Yuri Worlds

[4] Waypoint

Franklin stumbled forward with his foot, but it was not his foot. Everything had a strange, consuming tingle, as though numbness had spread through his entire body and was just now easing. It wasn’t painful. In fact, it felt strangely refreshing, like being bathed in clinging wintergreen. The gurgling tenseness of his stomach and trembles settled down.

His foot was not only not his foot; the rest of him wasn’t him either. A bare, soft limb supported him on the cement. Pale sneakers covered the feet with little pink socks jutting out, stretching for the ankle. The legs were impossibly smooth and tiny compared to the things that should’ve supported him. The color tones of bright flesh should not have existed in reality. They glistened with painterly details that shifted subtly with every tiny motion. It took him way too long to recognize the orb crests on his chest.

He hadn’t been wearing a gray, long-sleeved top before, and his clothes didn’t normally contain these covered mounds. The pinnacles were subdued but obvious hills. The fabric rounded the sides and dipped in the middle, with the slight suggestion of a bra underneath. Boobs. Those were boobs on his chest, and that wasn’t even the craziest thing.

The way he stepped and shifted had altered mechanics, with a noticeable difference to his hips and the most intimate place between his legs. Meager black shorts covered way too little of his colorful thighs. His arms naturally rested near his lean, tiny tummy, even though he was desperately curious to see how the prominent pillows felt.

“Continue over to the right. Please clear the threshold for any incoming travelers. Take an empty chair. You will be assessed before proceeding to your destination.”

That voice blared from the overhead speakers and was coming from a woman in a gray uniform with a mouthpiece right next to her face. She was living art in motion. Her silver hair flowed with dense brushstrokes, recaptured and reconsidered with every moment. Her bright and glossy, jutting nose practically bordered on caricature. She moved with a fluidity beyond any animation Franklin had ever witnessed. Even animation smoothing algorithm videos couldn’t compare to the living specimen gesturing in front of them. He couldn’t stand and gawk.

He didn’t have enough time to register much of anything about the remarkable girls standing on either side of him. Guy had been spontaneously replaced with a perfect visualization of Chika made flesh. The pink aesthetic had been distilled to little more than a soft one-piece top that barely cleared her sloping thighs. Pulling it down to provide more real estate threatened to pop out her modest breasts. Her grape jolly rancher hair teased her rounded butt with strikingly light patches. Despite the disconcerting confusion evident on her artistically drawn features, she looked on Franklin warmly and shared a grimace of sympathy passing to the other side.

Dwight sure got his boobs. The poor girl with flowing pink hair who replaced him appeared appropriately stunned. Her hair was almost as long as Gee’s candy locks. It didn’t have a powdery, faint cotton candy pastel. Dwight refined it into a soft red closer to punch with traces of watermelon and blush. Not as sharp as vermilion nor exactly a fuchsia, even though the darker sections sheltered from the harsh overhead lights got close.

Her brilliant, green eyes were wide behind red-framed glasses, and a blush approaching the brightness of her hair tinted her cheeks. As Dwight asked for, the girl before them had breasts individually larger than her head. They projected an overwhelming presence that eclipsed all other features on her body. Gravity exacted a pendulous toll on her white, short-sleeved top. Despite the monumental figure she cut, the hem of her top had enough material to comfortably crease and dip down to her side-slit red skirt. That bright skirt swelled and stretched similarly to Chika‘s meager outfit, with barely more than a sliver of girlish thigh hidden by the cloth. If it hiked up an inch, then she was sure to flash underwear or more. But now wasn’t the time to dawdle amidst breathtaking, humanized art.

Taking charge, Franklin hooked her slender arms around her compatriots and carefully guided them over to the designated area. Her stomach rumbled in protest about the impossible things it had been forced into. She privately told it to hush.

The newly created Namiko gently eased her way down onto the seat but still unleashed fleshy, jiggling waves throughout her body. She endeavored to adjust everything 'topside', even though it seemed like too much for her arms to even begin wrangling. Her bust appeared more like a bulge of rounded toothpaste squeezed and stretched to prominence.

It wasn’t long before what appeared to be another medical worker came over and checked on them. She had the same artistic, colorful style as everyone else around. Franklin had to wonder if their blood would look more like red paint than the real thing. No blood needed to be drawn though, just more vitals taken. Dwight and Gee were the ones elevated this time, with Franklin still in a relatively normal range.

“Oh my God,” Dwight managed to say, with his regular cadence sounding like he’d huffed a megadose of helium. Despite the unnatural softness and striking pitch, Franklin still recognized it as his friend’s voice.

