Playing with myself

He left for work around 9.

He kissed me on the forehead before slipping out the door, hoodie half-zipped, hair still a little messy from bed. “You staying here today?” he asked.

I nodded, curled up in one of his oversized sweatshirts. I hadn’t even bothered with shorts.

“Good,” he said with a smirk. “Get some rest. Let yourself enjoy it.”

And then he was gone.

I was alone in his apartment, wrapped in silence and cotton. The sweatshirt hung off my shoulders like a blanket. The air was still warm from our bodies, our sleep, our closeness. And as I shifted under the covers, that same hypersensitivity sparked across my skin.

My nipples still felt like live wires—brushing against the soft inside of the sweatshirt made me gasp. I reached up slowly, fingers trembling, and touched one.

It felt… bigger.

Puffier.

More like the start of something than just a spot on my chest. The soft tissue underneath felt like it had thickened overnight, swelling gently into something more round. I moaned under my breath, thighs rubbing together instinctively.

I slid the sweatshirt off and looked at myself in the mirror across the room.

There were small but definite curves at my waist. My hips had pushed out just a little further, rounding with the kind of softness I used to only imagine. My thighs brushed when I walked now. And my ass—my ass looked unbelievable.

I turned sideways.

It stuck out slightly, fuller and rounder, and when I gave it a squeeze, I let out a breath I hadn’t meant to. My cock had shrunk a little—still there, still mine, but smaller, softer, easier to forget about. It didn’t matter. Everything else about me felt… beautiful.

I slid my hands along my sides, down to my thighs, across my chest.

I explored slowly, with purpose.

Every inch of me was alive with sensation. Not because I was turned on, but because I was present. My body was changing, and I could feel it with every breath. The curves. The softness. The way even my posture had shifted without realizing it—more delicate, more relaxed, more fluid.

I spent the morning in a haze.

Touching. Exploring. Stretching. Admiring.

Noticing how I moved. How I sat differently. How I took up space in a new shape.

By noon, I was lying back in bed again, the sweatshirt bunched around my waist, skin bare and warm. My hand rested lightly over my chest, fingers grazing the swelling softness of my nipples.

I wasn’t scared.

I wasn’t confused.

I was curious.

And I was ready for whatever happened next.