SkinnyToChubby
Member
M to BBW, ~~WG - a male admirer of BBWs unexpectedly gets to experience things firsthand.
Authors Note: I never think I'm done with a story, but I think it's time that I called this one "done", at least for now. Can't wait to see which category it gets classified in...
I have long been an avid student of the female form. Beyond mere admiration, I study what appeals to me and struggle to understand why. When I was younger, it was breasts that appealed to me the most, then I became what you might call an ass-man. But eventually I realized that what I loved the most in a beautiful woman's body was the combination of a curvaceous female form with the supple softness of strategically placed and apportioned fat. That's right, fat. While it might have taken a little while, I now reject the pop culture fallacy that fat, the substance that comprises the most feminine aspects of the female form, can somehow be extricated from the rest of a beautiful woman's body. To me, the paramount in feminine beauty lies at the point immediately before growing softness stops accentuating and starts obscuring the hourglass form I admire so well. In short, a curvaceous, chubby beauty.
Such were my thoughts as I stared into my half-empty wine glass. This was not an uncommon train of thought for me, but at this particular time, the inspiration for this thought was sitting directly across from me at the small French cafe at which I was having dinner. And it wasn't because the girl across from me fit my ideal. Far from it. I had been set up on another date by a friend who thought that my present dining companion and I would "really click", and it was clear why she had thought so. If it isn't weird enough that people tend to choose dogs that look like them, I've found that most people take a similar approach with their significant others. Blond dates blond. Tall dates tall. And fat dates fat. I, however, fit quite squarely into the "thin" (or even "skinny") category, and thus was expected to be perfectly matched by the very thin girl pushing her salad around the plate across the table. Like me, she had brown hair, greenish eyes and had to easily border on any doctor's definition of "underweight". Not that I didn't eat, mind you--I ate plenty. It just never stuck. Whether it was possible to put a pound on my date tonight, however, had clearly never been tested, as she had hardly eaten a thing.
But to be honest with myself, perhaps I had never gained any weight myself because I didnt want to. Maybe I was even scared to. I had always been the skinny guy, and I wouldnt be myself if I wasnt my usual skinny self. But if I were her, I thought, thinking of my date, that would be another story. Fat had such a sensually feminine connotation in my mind that on me I felt it would be emasculating; on her, it would be an unqualified improvement.
As I mused over this thought, something momentarily distracted me. A stunningly gorgeous woman, mid-twenties, with long blond hair walked by and turned more than a few heads. She was tall for a woman, my height, about 59, plus heels. And she was not skinny. She was dressed in a tight blue dress that showed off her voluptuous figure very well: a classic Marilyn Monroe hourglass with generous cleavage showing and a bubble-butt that was barely contained by the dress. And (for me) best of all, I made out the soft contours of her little belly gently shifting as she strolled behind my dates chair.
My date. My eyes shifted back from curves to angles, and I knew I was wasting both of our time. The waiter passed by, and I asked for the check, eager to extract myself from the awkward position I had put us in and go home. I dont think she was surprised either; my heart obviously wasnt in this, so after the matter of paying was taken care of we parted ways, amicably but without the typical empty gestures suggesting any kind of future contact.
My whole walk home, I couldnt get the gloriously chubby beauty out of my head, and I kept wondering why my date (and all of her myriad look-alikes) starved themselves to look worse.
Having arrived at home, I walked into my bedroom and put on the t-shirt I usually wear to sleep in with my boxers. As I put on my small size t-shirt I wondering if I was being a hypocrite about my dates weight. I pulled out the scale in my bathroom. 132lbs. Scrawny. Yet I was a little relieved to see that I hadnt gained any weight recently -- total hypocrite.
I brushed my teeth, washed my face, got into bed and turned off the light. After an exhausting day, first at work and then on the date, I couldnt wait to go to sleep. Tomorrow was Saturday, so I was looking forward to sleeping in. And as I closed my eyes, my mind drifted to the blurry image of the voluptuous beauty who had momentarily graced my field of view earlier that evening.
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It must have been mid-morning when I awoke, because the sun was shining directly into my window and drew me from my sleep. I stretched my arms out, shifting my body beneath the sheets, hoping to eek out a few extra minutes of slumber by turning my face away from the window.
After flipping over in my half-awakened state, and focusing hard on returning to unconsciousness, I gradually became aware of a curious sensation. My boxers were almost painfully tight and were giving me a ridiculous wedgie. I figured that I must have gotten them twisted around in my sleep, but when I reached down to pull on them, they were skin-tight! I pulled off the sheets to figure out what was going on when I had an extraordinary shock. Looking down to see the boxers, my view was entirely obstructed by my shirt, which seemed to have puffed up or something. I pushed down on it, and instead of pushing down an air pocket, I found myself pushing on ... me! Or at least a strange, squishy part of me.
This was getting really strange, and I was wide awake now, so I fully threw off the covers, sat up, and saw that my boxers were practically painted onto my legs. Which were completely hairless. And rather shapely...
I leaped out of bed and ran into the bathroom, which was plastered with mirrors. Looking back at me was a very attractive woman, wearing my clothes and making every movement I made. I felt my stomach flip, like upon the descent on a roller coaster. I muttered out loud, "what the fuck?" but my voice sounded strange -- higher, and more feminine.