“I know, right? This is the trippiest thing, and I don’t have my phone to record any of it yet. I feel like they practically drugged us. How are you holding up….big sis?” Gee had a faint shivering spread through her voice, like the sterile coldness was swiftly searing into her exposed flesh. She also retained the playful glide of his usual way of speaking, but the subtle, feminine quirks he picked up for streams had gone a long way toward transforming his voice into one that felt recognizably girly.

The transitional staging area that Franklin curiously surveyed looked like someone’s richly rendered, stark painting of an underground hospital complex crossed with a military base. Their section was crudely partitioned for privacy, with fewer curtains than the green zone of an emergency room. Franklin hopped up, ignoring the echoing vibrations that traveled through his chest and not caring about the accuracy of pronouns, searching for what supplies she might be able to grab.

No one turned her away from poking around corners and popping open random cabinets that would transfix architectural design artists. He grabbed soft, brown acrylic paint wrinkles in the form of blankets and brought them over for the others. They warmly wrapped up and thanked Franklin.

“Did I make a mistake?” Dwight questioned with a sigh. Silence lingered around them despite the random shouts and busyness of other corridors in this sci-fi, painterly place. Franklin urged that it would be fine. He also pressed that Dwight looked really cute, and he was sure that they would acclimate to such a disconcerting change. Gee added fuel to the sentiment by asserting that Namiko looked exactly like they designed. She also pointed out traditional bathhouses and hot springs where her “mega milkers” could float with full relaxation. Dwight scrutinized her massive peaks and tried on a faint smirk. Adjusting the bra working overtime and finessing the realigned range managed a reshape and restraint that stepped away from the bounds of terrifying. The new girls lacking pants envied Franklin’s selection.

Someone else eventually showed up. They questioned where they got the blankets but let them keep them and agreed to grab some provisional clothes for their lower halves. Those clothes turned out to be very simplistic drawstring pants with a texture rougher than paper and durability slightly above tissue. Dwight gladly pulled them up over her sizable hips and butt. Chika hiked them as high as they would go. Franklin even asked for a pair to cover up his girly legs. It didn’t take more than a few minutes before they were medically cleared to proceed.

Further down the corridor were not only their transplanted, artistically transformed luggage, sets of more clothing, official papers, and various money cards, but also a dizzying array of mirrors bouncing a kaleidoscope of colorful anime girls off one another. Before Franklin could really take in his altered visage, he and the others got vigorously lectured about the gray wristbands they needed to wear when out and about.

“Treat these as you would a critical form of identification. This is your passport in and out. If you lose it, you will receive a hefty fine from the company. This distinguishes you. I don’t care what plans you may have about mingling and immersing yourself in the local culture. You wear this in public, or you’re heading back home early.”

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

The wristband vaguely reminded Franklin of a Fitbit, only much thinner. The display appeared like color-inverted paper etched into its surface. They also explained that the battery would last the duration, so no worries about turning it off or charging it up. The entire thing was waterproof, so it didn’t need to be removed when washing. The band also self-adjusted for comfort.

Franklin admitted that the weird device sat unobtrusively on his wrist, feeling more like rolled-up sunglasses than a wristwatch. He left it alone to pay attention to the strange girl in the mirror.

Her eyes appeared starkly alien with that vibrant tone. They consumed an unnatural but adorable swath of her face. A dark pen stroke, shifting and rippling with every small facial change, drew across the top. He couldn’t capture her blinking but lingered with the moment when her eyes started to close. That rooted perspective signaled deep in his soul that she was him looking out in surprise.

He was this girl. This adorably cute girl with impossible eyes and an anime form. He was Misaki, as he slowly and painstakingly imagined and rewrote her until this was what he came up with. Like some surreal create-a-character applicable to real life. Under the shy surface, he was an absolute volcano of thoughts and feelings. He was turning her on in a way that felt indescribable from any prior life experience. And he had no idea how to quell the flow. At least there were a couple layers. It felt like a toasty, amorphous snail was inexorably tracing and carving its way out. He did his best not to feed it.

“Hey! I think I’m with you. They told me to wait.”

The trio were approached by an unusual girl. She was shorter than any of them, with pale, straw-blonde hair framing her head and tracing around her cheeks and neck. She had thick, bright thighs like Chika and simple, dark brown loafers without socks on her small feet. It appeared she had also been forsaken by the gods of pants. A pale, dressy outfit covered her to the upper thigh. It had a coloration like sea foam against the sky, with ornamental flourishes of darker blue. The sides of the dress spread out like half-hearted wings, with broad sleeves and golden flourishes. A large, round, dark pair of shades completely obscured her eyes, with just the black pen accent showing. She hauled a large bag over her shoulder and wore the wristband. The band displayed a number string that matched theirs.

