Shifting the Sci-Fi Guy

[7]

Fortunately, no one was nearby when my drink dropped. I just got a little dark spot splash on the side of my skirt which didn’t show much with the dark gray. I rushed to help clean it up but some patrons and several employees took care of it for me. I quietly apologized. Everyone was so nice and that just made me feel worse. Connor eventually led me to our table and took charge of everything.

Settling down on the wooden bench, I felt quite aware of the softness beneath me. I didn’t have a huge ass. I just had a fair ass, but it was doing a nice job with the hard bench. And Connor was doing an amazing job of setting up the meal and making sure I had everything I could want. She even seemed disappointed that she didn’t get to push my chair in for our romantic dinner, because it was a bench bolted to the floor. We shared the same side as she inspected my skirt to make sure things were drying. I dabbed it with a couple paper towels and assured her it was fine.

Biting into one of the little green peppers after a sip of my drink gave me a flash of unique flavor. And then the spice hit. Hard. A long sip of my drink did practically nothing to cut the heat. I had these all the time, and they weren’t this potent. Another biological difference? Was Trisha a spice pushover? My second bite hurt even worse as my face felt flush from something other than embarrassment, and my nose was runny.

Chuckles mixed with groans got me through the worst of it. I honestly did not have high hopes for an onion reprieve. Connor wondered if I might appreciate a milkshake. I silently feared that it might go straight to my udders. It took time but my limeade actually started to do the trick. A quick Google revealed I was on the right track as Connor found that citrus, including lime, counteracted capsaicin burn. The drink just didn’t have a potent combination.

To take my mind off the heat, silly Connor decided to chomp down on one of the big peppers for herself. I worried… a little… because Connor never had a good time with really spicy things as opposed to my general tolerance. We once dramatized, through a crayon sketch, a challenge at school with a volcano erupting from his head. I was sick at the time. He always endeavored to cheer me up, even when I came at the cost of his comfort. Soon, we were both sweating with flush faces and the desire to inhale whatever might help.

Around that little corner of chaos, Connor tried voices. I always thought he was a natural performer. Goofy voices, rubbery faces, and vulgar notions. The Mud Man in the swamp who is actually made of… Something else… with toots and squelches as he lumbered about. Princess Truck Driver. Like an even wilder cast off from a Weird Al song. Crack Cat. Who was probably better without any explanation.

She seemed to recognize that I was thinking about the old characters, so she brought out a little sliver of Mud Man which could pass public scrutiny. “Oh, golly geez, I’m boiling in the mud. It’s getting kind of slippery. Pshhhmmhh, oh fell down in the messy place again.” The voice actually got strikingly close to how it had always been. And it felt like nothing I ever expected to hear from her pretty face. Despite seeing Connor change in the most vivid way possible and being with her this entire time, something within me quietly fretted that my old friend had been replaced or overwritten. This relaxed all those concerns. It was still him, even as a her.

My beluga whale impression of a pseudo-intellectual cetacean actually sounded more cartoony because of the higher levels this voice allowed me to reach. Our frantic plethora of goofy in-joke characters made for the absolute best dating entertainment as feeling gradually returned to our mouths. It didn’t take long for the little pager on the table to buzz and signal that our order was ready. Connor quipped that she wished she thought to place it in her lap. Few of the girls on the other side actually did that.

I wanted to hop up and help, but she again took care of everything with the meal, making sure I had a refill on the limeade. It was so soothing to sit beside someone and just feel at peace in their presence. This may have been a date. but neither of us had to impress the other, even though I was swooning within at Connor’s care. I offered up a quiet prayer of thanks and she said one too before we started. More a sentiment of gratitude encouraged by little notes in the animes that Kunio shared and habit from being around a lightly Christian University.

The experiment was laid out before me, with a little paper dish cradling my crisp red onions. The smell was sharp and lingering with years of alarm bells telling me that something was off. My first bite came at the edge of the sandwich with a drip of teriyaki sauce, leaf lettuce, plain peppers, tomato, and cucumber. A reasonable of me said that I didn’t need to experiment because the sandwich as it stood was plenty hearty. No reason to tempt fate. But I had to know.

