A Better Life

Ch 2

I woke up with dry mouth and a headache. As I stirred from bed, I felt downright hung over. The nausea kicked in as I stumbled to the fridge for some water.

"Fuck," I thought, "and that's after one?" I grumbled to myself as I chugged some water and cleared my head. Then, I took my morning dosage of the large pink pill before hopping in the shower.

I turned the water up extra hot, a tactic reminiscent of my younger days waking up from a night of debauchery. I lathered up my body and scrubbed with my loofa, absentmindedly running my hands over my body. It was then I looked down and noticed a decent covering of body hair on my loofa. It seemed early for side effects, but I had no other explanation. I moved on to shampoo, running the lather through my hair. I swore it felt thicker. I convinced myself I was looking for changes because of the mystery medication, finished my shower and went to get dressed for work.

"TGIF," I said out loud as the nausea did little to subside. I pulled on a black button up and dress pants. The pants felt...snug in the seat. "I'm imagining things" I thought to myself as I caught the train to work.

The workday went by uneventfully, save for the relentless nausea and fatigue. After I took the train home, I grabbed a beer, took my second pull, and promptly passed out on the couch.

The next two weeks went much like this, waking up in a painful fog, watching my body hair slough off my body, getting through the work day best I can, and then passing out and sleeping for sometimes as much as 12 hours.

That Friday, it must have become too much for me to bear. Maybe some of it had to do with my hair, which seemed to have grown as much as my body hair has called it quits. Now a noticeably long mop, I tied it into a ponytail for the first time at work. Later, I found myself in the office restroom, sitting on the toilet and crying. Sobbing. I was a mess. I put in sick time for the rest of the day and caught the train home. I don't know what came over me but I was so emotional. I didn't feel like myself.

Walking back from the train station, I went upstairs to my apartment and there were men inside. They were dressed like cable guys or similar workers, and they were hard at work in my apartment. On what?

"I think you have the wrong apartment," I said in a shock, tears welling in my eyes.

"Michaels? We're on an order from SBI."

Fuck. I knew they were up to something.

"For what?" I asked.

"Cameras, audio monitoring, motion sensors. It's all in that packet you signed."

That damn packet. What have I gotten into?

I rushed to the bedroom and saw cameras and microphones already installed. Already nauseous, the running and stress led me to vomit. Catching my breath, I started crying again.

Once I caught myself, I called SBI. The perky receptionist answered.

"Social Balance Institute!"

"This is Jack Michaels...why are you installing surveillance equipment in my house?"

"Oh, happy week two graduation! You're headed to the next step in your transition to a better life! Since we've invested so much in you, we need to ensure your safety and mental wellbeing."

The receptionist must've heard me sniffling on the other end of the line.

"Don't sweat anything, sweetie. I promise it's all worth it."

I thanked her and hung up and a few moments later the men left. Let me alone in an apartment that's fully monitored like a zoo exhibit or asylum. "How am I gonna jerk off in this place?" I thought to myself.

I took my pill and curled up for my long sleep.

The next morning, the start of my third week brought changes like clockwork. I woke up with a long yawn, tossing my long, full hair as I was prone to do since it became like this. I pulled down the blanket slowly and looked down at my small, achy breasts.

My what?

I did a double take. My nipples were twice the size they used to be, and, upon inspection, very sore. They stood on small lumps that protruded slightly from my slender body. They were very small, but they were unmistakably breasts.

I got up and ran to the bathroom. In so doing, I threw up. My hands shaking, I looked in the mirror.

Long hair.

Smooth skin.

Fatter ass

Tits. Fucking tits!

I curled up in a ball, sobbing. I refused to take my second pill, eventually falling asleep.

I awoke to a voice in my apartment.

"You have to take the second pill." Came the voice of Dr. Goodson.

I looked around the apartment.

"Don't worry, I'm not there."

I realized the voice was coming from the surveillance equipment.

"What if I don't want to anymore? What are you doing to me? Are you making me transgender for some sick game or something? Picking on lonely guys?"

