But?

"Seriously, though, do you still feel like... you?"

Sam felt a warmth in her chest and a strangely dislocated compassion for herself. "Yeah. I mean, mostly."

"Mostly?" Jake asked worriedly. She furrowed her brow with his anxiety.

"30%?" she offered mildly, then gasped.

"Less than half?" Jake actually jumped slightly at her answer. "Jesus, this is bad!"

"Fuck, it really is!" Sam cried. She paused a moment, then said something in a strange tone.

"You could want me to be calm," she said. "If you want that I can change. I will change."

Immediately her posture slackened and she sighed. "Did you even want this or did you just picture it? Either way, thanks."

"No problem," he said nervously. "But doesn't it bother you, being changed?"

"Not a bit," she explained. "The thirty percent is more amendable than you'd expect, and to be honest, you've been subconsciously wanting me to be cool about it really badly."

"So you don't mind being changed?" Jake asked pointedly.

They both knew what the question really meant and what her answer would be.

"Of course not! Honestly, it feels kinda nice when you put the squeeze on. It's like resting on satin sheets. Oh, you don't know what the squeeze is. When you whammy me into saying or doing something, it creates a little... pressure on that thirty percent. Like a squeeze, but it also feels like a little break. I can just slip away for a while."

"I obviously don't have to tell you how that makes me feel," Jake replied.

"Aroused, guilty, and sad," she said. "Here's a few things that might make you feel better. First, if our positions were reversed you would have suffocated on my vagina by now. Second, your guilt hurts me and your enjoyment feels good to me. Third, well..."

She gestured to the bedroom door. Jake cautiously opened it to see a purple egg-shaped object on his desk. As Jake eyeballed it, Sam rolled her eyes.

"What do you know?" she asked sarcastically. "Suddenly I feel very bisexual."