427 Evergreen Terrace
New Hebron, California
Sapphira’s eyes snapped open, and he sat bolt upright fists swinging, but his blows only met empty air. Which was fortunate because given his enhanced strength he might have injured someone. He sat there panting for a moment, then closed his eyes and took slow deliberate breaths.
Memories of Kwrump’s attack were still vivid in his mind, and remembrances of the fight dominated his dreams. He’d even re-witnessed his daughter’s death, but this time the great brute of an exemplar had been the one to kill her.
He let his eyes flutter back open, sighed, shook the hair out of his face and glanced down at his chest. His breasts were large and firm, the that damn near any woman would be envious and most any man would love to get his hands on. He cupped them, sighed again, and slid his hands down the side of his body.
Most women these days seemed to think they needed to starve themselves, to be beautiful, but Everett never understood that line of thinking. Women had curves for a reason why try to deny what nature had given them? His new form, was the sort any man would drool over. He had curves in all the right places, not that he was overweight.
That didn’t make him feel any better. In fact, it only made the whole thing worse.
He stood, pulling the shirt he’d slept in over his head with both hands, unfastened the hooks on his bra and moved across the room. When he reached the opposite wall, he stopped in front of the full-length mirror that donned the wall. The woman who looked back at him, didn’t resemble the old Everett Howard, in any sense of the word. The only way in which her appearance mirrored his image of himself was the scowl that marred her beautiful features.
He cupped his bare breasts and glanced toward the door, worried that Amelia might intrude upon his solitude, but the door remained closed. He still wasn’t sure how to process the events of the previous night, he’d inherited a set of powerful abilities from Ashtar, but they were unreliable and difficult to control.
After, he’d healed the agent, they’d both sent escorted off to the hospital, and upon waking from unconsciousness the doctor informed him they were both in perfect health. The oddest part was that Amy’s shoulder showed no sign Kwrump broke it.
It was late when they’d arrived back at Amelia’s place and by then the Agent had just enough presence of mind to show him to his room before the two of them both collapsed into their respective beds in exhausted heaps.
He couldn’t guess the time, he saw no clock and had yet to acquire a wristwatch, but if the sunlight spilling into the room through the blinds was any sign, it was well into late morning. In over fifty years he hadn’t slept past seven on more than a few occasions.
He glared at his reflection one final time, re-clothed himself, minus the brazier, retrieve a fresh outfit from the shopping bags he’d thrown in the corner before slipping out of the room. He came face to face with Amelia, who had a mug of coffee clutched in her delicate hands.
“God Dammit” She exclaimed and took a few furtive steps back avoiding splattering the front of her shirt with coffee. “Didn’t expect you to be up. I was just about to check in on you.”
“Sorry if I startled you,” he said, and scratched the back of his neck and grimaced, almost yelping, as his nails tore into his soft skin.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m a little extra jumpy after last night. There’s a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen if you’re interested,” she said throwing a thumb over her shoulder, motioning down the hallway.
“Gave up coffee years ago,” he muttered under his breath and then added, “High-blood pressure” as an explanation, but paused when he realized that didn’t apply to him any more.
He bit his lip, his cheeks burn as he looked about the hallway, before holding up his chosen apparel for the agent to see. “I’d love some, but, first, if you don’t mind, I always start my day out with a nice hot shower.”
She took a sip from her mug and nodded to the door on her left. “Knock yourself out. Bathroom’s just right there, there are clean towels on the right side of closet and fresh soap in the bottom drawer of the vanity. You can even use my shampoo if you don’t mind smelling like lavender meadows.”
Sapphira watched the agent take another sip from her mug and scuttle down the hallway. When she’d disappeared from view, he pushed the bathroom door open and swung it shut behind him.
He closed his eyes and pulled his shirt over his head. He tried not to focus on the way his breasts jiggled when the fabric caught on them, but he might as well have tried to stop breathing. His eyes snapped back open and he let the shirt fall from his fingers.
He pursed his lips as his hands slipped around the waistband of his jeans. The button and zipper were familiar enough, but as he slid the pants down from his waist, he damn well saw a difference. He’d never, in his many years, worn a pair of slacks that were so form fitting. The saleswoman at the shop had called the damned things skinny jeans, and he understood why.
