting that way a lot more lately. I hope she wasn’t feeling unwell.

 

“Wh-what?” I asked, disoriented. My phone was flat on the surface of the table, meaning she could see what I was looking at, even from her position on the opposite side of the table. Oh, that’s how she knew I was looking up—

 

“Sweetie, it’s okay to talk to me, y’know. It’s not a bother to me at all,” she half-whispered.

 

It was so damned unsettling seeing Rach be so…I don’t know, wise? Present? I tried to open my mouth to tell her that there was nothing wrong, but for some reason my throat was dry. It was like all the moisture had traveled up to my eyes, which were getting suspiciously wet. Tears began running down my cheeks, like my eyes had overflown from all the moisture. “Oh, weird,” I laughed nervously, “I’m crying?”

 

“Hon, listen,” Rachel said with an unfamiliar sternness, “I know that this really isn’t my place to be doing this, but I’m worried that you’re just not ever going to talk to me. Like, I know I’m kind of a re—I know that I’m neurodivergent, so maybe I don’t come across as, like, a thinky-think kinda girl, but I do pay attention and thinky-think about you, y’know?”

 

Why the hell was I still crying?

 

“So, like, I just want you to know, like, that if you’re trans, it’s okay to just, like, say it. Like, come on, you helped me out so much when I first hatched.”

 

That was right. All those sites I’d read, about how gender dysphoria didn’t make you trans, gender eu—

 

Rachel slipped around into my side of the booth and wrapped her arms around me so that my wailing would be absorbed by her chest instead of drawing attention from the entire café.

 

“It’s okay, Jenni,” Rach whispered as she rocked my limp form in her embrace. “Just take your time.”