Growing Up is Hard to Do
Any great change is like cold water in winter one shrinks from the first plunge; and a lover may be excused who shivers a little at the transmigration into a husband.
Landon, Letitia Elizabeth. (1831). Romance and Reality, Volume II. Henry Colburn and Richard Bentley, New Burlington Street.
Gripping the corroded, copper ring tightly in his fist, Jacob wished he didn't have any specific desire in mind. He just yearned for something different, something better, something happier and stronger and more confident and more attractive and
more better
did that make any sense?
he ought to be someone older, wiser, and more mature! That made sense, right?
Evidently to the tarnished toroid from another place in time, that made perfect sense.
In less than a twinkling of an eye, Jacob was re-shaped
re-built
transmogrified, altered, morphed, transmuted, and revamped.
In less than a heartbeat, Jacob was no longer Jacob.
Perplexed, he blinked in bewilderment.
His body's sense of equilibrium was all off. His center of gravity was wrong. His line of sight was wrong. His tongue and teeth were shaped wrong. He was too light, too tall, too thin, and yet paradoxically, too big. His butt felt positively large plump and almost padded. Come to think of it, his hips were stretched out too wide. And yet his arms, legs, and belly were all positively gaunt compared to what he'd been accustomed to.
And then it hit him: he had breasts.
He was a woman.
And he now had a pair of big, beautiful, magnificent, pendulous breasts carefully constrained by a lacy bit of shapewear.
Jacob had boobs and was wearing a bra.
He was a woman.
He was still standing there in the Johnson family's front yard. And he still clutched the weird annulus of corroded, bronze metal. And Emily was still there, eagerly staring off into the distance in anticipation of the arrival of that stupid lunkhead of a boyfriend she had. She hadn't noticed him yet.
But Jacob was no longer Jacob. He was a woman.
Quietly and quickly, Jacob took stock of his new situation. As he looked down, he felt the dangle of hoop earrings gripping his earlobes. A cascade of sleek, black hair draped down on either side of Jacob's face as he glanced down upon his new self. He wore a long cardigan, beige in color with a thin, sleeveless cerise top beneath. Below that, he wore a pair of skinny jeans in dark denim. They disappeared into the depths of a set of knee-high, brown leather, flat-heeled boots.
And clearly, it wasn't just Jacob's attire that had changed. He had breasts, and he had the voluptuous curves of a grown woman's backside, and he had
well, more importantly there was something he no longer had.
Sighing through pursed lips again in a vain attempt to exorcise the demons of panic and distress, Jacob looked at his lithe, delicate fingers, their tips glossed with cherry red polish.
I've got a vagina, he thought to himself in silent panic.
Somehow this kooky doughnut from another dimension had magically castrated Jacob
and aged him more than a few years to, judging from the mature feel of his new breasts, hips, and ass.
But who was he? He wasn't the fifteen-year old son of Christopher and Jennifer Smith any longer. If that person even still existed, Jacob mused morosely. The new Jacob (whatever her name was) must be at least ten or twelve years older. So, did he have a whole new life, a new history to accompany this brave, new body? Did Emily still know him? Where did he live, what did he do, how could he cope?
And, he thought with dread, is it possible for him to ever change back to normal
or was this forever?