Story 3 continued

The shrill chirping of birds outside my window jars me awake, the sound grating against my tired senses. I groan, my hand instinctively reaching for my phone on the nightstand. As my fingers brush against the cool metal, my eyes snap open, taking in the harsh glare of the screen.

6 AM. The digital numbers seem to mock me, a cruel reminder of the ungodly hour. I groan, falling back onto my bed, my arm flopping over my eyes.

The sound of Summer City filtering in through my window is oddly soothing. The faint hum of distant traffic, the distant babble of early risers, the tropical call of exotic birds, it's a symphony of urban life that's both comforting and invigorating. The pastel light of the dawn filters in through the blinds, casting a warm hue throughout my room.

A wave of confusion sweeps over me as I feel the soft pressure of my breasts against my arm. Panic flares up, but it quickly fades as my mind catches up, reminding me of my new reality.

A glance down at my chest, and I'm greeted with the sight of my DD breasts, large and firm against the thin material of my polka-dot pajamas. They are pancaked to the sides, squishing against my arms in an awkward display of gravity. My large nipples are hard and visible through the soft fabric of the top, the chill of the morning having a distinctly physical effect on me.

I sigh, rolling over onto my side. The shift in position causes my breasts to jiggle slightly, the sudden movement pulling at my chest.

Resisting the urge to groan in mild annoyance, I sit up, my breasts flopping heavily onto my tummy. The weight of them feels foreign, their presence a constant reminder of my transformation.

For a moment, I just sit there, staring at my phone. Still no email. No confirmation of my OnlyFans approval. The frustrating lack of progress gnaws at my patience, I was really hoping to get approved sooner rather than later.

But then an idea strikes me. Photos.

I could take some photos. Even without the approval, there was no harm in being prepared, right?

A flush of embarrassment colors my cheeks at the thought. Me, taking photos of myself, exposing various parts of my body. Trying to look enticing. It's such a ridiculous concept.

But then, the reality of my situation comes crashing down. This isn't just for fun, it's about financial survival. And if revealing photos of my new body are what it takes to survive, well, I'm in no position to be picky.

Resigned, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, wincing slightly as the cold floor greets my bare feet. I decide on a run. It's practical, and it gives me an excuse to try on my new athletic wear, plus I can take some nice sweaty photos when out and about!

Tugging off my pajama top, I find myself faced with the daunting task of putting on my brand new Wal-mart sports bra. The pink fabric looks stretchy yet snug, its purpose clear. It has to contain my jiggling breasts, has to keep them from bouncing painfully with every jog and jump.

Taking the thing in my hands, I stretch it slightly, testing its elasticity. The cups are firm yet pliable, designed to cup and support boobs of my size. I can already tell it's going to be a fight to get it on though.

I pull it over my head, the material stretching to accommodate my shoulders and upper body. It's when the bra gets stuck above my breasts that I start to struggle. The elastic fabric refuses to stretch further, preferring to dig into the soft flesh of my tits instead.

After some grunting and cursing, I manage to tug the sports bra down, forcing it to stretch over each breast. The fabric snaps back, hugging my chest in a tight yet secure grip. My breasts feel compressed, squished against my chest. Quite a bit of cleavage.

I adjust the straps, pulling them up my shoulders until they sit snug and secure. My breasts lift slightly, their weight now cradled by the sports bra. It's unfamiliar, the sensation of having my chest constricted, my breasts confined. Yet, there's a sense of security in the tight hold, a comfort in knowing my boobs won't be flopping around with every step.

Titties secure, I shimmy into the matching pink running shorts. The fabric stretches over my hips, the waistband snapping back around my narrow waist. I feel a little exposed, a lot of my asscheek is visible, but I push the insecurity aside.

I lace up my new size 8 running shoes, their neon pink shade matching perfectly with my sports bra. Tucking my earbuds securely in place, I press play on my music, the soft strums of Pink Floyd's 'Wish You Were Here' filling the morning air.