I had a sudden thought and grabbed between my legs and found what I feared -- something was missing. The full impact of everything was finally hitting home. Somehow, impossibly, I had woken up as a woman. But I was wearing the same clothes (which obviously didn't fit me anymore) and my hair was the same. And I was in my apartment.
I leaned in closer to the mirror and examined my face. As I stared into the mirror, I realized that while the face looking back at me was that of a woman--a very beautiful one at that--it was my face. Only female. My mouth was a little wider, lips fuller, nose smaller and cheekbones higher, but it was clearly my nose, and my face. And I was looking back at my green eyes, framed by a softer, more delicately feminine version of my face. It was like I had become my female twin.
I stepped back to take in the rest of the changes to my body. If my face had at least been somewhat recognizable, my body was not. Though I saw that I still had the small birthmark on my left arm, my body had transformed -- and grown. The t-shirt I was sleeping in was pressed tightly against my chest (in fact, tight everywhere) and my breasts were pulling it up so that a bit of my stomach was exposed. Though I had been a very skinny guy, it was clear that I was not such a skinny girl. My boxers were digging into a couple of inches of soft tummy flesh and I had little love handles on my sides. Even my arms were thicker and were tightly pressed into my shirt sleeves.
I needed to get a sense of the whole picture, so I pulled off the t-shirt, albeit with some difficulty. In all my years of dating, I had never had the opportunity to see a pair of breasts like those I now possessed. They were large, but very pert, with perfect nipples. I cupped them with my hands and guessed them to be about a D-cup. It felt so strange to have this soft, jiggly flesh hanging from my chest, but as I handled my breasts, I felt myself begin to get aroused. Then I poked a delicate finger into the strange new softness on my belly, feeling it sink into a new layer of fat where before had been visible abs. I needed to get my boxers off, but it was clear that my hips had widened considerably, and my thighs had filled out. I started to try to pull off the boxers, but I quickly realized that the biggest obstacle would be that my butt had doubled in size. Realizing the futility of my situation, I grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the boxers off, very carefully.
So there I was looking in the mirror at a voluptuous naked woman. Me. My body was nearly hairless (including down there) and my skin felt incredibly smooth to me. I checked out my ass in the mirror and couldnt believe how much bigger it was than my skinny guy butt. Not only wider, but it stuck out several inches more, forming a bubble butt. Looking carefully at myself, I realized that the overall curves I had acquired were in part attributable to the thin new layer of extra fat that had spread over all of my body. I sucked in my stomach and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like a buxom, hourglass-figured pinup girl. But when I relaxed, my new little belly stuck out a bit more than pop culture allowed. Out of curiosity, I stepped onto the scale I had used the previous night. 162 lbs. That was a thirty pound gain! But looking at my new boobs and belly, wider hips, bigger butt and fuller thighs, it was clear that all this extra flesh had to weigh something.
My stomach rumbled, and I realized that I was starving and didnt have any food in the house. But I couldnt go out naked! I walked back into the bedroom and tried to scrounge up something I could wear in public. It was summer, and summer in New York is anything but formal, but what could I wear? First step was underwear. Looking at the scraps of the boxers I had needed to cut off lying on the floor, I knew that boxers wouldnt work. I did have a stretchy pair of tighty-whiteys in my drawer that I never normally wear, so I pulled them out. They appeared to be about 99% elastic, so I was able to pull them up, although they were clearly too small and ended up looking more like a thong on my bigger butt. The waistband dug into me too, forming a noticeable indentation in my softer waistline. I looked like I was about to burst out of the underwear, and I found myself turned on again.
I grabbed the pair of jeans I had worn out the night before, but I was unable to pull them up past my thighs. A pair of khakis got past my thighs and hips, but my new little belly made buttoning them impossible. Sucking it in as much as possible, I couldnt get the button and button-hole to meet. What was I going to do? I started digging through drawers and found an old pair of sweatpants. These had always been loose, so I figured Id give them a try. This time I succeeded, although they were embarrassingly tight and obviously too small. I put on a t-shirt, but it too was very tight around my breasts and you could tell I wasnt wearing a bra. What was I going to do though? Its not like I had bras lying around. As I walked towards the door, I could feel my boobs jiggling madly. Fuck, I was going to be that slutty bra-less girl walking down the street. Plus my breasts pulled up the shirt, revealing an inch or so of soft tummy flesh poking over the restrictive sweatpants.
I got my wallet and walked to the door, still somewhat in a daze about the whole situation when a thought occurred to me. I pulled out my license, and boy was I in for a surprise. The picture was of girl-me. Instead of Sam, it said Samantha. And there was my height: 59, hair color, brown, and eye color: green. The address was the same. I had no idea what to make of this, so I slipped on my flip-flops (which were now a little too big), grabbed my keys and headed out.
There was a hot dog place on the corner of my block, Papaya-something, so I walked over there. I was really starving, so I got three hot dogs and a drink, trying not to think about how strange my voice sounded, and attempted to ignore the man behind the counter grinning at me while staring at my chest. As quickly as possible I took my food, headed to the counter facing the windows onto the street, and sat down to eat.
