Woken up one morning by your sister.

Gwen wakes you one Saturday morning by jumping on your bed. You groggily roll over and beat her hugging arms away in protest.

"Jesus, what's the emergency?"

"It's Week Thirteen, Summer - you're officially into your second trimester!"

"Ugh fuckin' woop, Gwen. It's also -" you check the clock, "- 6.15 and a Saturday. Why aren't you in bed?"

"Couldn't sleep. Too excited." Now she is grabbing your arms and hauling you up, "Come on you sourpuss, get in front of the mirror."

If your sister's excitement continues to progress like this, she'll give herself an aneurysm around week thirty. She's been unstoppable since the two of you realized about three or four days ago that the swelling of your tummy is now noticeably different from how it looked the week before. It's still a very subtle change, but you have to admit that you spent about an hour standing by the mirror just looking at it, and catch yourself lingering in the bathroom or by the hall mirror with a hand resting lightly on your stomach.

Much more dramatic, however, is the changing size of your bust. You are now completely filling out the D-cup bras that you bought three weeks ago. To the people who you've been getting to know on the course, it's a painfully obvious distraction and has **** you to become rather more public about your pregnancy. You're finding that all your clothes are feeling really tight around your waist, hips and chest now, and so can't delay another shopping trip any longer. But the rest of you hasn't really changed. Your hair's grown a little, gaining a cute little flick at the ends that you're really pleased with, but your mysteriously perfect skin, nails, and utter lack of body hair anywhere have remained the same. Gwen pouts every time she runs a hand over your perfectly smooth thigh or forearm, saying that having never experienced a waxing routine you have no idea how lucky you are. If you're honest, you wished you had enough hair on your crotch to get a bit of a landing strip as that always appealed to you when you were into girls, but remembering the hassle of facial shaving you are on balance really glad that it's not something you have to think about.

You continue to adapt even more completely to life as a female. You've been stared at, harassed, groped, bothered and worse in your three short months as a woman, and the resulting realization of the amount of shit that women have to put up with on a daily basis, in literally every public sphere, has transformed your viewpoint.

Unfortunately, the quirks of your curse make it difficult to really make a stand against all of this, as your magically enforced horniness and sluttiness begin to assert themselves if you find yourself interacting with a man who is only moderately attractive, or if you're even slightly aroused. There have been numerous close calls at gas stations, restaurants, shops, cafes, around your neighborhood, at the gym, your course... basically everywhere. So far you've either managed to resist the urge to fuck every good looking guy you see, or been at the point of it almost happening but been rescued by Gwen, your Mom, or even Dad. Alex has never been around for any really close calls, or he might have found himself in trouble with the law, but he's felt the need to chase away a few hopefuls in the time that you two have been out together. Sometimes even Carly - ignorant though she is about your problematic sluttiness - has been all that stood between you and a hot stranger when having drinks or dinner after class. You think you are gradually learning to master yourself a bit more, but it is a deep fear of yours, only able to articulate itself in your mind when you are a very safe distance from a cock, that you'll slip up one day without any of your champions there to help you.

Carly has rapidly and inevitably become a big part of your life in the last several weeks. You see her for all of the three days of classes per week and almost always she contrives some excuse for the two of you to hang out afterwards. It frequently ends up with her bumming a lift home due to having a drink or a smoke, but after your initial fear of her recognising your car you've tended not to mind giving her a ride. In fact, you've begun to really enjoy spending time with her, but are still constantly afraid of letting your guard down and revealing too much about your true (or perhaps old) identity. As the two of you settle into a true friendship it is getting harder to remain watchful all the time.

Rude and early this Saturday morning, you are standing in front of the mirror, Gwen behind you with her palms flat on your belly and her chin resting on your shoulder, and both of you are just... looking at your rapidly changing body. Your boobs look heavy, not drooping or sagging under their exaggerated weight, but hanging with a plumpness that makes it quite clear what their purpose is. Your nipples, still with a slight upturned pertness, have thickened and are growing darker, and they are becoming increasingly tender, even sore at times. Alex, who loves them more than ever, has been warned and attempts to be gentle most of the time. Where Gwen's hands form a triangle around your navel, you can see the beginnings of your bump appearing, and when touching yourself in that spot there is an unmistakeable tightness beneath that was not there before. Your hips have flared outwards a little, giving you a hint of the look of a fertility goddess, but its accompanied by only a slight thickening of your upper thighs and your pins are, in general, still long and slender. It's not visible from this angle, but you know that along with the hips and thighs your butt has become rounder, as the jeans you've been wearing barely fit over it and they almost don't do up any more.

"I hope you look this good after the birth," your ever-helpful sister says chirpily. You roll your eyes.

"It'll do me good, probably, if I don't. It might help me behave myself if I'm a saggy, stretched-out mess and no boys want to look at me." She pinches you at the waist and you swat her away.