as Julian was well reliving tenchon with a hand and his dick, with looking at some hot older woman model photo on his laptop somthing strange happend he started to feel odd and gappy having a experience what he had never had before with having some fun like he does most days.
Julian’s mind raced like a thousand fireworks exploding at once. One moment he had been slouched in his chair, hidden behind his bedroom door, staring at his computer screen.
His vision snapped back into focus. Everything was too bright, too loud. He blinked rapidly—long lashes brushing against his cheeks in a way that felt *wrong*. There was a pull at his scalp, like something heavy weighing his head down. He tried to reach up, instinctively wanting to scratch or tug at his hair—**wait, those aren’t my hands!**
The hand that rose into view froze him in place. A slender, delicate hand with perfect nails painted a pale red hovered before him. He turned it slowly, palm out, palm in. **This isn’t mine. This isn’t mine. This isn’t mine.**
“Hey! You okay over there?”
A voice—a man’s voice—snapped him back to the room. He whipped his head toward the sound, and everything shifted. The sudden motion caused his chest to *move* in ways he’d never experienced before. Weight, bounce—**what the hell!?**
Julian looked down. His stomach dropped into an endless pit.
Two very real, very prominent breasts were in his view, perfectly framed by a tight, striped crop top. His breathing hitched as he stumbled backward.
“Oh my god, oh my god, OH MY GOD!” he hissed under his breath, his voice impossibly soft and *feminine*.
“What’s wrong? You were doing great a second ago!”
The voice came again—calm, but confused. Julian didn’t dare look up. His body wasn’t his. His mind felt like it was short-circuiting.
His hands trembled as he touched his face. His cheeks felt smooth—no stubble, no bumps. He cupped his jawline and then grabbed at the long, flowing *hair*. It cascaded over his shoulders, golden and silky between his fingers.
“No, no, no… this isn’t real.”
He took a shaky step forward, nearly tripping over his legs. His balance was off—his hips swayed with every little movement, like his entire center of gravity had shifted. He looked down again and caught sight of **more** he wasn’t prepared to see: smooth skin, narrow waist, and lacy white underwear peeking above his hips showing no familiar bolg he did not realize how much he would miss seeing it.
“This isn’t happening,” he whispered, panic threatening to consume him whole.
The photographer cleared his throat. “Are you ready for another shot, or do you need a break?”
“Shot?” Julian’s voice cracked, barely recognizable as his own—because it wasn’t. “What shot? What are you talking about!?”
He stumbled further back, his breathing quick and shallow, until his back hit a cold wall. He felt trapped—every breath he took made the clothes he wore feel tighter, the new *curves* more noticeable.
“This can’t be happening.” His voice trembled, the words spilling out like a frantic prayer. “This isn’t my body! I’m not supposed to—what happened to me?!”
The man furrowed his brows. “Are you feeling sick? Look, take five, but let’s keep this energy when you’re back, okay? You were doing fantastic before.”
Julian couldn’t hear him anymore. His mind was spiraling, looping the same horrifying thought over and over.
**I’m not me anymore. I’m not me. I’m… her.**
He sank to the floor, trembling. Hands that weren’t his pressed against a face that didn’t belong to him. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes—**her eyes**—as his breathing turned into gasps.
He wanted to wake up. He wanted this to be a dream, a joke, a hallucination. But every time he moved, every time he felt the pull of this unfamiliar body, he knew it wasn’t.
It was real.
And it was only just beginning.