While sitting there eating, it was almost easy enough to forget that I wasnt the usual me. But then Id look up and see a glimmer of my reflection in the glass window and I realized that if I was a woman now, I needed to fix my look, fast. I decided that step one would have to be the clothing store. There was a nice department store up the street, and I figured I could get everything I needed there. So I finished up my lunch, threw out my trash and started walking uptown. The sensation of my breasts freely jiggling as I walked was so strange and embarrassing that I walked most of the way with my arms crossed in front of me and my head down. I could feel my butt shaking with each step as well, which was strange. I couldnt believe the entire world wasnt looking at me, yet in New York, Im sure I barely stood out, a hot girl wearing tight clothes and a short haircut. Nothing special for this town.
As soon as I stepped into the store, however, things were a little different. This was a nice place, and I certainly did stand out. I approached the employee standing by the door, who gave me a somewhat quizzical look.
Excuse me, I was wondering if you could tell me where something is?
Sure, what are you looking for?
Wow, where to begin. What was I looking for? I responded, Im looking for the underwear section. This seemed like a priority, or at least a reasonable foundation.
Ladies Lingerie is on the third floor, to your left.
I thanked him and headed towards the escalators. When I got to the lingerie department, I stopped for a moment, smiled to myself and shook my head. This had always been a department that I went out of my way to avoid. If I got dragged along with a girlfriend, I always felt very uncomfortable, because I didnt want to be the weird guy wandering around the lingerie department. And now I was here buying stuff for myself.
Can I help you?
"Yes, thank you. I'm looking for..." I paused for a second. What was I looking for? "I'm looking for everything I guess."
"Everything?"
I thought for a moment and had my answer. "Well I had a fire in my apartment this morning, I won't be able to get in for weeks perhaps and I have nothing, so I'm totally starting from scratch. This seemed like the place to start."
"That's terrible!" the saleswoman responded. "Well I'll get you fixed up with some new underwear right away. What size are you?"
I had no idea. This is the kind of thing I'm supposed to know. "Well...I've never shopped here before, so I'm not sure." This seemed like a smooth save to me, but I was mistaken."
"Ok, but what sizes are you normally?"
I didn't know what to do but guess. I threw out my default. "Uh, small?"
This was met with a skeptical look. The saleswoman looked me over from head to toe and said, "Well honey, maybe our sizes run a little small here, because I think you should go for at least a medium in the panties."
I blushed a bit, suddenly aware of how tight the sweatpants were that I was wearing. "Right, of course. That makes sense, thanks."
"And for the bra?"
This was proving to be a lot harder than I had imagined. "Um, you know, it's been a while since I last had a fitting, and I think I've um, gained a little weight since then, so maybe it's best if we check."
"That's fine, I'll be happy to help you with that. Why don't we step into a dressing room?"
I had absolutely no idea what this would entail, but I followed the saleswoman to the back, into a dressing room, which was surprisingly spacious.
The saleswoman had grabbed a tape measure and stood looking at me, waiting.
Ummm, what are we waiting for? I asked.
Well this is much easier if you take your shirt off.
I blushed and looked down at the floor for a second.
The saleswoman smiled. Oh, its just us girls here. If youre shy though, I understand, we can try and measure with the shirt on, it just may not be as good of a fit.
Oh no, Im fine. I said, and pulled off my shirt. The saleswoman approached me and wrapped a tape measure around my chest immediately below my breasts and then around them.
OK, all done. Id suggest a 36D. Is that a big change from before?
Definitely. I sure wasnt half-assing the whole female thing.
You mentioned that you had put on a little weight recently. If you dont mind my asking, how much did you gain since you were last fitted?
Thirty pounds, I responded, absent-mindedly poking a finger into my soft, exposed tummy and suddenly feeling a little self-conscious.
The sales woman gave me another look over. Well, I sure wish I could gain thirty pounds and look like that. Id say it suits you very well.
I blushed again. Thanks. I guess Ill keep it. I laughed, and she smiled.
While youre at it, would you mind taking my other measurements, I figure so long as Im getting a new wardrobe, I might as well get it right.
Sure honey. As I had suspected, my hips were eight inches bigger than before, and I had also added three to my waist. I thanked the saleswoman, put my shirt back on, and went out the the sales floor.
I picked out ten bras and ten pairs of panties, and after paying, excused myself to hop into a dressing room and put them on. Putting on the bra was easier than I thought it would be, and the panties were less snug than what I had been wearing, and allowed me to breath a little, even if I was still in the insanely tight sweatpants. I realized looking in the mirror that I had a visible panty line, so I went back out and got a couple thongs too, in case I wanted them later.
I still needed normal clothes, so I found the casual women's clothes department. The first order of business was jeans, so with the help of a nice salesperson I found the right size. Tighter than I would wear as a guy, but that was the look. The "curvy" cut that I got really showed off my ass! I bought a couple of pairs and decided that for the summer, I should get shorts too. When I tried those on though, aside from being tight like the jeans, I couldn't believe how short they all were. I would have felt ridiculous as a guy wearing them, but looking in the mirror, I knew they looked good, and I would have stopped myself dead in my tracks. Why not dress a little sexy, I figured. When life deals you lemons, you make lemonade, so if life had dealt me melons, well...you know.