I actually first put it to the test by grabbing one of the onion rings in the mix rather than a zucchini stick. Then, I chased it with a long sip from my drink. Not only did every feature of my body seem to pause and anticipate the reaction, but it also felt like the entire room noticed along with Connor and craned their ears. Too much pressure. I awaited disappointment. It didn’t come.

My body didn’t declare war on the onion ring. It had faint, gurgling opinions about the digestive process and the lack of sauce, but I would typically, swiftly feel like a raging army had decided upon blind friendly fire, consuming everything. This would lead to several hours of regret and unrelenting discomfort. I wavered to call it a proper allergy because I found plenty of minimum levels to dodge around sulfury foods.

A single, bold sample wasn’t a conclusive test though. For my second try, I dipped it in some bright sauce that may have contained onion components itself. Silence persisted from both my mouth after chewing and my body after receiving. The crucial test came in the form of the pungent, raw article sitting to the side of my dish. I tucked a sliver into the end of my sandwich and bit the combination. The onion was there and proceeding down my throat. Instead of the expected riot, a little aftertaste followed.

A blur of tears covered my eyes which had nothing to do with what I was eating. It was gone… My sensitivity and torment in adjusting and isolating ingredients with precision and care were no longer necessary. I could eat WHATEVER… well, I couldn’t eat just anything, but my options definitely seemed poised to broaden and relax as the frustrating filler of onions no longer ruled as a specter of doom in my guts. The softening of my spice resilience was concerning and might’ve been related but I considered it an easy trade-off.

My tears caught Connor’s attention with careful concern, but I reassured her with a blind squeak that everything was fine as I dried my eyes with some napkins. Her food was perfectly fine, but she focused more on the life-changing qualities of mine. Before, a swath of shared family recipes needed to be adjusted or outright banned when it came to me.

Was it all worth an H cup and whatever else might be involved? The girls had actually behaved themselves. Leaning over, bending, stretching, and dealing with stuff in front of me required an inherent amount of full contact manipulation and contortion. My tits made themselves known, no matter what I did. The layers provided some insulation. But it was trending towards a minor nuisance that I was getting used to bumping, shifting, and smushing with more intention than our bed session. Just a part of me. Which was still a wild thought.

My body boldly went where it never ventured before for onion saturation, even in my youth when my reaction was more muted. Still, my enjoyment of the meal remained. The most cautionary corner of my brain whispered warnings that even though I had peace from onions, one must always watch for whether alternative allergies popped up. Such a buzz kill.

In the depths of our meal, the pace slowed, and old, familiar jokes rose to the surface as we chatted with smiles and the playful sparks of a thousand soft memories. I felt like such a ditz though. Everything that came up earned a cheery smile from me and faint giggles. Connor teased me several times though when I practiced a big cat “rawr”. My voice felt even girlier than I intended with every smile I spoke. Perhaps I was laying on the cliché, valley girl intonation a bit heavy.

I could’ve sat there with Riona all evening and wandered through perfect little thoughts, but the burger joint was getting crowded and our bench was prime real estate. Furthermore, there were rumblings amidst the crowd of meetings with RA‘s to explain and respond to the current situation. I doubted the former, but I definitely wanted to find out what the school planned to do about this remix to reality. Specifically, what the class schedule would be for the rest of the week.

Ultimately, I got a little past halfway through my sandwich before my stomach commanded me to stop. No new admittance until the backlog was cleared. I playfully shared that thought with Connor. In the back, a paper had been placed over what used to be the men’s room, to now call it gender neutral. Nothing had been done inside though.

Our leftovers found a very temporary home, double bagged and split between our purses. I eyeball the greasy corners and gingerly slotted my sandwich to the side. Sitting to pee and make mud men in a public restroom felt absurdly frigid and clinical. Mercifully, the seat was steady and the whole thing was over and done swiftly after learning some careful cleanup methods.

