I wake up in someone's bed.

I seem to have passed out and slept for at least six hours. I couldn't really tell what the time was back on that road, with the attacker and the forest and the bright orange lights and the orange Escalade. And the woman too. Who was she anyway? I try to think and think and ponder on who she was but I'm interrupted when I open my eyes. The morning light entering through the open windows makes the peach walls reflect unnecessary light into my eyes. I'm almost freakin' blinded by the brightness. When I get used to the hues and saturations, I find that I'm not in an Escalade traveling dangerously down a road. I find that I'm in a bed half-covered by a white sheet. I also find out that both my track jacket and track pants have been taken off, along with my socks and the shoes I was wearing. I couldn't tell last night what kind of shoes I was wearing. It was too dark to tell. All I can say is that they felt like sneakers.

And sneakers they were. When I shift my body over to the right side of the bed, I see a pair of soiled, black and white canvas sneakers. They did seem small though. I lay back down on the bed and my head onto the pillow and find something else out, which I find to be unusual. I never had a head of long flowing hair. I run my fingers through it and I feel a silky, soft feeling in between my fingers. I am surprised and a bit freaked out. So much so that I uncover the sheets covering my lower body and find, not hairy legs, but smooth, almost sexy legs. I also find out that I'm not wearing my lucky, black and yellow smiley-face boxers, but a black thong. Plus, I find something missing as well.

What I find is terrible. What I can't find is terribly frightening. In the place where my cock, either limp or erect, should be, I find nothingness. I do find something though. Not with my eyes but the way the area down there feels. As the fabric of the unfamiliar thong rubs over the area, I feel with the sensitive points of the area, a woman's pussy. I can't believe my eyes and my body. I spring upright, legs off the bed and over the side, and up on my feet. I find an open door which leads into a small yet clean bathroom, with a shower and tub. The sink with its large mirror is straight across from the door. I glance into the mirror for a second and see a very young woman. I turn my head away towards the toilet. I stop dead in my tracks.

How can I see a woman in the mirror? It must be one of those fun houses where people try to copy your every move. Actually, I don't think that exists, anyway. I slowly turn my head towards the mirror again and find what I had saw seconds before. I see the face and upper body of a very young woman, who possibly hasn't hit the legal drinking age yet. I try to keep cool but my body involuntarily breathes in and out as if in a labor exercise. I stare into the young girls eyes for what seemed like a minute. I then try to move. I blink my eyes, one at a time, starting from the left to the right. The girl in the reflection copies my every move. I take my right hand, and lift it up to the side of my face and brush my hair back. Again the girl in the reflection copies me. I lastly tilt my head forward, feeling the silky strand of my hair fall beside my head, and tilt it back again. Every single thing in the reflection, the girl and down to every single strand of hair flowing from my head, is the exact same.

I can't believe it. What happened to Allen Macintosh? Did he gets transformed? If yes, was it by choice or against his will? And about the result. Who am I looking at in the mirror? Is it really me, Allen, inside of this young, female, and no matter how I look at it...sexy body? It would seem that I'm about to burst into tears about now but a bodily emergency alerts itself. I find what feels like a bladder feels like it's about to explode. I really need to go tinkle now.

I immediately go to the door and close it. I, for sure don't have an open door policy. I go straight for the toilet and lift the seat up and pull down my undies, but when I do, I remember my penis flopping around at about this time. Now I remember I do not have one anymore. If I took a piss right about now, the rug under me would be soaked by now. I put the seat of the toilet back down and sit upon it. Now having something to catch urine in under me, I might as well take my bladder off of hold. Everything in the excretion process goes smoothly. The flow of piss shoots straight down. I feel like taking a dump and putting my dick in between my legs as I piss straight down.

Finishing up, I find that I'm a little wet. If I still had my cock still attached, if it ever was attached, I would just clean the seat from missed shots and be done with it. But it isn't the same with a pussy. When the piss stops flowing, drops of it still sit at my lips. I find a fresh roll of toilet paper and roll it down about five piece. I rip the paper off the roll and roll it upon my hand, which in my case a small, smooth female hand. I make a makeshift pad out of the toilet paper and reach down the front of the my lower area. When the pad in my hand reaches my pussy I rub it gently to absorb the excess wetness still down there. I kind of rub it too hard and I feel a sting and a bit of euphoria.

Obviously unfamiliar to me, you might think I was going to stop right there and then, but I don't. I drop the pad into the toilet bowl and leave it to absorb the water inside it. I flush the toilet with my other hand but my other stays in its original position. My hand stays in between my legs though, which are spread apart a bit. I cup my hand over my pussy and in a curious mind, try to feel my way to the place of bliss. When I cup my hand, the place where I feel the most pleasure, which is unfamiliar pleasure, is around the middle knuckles area, though on the palm side. I can say that at this time a dominant finger, this being my middle finger, goes on a solo expedition to find that one place that makes me, in a freakish way, 'happy.'