I picked out a bunch of tops too, mainly going with the salesgirls suggestions. When I went to try them all on, I was again thrown off by how form-fitting everything was, but they all looked great, so bought everything. I was even talked into a couple of bikinis, "just in case" the girl said.
The salesgirl suggested that I get something a little more formal, so I tried on a little red dress she suggested. It looked amazing, and really showed off my curves, even if a little belly was visible through the tight fabric.
Fully attired (with matching shoes of course), I gathered up my loot and grabbed a cab home. Easiest cab I ever hailed.
Once home, I started emptying out my old clothes from my closet and putting in my new ones. It had been really hot out, so I hopped in the shower. I still couldn't believe this was my body. I could feel all the extra fleshy softness as I lathered myself up. I was getting very turned on, and without even realizing what I was doing, I found myself exploring my curves with one hand while pleasuring myself with the other. It was the best shower of my life.
After drying off, I slipped on some underwear and a pair of my new shorts, a tight tank-top and a pair of sandals and checked out my reflection. Hmmm. I had some great cleavage going on and I looked hot, but the boy's haircut was terrible. I decided to go to see what could be done.
There was a salon down the street that I had never been to before, but it looked nice, so I decided to give it a try. As soon as I walked in, I was pleasantly greeted my a pretty blond girl around my age, though at least as skinny as I had been before my recent changes.
"Hello, what can we help you with today?" she asked.
"Hi," I responded, "I was hoping you could help me with a style change."
"Of course, I'd love to help you!" the girl responded. "I'm Stacey."
"I'm Sam. Samantha."
"Well Sam, what did you have in mind?"
I thought for a second. "I don't really know. I guess I don't know what's possible, and I'm interested in hearing your suggestions."
"Sure! Ok, with hair as short as yours, there's still a lot we can do -- cuts, color -- and if you're interested in extensions, really anything is possible."
I hadn't thought of extensions. In fact, I didn't even really understand what they were. "How do extensions work?"
"It's kind of expensive and takes a long time, but we attach strands of hair to your hair to make it longer. We'll have to dye it all so that the color all matches, though we can match your natural color."
This opened up all new options. "That's really interesting. What would you recommend?"
Stacey took a good look at me, tapping a finger on her chin as she thought. "With a build like you have, I tend to favor longer hair. Have you ever seen yourself as a blond?"
Definitely not, but I had never seen myself as a woman, so I decided to be flexible. "Umm, I'm open to anything."
"Cool. Here's what I'm thinking. We add extensions until your hair is at your shoulder blades, then we dye it all a darker blonde and add lighter highlights."
"That would be different!"
"Sure would. Are you interested?"
Why not, I figured. A whole new me.
"Sold. Actually, how much is this?"
Stacey's response nearly blew my mind (I was used to cheap haircuts), and I couldn't believe the amour of time it was going to take, but there was just enough time left in the day to get it done and I had nothing else to do.
I won't recount the hours-long process that followed, but I got to know Stacey very well in the hours we spent together. Eventually, as the sun was starting to set, we finished, and I could take in the results in the mirror. It was an amazing transformation. I had a kind of honey colored skin tone, so the blond hair looked very natural. Not to be vain (I hardly felt like the face I saw in the mirror was even mine!), but I looked gorgeous. Especially in my tight tank-top and shorts, I was every bit the voluptuous blond bombshell.
Stacey smiled as she saw me admiring my reflection. Looking good! Pretty nice work, if I say so myself. She put on a wry smile. I must say, it really looks like this was how you were meant to look.
I twirled a lock of blond hair in my fingers. I agree.
The few blocks I walked home were a kind of strange experience. Ive always been an observer of people -- its part of the fun of living in New York. But I wasnt really used to being observed. Now when I looked at people, I realized that many of them were already looking at me. I decided to stay in for the night.
I got home and realized I was starving. I flipped on the TV, ordered a pizza, and settled down for the evening. When the pizza came, I realized they had given me a large instead of a small, but the delivery guy was very, very accommodating and only charged me for the small. I practically inhaled the pizza, and before I knew it, it was gone. All of it. And wow was I stuffed. As I walked over to the bathroom to wash the grease off my hands, I caught a glance at my reflection. I practically looked pregnant, my stomach was so full. I had been full before in my life of course, but I usually was wearing something looser, so it wasnt so obvious. Plus I had more belly now no matter how full I was. I had a brief moment of panic; I had always heard that women put on weight much more easily than men, and I didnt want to get fat. Right?
It was then that I realized that this was my opportunity. Was I a hypocrite? I had always criticized the serial dieters while rationalizing my skinniness by my fast metabolism and a nagging belief that fat on guys just didnt look good. But now here I was, a beautiful woman with a curvaceous build that could clearly support a few extra pounds, and I was worrying about getting fat. So I decided that I would eat whatever I wanted, and Id let things happen as they happened.
And they happened fast. The next morning I had digested everything and was hungry again, so I got dressed and went to the diner down the street. I ordered myself the lumberjack breakfast with just about everything imaginable, much to the surprise of my server. Im just really hungry today I explained. Indeed I was, because I finished everything. By the time I ordered my next pizza that evening (after a great burger for lunch), I was stuffed and fell asleep dreaming of food.