It took more work getting them off than he was accustomed. He had to guide them down his hips and legs, all the while hopping back and forth, before he pulled them free. A set of simple white panties followed, falling free with far more ease, something for which he was grateful.
He looked down at the pile of clothes on the ground scowled at them and glanced at himself in the mirror. His eyes took in the site of his erect nipples, he scowled and folded his arms across his chest. The exemplar shivered, retrieved a bar of soap and a wash cloth from inside the closet and stepped into the shower, sliding the frosted door shut behind him.
He fumbled with the unfamiliar faucet, at first, but steaming hot water rained down on him in no time. It wasn’t the first shower he’d taken since being transformed, but it was different in one significant way. Before, he’d clenched his eyes shut throughout most of the process and struggled hard to pretend that everything was as it should be. This time, he was letting reality setting in. He was stuck as a woman. He’d best familiarize himself with his new anatomy as much as it galled him to admit, even if it was just to himself.
He glanced down at his breasts and frowned, his heart pounding inside his chest. It was bizarre cruel twist of fate that had put him in this situation to begin with and try as he might he couldn’t come to terms with it.
He lathered his breasts and forcing his hand to make slow and methodical movements. They jiggled each time he brushed against them or he scrubbed hard enough. It was an odd sensation, but one with which he would have to become accustomed. He might have been a woman, but goddamnit, if he would be a sissy crybaby about it.
When he finished, he moved his hand away from his breast, moving up and down his body, caressing every curve and every inch of his voluptuous new form. As he did so, he became more and more aware of something that was unexpected. His explorations aroused him.
His sex drive had been, for the most part, non-existent for over a decade and now to have it return with such intensity, and worse, in such a strange new way, went beyond disconcerting.
Without even realizing what his hands were doing, he found that his index and middle fingers were inches from his vaginal cavity. He froze, biting his lips and his heart still hammering inside his chest.
What the hell was he doing?
He almost stopped altogether, but as he stood there, warm water splattering upon his now erect breasts, he had a thought. One which made his cheeks burn, all the more.
What if Amelia were to walk in on him?
That didn’t seem to be a showstopper. His heart beat harder and he slipped his fingers inside the opening and shivered at the sensation. He moaned and closed his eyes calling out the agents name.
What would have been a quick and nonsexual self-exploratory shower became much more prolonged and much more erotic affair. He became lost to the slow sensual movements of his hands, one plunging fingers in and out of his opening the other, rubbing his nipples.
He might have gone on for hours, if it weren’t for a series of dull thuds against the hollow bathroom door, that snapped him out of his masturbatory explorations.
“Liv, you all right, in there?” Amelia’s voice called, muffled and dull, through the door.
“Y-yeah,” he called back, but his voice faltered. He cleared his throat jerking both hands away from his body.
What the hell had gotten into him?
“I’ll be out in a minute,” he called again and gritted his teeth forcing away all thoughts of the agent out of his mind.
Given her vicinity that proved to be difficult, but he steadied his breath and concentrated on finishing his shower. As hard as that proved to be the humiliation at being found out, was more than enough incentive to keep him from giving it another go.
When Sapphira stepped out from the shower he dressed himself. He didn’t glance in the mirror or pause, even when he experienced the still unfamiliar sensation of an emptiness between his legs when he pulled his panties into place or his breasts pushing against the fabric of his t-shirt.
Once dressed, he pulled his hair out of his shirt, the wet strands dampening the shoulders and back of the blouse. He had been an old-fashioned kind of man, but he had been a single-father raising a daughter by himself. He knew what was necessary to maintain longer tresses like the ones he now sported. Soon, he told himself, he would get a haircut and get his locks shorn down to a length just a little easier to maintain.
With a sigh, he glanced at the mirror and searched through Amelia’s vanity. There he found what was looking for, a brush. He gritted his teeth and glared at the dark-skinned woman in the mirror, one more time, before he got to work. As much as he hated what he saw, he wasn’t about to let his hair get tangled and matted. He’d never experienced it himself, but, as a single father, he had a good idea, from experiences with his daughter, just how unpleasant that might be.