Stepping out into the warm Florida morning, I am greeted by the idyllic pastel hues of Sunset Vista. My eyes scan the dreamlike neighborhood, taking in the vibrant pinks, blues, and yellows.

With a final deep breath, I take the first step, the act of running taking on a whole new dimension. My brand new breasts settle into a steady bounce, contained and controlled within the tight confines of my pink sports bra. Their movement is foreign, unfamiliar, and I find myself acutely aware of the rhythmic sway of my chest.

As I continue my run, the early morning sun illuminates the skyline, splashing color across the buildings and trees, casting long shadows across the quiet streets. Ahead of me, I can see the glistening white marbled walls of Aphrodite's Temple rising above the city, a beacon drawing me forward.

The sensation of running as a woman is different, the biomechanics of my body altered. My hips swing wider with each stride, my feet landing softer, the angle of my knees and hips adjusting to my new center of gravity. But over time, I hit a natural cadence.

Big boobs are heavy. They tug at my shoulders and upper back - there's no getting away from the added weight. And the other weird thing is how my thighs REALLY rub together.

The morning air is starting to warm, and I can feel beads of sweat trickling down my forehead, and into my bra. My run slows down to a leisurely jog as I make my way towards Arcadia Park, the lush greenery a pleasant contrast against the pastel cityscape. The dew-kissed foliage sparkles in the morning light, the twittering of birds adding a sweet melody to my otherwise silent run.

As I jog past an old man walking his dog, I notice his gaze trailing over me, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. I feel a jolt of embarrassment but choose to ignore it, focusing instead on the road before me.

Early morning commuters whiz past in futuristic takes on classic 80s car styles, sleek modern versions of the Countachs and Testarossas, their vibrant LED lights reflecting off the polished pavement. The locals scoot by on electric scooters, their attire a mix of futuristic neon and 80s pastels, reflecting the odd, eclectic blend of old and new that is Summer City. Despite the anachronistic blend of styles, no one bats an eyelash. This blend is as normal to them as cows in a field were to me growing up in Ohio.

A light sheen of sweat covers my body, my breasts jiggling with each stride, contained within the tight grip of my sports bra. I can feel it sticking to my back, damp with exertion as I round the corner into Arcadia Park.

Wiping the sweat off my brow, I pause to catch my breath, my chest heaving. I take out my phone, fumbling with the camera app. Taking a deep breath, I angle the lens towards me. It's disconcerting, seeing my feminine face on screen, the rosy cheeks and luscious lips a stark reminder of my transformation.

"Hey guys, it's me, Liz," I start, only to stop abruptly, my words sounding awkward and stilted. I try a different approach, "Do you guys like running? Or would you prefer to just watch?" I cringe at the pseudo-sultry tone of my voice.

A few more takes, and I end up laughing at my own attempts. I'm so bad at this. Instead, I decide to simply record myself jogging, making sure to capture the bouncing cleavage in frame. Every plap plap plap reverberates in my ears, the sound of my jiggling tits almost comical. I can't help but feel slightly embarrassed at the idea of guys getting off to this kind of thing.

Shaking off the awkwardness, I find a quiet spot in the park. Here, among the towering trees and vibrant flowers, stand statues. Beautiful, greek-style statues of the Olympian AIs, stark white against the lush greenery of the park. They are magnificent, the intricate details of each figure telling their own story.

There is Aphrodite, her curvaceous figure hewn from marble, offering up a pink pill symbolizing the possibility of transformation, challenging humanity to embrace change. Opposite her stands Lupusvult, his features more traditional, a wolf's head replacing a human one, a stark reminder of his purpose to safeguard human values.

There are other statues too. Thalassa, Astra, and Morpheus, their names echoing with mythological significance. Their story, however, is not set in stone. Some are labeled Decommissioned, their influence on humanity snuffed out. Each statue carries a tale to learn, a history to discover.

Laughing at my failed introductions earlier, I set my phone up against a tree, the camera focused on me. I position myself in front of Aphrodite, hoping her presence grants me a bit of her charisma and allure. Taking a deep breath, I strike a pose, feeling incredibly awkward, but determined. The camera timer clicks down, capturing the first of many photos.