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Authors Note: I never think I'm done with a story, but I think it's time that I called this one "done", at least for now. Can't wait to see which category it gets classified in...
Metamorphosis
by SkinnyToChubby
by SkinnyToChubby
I have long been an avid student of the female form. Beyond mere admiration, I study what appeals to me and struggle to understand why. When I was younger, it was breasts that appealed to me the most, then I became what you might call an ass-man. But eventually I realized that what I loved the most in a beautiful woman's body was the combination of a curvaceous female form with the supple softness of strategically placed and apportioned fat. That's right, fat. While it might have taken a little while, I now reject the pop culture fallacy that fat, the substance that comprises the most feminine aspects of the female form, can somehow be extricated from the rest of a beautiful woman's body. To me, the paramount in feminine beauty lies at the point immediately before growing softness stops accentuating and starts obscuring the hourglass form I admire so well. In short, a curvaceous, chubby beauty.
Such were my thoughts as I stared into my half-empty wine glass. This was not an uncommon train of thought for me, but at this particular time, the inspiration for this thought was sitting directly across from me at the small French cafe at which I was having dinner. And it wasn't because the girl across from me fit my ideal. Far from it. I had been set up on another date by a friend who thought that my present dining companion and I would "really click", and it was clear why she had thought so. If it isn't weird enough that people tend to choose dogs that look like them, I've found that most people take a similar approach with their significant others. Blond dates blond. Tall dates tall. And fat dates fat. I, however, fit quite squarely into the "thin" (or even "skinny") category, and thus was expected to be perfectly matched by the very thin girl pushing her salad around the plate across the table. Like me, she had brown hair, greenish eyes and had to easily border on any doctor's definition of "underweight". Not that I didn't eat, mind you--I ate plenty. It just never stuck. Whether it was possible to put a pound on my date tonight, however, had clearly never been tested, as she had hardly eaten a thing.
But to be honest with myself, perhaps I had never gained any weight myself because I didnt want to. Maybe I was even scared to. I had always been the skinny guy, and I wouldnt be myself if I wasnt my usual skinny self. But if I were her, I thought, thinking of my date, that would be another story. Fat had such a sensually feminine connotation in my mind that on me I felt it would be emasculating; on her, it would be an unqualified improvement.
As I mused over this thought, something momentarily distracted me. A stunningly gorgeous woman, mid-twenties, with long blond hair walked by and turned more than a few heads. She was tall for a woman, my height, about 59, plus heels. And she was not skinny. She was dressed in a tight blue dress that showed off her voluptuous figure very well: a classic Marilyn Monroe hourglass with generous cleavage showing and a bubble-butt that was barely contained by the dress. And (for me) best of all, I made out the soft contours of her little belly gently shifting as she strolled behind my dates chair.
My date. My eyes shifted back from curves to angles, and I knew I was wasting both of our time. The waiter passed by, and I asked for the check, eager to extract myself from the awkward position I had put us in and go home. I dont think she was surprised either; my heart obviously wasnt in this, so after the matter of paying was taken care of we parted ways, amicably but without the typical empty gestures suggesting any kind of future contact.
My whole walk home, I couldnt get the gloriously chubby beauty out of my head, and I kept wondering why my date (and all of her myriad look-alikes) starved themselves to look worse.
Having arrived at home, I walked into my bedroom and put on the t-shirt I usually wear to sleep in with my boxers. As I put on my small size t-shirt I wondering if I was being a hypocrite about my dates weight. I pulled out the scale in my bathroom. 132lbs. Scrawny. Yet I was a little relieved to see that I hadnt gained any weight recently -- total hypocrite.
I brushed my teeth, washed my face, got into bed and turned off the light. After an exhausting day, first at work and then on the date, I couldnt wait to go to sleep. Tomorrow was Saturday, so I was looking forward to sleeping in. And as I closed my eyes, my mind drifted to the blurry image of the voluptuous beauty who had momentarily graced my field of view earlier that evening.
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It must have been mid-morning when I awoke, because the sun was shining directly into my window and drew me from my sleep. I stretched my arms out, shifting my body beneath the sheets, hoping to eek out a few extra minutes of slumber by turning my face away from the window.
After flipping over in my half-awakened state, and focusing hard on returning to unconsciousness, I gradually became aware of a curious sensation. My boxers were almost painfully tight and were giving me a ridiculous wedgie. I figured that I must have gotten them twisted around in my sleep, but when I reached down to pull on them, they were skin-tight! I pulled off the sheets to figure out what was going on when I had an extraordinary shock. Looking down to see the boxers, my view was entirely obstructed by my shirt, which seemed to have puffed up or something. I pushed down on it, and instead of pushing down an air pocket, I found myself pushing on ... me! Or at least a strange, squishy part of me.
This was getting really strange, and I was wide awake now, so I fully threw off the covers, sat up, and saw that my boxers were practically painted onto my legs. Which were completely hairless. And rather shapely...
I leaped out of bed and ran into the bathroom, which was plastered with mirrors. Looking back at me was a very attractive woman, wearing my clothes and making every movement I made. I felt my stomach flip, like upon the descent on a roller coaster. I muttered out loud, "what the fuck?" but my voice sounded strange -- higher, and more feminine.
