Chapter 2: Treadmill Trauma
The gym’s automatic doors hissed shut behind them, sealing Justin in a new circle of hell. Cold, chemically conditioned air washed over him, carrying the tang of antiseptic cleaner and the cloying sweetness of citrus deodorant. The music was a physical thing, a pounding bass line that vibrated in the hollow of his chest, a sensation that was now unnervingly close to the surface.
Every wall was mirrored.
He didn’t mean to look, but the reflection was everywhere, a thousand copies of the stranger trapped in his stolen skin. The black leggings were a second layer of epidermis, highlighting the dramatic sweep from his tiny waist to the full, rounded hemispheres of his backside. With each tentative step, he felt the soft, heavy weight of his breasts sway and then bounce, a delayed, independent motion that sent a jolt of humiliation straight to his core. His center of gravity was all wrong, pulled down low into his hips, making his gait feel unsteady, a teetering sway on the too-small feet swimming in his old shoes.
“Just… just get on a treadmill,” Andrea whispered, her own face pale with dawning regret. “Face the mirror. Do not make eye contact with anyone. I’ll be on the elliptical behind you.”
Justin shuffled toward the line of machines, hyper-aware of the glances skittering over him like insects. A man loading a barbell froze, his eyes tracking the bounce of the sports top. Justin felt the stare like a physical touch, hot and grimy on his skin. He looked down, focusing on the floor, but his peripheral vision was a panoramic curse of his own reflected image.
He stepped onto the belt of a vacant treadmill, his fingers—small, delicate, with absurdly perfect oval nails—fumbling for the controls. He found a slow walking pace and hit start.
The movement was a catastrophe.
The first step sent a massive, uncontrolled jolt through his chest. The soft tissue, barely contained by the flimsy shelf bra, heaved upward and then dropped with a sickening, rhythmic thud against his ribcage. It wasn’t just a bounce; it was a violent, oscillating weight that threatened to choke him with every downward swing. He instinctively crossed his arms over them, but that only made his balance worse, emphasizing the movement.
His backside and thighs were no better. With each step, the muscles and fat in his rear and legs compressed and released, a pronounced, jiggling wobble that the skin-tight leggings displayed in high definition. He could feel every separate undulation, a queasy reminder of the sheer mass of softness that now comprised his lower body.
And his feet. His tiny, narrow feet slid forward in the cavernous shoes with every impact, his heels lifting completely out of the backs. He stumbled, pitching forward. His hands shot out to grasp the side rails, the sudden stop causing his chest to execute a final, agonizing double-bounce. A soft, high gasp escaped his new mouth—a breathy, feminine sound of distress.
“Whoa, easy there.”
The voice came from his right. Male. Warm. Concerned.
Justin turned his head, still clutching the rails. The man on the treadmill beside him had slowed his own machine to a walk. He was tall, lanky, with a short, neatly trimmed beard and glasses. He wore a faded t-shirt for a video game Justin recognized. His smile was awkward, kind.
“First time on one of these?” the man asked. “They can be tricky.”
Justin just stared. The man’s face was… pleasant. Interesting. There was an intelligence in his eyes behind the glasses, a shyness in the smile. And then a different, deeper awareness kicked in, a chemical pull that originated from the very core of his new body. A warmth spread low in his stomach, a tingling attraction that was utterly foreign and completely, devastatingly involuntary. His heartbeat, already racing from panic, took on a different rhythm.
“I… yeah,” Justin managed, his silver-coin voice trembling. He hated it.
“I’m Evan,” the man said, punching his stop button. His treadmill whirred to a halt. He stepped off and moved closer, but not intrusively so. “You okay? You looked like you were about to launch yourself into the mirror.”
A joke. A nerdy, slightly awkward joke. The kind Justin would have made. From his old body, he would have felt a spark of camaraderie. From this one, he felt a flutter in his chest, a hitch in his breath. He was vividly aware of Evan’s height, the line of his throat above his t-shirt collar, the scent of clean cotton and faint, woodsy cologne.
“I’m fine,” Justin breathed. “Just… new shoes.” He gestured weakly at the boats on his feet.
Evan’s gaze flicked down and then, politely, quickly, back to his face. Justin saw him do it, saw the micro-second of male appreciation that was both terrifying and, to his horror, thrilling. His body responded, a traitorous warmth blooming under his skin.
“Those look like men’s Asics. Size… ten?” Evan said, squinting. “You can’t run in those. You’ll hurt yourself.”
“Tell me about it,” Justin muttered, the masculine phrasing slipping out. He winced.
Evan just grinned, as if she’d made a funny, sarcastic comment. “You sound like my friend Justin. He’s always buying the wrong gear online.” He leaned a casual shoulder against the treadmill console. “So, not to be a creepy gym guy, but you’re clearly new. And struggling. You want a tip? Start with the incline. Lower the speed. It reduces impact. Less… bouncing.”
He said the last word carefully, his ears turning slightly pink. He’d noticed. Of course he’d noticed. Justin wanted to die. But another part of him, the part wired into this new nervous system, was preening under the focused, shy attention.
Justin nodded, unable to speak. He fumbled with the controls, managing to set a steep incline and a glacial pace. He let go of the rails. The movement changed. The brutal up-and-down bounce softened into a more manageable, rolling sway. It was still there, that heavy, living weight on his chest and the shift of his hips, but it was less violent. He could breathe.
“See? Better,” Evan said, his smile easing into something more natural. “I’m here most evenings. Trying to counterbalance a lifetime of coding and pizza. Not that it’s working.” He patted his flat stomach self-deprecatingly.
Coding. The word was a lifeline. “You’re in tech?” Justin asked, the familiar topic a rock in the swirling sea of his unreality.
“Yeah. Sold a stupid app last year. Now I’m ‘figuring out what’s next,’ which is a fancy way of saying I play a lot of Destiny and feel guilty about it.” He shrugged. “What about you?”
The question hung in the air. Who was he? Justin’s mind blanked. Andrea, from her elliptical, was making frantic ‘abort’ gestures behind Evan’s back.
“I’m… between things too,” Justin whispered, the lie feeling fragile.
“Cool.” Evan didn’t press. He just nodded. An easy silence fell, punctuated only by the thrum of machines. Justin walked, acutely conscious of every sensation—the slick feel of synthetic fabric between his thighs, the complete absence of any familiar roughness of body hair, the smooth, alien landscape of his own skin. He felt Evan’s presence beside him like a magnetic field.
After a few minutes, Evan cleared his throat. “So, this is the part where I maybe overstep and make this awkward. There’s a decent coffee place next door. Less… echoey. If you’re done being tortured by machinery, I’d buy you a cup. No bounce-related commentary, I promise.”
The offer was a collision of universes. Justin’s mind screamed a thousand protests. But his body, this traitorous, beautiful shell, reacted with a pulse of pure, eager interest. A flush crept up his neck, a sensation that was entirely new. He felt his plush, feminine lips part slightly.
He looked past Evan, to where Andrea was now staring, her eyes wide with a mixture of alarm and perverse fascination. She gave a tiny, sharp shake of her head.
Justin swallowed. His mouth was dry. The spell lasted twenty-four hours. This was just an interaction. A bizarre, twisted social experiment. He could have coffee. He could talk tech with someone who got it. As a woman. The thought was nauseating. And yet.
The warmth in his stomach spread, insistently.
“Okay,” Justin heard his new voice say, sweet and clear. “Coffee sounds good.”