One sunny afternoon.

You are returning home after a morning shift, looking forward to taking a few hours of this afternoon to yourself. Your parents are away visiting your uncle - no doubt to experimentally break the news to him and his family, Alex is at college (at least, he'd fucking better be) and Gwen is out until the evening. You have the place to yourself for a little while, and you can't wait.

Stepping out of the cold shower, you stand side on to the mirror and inspect your belly. Growing as it is imperceptibly day-by-day, Gwen suggested that she photograph it from the same spot and angle every morning. Despite you both looking avidly at each pixel, there is no visible change yet. Your slender fingers brush against the patch of skin under which you estimate your womb to lie, wondering at the creature inside. You still feel a flutter of fear, satisfaction and arousal every time the words 'I'm going to be a mother' appear in your head, but it has become less skewed to the former and more to the last two as the weeks have passed. Letting your eyes roam upwards, you feel a flush in your cheeks at the sight of your noticeably swollen breasts. This most welcome change has only really become apparent in the last ten days or so, but it's happening at a remarkable rate. You and Gwen estimate that you have gained a little more than half a cup size, which is an awkward amount of growth as your handful of C-cup bras are getting very uncomfortable, while a D that you tried on didn't work at all. This state isn't going to last long, however, so you're doing your best just to enjoy your bigger boobs for the moment. Alex certainly doesn't seem to be having any trouble accepting the change.

Otherwise, your body is basically unchanged from that first morning. Your flawless and hairless skin has remained that way, with not even a hint of stubble appearing on your long legs, underarms, or crotch. Your nails - so perfect as Gwen originally noticed - have barely grown at all, and despite all the work done with your hands while helping Mom out with the DIY around the house, not a trace of roughness is appearing to ruin your smooth skin. You are beginning to feel very at home in your body, and perhaps even starting to forget your past life like the vast majority of your neighbors have.

Cheekily borrowing a rather spare white bikini from Gwen's cupboard, you head downstairs and get a large pitcher of fresh lemonade from the refrigerator. For a moment, you consider going into the back yard to have a swim and sunbathe naked, but decide that today you'd rather sit out front and watch the world go by. You slip on your Mom's vintage Wayfarers and stretch out luxuriantly on the lounger by the front porch-steps. The brilliant sun of late summer kisses your tender skin and gradually lulls you to sleep.

A burst of suppressed laughter manages to penetrate your slumber and you wake with a start. How long have you been asleep? Another masculine giggle cuts through the fog in your brain and you realize there is a couple of early teens kids leaning on the fence, getting an eyeful of your innocently sleeping body. One of them has his phone out, audibly taking a fair few pictures. You recognize them from a few streets away, but only remember one of their names.

"Classy, Eric. Real nice. Nice phone, too. I'm sure you'll get plenty of time to enjoy those photos before your mom takes it away from you when I go and tell her what you've been up to."

"Oooh, she's mad. Hey babe don't you know you're cute when you're angry?" This really pushes your buttons. You swing yourself off the lounger and start towards them, only pausing when you feel that something's not right. You notice a bundled scrap of white material in the hand of the boy you don't know, and realize with a sinking feeling that he is holding your bikini top.

"You little shits. Forget calling your mom, I'll be calling the cops if you don't give me that back." You advance towards them, channeling your old male self with an aggressive set of your arms and clenched fists. They obviously see the potential for **** in your expression and, still cat-calling and jeering at you climb onto their bikes and start off up the sidewalk. You give chase but have little hope of catching them, before a figure suddenly steps out in front of them, causing one to tumble from his bike and knock the other sprawling.

"Maybe you should listen to the lady," Mr. Grant says, with a stern, firm voice, uncracked by the waver that has crept into it in recent years. He is standing over the kids with a look on his face that strongly discourages any resistance.

"Sorry sir, we were just having some fun. Who wouldn't want to take a good look at a sight like that? We didn't do anything-"

"You've done plenty." Then he nods in your direction. "And it's not me you should apologise to."

The kids turn their heads to look at you, standing with your arms folded across your exposed breasts, and shrink under your furious gaze.

"Sorry ma'am," they croak out in unison.

"You have something of mine." The boy who's name you don't know jerks his arm out towards you with the bikini top bunched in his fist. You take it from him delicately, and very carefully and deliberately put it back on, treating all three of the males in your presence to a fairly lengthy close-up view of your wobbling tits until they are once again partially concealed by the thin material. The boys stare agape, but Mr. Grant has the considerable decency and self-control to avert his eyes.

You give them a last, withering look before telling them to fuck off. As they hastily clamber back onto their bikes, the shoot off with one last look back over their shoulders at you. You yell a final parting shot:

"If I see even one of those pictures on the internet, I will fucking **** you two." You let out a long sigh and look at your savior with a smile. "Thank you Mr. Grant, I would have suffered a good deal more embarrassment if you hadn't stepped in."

"Doh, don't mention it John. I mean, Summer. Sorry. My old brain is going to take some getting used to your new name my dear." He looks at you with concern, "those kids didn't touch you, did they?"

"Only to take my top off. Knowing myself at that age, I think they'll have scurried straight back for fear of me waking up."

"Little bastards. No respect. I'm sorry not to have arrived sooner." You stand together in silence for a moment before he clears his throat. "You, uhhh, do know what they're going to do with those photos when they get home?"

"I know, Mr. Grant. Don't worry. Remember, I was not so different to them five or six years ago. There wasn't much I could do about it, short of smashing the phone, and that seems a little ****. Anyway, it's very hot and I owe you. Would you like some lemonade?"

"My, what a treat. If I'm not interrupting any plans, I would love to join you."

The two of you sit on the porch for almost an hour, chatting and catching up in a way that you've not had a chance to for a long time. Mr. Grant has always loved the lemonade your Mom makes, and between the two of you, you polish off the pitcher in the scorching afternoon heat.

"So... how are you... getting on?" He asks with a look of concern. "I can't begin to imagine how upsetting this has all been."

You sigh, leaning back in your chair and taking off your sunglasses. "It's... all been, well, very strange. That goes without saying, I think. But to be honest with you I've found it a lot easier to adapt than I imagined, in the early days. I think there must be an angle to this weird magic that makes it easier for me to accept this new life. There certainly seems to be for everybody else. Most people - I mean acquaintances, really, rather than close friends - who knew me before don't even seem to remember any difference!"

Mr. Grant smiles, and lights one of the old-fashioned cigarettes that he always carries around with him. He shifts his chair back a few inches and very deliberately blows the smoke away from you, before looking back up at your face with his wise eyes.

"Summer, you were always an admirable young man. Far more so than you give yourself credit for. But I believe your new self is somebody even more special. I hope I am still alive to witness you become a mother."

The acknowledgment of his age and frailty shocks you. "Don't be silly. Of course you will! It's only half a year away."

His wise smile lights up again. "Let's hope so. Well darlin', I best leave you to your afternoon. Thanks for the lemonade." He gives you a kiss on the cheek and you watch him stroll back over to his house with gladness in your heart.

You aren't yet done with the glorious afternoon sunshine, so you pad quietly through the empty house. In the back yard, you take full advantage of the greater privacy by slipping your bikini off and stretching out, completely nude on one of the loungers by the pool.