All the stuff I managed to get used to in so short a time just boggled my mind. Hair was still a problem though. We each had way too much of it, Riona especially so. A nice amount around my ears and shoulders acted like a curious pet. But then there was an entire swath encompassing my jacket and blanketing my back. I didn’t have enough lint rollers back at the dorm to even attempt to control it all. I could go for a long, luxurious brushing. Meanwhile, the breeze decided to pick up and play with my hair, smacking me in the mouth with it.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

We began a big circle to take us back by strolling through the corridor that led to the cafeteria. The crowd was just as packed as any other evening, but the cluster of girls timidly shuffled towards the door while giving one another a careful berth and keeping their heads down. A few eyes popped up to survey but did not linger on our most prominent aspects. I understood this would happen, but it was still disconcerting because the attention still made me fret first that something was wrong or I had a stain on my jacket or some grotesque sauce slathered across my cheeks. Garnering attention just for existing felt like a complicated, emotional tangle I still couldn’t quite comprehend.

I was just me, a big titty brunette babe. I didn’t feel like much of a provocative, head-turning chick though. If I put some work into it, then that might be different. Did I want to look pretty? Did I want to show off? No idea. But it would at least be nice to not be assaulted by my hair every time the wind got adventurous. Connor managed to keep my mind off the worst of my usual distracting thoughts by planting her purse atop her boobs and acting like it was a lost vessel upon a Jell-O sea.

To maximize our chat, we took a circuitous route that verged into the rental houses. I vaguely wondered if the boys around here managed to circumvent what happened through some technicality. If they did, there was no sign of them.

The entrance area to the dorm appeared backed up, so we went around to the side entrance even though it meant retracing the entire length. Connor took care of making sure the leftovers were packed nicely in the fridge without getting too sweaty or dry. I indulged in a long yawn, my brain and body both deciding that it had plenty of the events of the day. But there was some sort of event or meeting occurring downstairs and our roommates appeared to have already left to check it out. Connor managed to grant me a second wind by unearthing and wielding a large brush to clear the breeze-whipped tangles from my hair. The luxurious sensations of her attentive work bordered on the things we’d indulged in naked. I soon reciprocated.

The dense bundle of what we left behind was practically enough to construct a two-tone wig. Connor’s blissful expression and afterglow delighted me. Before we got into shoulder massages and more, it seemed best to head downstairs, even if it turned out they knew even less than we did. Which was a likely possibility.

I immediately noticed a surprising number of blonde girls loitering in the common area section of the hallway. The golden seas parted as we approached. I pondered if they recognized Connor as their queen, since she had way longer hair than anyone else I could spot. The surreal feeling of only seeing girls still hadn’t left me. Looking into the area where this all started, Connor turned to her left and her eyebrows immediately raised.

“Taylor?” Really? I crept ahead as Connor smiled and waved. Sitting on the window couch in front of me absolutely was Taylor. She’d changed out of the black Marvel T-shirt for a more fashionable top with vine designs looping all along like hidden plants embedded in the fabric. Below, she wore a matching black skirt with Gothic crosses that fit well with her overall aesthetic. Her lipstick and makeup were missing or light, revealing her natural skin tone. Sitting next to her, hugging a fuzzy, burgundy coat, I saw a girl who looked more like a petite princess than a classmate. She had a surprisingly fancy pink and white dress with all sorts of lacy stuff, soft sleeves, and wiggly bits at the bottom. Things beyond my experience to adequately label, but it seemed like a really nice dress.

Connor introduced herself and me and I did a little wave. Apparently, her name was Beatrice now. It suited her. Just the guy on the guitar was missing from this strange reunion. I expected to say more than that, but my tired brain fumbled for topics. It would’ve been normal to just utter something like “How are you holding up?” The question sounded too flippant to the moment while nothing better occurred to me. Connor gave me a look, and I resisted rolling my eyes. Just because my entire body had been transformed, along with my complex biochemistry, surrounding reality, and possibly more, didn’t mean that all my foibles and hangups were just going to melt away.

Not that there was much in the way of silence with the burgeoning crowd. Then we all got blasted with a phone alert that left ringing in my ears. The cute, dainty princess girl on the end practically jumped as high as a terrified rabbit. It was a stock emergency notification like one I remember getting during a heavy storm once and when there was a false report of an active shooter in the area. Questions and fears. We’re going to take care of everything. Update when they actually know. I wondered if our parents and families would receive similar notifications or if that was in us.

