a female teammate

Our women’s team’s formidable striker, Maya was all lean muscle, fierce determination, and possessed a surprising, quiet empathy that often went unnoticed beneath her competitive exterior. She’d been watching me, I realized later. Noticing the baggy clothes in the increasing heat, the way I flinched from casual contact, the haunted look in my eyes. She cornered me in the library one afternoon, a sanctuary of dusty silence where I’d taken to hiding between classes, pretending to study while actually just trying to disappear.

“Ethan?” Her voice was low, concerned, cutting through the fog of my despair. She slid into the chair opposite me at the secluded table I’d claimed. “You’re not okay. What’s going on?”

Her directness, her genuine concern, disarmed me. Maybe it was the desperation, the isolation, or just the sheer exhaustion of carrying this impossible secret alone (Liam was trying, but he couldn’t truly understand). But looking into her dark, intelligent eyes, I felt a crack appear in the wall I’d built around myself. I didn’t tell her everything. Not about the note, not about the specific mechanics of the curse. But I told her enough. I stammered about... changes. Unwanted physical alterations. A strange... sickness... that made me feel... compelled. That made me desire things I shouldn’t. That made me terrified of being around people. Particularly men. The words tumbled out, disjointed, shameful.

Maya listened patiently, her expression thoughtful, her gaze never leaving mine. She didn’t recoil, didn’t laugh, didn’t look at me like I was insane. She just listened. As I spoke, trying to articulate the horror of the urges without being explicit, I became aware of a shift within myself. Her proximity, her focused attention, the quiet intimacy of our shared confidence... the curse was stirring. But this time, it felt... different. Confusing. My body was flushing with that familiar, dreaded heat, my pussy (God, I still couldn’t think that word without a shudder) was clenching with an unwelcome ache. But the target... it was Maya.

A girl. My teammate. This made no sense. The curse, the urges, they were always triggered by men, by the presence or even the thought of a penis. Why now? Why her?

“Ethan?” Maya prompted gently, seeing my distress, my sudden, panicked silence. “What is it? What are you feeling right now?”

“I... I don’t understand,” I stammered, my gaze darting around the empty library stacks, then back to her, my face burning. “It’s... the urge... it’s happening again. But... with you. Why with you? You’re a girl! It’s always... it’s always been guys before...” My voice trailed off, thick with confusion and a dawning, new kind of horror. Was the curse evolving? Becoming even more indiscriminate in its torment?