"Gotta work on my downward dog…" I sigh. My phone shows me in a stretch that's less yoga and more… well, doggystyle. Although, maybe that will play well.

I jog back into frame, attempting to take a more casual jogger's stretch - leg extended, hands reaching for the toes, boobs pressed against the knee. Too bad I don't have a mirror to practice on. I pause mid-stretch, suddenly self-conscious of my posture, especially my breasts straining against the fabric of the sports bra. The phone clicks, capturing my awkwardness for posterity.

I jog back to the phone, feeling the pillowy mass that is my chest bob with each step. There's a distinct bounce, a kind of rhythm to it, the motion amplified by my brisk pace. I can't help but notice the way the skin stretches taut with each stride, the gentle pull against my torso a reminder of the physicality of my transformation.

Next, I attempt a simple one, a sultry over-the-shoulder look. Not too bad. But not too good, either.

Next up, jumping jacks. I can't help but giggle as I start jumping, the motion causing my breasts to bounce wildly inside the sports bra. The fabric strains against the weight, the motion of the heavy flesh underneath both fascinating and hilarious.

Plap, plap, plap, the sound of my bouncing boobs fills the air, their rhythm keeping time with my jumping. The jiggle-factor is real, almost comic, a series of wobbles and flops that are equal parts mesmerizing and mortifying.

The shrill sound of a whistle cuts through my concentration. My heart leaps into my throat as my head snaps up, my eyes wide. There, just a few feet away, stands a tall black guy. He's effortlessly cool, dressed in a retro '80s neon get-up, complete with a multicolor headband and sunglasses.

An easy grin spreads across his face as he leans nonchalantly against his bike, observing me with amused interest.

"Hey there," he drawls. "I couldn't help but notice your...uh...workout routine. You trying to start a new fitness trend or something?"

I stand there, frozen in a mix of shock and embarrassment. Hastily, I rush to grab my phone, my cheeks burning. The sight of my flustered state seems to amuse him, his laughter ringing out.

"Taking some photos?" His tone is playful as he indicates towards my phone.

"Y-yeah," I manage to stutter out, inwardly cringing at my awkwardness. He's just a guy, right? Just another person. No need to freak out.

"Instagram? TikTok?" He presses, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement.

I shake my head, swallowing hard. "N-no. Just...personal stuff."

His laughter echoes again, before he raises his hands in surrender, his grin never fading. "Alright, alright. I was just curious."

He asks another question.

"Where are you from? You got an accent. North coaster?"

"I'm from Ohio," I manage to stutter out, slightly taken aback by his forwardness.

"Ah, Ohio," he muses, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "Must've taken a lot of nerve for a small-town girl to pack up and move to Summer City. This place can get pretty wild."

He's right. It did take a lot of nerve. Moving from my small, conservative town in Ohio to the flamboyant, eccentric Summer City was in itself a big leap, let alone the steps I had taken since.

He chuckles, pushing off the tree to stand straight. "Name's Dante, by the way." He extends a hand, and I hesitantly reach out to shake it. His grip is firm, strong, and his hand engulfs mine completely.

He's tall, easily over six feet, and as he towers over me, I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. He's got a strong presence, an almost palpable charisma that makes me feel both nervous and entranced.

"Dante?" I repeat, feeling an embarrassed flutter in my belly.

"Yeah, just like the poet," he quips, gesturing at himself with a theatrical flourish. "Only hotter, of course. And that guy was in hell!"

A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth at his ridiculous flirtations. "Are you always this cocky?" I ask, trying to sound casual but failing.

"Nah," he chuckles. "Only when I meet cute girls doing jumping jacks in the park."

I flush, shifting uncomfortably. I feel a rush of heat creep up my neck, painting my cheeks a rosy pink. I'm not used to this type of attention, I'm used to being completely ignored by the world 24/7.

"So, these 'personal photos' you're taking, they wouldn't happen to be for OnlyFans, would they?" He asks, his grin widening when I give a start.