Beatrice and her princess friend had been playing a large box board game with a beautiful bird on the front. It looked really good, and it had been far too long since I settled down for a nice board game. We worked together with putting everything back in and Connor made a note of it. Beatrice invoked our earlier, unfinished game. How easy or hard might it be to use a pool cue like this?

The nearby games shelf contained a bunch of other intriguing titles. A set of girls with RA badges arrived as a group. The whole thing had the formality of a proper meeting despite the bizarre circumstances. No disaster or end-of-the-world scenario, I hoped. Another blonde was at the center of the proceedings, and I vaguely recognized her. Colin, apparently. Her outfit looked like something from an old show, especially with those tight pants. She went through the regular routine with a prayer invocation to open proceedings. I just bowed my head and shut my eyes for a moment.

When it began, it was clear they only knew as much as we did. Questions fought to be released, but she suppressed them until later. The crucial point was that there wouldn’t be classes tomorrow so that administration could at least get a handle on what the fuck was going on. I appreciated the breather even though I was mildly curious about what happened to my instructors, considering what Kuni passed along. I didn’t see her or Simon nearby, but I figured they were around. We could meet up with professors at the usual class time though. A RA would follow up personally with each suite. No sneaking boys in after hours. Fortunately, there was no rule against late-night naked canoodling between girls.

Free tampons and pads. Which should’ve been the norm on any given day. Free phone calls if you felt bold enough to see what your family thought of you now. No real decorum followed as people just started blurting out questions about answers, clothing rules, extracurriculars, changes to the restroom, and changes to their living spaces. No one got any answers.

Before the shouting got totally out of hand, a strange, golden light filled the center of the room not too far from where Carol/Colin was standing. It traced through the air like some finger of God, drawing a strangely traditional parchment out of the ether.

No one dared approach it… Except for Connor, of course. I desperately wanted to scream at her and drag her away but, instead, I just watched with my hands clenched and my lips curl back. She inspected it carefully and then read aloud.

It was allegedly from the not god or goddess who changed all of us, and who was apparently still watching. Bluntly, the message declared… This was permanent. No stress, no fear. Pfft… can’t tell me what to do. This was a gift, and it was only the beginning. We and the world will adapt to this new way. Something something. Others will assist and guide us through crap we have to deal with. No turning back. Join your sisters in your future. Rather culty, if you ask me.

Connor checked out the document a few different ways but ultimately declared that was everything. She gave me a look though, despite that definitive statement. All decorum was gone after that as people screamed, raged, cried, and demanded to see this weird document, and wanted more from the poor, stressed RAs. Beatrice‘s friend appeared dead inside. I didn’t know what to think. On some level, a morbidly expected this was a one-way trip and I started to come to terms with it, especially with Connor’s more ambitious proposal. I could spend the rest of my life, like this, with her.

Order was eventually restored with the instruction that we were to head right into quiet hours, as typically occurred over the weekend, while several things were sorted out. The documents they passed out were likely to become future scratch paper even though I appreciated a printout on “feminine care“ along with offers of emotional assistance and helplines to call for various medical and psychological support.

Beatrice‘s friend, whose name we learned was Rosalie, listlessly helped with returning the bird board game to where they had gotten it. The permanent mention sure seemed to hit her hard. I wondered what she was like before. Clearly had to be quite different. Beatrice seemed surprisingly perky, especially with her overall appearance, and cheerfully invited her friend to hang out in her dorm. Rosalie took a long moment to realize that she was a girl hanging out in a girl’s room instead of a boy hanging out in one. Before they left, we made sure that Beatrice and her friend had plenty of hugs of the softest variety.

We walked back upstairs and to our room, the steps still jiggling our features. Inside, once the door was shut, Connor quickly checked everywhere and returned with a sigh, mentioning, “It’s just us.” That led me in one particular direction, starting to slip on a suggestive smile, before she clarified, “I saw another message on that thing. One I didn’t mention. A message specifically for us…”