Cameron woke up to the near-pitch darkness of her room with a hushed groan, to crusted saliva on her left cheek, heavy bags under her eyes, full-body aches (especially for her legs and back), a rigid, tight tent in her boxers, a full bladder, and prominently, a growling stomach.
Craning her neck towards her nightstand's clock, she quietly grumbled as its display read 12:28 A.M.
Not having properly rested, or apparently eaten enough for dinner, after her 7-hour Varsity Cross-Country meet that day (and night), the runner squeezed her eyes shut for another second before rolling gingerly out of bed with a sigh. Her thighs and back ached as she hobbled over to the restroom to drain her bladder - she had evidently drank enough yesterday.
Trudging her way onto the cold tile, having forgotten her slippers, Cameron made an unintelligible attempt at cursing before her irritation was directed elsewhere: her growling stomach, her back and muscle pains, her strained bladder, her tightened boxers thanks to her raging erection, and a growing, bothersome itch on her cheek.
Fumbling for the switch before finally succeeding, she closed her eyes, struck by the bright bathroom lighting, before splashing her cheek with water to remove the dried patch of saliva on it - and her blond locks that were stuck to it.
Drying her hands and heading to the toilet, the fatigued soul flipped the lid up, and pulled down her boxers with some lightly pleasurable, strained difficulty to let out a turgid, pink and throbbing, footlong, testicle-less futanari penis. Grunting as the turgid mast prevented the hermaphrodite from an act of quick relief, Cameron grudgingly stood there as she waited for her dick to "calm down", refusing to sit and relieve herself with her vagina, for reasons her uncharged brain couldn't decipher.
The singular transformation she received from the Fusion Wave, Cameron appreciated the pleasure and efficiency the organ brought, but not the constant questions and occasional harassment she received from schoolmates and track rivals concerning the bulge in her shorts - her penis had no testicles, so there was no boost in testosterone that affected her game and runtime, personality, or sexuality at all - she was still as straight as an arrow (attracted to masculine qualities, to be precise). Her vagina was the dominant organ.
Her joystick finally flopping into submission, the teen smirked, lulling her head to the side as she gingerly grabbed the dick, aimed it into the bowl, and fired - she had finally mastered hitting the mark.
Washing her hands, turning off the bathroom light, and stumbling out of the bathroom, Cameron plopped down face first onto her bed, stretching for a bit. With her aches slightly less bothersome, her cheek un-itched, and all of the business in her groin taken care of, she did a snow angel on her blanket before preparing to fall asleep once more . . .
When she was reminded by a massive growl of the cavernous emptiness in her stomach.
Jumping out of bed this time (careful not to bob up and down too much thanks to the flopping penis in her briefs) though still fatigued, Cameron didn't want to walk downstairs to eat something she knew would make her mouth smell and feel horrible by morning - so she decided on a better option.
She exited her room and began to walk down the hallway . . .