It was early evening, and I was in the kitchen mincing vegetables for dinner while waiting for my wife, Kara, to get home while my baby daughter, Millie, cooed from her pram in the living room. She’d just turned a year old, about as long as I’ve been a stay-at-home dad, and I’ve been loving every second of it. After spending the morning tidying up the house, Millie and I had spent the day together, hitting the park, checking out pet stores, and a bunch of other things that I’m sure were more entertaining for me than for her, but she smiled a lot, so she must have been having a good time. Now she was tuckered out and slowly drifting off in the pram, and I was looking forward to serving my wife a delicious meal and enjoying some of that you’re-such-a-great-husband sex I’ve been getting so much of lately. I kept a clean house and a fat, happy baby, and it was not lost on Kara. Good thing Millie is a heavy sleeper like her old man, I chuckled to myself.
I looked up at the clock on the stove to check the time: almost seven-thirty. Frowning, I figured she must be running a little late and went over to my phone to check and see if she sent me an update. As I picked up my phone, a terrible cramping sensation hit my stomach with such force that I let it clatter to the counter top as I clutched my gut in pain. Thinking it was food poisoning, I ran immediately to the bathroom and knelt before the toilet, leaving the door open so I could still hear Millie. I leaned over the toilet bowl while clutching the sink for support, readying myself to hurl. Instead, a skin-crawling sensation swept across every inch of my body. I grew feverish and sweaty, quickly removing my shirt as I leaned away from the toilet. I didn’t think I was going to throw up, but my heart was racing as I knew something was wrong.
The prickling sensation intensified and I looked down at my arms to see that the coarse, dark hairs coating my veiny forearms was disappearing. No, not disappearing, I realized, but getting lighter and less dense. As the hairs grew softer and fewer the skin on my arms seemed to lighten and grow smoother, and my finger’s began to narrow and shrink along with my hands as I ran them along my now smooth skin. I could feel it everywhere, coursing through every inch of my body as my muscles lost mass and became slimmer, my bones shifting in size and position. A tingling in my nipples brought my attention down to my chest; gone was the coarse rug of chest hair I’d been growing since high school, gone was my recently acquired “dad-belly” and the treasure trail that adorned it. My belly was smooth and narrow, but my pectoral muscles seemed to be growing. The inflated before my eyes as my nipples continued to tingle and grow along with them. I let out a terrified gasp but clutched my mouth shut when the sound came out nasally and feminine. What was happening to me?
The sensations moved lower; I could feel my ass grow larger and fuller, my hips growing wider as my waist narrowed slightly. Realizing what was coming, I rushed to reach inside my pants to secure my dick, hoping that I was living in botulism-induced delirium. My cock was rock hard despite the circumstances, but also it felt thinner, shorter, and much more sensitive. I let out a grunt when I experienced a sudden pain in my balls, and again the noise came out as more of a feminine yelp. Reaching down to feel below my cock confirmed that my balls were gone, sucked up inside of me and replaced by a rapidly developing fissure between my legs. My cock shrank in my hands, dwindling to nothing more than a small, sensitive head of flesh above his new opening. I groaned again, my eyes rolling at the strange sensations emanating from my crotch as my reproductive organs re-arranged themselves. Just when I was wondering if this nightmare would ever end, the uncomfortable sensations of the change evaporated in an instant.
I lay on the floor, panting and wondering if I’d just had a stroke. I could hear Millie crying from the other room, but at the moment, my muscles felt too weak to move. I was on my stomach, and uncomfortably aware of a pair of large, fleshy orbs squished between the ground and me, and even more uncomfortably aware of the absence of feeling anything squished between my legs. The sound of Millie crying pulled me from my stupor and I began to try and push myself up. The strength was returning to my limbs; I forced myself back into a seated position against the bathroom wall, wincing at the sensation of the two weights pulling at my chest. With slender, shaking hands, I reached up to grasp them and confirm they were real. My hands met soft, warm, yielding flesh; a familiar sensation, except now I was experiencing it from the opposite end. My nipples were large and sensitive; just a finger-tip was enough to make me shudder. Staring at my new breasts, my stomach began to cramp up again as I imagined what other changes further south must have occurred. My had still shaking, I reached down inside my now baggy pants; my fingers met soft pubic hair, and little else after that, save for a sensitive nub of flesh and the gentle lips of what I knew could be only one thing: a vagina. My cock and balls were gone! I wanted to do what any rational straight man would do in this situation: scream and panic. However, Millie’s crying was bordering on hysterical at this point, and I couldn’t ignore her any longer. Why did it sound so much louder?
Trying to ignore everything about what had happened to me, I pushed myself up to my two feet, swaying as my sense of equilibrium. There was no denying I was shorter. The bathroom counter was now waist level, the vaulted ceilings and high door frames of our house now seemed almost towering. I shrugged back into my shirt and tried to ignore the weight and sway of my new breasts as I walked from the bathroom and back into the living room. Millie was safe in the pram, but something had disturbed her.
“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” I cooed to her as I approached the pram, noting how feminine and hushed my new voice sounded. “Daddy’s here,” My voice broke a bit when I said that.
Millie was red-faced and teary-eyed, her tufty brown hair mussed, and was exuding a foul but familiar odor that after a long year caring for an infant only made me sigh in exasperation.
“You need a change, don’t you?” I said to her, using a cheerful tone to disguise my lack of relish. Millie responded by coughing and sputtering for a moment before she resumed her wailing. “Okay, honey. Let’s get you changed up,” I said, puling her from the pram. “Let’s clean you up and then you can help Daddy figure out what the ef is going on,” I muttered as we moved to the nursery.
Changing the baby was almost therapeutic at this moment. Keeping my hands busy helped me stay distracted, keep my heart-rate down. I stared into space as I maneuvered Millie out of her jammies and steeled myself to open up her diaper. There was the usually thoughtful present waiting for me, but also something else. Something my daughter had definitely not been born with, nor had it been present at bath time earlier today.
“Holy shit!” I yelped, taking a step back. A penis. My one-year-old daughter had a penis! By all accounts she looked like a healthy, if soiled, baby boy! It was a minute before I realized that my phone had been ringing and I had missed it. I quickly cleaned up Millie and got her dressed in some fresh jammies before taking “her” back into the living room with me. After putting her in the crib, I immediately went to my phone and checked my messages. There were several missed phone calls from my wife, as well as a few text messages consisting of jumbled letters and symbols. Before I could decide what to do, my wife suddenly called me again. I let it continue to ring for one more beat, not sure how I was going to handle this, before he swiped the little green arrow and held the phone up to his ear.
“Hello?”