"N-no! W-why would you think that?" I stutter, suddenly feeling defensive. He laughs again, an easy, rich sound that makes my stomach flutter.

"Relax, Ohio." He waves a hand dismissively. "It ain't exactly rocket science. Pretty girl in tight workout gear, taking provocative workout photos in the park? OnlyFans is a good guess."

I avert my gaze, suddenly fascinated by the pattern of the pavement. "I... um... well..."

He leans in, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "And that top ain't exactly helping you hide it either."

I glance down, following his gaze to the low cut collar of my sports bra. The blush that had faded now returns in full force, coloring my face a deep crimson.

Ducking my head, I try to stammer out an explanation, but he cuts in before I can get a word out.

"Hey, I ain't judging. We all gotta hustle in this city. I've helped a couple of girls with their OnlyFans before." He grins, winking at me.

My eyes widen in surprise. "You... what?"

"Yeah." He shrugs, as if it's the most normal thing in the world. "A couple of my girls needed some help with their content, so I stepped in. It's all about the angles, baby."

I stare at him, my mind racing.

"So," Dante starts, cocking his head to the side, "mind if I take a look?" He holds out a hand towards my phone, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Consider it a free consultation."

Caught off guard, I blink at his outstretched hand. The teasing smirk plastered on his face remains. His fingers wiggle expectantly. My heart pounds in my chest, throb-throb-throbbing as I stammer out, "Y-you want to see my photos?"

He nods, his smirk deepening. "Now, now. Don't get all flustered. I'm just offering a helping hand. I mean, unless you think you've got it all on lock?"

His voice drops to a purr, a playful challenge hanging in the air between us. Heat flushes my cheeks, but it's not just embarrassment.

Reluctantly, I hand him my phone, watching as his fingers dance over the screen. My photos flash by, my awkward attempts at sexiness laid bare for him to see. I feel a sudden thrill of vulnerability, watching his face for any reaction.

"Okay," he draws out the word, his tongue clicking against his teeth in amusement. "I see you, Ohio."

I swallow hard, bracing myself for the forthcoming mockery. Dante starts scrolling, his strong thumb swiping my photos away. He chuckles, shaking his head. "I gotta give it to ya. That downward dog looks like a mating call!"

I feel my cheeks heat up, embarrassment threatening to choke me. But before I can respond, he barrels on, his tone still light-hearted.

"And this one, what's this? Over-the-shoulder smolder!" He starts cackling.

My face is positively on fire, and this time I'm positive it wasn't from the Florida sun. He's reduced me to a stammering mess with just a handful of words.

"Alright, alright," Dante chuckles, lifting his hands in mock surrender. "Don't look so scandalized. I'm just messing with ya. Really, these ain't bad for a newbie."

Despite his attempts at reassurance, I still feel a sting of humiliation. "I'm… just trying something new," I mumble.

"Hey, don't sweat it," Dante says, his tone softer now. "We all start somewhere. And hey, gotta say, you got potential."

The word echoes in my head, a stark reminder of the fact that this – the posing, the photos, the bouncing boobs – was my life now. And according to Dante, I had the potential to be good at it.

"Tell you what, Ohio," Dante grins, tucking my phone into his pocket. "Lemme help you with a few. No charge. All I want is a front-row seat to the show."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Help? How would you do that?"

"For starters, I'll teach you how to pose." Dante says. "You gotta learn how to work your body, sell the dream, you know? And we can get some action shots in. Bouncing, running, stretching... trust me, that stuff sells. But do it a certain way."

"Action shots?"

Dante nods, an eager gleam in his eyes. "Yeah, now that's what I'm talking about. A little glimpse into the workout routine of a hot babe? That's gonna get you subscribers, baby. Now, let me see you run."

He steps back, taking back my phone and holding it up.

"Pretend I'm not even here."

He can't be serious.

"Come on, Ohio, don't be shy," he taunts.

"Hey!" I squeak, my eyes widening in surprise as Dante snatches my phone, his grin widening.

