Eat breakfast and bundle up: you're going to go talk to your boss.

You're beginning to suspect that you should have taken it more seriously when Studs 'R' Us dropped the implication that you might not get the fully authentic alien-abduction experience, and that there's no sophisticated starship coming to whisk you away (though you're not going to stop hoping entirely). You're not sure where that leaves you, what with your 'condition', but you'd better try to square things with your boss. The last thing you need is a co-worker being sent by and check on you.

So, hissing despondently, you head downstairs to sort out breakfast. Still nude, of course. You'd gotten into the habit of wandering around the house in your undies while the changes were under way, but you might as well eat something before you figure out a clothing solution that is anatomically practical, conceals your abnormalities, AND won't draw too much attention. It'll be tricky. Thank the stars it's casual Friday.

In a few minutes, you find yourself staring into the fridge... Looking... Looking... Huh, that's weird. You're definitely hungry, but you can't imagine yourself really eating any of this stuff. Come to think of it, the thought of eating bacon and eggs, some cereal, or even just a couple of slices of toast makes your stomach turn. Has your... Metabolism changed? And your dietary needs? Actually, when was the last time you went to the toilet, even just to take a leak? It's not the kind of thing you've been thinking about, so only now do you realise... You can't remember. Maybe it's not even since about Tuesday! You've been so preoccupied with the visible changes to your body that it never occurred to you that there might be some subtler adjustments being made to your physiology.

Although you certainly ate food yesterday... Not that much, but then again, you didn't feel that hungry. You're definitely hungry now, but all the usual human food frankly seems sickening. What do snakes or lizards eat? Insects? Small mammals? Shit, how about just some salad? But nope; none of that sounds appealing, to say the least. You shut the fridge and lean against the counter, swishing your tail as you shut your eyes and try to think: 'FOOD'. 'TASTY'. 'EATING'. Come on, you need something. Let it come... Let it come... Let it- ...

... Come. You find your mind drifting back to the morning after that magical night, when you curiously played with the Reptilian semen pooled under your covers. It smelt... Good... And when you tasted it-

Your stomach rumbles approvingly. Well, that's it then. No waste excretions, and only very minimal and specific nutritional needs. You really have been turned into a walking Reptilian sex-object. Of everything to come so far, this has caught you most by surprise... Although you can appreciate the efficiency, and see the appeal. Mmm... Fuck. That does you no good anyway, you've already wasted all His seed- washed it away. Stupid, stupid. Would... Yours work? It seems like even considering subsisting off your own semen should make you feel like a truly pathetic and **** creature, but shame barely lingers in your mind for a few seconds before hunger reminds you who's really in charge. It's worth a shot.

You think about fetching a glass or a bowl or something civilised like that, but then it occurs to you that you might leave residue, and you need all you can get. Fuck it! No more wasting time, you're on a schedule!

After a few moments considering the practical logistics of this exercise, you lie backwards on the tile floor, and have a go at lifting your legs up in the air and orienting your crotch so that you're facing up at it, propping yourself up with your tail and steadying yourself against the ground with your arms. Your tail is stronger than you thought, it turns out- this is easy so far. You do your best not to think about how sad you must look, and try to think sexy thoughts to get your serpentine cock to reveal itself, which turns out to not be too difficult, given the nature of your enterprise. You try to raise your arm to reach for it, and almost tip over. Well, that's a snag. But wait!

Red-faced with arousal and embarrassment, but nonetheless taking some pride in your eureka-moment, you extend your long tongue, and wrap it around your smooth, red cock multiple times with ease. Taking care to leave a little slack to catch any errant splotches that miss your mouth, you start pumping vigorously, not wasting any time for grace- this is about food, after all, not pleasure. You spend about ten seconds like this before you start panting, the pressure rising, and a hiss of need (quite literally- you're fucking starving with all this exertion) sends sudden vibrations through your dick that almost sends you over the edge, and almost makes you lose your balance. It's still not enough though. Damnit! This is getting ridiculous! At least you can console yourself with the knowledge that this sort of counts as a learning experience. You might put these skills to work later for your Reptilian mate- ...

And that's it! That's the thought that (begrudgingly) pushes you to climax! One spurt, then two, land straight in your mouth, and once you're sure you've pumped your length enough that you're not going to leak any more precious fluid, you retract your tongue, slurping the rest and gulping it all down!

It tastes... Pretty weak, actually. Plain-ish. Watery. You do feel satiated, fortunately, but not really all that... Satisfied. Not nearly to the same standards as the mouth-watering gourmet 'meal' you were picturing earlier... But you'd better get a hold of yourself before you get hungry again. You hurry upstairs and throw open your wardrobe... And your drawers, and all the cupboards. You need to get this right.

After some frustration, and some anxious glances at the clock, you've picked out a mismatched-yet-passable outfit. Footwear was the biggest problem, but you managed to find a pair of walking boots that, if you loosen the tongue and pad out the heels a bit, disguise your reptilian feet without falling off every time you try to take a few steps. Your legs are still a problem, of course, so you've settled on a pair of sweat pants with enough stretch in them to hide the exaggerated bend of your knees. It accomplishes this adequately, though 'adequately' is as far as it goes. With not many options for tops that complete the look and also disguise your snake hood and distended profile, you pick a hooded sweatshirt, and a pair of very dark aviator shades.

So far, you look like you're hungover, and couldn't even muster the effort to dress in a manner that suggests otherwise before going out- which, as it occurs to you, is almost the right impression you want to give. The tail's not going to be hidden so easily, but after a few minutes of annoyance, you manage to find a way to wrap it around your waist (more-or-less hidden by the bulk of the sweatshirt) so that it sticks part-way down your left trouser leg in a manner that isn't too obvious. Ironically, it looks like you're concealing a real mean one-eyed trouser snake. You carefully don some woollen gloves, despite it being mid-September, and for good measure, you grab the largest coat you can find and throw it over yourself.

If anyone asks, you're dressed like this because you're "cold; so very cold".