Indeed, the individual standing in the doorway with a now worried expression on their face did superficially look exactly like Taylor. Her long, wavy brunette hair, unblemished skin, curvy frame, and Jennifer Lawrence-esque face were exactly how Megan remembered them, albeit slightly older. So were her earrings, nail polish, and makeup. That sickening chemical miasma that she called perfume still hit the motorcycle woman like a brick, though it came with an odd, distinctly musky smell she had encountered somewhere recently before. Shaking the thought, Megan crossed her arms. Apart from the three rows of arms on her person, and the single row of DD-cup sized breasts that were squishing against each other for space and obscenely stretching her Foo Fighters shirt, Taylor looked exactly . . . the same?
This wasn't right. Taylor hated rock music. Why was she wearing that sweaty old blue hoodie? It was definitely not "sexy." Where had the prim and proper posture gone? Taking a good look at the nervous individual again, Megan saw that, even with the great gamer slouch, Taylor was probably 2 feet taller than usual, her shorter torso and upper body disproportionately small compared to her legs. This was thanks to the incredibly hairy new legs she was sporting, concealed in part by a pair of sagging grey khaki shorts and pristine red Nike tennis shoes.
The individual spoke -
"Yeaaaaahh, so this is gonna sound weird, but I'm actually not Taylor? Well, I know that I look kinda like that annoying stuck-up chick, but I can't say I hate what I got from her bod . . ."
The individual paused before raising all of their arms to squish together and then knead their breasts. Gleefully biting their lower lip and humming for a second, "Taylor" then perked up, placed all of their hands on their hips, and explained themself.
". . . But you're NOT actually looking at her bro! We swapped everything of our upper halves but our brains man! It's JAKE!"
That quiet gamer kid? The freshman in the back of her history class at college? Megan's eyebrows arched. She was not expecting to believe the kid so easily, but it seemed plausible enough considering everything. Opening her mouth to ask as to how this happened, Jake cut her off with the answer:
"W-well, uh, if you don't believe me, see for yourself - we bumped into each other at that new Kroger place a few hours ago. She . . . doesn't like her new bod as much as mine, I guess?"
Moving aside, Megan looked into the house from the garage. Transformed and untransformed figures were talking everywhere, but her eyes were instantly drawn to the buttercup yellow heels that she'd recognize anywhere.
Sitting against a wall opposite from Megan's gaze was the new Taylor. Scrunched up into a ball and covered in part by a white blanket, the disproportionately large, lanky upper male body Taylor now had was using its four arms to cradle her legs by the knee area - what little remained of her femininity. A tail stuck out from the back of her hoodie sweatshirt - 4 feet long, it lay half-coiled and barely moving, as dejected as the former bully currently was. Tapering down from what Megan guessed originally was a width of 6 inches, the human skin-toned tail was lightly coated in soft, fuzzy, and feminine female hair. It forked into two halves 0.8 feet away from its 2.5-inch wide tips, and was idly laying on top of Taylor's old immaculate feet, their white nails recently done. Taylor's other four feet had not been manicured, however - as she quickly moved an arm away to wipe away her snot, Megan could clearly observe the four petite feet that had replaced Taylor's hands.
Her new acne-scarred face was cloaked in the hood of the hoodie she was wearing, but from what Megan could make of its now-scared, wide eyes, shaggy black hair, and boyish looks, it was most definitely Jake's. Jake's old face had two new wide, teary black eyes that frantically scanned the room with the original two as they spewed tears. Taylor was terrified, her body shaking intermittently as she quietly sobbed. Megan felt a twang of pity. She could just make out Taylor's wide new eyes - and the streaks of tears that rolled down her new cheeks, over the red pimples, and down across her peach-fuzz mustache. The motorcycle girl couldn't fathom why she was even wishing well for her mortal enemy, but considering that Taylor still had her old shapely smooth legs and ass, and that Jake's old face was incredibly boyish, with some makeup, she could at least easily pass for a mutant, flat-chested, pimpled tomboy . . .