"Full sprint!" he calls back over his shoulder, his voice cackling with laughter. "Show me what you got, Ohio!"

"B-but-" is all I manage to choke out before Dante takes off, leaving me standing there, dumbfounded. My brain races, caught between confusion and a sudden adrenal surge propelling me into action.

My feet start moving before I even fully register what's happening, my sneakers slapping against the pavement in a frenzied attempt to catch up. My breaths come in heavy gasps as I give chase, huffing and puffing behind him.

My body is not used to this level of exertion. I can feel my heart pounding, my chest constricting as I push myself harder. My sports bra constricts and confines the heavy weight of my breasts, their violent bouncing with each step a bit painful.

My skin is sticky with sweat, my hair sticking to the back of my neck, tickling with each swing of my head. I can feel the moisture seeping into the fabric of my outfit, making it cling to my perspiring skin.

Dante slows down, his laughter fading as he turns to look over his shoulder, a smug grin plastered on his face. "Keep up, Ohio!" he calls back, an amused twinkle in his eyes as they roam over my flushed, panting form.

I stumble, wheezing heavily as I lean over, hands on my knees as I try to catch my breath.

"Whoa, girl, you okay?" Dante swings off his bike, an eyebrow raised as he looks at my hunched form.

"I'm… fine," I gasp out, chest heaving.

He laughs, though there's a note of concern in his voice. "Caught a cramp?"

Dante unscrews the cap from his water bottle and holds it out to me.

I reach out, my hand shaking slightly as I accept the bottle. Bringing it to my lips, I take a gulp, my body absorbing the cool liquid with desperate relief. The water tastes faintly of artificial lime, a lingering tang from his pre-workout mix, but I hardly care. It tastes amazing.

A shiver runs down my spine as I drain the bottle, its icy coolness seeping into my overheated body. As I swallow, I can't help but taste the faintest hint of his essence—a touch of musk and a hint of his aftershave—encoded into the worn silicone of the bottle's top.

Handing the bottle back, I take a deep breath, straightening up. Dante regards me for a moment, his eyes running over me in a surprisingly... clinical way.

"Alright, Ohio. Let's start from the top. I want you to run naturally, like you're not acting for the camera. Just do your thing, okay?"

Feeling uncertain but willing to try, I nod, bracing myself for another sprint.

"Wait," Dante says suddenly, squinting up at the sky. "The light's wrong."

"Wrong?" I repeat, confusion knitting my brows. "What do you mean?"

"It's too harsh," he explains, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand. "We need softer light. It'll be more flattering."

"But-" I start, looking around. "We're outside. We can't exactly control the lighting."

Dante chuckles, shaking his head. "That, Ohio, is where you're wrong. We can control the lighting by changing our position. See, the sunlight can be either our friend or enemy. The right mix of shadows and light… MMM!"

Taking me by the shoulders, he gently repositions me, line me up with the sun. Warm light filters through the palm fronds above, casting a dappled shadow over me.

"Now," he gestures with his phone, "run. And don't forget to bounce a little."

I can feel a blush creeping up my neck at his insouciant remark, but I swallow my discomfort and prepare to run.

Just as I begin to pick up speed, Dante calls out, "And remember, this is not a race."

I slow down, falling into a more relaxed, natural stride. I can still feel my breasts bouncing with each step, their weight a constant reminder of my new identity.

Dante moves parallel to me, taking shots from different angles. "Nice, nice," he murmurs appreciatively. "Good bounce, good motion. Just keep it up."

As I glide past Dante, I can feel his gaze on me, his focus unwavering. Despite my embarrassment, I find his attention strangely exhilarating.

Over the next 20 minutes, Dante guides me through a variety of poses and movements, instructing me to stretch, jump, and even saunter. His directions are surprisingly articulate, and his knack for capturing the right moment is nothing short of amazing.

"Now bend over and touch your toes," He instructs, a playful smirk on his face. "Trust me, leg and butt exercises get all the likes."

I do it, and he circles.

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Dante grins as he snaps another shot, his gaze appreciative as it roams over my stretched pose.