I had a sudden thought and grabbed between my legs and found what I feared -- something was missing. The full impact of everything was finally hitting home. Somehow, impossibly, I had woken up as a woman. But I was wearing the same clothes (which obviously didn't fit me anymore) and my hair was the same. And I was in my apartment.
I leaned in closer to the mirror and examined my face. As I stared into the mirror, I realized that while the face looking back at me was that of a woman--a very beautiful one at that--it was my face. Only female. My mouth was a little wider, lips fuller, nose smaller and cheekbones higher, but it was clearly my nose, and my face. And I was looking back at my green eyes, framed by a softer, more delicately feminine version of my face. It was like I had become my female twin.
I stepped back to take in the rest of the changes to my body. If my face had at least been somewhat recognizable, my body was not. Though I saw that I still had the small birthmark on my left arm, my body had transformed -- and grown. The t-shirt I was sleeping in was pressed tightly against my chest (in fact, tight everywhere) and my breasts were pulling it up so that a bit of my stomach was exposed. Though I had been a very skinny guy, it was clear that I was not such a skinny girl. My boxers were digging into a couple of inches of soft tummy flesh and I had little love handles on my sides. Even my arms were thicker and were tightly pressed into my shirt sleeves.
I needed to get a sense of the whole picture, so I pulled off the t-shirt, albeit with some difficulty. In all my years of dating, I had never had the opportunity to see a pair of breasts like those I now possessed. They were large, but very pert, with perfect nipples. I cupped them with my hands and guessed them to be about a D-cup. It felt so strange to have this soft, jiggly flesh hanging from my chest, but as I handled my breasts, I felt myself begin to get aroused. Then I poked a delicate finger into the strange new softness on my belly, feeling it sink into a new layer of fat where before had been visible abs. I needed to get my boxers off, but it was clear that my hips had widened considerably, and my thighs had filled out. I started to try to pull off the boxers, but I quickly realized that the biggest obstacle would be that my butt had doubled in size. Realizing the futility of my situation, I grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the boxers off, very carefully.
So there I was looking in the mirror at a voluptuous naked woman. Me. My body was nearly hairless (including down there) and my skin felt incredibly smooth to me. I checked out my ass in the mirror and couldnt believe how much bigger it was than my skinny guy butt. Not only wider, but it stuck out several inches more, forming a bubble butt. Looking carefully at myself, I realized that the overall curves I had acquired were in part attributable to the thin new layer of extra fat that had spread over all of my body. I sucked in my stomach and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like a buxom, hourglass-figured pinup girl. But when I relaxed, my new little belly stuck out a bit more than pop culture allowed. Out of curiosity, I stepped onto the scale I had used the previous night. 162 lbs. That was a thirty pound gain! But looking at my new boobs and belly, wider hips, bigger butt and fuller thighs, it was clear that all this extra flesh had to weigh something.
My stomach rumbled, and I realized that I was starving and didnt have any food in the house. But I couldnt go out naked! I walked back into the bedroom and tried to scrounge up something I could wear in public. It was summer, and summer in New York is anything but formal, but what could I wear? First step was underwear. Looking at the scraps of the boxers I had needed to cut off lying on the floor, I knew that boxers wouldnt work. I did have a stretchy pair of tighty-whiteys in my drawer that I never normally wear, so I pulled them out. They appeared to be about 99% elastic, so I was able to pull them up, although they were clearly too small and ended up looking more like a thong on my bigger butt. The waistband dug into me too, forming a noticeable indentation in my softer waistline. I looked like I was about to burst out of the underwear, and I found myself turned on again.
I grabbed the pair of jeans I had worn out the night before, but I was unable to pull them up past my thighs. A pair of khakis got past my thighs and hips, but my new little belly made buttoning them impossible. Sucking it in as much as possible, I couldnt get the button and button-hole to meet. What was I going to do? I started digging through drawers and found an old pair of sweatpants. These had always been loose, so I figured Id give them a try. This time I succeeded, although they were embarrassingly tight and obviously too small. I put on a t-shirt, but it too was very tight around my breasts and you could tell I wasnt wearing a bra. What was I going to do though? Its not like I had bras lying around. As I walked towards the door, I could feel my boobs jiggling madly. Fuck, I was going to be that slutty bra-less girl walking down the street. Plus my breasts pulled up the shirt, revealing an inch or so of soft tummy flesh poking over the restrictive sweatpants.
I got my wallet and walked to the door, still somewhat in a daze about the whole situation when a thought occurred to me. I pulled out my license, and boy was I in for a surprise. The picture was of girl-me. Instead of Sam, it said Samantha. And there was my height: 59, hair color, brown, and eye color: green. The address was the same. I had no idea what to make of this, so I slipped on my flip-flops (which were now a little too big), grabbed my keys and headed out.
There was a hot dog place on the corner of my block, Papaya-something, so I walked over there. I was really starving, so I got three hot dogs and a drink, trying not to think about how strange my voice sounded, and attempted to ignore the man behind the counter grinning at me while staring at my chest. As quickly as possible I took my food, headed to the counter facing the windows onto the street, and sat down to eat.