My middle finger find the epicenter of the pleasure and it digs deeper, yet this time it makes the pleasure feel deeper. My legs quiver and shake as the tip of my middle finger presses down upon the fleshy part of my pussy. It digs deeper and finds an open which is wet. This place isn't wet like water on skin but wet as in thick oily wet. When my finger comes to the opening, a strange suction takes place, pulling my finger in fast. When it quickly goes in and stops, I feel a short burst of ecstasy. I slip my finger out and I feel a similar, yet smaller, feeling.

I can't believe what I'm doing. I'm masturbating as a young girl. And a fine-ass, sexy girl to bat. And this feeling in between my legs is out of this world. Actually, it is out of my guy world and totally in a new, now female world. This thing I'm doing with my finger is kind of addicting. But I think I will stop for now. I can do this probably later. Right now, I need to find out more about this new body of mine.

I stand up from my position, but at once I feel a sensation between my legs that can't be stopped. My legs again quiver and shake in response to this exhilaration. I find sensation coming from the epicenter around the area of my pussy. I try to cup it again with my hand and at once it become suppressed, but the recent memory of my finger inside my pussy is brought back to mind, and the thing is, that I can't get it off my mind.

I once again sit on the toilet seat with my hand still in between my legs. I slump in the seat, my ass on the front part of the seat and my back against the seat cover of the toilet. I spread my legs as wide as I can spread them. I look upon my actions down under and see my pussy for the first time. It looks and feels tight and it also feels like it hasn't been used up like a whore. In a sense, I feel proud of myself. But enough about this being proud. I just feel like getting off. With my hand at its former position and my middle finger at the ready, I slip in my finger again, and find the same results. I try to slip it in all the way and pull it out. I try not to pull it out so it pops completely out. I want to pull it so that the tip stops before coming out and stays in. I do that and try to get a rhythm going. I know I can't do a steady pace of it but it sure feels amazing. So amazing that I climax by myself. It was short but it felt like a high. I have never smoked before in my life but when I pulled and pushed my finger in and out of me, and at the end I climaxed, it felt like I smoked a blunt, however that feels like.

It seems in my expedition with my flesh, I lose sends of time and I do indeed lose energy. I feel like falling asleep again, but my strong willpower won't let that happen. I grab reality as if it is fleeting away from me out the door. I stand from the toilet and mind to grab my black thong and slip it onto my bottom. I get one more look into the mirror and the sheer beauty of just my face astonishes me. I smile and it brings more joy to me. I look so cute. Did I say cute? I meant hot.

Speaking of hot, I look down on the reflection upon its chest area. I know that I'm wearing a black T-shirt, but I didn't know that I had the band Incubus printed on the front. Actually, both the lead singer and the lead guitarist's heads are bloated like balloons. I find that they are no bloated, but instead are proportioned by my breasts underneath. I lift the front of my shirt so that the bottom end sits over my rack. Doing this, I feel like one of the girls flashing their stuff to guys and onlookers on Girls Gone Wild. I notice that I have the most perfect boobs. They aren't small like most Asian woman and they aren't freakishly large. I notice a tag sticking out on the front side of my bra, which is peachy pink in color, and has a shiny and silky fabric to it. The tag says "34D" as the size of the bra. This could just mean is size of my breasts or it could be more about my body shape but I don't have that kind of information in my head right now.

I pull the bottom end of my black Incubus shirt down over my breasts, covering them. I look up and see the face in the mirror again. This time, the face doesn't blankly stare, but in fact smirks, almost smiles back at me. I can't say for sure, but I think the body knows that everything is somehow perfect and wonderful. My guy mind can't understand it, but why should I listen to my guy mind anyway? In the end, everything it will think about the body is either useless or irrational. From this moment on, I will not grieve anymore about my past, male life. Instead, I will try to act, feel, and live as a female in this new life.

I glance back at the mirror (actually, I think the mirror likes me and I like it, since I'm always looking at it and the reflection is gives me) and see myself again, but this time truly smiling back. I'm sure I'm going to stick to this life more than I stuck with the one in the past.

I exit the bathroom and the light pouring into the window continues to show its radiance. I go to the window only to find my track pants neatly folded on a glass table sitting near it. The transparent curtains ripple and rise and fall due to the wind blowing through the open window. My exposed legs feel the warm chill and I grab the folded track pants in order to cover my legs with it. When I do grab them, I find my track jacket under them, also folded in a neat fashion. I slip into the track pants which gives me instant warmth. I plan not to put on the track jacket for good reason that my butt is more cold than my arms. I go to the window and look out at the scenery.

The scene I am currently seeing with my own two eyes is awesome. My mouth gapes in awe and wonder. I can't believe that the view from this window is just like a painting, only more vibrant and alive. The morning is lively, showing a large cityscape with numerous skyscrapers all compressed into one picture between two palm trees. The palm trees are across the street and then beyond them is a peach-colored wall. Beyond that I see a calm body of water, a river, and beyond that the shore connecting to the tall steel needles that poke the sky with their glory.

My observation of the city outside is interrupted by the opening of the door knob of the other door leading out. I turn around and await the person opening the door to come in.