His constant chatter softens the awkwardness of my situation, his laughter infectious as he bounces around, snapping photos. His tall frame is lithe and agile, moving with a fluidity that is naturally alluring.

"Man, Ohio, you've got a decent ass," he announces candidly, the words catching me off guard. I stiffen, my cheeks heating as his gaze shifts to my backside.

"Wh-What?"

"So, Ohio, I've got a friend who would love to meet you." Dante continues, steering the conversation. "A music video producer, always looking for fresh talent."

His abrupt change in conversation throws me for a loop. "A...a music producer?"

Dante nods, an earnest look in his eyes. "Yeah, he's always on the hunt for fresh faces. Models, dancers, actresses. You'd be perfect for some of his shoots."

I bite my lower lip, frowning. "That sounds...intense."

"Sure, but it could be fun too, right?" Dante counters, his grin widening. "Plus, it pays well. And who knows, you might even have a talent for it."

My mind races. Could I do that sort of thing? I mean, deep down, I'm still Eddie. Not anyone special or really good at anything.

Before I can voice any of these thoughts, Dante cuts in, "And, I have a proposition for you. There's a speedboat championship tonight, the Wave Regatta, out in Biscayne Bay by the Marine Stadium. One of my buddies is racing, and I'm invited to his yacht party. You interested?"

I stand there, obviously looking conflicted.

He chuckles, tilting his head casually to the side. "Oh, come on, Ohio. Don't tell me you're scared of a little party."

"I'm not," I stammer, taken aback by his forwardness. "It's just..."

"Just what?" Dante asks, his eyebrows raised in challenge.

"I've never been to a party like that!" I finally admit, my face burning with embarrassment. Or any party at all as an adult, but no one needs to know that…

Dante laughs heartily, a wide grin splitting his face. "Oh, I see! Well, there's a first time for everything, Ohio. Trust me, it's gonna be a crazy night."

"I..." I hesitate, but the way he's looking at me, his eyes twinkling with anticipation, makes me feel almost... obligated to say yes.

He gives me a knowing smirk. "Now, don't tell me a little ol' country girl like you is afraid of hanging with a city boy like me?"

"N-no!" I stammer, the insinuation making my cheeks burn even hotter.

Dante laughs again, his laughter rich and hearty. "Then it's settled! You're coming to the party. Hell, you can even bring some of your Ohio friends."

"I don't, uh, have any-" I start to protest, but he's already pulled out his phone, a victorious grin on his face.

"Great! Now, gimme your number," He demands, holding his phone out to me. "I'll text you the details."

Caught off guard, I stammer out my number, watching in disbelief as he keys it into his phone. His fingers are thick, but fast, and he's saved my number in a matter of seconds.

Suddenly, he turns sober, his voice dropping a notch. "And Ohio, if you got questions or you need to practice taking some more... naughty photos, don't hesitate to message me."

A deep blush spreads across my face at his words. His flirtatious wink doesn't help either.

"Alright, Ohio. It's been real, but I gotta bounce." Dante says, flashing me a dazzling smile that sends a quiver of inexplicable excitement through my body. "Imma see you tonight, right?"

"I-" I start, but Dante's grin widens, cutting me off.

"Ain't nothin' to it but to do it, girl." He drawls, his words thick with a teasing lilt. "I'm looking forward to seeing you... in your hot little outfit. You did pack a bikini, right?"

With a wink, he hops onto his bike, his departing figure leaving me flustered and alone in the park.

As I watch him disappear into the distance, I feel a sudden, burgeoning sense of unease. I'm left standing there, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within me.

I'd come to the park to take some photos for OnlyFans, to try and make a little side cash. That was all. So why did I just agree to go to a yacht party with a stranger? And why did that thought make my heart race?

I feel a flush of heat creeping up my neck, the morning sun adding to my discomfort. I'm not meant to be doing this, not meant to be playing these games. I'm Eddie. I'm a data analyst from Ohio. How did I end up agreeing to go on a date with a guy?

But as I look down at the swell of my breasts, peeking out from the top of my sports bra, I'm reminded of my new reality.