While sitting there eating, it was almost easy enough to forget that I wasnt the usual me. But then Id look up and see a glimmer of my reflection in the glass window and I realized that if I was a woman now, I needed to fix my look, fast. I decided that step one would have to be the clothing store. There was a nice department store up the street, and I figured I could get everything I needed there. So I finished up my lunch, threw out my trash and started walking uptown. The sensation of my breasts freely jiggling as I walked was so strange and embarrassing that I walked most of the way with my arms crossed in front of me and my head down. I could feel my butt shaking with each step as well, which was strange. I couldnt believe the entire world wasnt looking at me, yet in New York, Im sure I barely stood out, a hot girl wearing tight clothes and a short haircut. Nothing special for this town.
As soon as I stepped into the store, however, things were a little different. This was a nice place, and I certainly did stand out. I approached the employee standing by the door, who gave me a somewhat quizzical look.
Excuse me, I was wondering if you could tell me where something is?
Sure, what are you looking for?
Wow, where to begin. What was I looking for? I responded, Im looking for the underwear section. This seemed like a priority, or at least a reasonable foundation.
Ladies Lingerie is on the third floor, to your left.
I thanked him and headed towards the escalators. When I got to the lingerie department, I stopped for a moment, smiled to myself and shook my head. This had always been a department that I went out of my way to avoid. If I got dragged along with a girlfriend, I always felt very uncomfortable, because I didnt want to be the weird guy wandering around the lingerie department. And now I was here buying stuff for myself.
Can I help you?
"Yes, thank you. I'm looking for..." I paused for a second. What was I looking for? "I'm looking for everything I guess."
"Everything?"
I thought for a moment and had my answer. "Well I had a fire in my apartment this morning, I won't be able to get in for weeks perhaps and I have nothing, so I'm totally starting from scratch. This seemed like the place to start."
"That's terrible!" the saleswoman responded. "Well I'll get you fixed up with some new underwear right away. What size are you?"
I had no idea. This is the kind of thing I'm supposed to know. "Well...I've never shopped here before, so I'm not sure." This seemed like a smooth save to me, but I was mistaken."
"Ok, but what sizes are you normally?"
I didn't know what to do but guess. I threw out my default. "Uh, small?"
This was met with a skeptical look. The saleswoman looked me over from head to toe and said, "Well honey, maybe our sizes run a little small here, because I think you should go for at least a medium in the panties."
I blushed a bit, suddenly aware of how tight the sweatpants were that I was wearing. "Right, of course. That makes sense, thanks."
"And for the bra?"
This was proving to be a lot harder than I had imagined. "Um, you know, it's been a while since I last had a fitting, and I think I've um, gained a little weight since then, so maybe it's best if we check."
"That's fine, I'll be happy to help you with that. Why don't we step into a dressing room?"
I had absolutely no idea what this would entail, but I followed the saleswoman to the back, into a dressing room, which was surprisingly spacious.
The saleswoman had grabbed a tape measure and stood looking at me, waiting.
Ummm, what are we waiting for? I asked.
Well this is much easier if you take your shirt off.
I blushed and looked down at the floor for a second.
The saleswoman smiled. Oh, its just us girls here. If youre shy though, I understand, we can try and measure with the shirt on, it just may not be as good of a fit.
Oh no, Im fine. I said, and pulled off my shirt. The saleswoman approached me and wrapped a tape measure around my chest immediately below my breasts and then around them.
OK, all done. Id suggest a 36D. Is that a big change from before?
Definitely. I sure wasnt half-assing the whole female thing.
You mentioned that you had put on a little weight recently. If you dont mind my asking, how much did you gain since you were last fitted?
Thirty pounds, I responded, absent-mindedly poking a finger into my soft, exposed tummy and suddenly feeling a little self-conscious.
The sales woman gave me another look over. Well, I sure wish I could gain thirty pounds and look like that. Id say it suits you very well.
I blushed again. Thanks. I guess Ill keep it. I laughed, and she smiled.
While youre at it, would you mind taking my other measurements, I figure so long as Im getting a new wardrobe, I might as well get it right.
Sure honey. As I had suspected, my hips were eight inches bigger than before, and I had also added three to my waist. I thanked the saleswoman, put my shirt back on, and went out the the sales floor.
I picked out ten bras and ten pairs of panties, and after paying, excused myself to hop into a dressing room and put them on. Putting on the bra was easier than I thought it would be, and the panties were less snug than what I had been wearing, and allowed me to breath a little, even if I was still in the insanely tight sweatpants. I realized looking in the mirror that I had a visible panty line, so I went back out and got a couple thongs too, in case I wanted them later.
I still needed normal clothes, so I found the casual women's clothes department. The first order of business was jeans, so with the help of a nice salesperson I found the right size. Tighter than I would wear as a guy, but that was the look. The "curvy" cut that I got really showed off my ass! I bought a couple of pairs and decided that for the summer, I should get shorts too. When I tried those on though, aside from being tight like the jeans, I couldn't believe how short they all were. I would have felt ridiculous as a guy wearing them, but looking in the mirror, I knew they looked good, and I would have stopped myself dead in my tracks. Why not dress a little sexy, I figured. When life deals you lemons, you make lemonade, so if life had dealt me melons, well...you know.