"The circumstances of your gender are to debate another day, but this is not some sick game. I promise we are making your life better. This is just the challenging steps to get you there. As for the pill, you and I both know you signed your life away, and you're in a situation with zero leverage. Consider this before you act rashly."

I laid on the ground, crying softly before I summoned the strength to pop the pill in my mouth and wash it down.

"Very good," came the voice. "I'm very proud of you".

The days progressed the same way, a mix of fear, depression, and resignation. Wake up, throw up, take pills, struggle through day, throw up, take pills, shower, sleep.

As my skin lost its hair and became smoother and my ass took on a feminine shape, I began to become concerned about work. Having no desired to be clocked as a woman, I did my best to conceal my changes. Eventually I had to give in to sports bras and women's pants to further the illusion. At least the pants were comfortable, I told myself.

Roughly five weeks into the program on that Sunday, my breasts reached a "B" cup and became so unruly that I had to start wearing bras. This came as a humiliating blow to my fragile ego, already cratering under the weight of the program I signed myself up for.

That night, I found myself staring in the mirror for a long time. I remembered who I was in the mirror at SBI just over a month ago: pale, skinny, no muscle, body hair, thin hair on my head. A nobody.

That night, I was smooth, I was soft, with flowing hair, tender breasts beneath a purple bra and a filled-out butt in the matching panties that fit my frame better than my old underwear. I was still a scared, upset mess, but I had to admit the person in the mirror was superior.

"What shall we call you?" Dr. Goodson's voice came over the speaker.

"Call me?" I thought to myself, my stomach churching with nausea. Fuck, she meant like....i guess I really was not Jack anymore.

Drawing on an old family name, I thought of a response.

"Ms. Michaels, what -"

I cut off the voice, the use of "Ms." possibly breaking me.

"Stacy. I am Stacy Ann Michaels."

"Lovely, girl. I will make the necessary changes. Don't worry about work tomorrow. We'll talk more then. Now take your pill and go to bed"

I awoke in my typical haze that Monday, a blend of queasiness, pain, and recently, horniness. My sexual urges have grown feverish, and over time I've lost the modesty to avoid taking care of them under the watchful eye of the doctor and her staff.

I took my pill and put on my robe, covering my bra that clung to my bouncing little breasts and the matching panties that silkily covered my perky butt. I hummed to myself as I dialed up some quality porn on my TV. Sitting back, legs spread gently, I reached for my cock as the scene warmed up. A young, chesty brunette was blowing a guy in a swimming pool.

I absentmindedly began to tug.

No response.

"Relax" I told myself, and leaned back to tug a little harder.

Soft.

Fuck.

I kept going the way I normally would as our starlet filled the screen with rapturous sexual pleasure. Soft moans escaped me as I worked

myself to orgasm. It felt...great, but different. I never got hard. And the fluid that escaped was clear and sorta bubbled out. No ropes. I chalked it up to stress and moved on with my morning.

"Good morning, Stacy" came the chipper voice of Dr. Goodson on the speaker.

"Morning." I replied nonchalantly.

"You look lovely, dear. I wanted to talk about your progress. I can see the results are coming along quite impressively. Has anything changed internally? Anything feel different or off?"

"Other than not getting hard, it's been the same. Just puking and crying." I said sarcastically.

"Well, Stacy, I'm afraid you may be saying goodbye to erections. But I have good news for you."

The first sentence hung in the air as I stood there, shocked. "What could possibly be good about this?"

"Since you've been so good and made it this far, we've decided to reward you. For one, you no longer have to work. We will be covering that income. We want to spare you the awkwardness of working in the middle of the study when you're embracing the changes. Additionally, a car will be picking you up soon for a spa appointment and clothes shopping. We want you to take the time you would've spent working to enjoy yourself and embrace yourself."

I was conflicted. I literally signed up for this, but never in a million years would've asked for it. But now that this was happening, I was grateful to not have to work. And a small part of me figured that if this is happening, I might as well enjoy it.

"Thank you, Doctor". I slipped on a robe and went downstairs to wait for the car.