As my gaze drifts downwards, taking in the sight of my body clad in tight, form-fitting workout gear, I can still feel the phantom eyes of Dante on me. The memory of his leering gaze, his comments about my body…

A shiver of discomfort runs through me, but there is something else, something I'm afraid to even acknowledge. A small spark of... arousal? It flickers, timid and hesitant, threatening to burst into flame.

No, not from Dante's advances, surely… The thought makes my cheeks burn.

Every passing glance he gave me, how he looked at my body. His comments, his smirks, his surety that I would agree to whatever he suggested. Why did I let him make this decision for me?

But the undeniable truth is that, in some strange way, the whole interaction me feel desirable. And isn't that what I wanted? Wasn't that the point of all this, to learn how to make money with my body?

I continue my walk, the city coming alive around me. Sidewalks fill with people, cafes start to hum with conversations. And I, Elizabeth, walk amongst them, a woman in her skin-tight workout clothes, sweating and panting from a workout session turned sexy photoshoot.

Looking at my photos, I have to agree with Dante. Some of them are pretty damn good. But, seeing myself like this, exposed and on display, it feels... strange. It's like I'm looking at somebody else, this busty, glistening woman posing for the camera.

I swipe through my photos and videos again, each frame a reminder of the morning's events. Dante, with his flirtatious comments, is in every shot, whether visible or not. His direction, his suggestions, his gaze, they're all laced through each photo and video.

And I hate to admit it, but I sort of liked it. I liked the attention, the approval, the admiration. Even if it's just for this body that isn't mine, doesn't belong to Eddie. It's intoxicating, seductive. It's just… not me.

Or perhaps, it's a part of me I'm not ready to acknowledge yet.

—

Fresh out of the shower, I'm still catching my breath as I hastily towel-dry my hair, the ends scratching against the small of my back. I loosely tuck the top end of the towel under my arms to catch any stray droplets trying to make a run for it, creating a makeshift towel dress. My new "assets" are a challenge to maneuver, yet they provide a firm base to secure the towel in place.

As the cool air of my apartment kisses my moist skin, I can't help but shudder... not from the chill, but from the newness of everything. The weight of my breasts, the curve of my hips, even my smaller hands—each unique sensation is a constant reminder of what I have become.

But I still gotta brush my teeth.

As I'm about done rinsing, my phone, resting on the bathroom sink, lights up and begins to vibrate. Incoming call. Mom. I swallow hard, my stomach clenching with a mix of dread and guilt.

"Hey, Mom," I croak into the phone, my voice soft and groggy.

"Eddie?" she squawks down the line.

"Who the hell is that?"

"It's me, Mom."

"Eddie's girlfriend?"

"No, Mom, it's... it's Elizabeth. It's Eddie."

"Oh Lordy, Jesus, Joseph, and Mary. You took it! You took the devil's candy, Eddie!"

"Mom," I protest, but she's not listening, her voice rising several octaves. She starts to bat around words like "blasphemy" and "unnatural" like they're ping pong balls.

"Are you sayin' you've become one of them... them X-Changers?" She's practically wailing now.

I wince, bracing myself for the lecture that I know is about to come. She's going to tell me all about the Whore of Babylon. And wouldn't ya know it, she doesn't disappoint.

"And upon her forehead was a name written, 'Mystery, Babylon The Great, The Mother Of Harlots And Abominations Of The Earth.'"

"Mom, please-"

"Abomination, Eddie! That's what you've become!"

"Edith, who are you yammering at?" I hear my dad's gruff voice in the background.

"It's Eddie," Mom sobs, "he's done it! He's gone and taken one of those damn X-Change pills!"

"Oh, hell," Dad says. "So, how big are they?"

There's a moment of silence, punctuated by the sound of a slapped shoulder. Dad's yelp echoes through the phone, followed by Mom's shrill admonishing, "Harold! That's not appropriate!"

There's a muted argument, then she's back to you.

"You should be ashamed of yourself, Eddie! Ashamed!"