I picked out a bunch of tops too, mainly going with the salesgirls suggestions. When I went to try them all on, I was again thrown off by how form-fitting everything was, but they all looked great, so bought everything. I was even talked into a couple of bikinis, "just in case" the girl said.
The salesgirl suggested that I get something a little more formal, so I tried on a little red dress she suggested. It looked amazing, and really showed off my curves, even if a little belly was visible through the tight fabric.
Fully attired (with matching shoes of course), I gathered up my loot and grabbed a cab home. Easiest cab I ever hailed.
Once home, I started emptying out my old clothes from my closet and putting in my new ones. It had been really hot out, so I hopped in the shower. I still couldn't believe this was my body. I could feel all the extra fleshy softness as I lathered myself up. I was getting very turned on, and without even realizing what I was doing, I found myself exploring my curves with one hand while pleasuring myself with the other. It was the best shower of my life.
After drying off, I slipped on some underwear and a pair of my new shorts, a tight tank-top and a pair of sandals and checked out my reflection. Hmmm. I had some great cleavage going on and I looked hot, but the boy's haircut was terrible. I decided to go to see what could be done.
There was a salon down the street that I had never been to before, but it looked nice, so I decided to give it a try. As soon as I walked in, I was pleasantly greeted my a pretty blond girl around my age, though at least as skinny as I had been before my recent changes.
"Hello, what can we help you with today?" she asked.
"Hi," I responded, "I was hoping you could help me with a style change."
"Of course, I'd love to help you!" the girl responded. "I'm Stacey."
"I'm Sam. Samantha."
"Well Sam, what did you have in mind?"
I thought for a second. "I don't really know. I guess I don't know what's possible, and I'm interested in hearing your suggestions."
"Sure! Ok, with hair as short as yours, there's still a lot we can do -- cuts, color -- and if you're interested in extensions, really anything is possible."
I hadn't thought of extensions. In fact, I didn't even really understand what they were. "How do extensions work?"
"It's kind of expensive and takes a long time, but we attach strands of hair to your hair to make it longer. We'll have to dye it all so that the color all matches, though we can match your natural color."
This opened up all new options. "That's really interesting. What would you recommend?"
Stacey took a good look at me, tapping a finger on her chin as she thought. "With a build like you have, I tend to favor longer hair. Have you ever seen yourself as a blond?"
Definitely not, but I had never seen myself as a woman, so I decided to be flexible. "Umm, I'm open to anything."
"Cool. Here's what I'm thinking. We add extensions until your hair is at your shoulder blades, then we dye it all a darker blonde and add lighter highlights."
"That would be different!"
"Sure would. Are you interested?"
Why not, I figured. A whole new me.
"Sold. Actually, how much is this?"
Stacey's response nearly blew my mind (I was used to cheap haircuts), and I couldn't believe the amour of time it was going to take, but there was just enough time left in the day to get it done and I had nothing else to do.
I won't recount the hours-long process that followed, but I got to know Stacey very well in the hours we spent together. Eventually, as the sun was starting to set, we finished, and I could take in the results in the mirror. It was an amazing transformation. I had a kind of honey colored skin tone, so the blond hair looked very natural. Not to be vain (I hardly felt like the face I saw in the mirror was even mine!), but I looked gorgeous. Especially in my tight tank-top and shorts, I was every bit the voluptuous blond bombshell.
Stacey smiled as she saw me admiring my reflection. Looking good! Pretty nice work, if I say so myself. She put on a wry smile. I must say, it really looks like this was how you were meant to look.
I twirled a lock of blond hair in my fingers. I agree.
The few blocks I walked home were a kind of strange experience. Ive always been an observer of people -- its part of the fun of living in New York. But I wasnt really used to being observed. Now when I looked at people, I realized that many of them were already looking at me. I decided to stay in for the night.
I got home and realized I was starving. I flipped on the TV, ordered a pizza, and settled down for the evening. When the pizza came, I realized they had given me a large instead of a small, but the delivery guy was very, very accommodating and only charged me for the small. I practically inhaled the pizza, and before I knew it, it was gone. All of it. And wow was I stuffed. As I walked over to the bathroom to wash the grease off my hands, I caught a glance at my reflection. I practically looked pregnant, my stomach was so full. I had been full before in my life of course, but I usually was wearing something looser, so it wasnt so obvious. Plus I had more belly now no matter how full I was. I had a brief moment of panic; I had always heard that women put on weight much more easily than men, and I didnt want to get fat. Right?
It was then that I realized that this was my opportunity. Was I a hypocrite? I had always criticized the serial dieters while rationalizing my skinniness by my fast metabolism and a nagging belief that fat on guys just didnt look good. But now here I was, a beautiful woman with a curvaceous build that could clearly support a few extra pounds, and I was worrying about getting fat. So I decided that I would eat whatever I wanted, and Id let things happen as they happened.
And they happened fast. The next morning I had digested everything and was hungry again, so I got dressed and went to the diner down the street. I ordered myself the lumberjack breakfast with just about everything imaginable, much to the surprise of my server. Im just really hungry today I explained. Indeed I was, because I finished everything. By the time I ordered my next pizza that evening (after a great burger for lunch), I was stuffed and fell asleep dreaming of food.
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