Each “tour group“ was broken into segments of four for the sake of accommodations, even though they were under no obligation to travel together beyond this early stage and returning. The three of them double-checked the information they had and agreed that she was in the right place.

Franklin tentatively offered a polite greeting, which Gee and Dwight echoed.

“Yeah. Hi. Whatever. So, are you ready? There’s a delightfully, delicious world waiting for us just a few steps away. And I want to sink my teeth into it.”

None of them were psychologically or emotionally ready for what came next. But it appeared that they were clear to proceed. They split their bags, double-checked, and signed that they received everything. The last threshold lay past some rising steps. Dwight took them slow, with bags providing additional support along with the blanket wrapped like a shawl. Franklin marveled at all the lovingly detailed architectural art while trying to tell his brain that the artistic qualities were no different than the visual normalcy back home. Breathtaking art was just how this transitional space and the world beyond existed.

When they arrived at the ground level, they took a quiet moment to stretch before advancing to another recessed archway portal. Now, Franklin felt his altered, anime heart wanting to pound its way out of his chest with liberated excitement. At least the nether region crisis had been momentarily averted.

A woman positioned like a traffic cop swirled a blue baton in the air to direct them forward. Franklin had to remind himself to breathe. Remind herself to breathe. She was a girl now, after all. Might as well play the part. Misaki. Takano Misaki traveling from another world with her little sister, Takano Chika, and good friend, Yamane Namiko. And whoever the blonde was, Franklin figured she had her own story all squared away. For tasting this new world… whatever that meant.

Aside from the bounding energy wanting to leap from her altered bones…Misaki felt annoyed by the persistent ache and sweaty warmth swarming her left foot. The sneakers were otherwise comfortable and not too heavy. She tried not to dwell on the fact that that weird black thing had gone after that spot. Perhaps it was a representation of her overall anxiety that she just needed to shake loose? Giving that foot a few firm wiggles didn’t help.

Once again, they were the next to go through. Misaki didn’t have time to feel afraid or dwell on any more magnitudes. The not-traffic cop gestured for them to go forward, and the blonde stepped first, with the three of them following close behind.

Even though they told them not to bother holding their breath, Misaki still did it when passing through the hazy curtain of shimmers.

She’d read plenty about what to expect. The documentation and various accounts provided copious information and details. Photography gave away so much. She was immediately awestruck by the simple presence of a large, glass building interior that looked and lived like it was crafted by a million active paintbrushes.

And that was just the first step. Swarming in all directions were anime girls beyond any comprehension. Every one of them had the detail of a main character in a big-budget show, even though they spread neutrally across this vivid background. Once again, before Misaki could even begin to absorb a tiny percent of this remarkable vista, an exuberant voice called out in their direction.

“OVER HERE! I’M YOUR HOST! WELCOME TO DOWNTOWN MIRAMORI!"

A slight figure with a boldly decorated cardboard sign hoisted above her head came running at them. She was unfortunately out of breath several paces before she reached them. The air squeaked out of her as she staggered the last few steps and waved with giddy delight.

“Welcome…welllcooo…ahhh haaaa… welcome! Welcome, visitors! As your dutifully appointed host, it is my dear honor and privilege to welcome you to our world! Live long and profer! Wait, that’s not it…”

Misaki found it immensely surreal to hear that saying and see the young girl before her split her fingers down the middle in a V shape. At least attempt to split her fingers, as her wrist soon gave a loud crack and she had to shake it out.

“I’m Sasaki Yuka, and I just started my second year of high school. You can rely on me, and I promise I will take care of you. If I make any mistakes, I resolve to remedy them diligently! I hope you have a wonderful time here!” She bowed deeply several times. She wore a sailor fuku, or seifuku, as Misaki deduced from what she had read. The blouse was white with a dark shade of navy blue around the collar and at the sleeves, which matched her pleated skirt. The only other flash of color was her pale pink neckerchief. Her hair was a light black with natural traces of brown that fluttered across her forehead and whispered past her shoulders.

They all paused for a minute to absorb her introduction. Without any further warning, she took a deep breath and boldly wrapped her arms around Misaki, repeating the core of her greeting. She didn’t know what to do about this spontaneous hug from a high school girl she just met. Before she could respond, her left foot rippled with another spasm. This time, it genuinely felt like someone had attached a cord beneath her flesh, almost digging into the bone, and was persistently tugging on that rope from within.

The tension nearly crossed over into pain. Misaki glanced down in confusion as her foot slid to the left as though some invisible doctor tested her reflexes in that direction. A trace of shadow caught her eye, but there were too many things moving about to conclude what it could’ve been.

“Are you okay?” Their host quickly asked, her hands lingering at her shoulders. Misaki let out a quiet breath and simply nodded with a pleasant smile of her own.