"I understand you think that, Mom," I start, trying to reason with her, to make her see my point. "I know it's strange, and I know you think it's wrong. But X-Change is totally normal down here in SC. It's acceptable, and it's just my own human body, just... just with a few things switched around. Temporarily!"

"That ain't your body, Eddie!" she declares, sounding as if she could spit fire. "God made you a boy. You can't just change what God made."

"But—"

"But nothing, Eddie! That city, that Summer City, it's the devil's own backyard! And that Aphrodite, she's just like that Babylon harlot, using her pills to turn boys into girls, and girls into boys!"

"But it's not—"

"Don't you dare talk back to me, young man! Oh, sweet Jesus, I never thought I'd live to see the day when my own son would become... become..."

She breaks off, clearly too upset to continue. Meanwhile, I feel my own anger rising. "Mom, I told you it's just for a month. It's not permanent!"

But my words fall on deaf ears. Her sobs are replaced by a steely silence. When she finally speaks, her voice is icily calm. "Eddie, I've had enough of this. I've asked Officer Thompson to talk to you."

My heart sinks. Officer Thompson? He's a cop from back home, a family friend who always had a soft spot for their polite, geeky kid. He's also a Partisan, a federal law enforcement officer who monitors the use of pills in Summer City. The last thing I need is more judgment, more lectures about how wrong I am for taking the pill.

"Dad," I say, hoping he'll help, "Dad, come on. Help me out here."

On the other end of the line, I can hear a muffled grumble, the distinct cadence of my father's voice. "Now, Edith," he begins, trying to reason with my mom. "The boy's just trying something new—"

"Harold!" my mom bellows, silencing my dad instantly. "This is not the time for your nonsense."

"Mom," I interrupt her, hoping to steer the conversation back on track. "I appreciate your concern. Really, I do. But Officer Thompson... Jerry, is not going to change my mind."

"You listen here, Eddie," she snaps, her voice taking on that special kind of steel that only a mother can possess. "Jerry is a good man. He knows about these things, he's seen the trouble they cause. He's gonna help you see sense in this... this craziness."

"Mom, I don't need Jerry to—"

"And maybe," she interrupts me, her voice growing softer, almost pleading, "maybe after you talk to him, you can think about coming back home. You could get a job here, something decent. Like waitressing, or maybe volunteering at the church. Helping with Sunday school or something."

I let out a sigh, a mixture of frustration and resignation. "Seriously, mom? A waitress? At the local diner? You want me to abandon my apartment, my life here, and come back home to wait tables?"

"Well, I don't see what's wrong with any of that!" she huffs defensively. "It's honest work. And better than selling your body on the internet!"

"Darn tootin' right he is," I hear my dad chime in from the background. "Hell, if I had a pair of titties and could wait tables, I wouldn't be fixing carburetors till my back breaks."

"Dad, for Christ's sake!" I groan into the phone.

"Harold! That's enough!" Mom's voice is shrill, and I wince, pulling the phone away from my ear for a second.

"Mom, look," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "I appreciate your worry, and I promise I won't do anything stupid, alright?"

Her sigh of relief is long and loud, and I can't help but smile. I think I'm beginning to see where I get my dramatic flair from.

"Promise me, Eddie. Promise you'll be careful."

"Mom, I promise."

"Well," she pauses, her voice back to its usual calm. "Then I've done all I can. But don't think that you're off the hook just yet. I'm still going to have Jerry come visit you."

"Mom—"

"Enough, Eddie. I love you, but I don't agree with this nonsense. And maybe… maybe Jerry can talk some sense into you."

It's not a suggestion, it's an ultimatum. And knowing my mom, there's no point arguing. I'm going to have to talk to Jerry, whether I like it or not.

"Alright, Mom. I'll talk to Jerry." I finally concede.

"That's my boy," she says, her voice teary. "You be safe, Eddie. And don't forget to pray."

"Yeah, Mom," I say, suppressing a sigh. "I love you."

"Love you too, Elizabeth." She says, her voice barely more than a whisper.

***