Chapter 13: Morning Wood
The first thing Tracy became aware of was the heat. A solid, radiant line of it pressed along her back, from shoulder blades to thighs. The second thing was the quiet, rhythmic puff of breath against the nape of her neck. Kaylee was asleep, coiled around her like an affectionate octopus, one arm thrown possessively over Tracy’s waist.
Memory crashed back in—the confession, the mirror, the impossible, gleaming evidence of climax drying on their skin. She’d half-carried Kaylee to the bed, where they’d collapsed in a tangled heap of exhaustion and stunned silence. Sleep had swallowed them whole.
Now, in the greyish pre-dawn light filtering through the Futanari Fantasy poster taped to the window, Tracy was painfully awake. And acutely aware of the third thing.
A firm, insistent pressure was nestled against the small of her back.
She knew what it was without looking. The knowledge sent a jolt through her system that was equal parts shock, curiosity, and a deep, unnerving thrill. It was hard. Unmistakably so. Kaylee was asleep, but her body, her new body, was broadcasting a candid, early-morning signal.
Tracy lay perfectly still. Her own body was sending its own confusing signals. Between her legs, a slick, hollow ache had taken root. It was a foreign sensation, both physically and mentally. The anatomy was new, but the wanting… the wanting had an old, familiar root. It was the same wanting she’d felt for years watching Kaylee laugh, or bite her lip while drawing, or stretch in the sunlight. It had just… relocated. Translated itself into a new language of nerves and soft tissue.
Just a few days ago, you were a guy, her mind whispered, the voice tight with a fear that felt borrowed. A straight guy.
Her body, the one reshaped by cosmic whimsy, didn’t seem to care about the biography. It responded to the heat against her back with a soft, involuntary pulse of its own. She bit her lip, hard.
Carefully, she lifted the crumpled duvet, peeling it away from their bodies. The cool dorm air hit her skin. She turned her head, just enough to look over her shoulder.
There it was. A distinct ridge tenting the front of Kaylee’s threadbare Sailor Moon sleep shorts. The fabric was stretched taut over the outline, the tip darkening a small, damp patch. Tracy’s mouth went dry. It wasn’t the monstrous, fantasy-sized thing from the magazines under the bed, but it was still big. Porn star big. And currently at full mast, a fact made somehow more intimate by Kaylee’s complete, peaceful unconsciousness.
And currently at full mast, a fact made somehow more intimate by Kaylee’s complete, peaceful unconsciousness. The urge to see it, to know it, was a physical pull in Tracy’s gut, stronger than the vertigo of her own changed reflection. Her breath hitched, fogging the air between her and the sleeping form behind her.
She shifted slowly, turning onto her back to face the ceiling. Kaylee murmured something incoherent, her arm tightening around Tracy’s waist. The movement pressed that firm heat more insistently against Tracy’s hip. A fresh wave of that unfamiliar slickness answered between her own legs, a silent, shameful conversation her mind was losing.
Her hand moved of its own volition, a traitor to her churning thoughts. Her fingers, still strangers to her, hovered above the waistband of Kaylee’s shorts. The fabric was soft, worn thin. She hooked a finger under the elastic.
With a delicacy reserved for disarming bombs, she began to pull them down. The sound of the fabric sliding over skin was obscenely loud in the quiet room. Kaylee didn’t stir, her breathing deep and even. Tracy peeled the shorts past the sharp jut of hipbones, over the coarse thatch of pink hair that now matched the hair on her head, and down.
She let them pool around Kaylee’s thighs. There it was, fully exposed in the dull morning light. Her stomach did a slow, backward somersault. It was beautiful, in a way that punched the air from her lungs. A smooth, pale column, veined and taut, emerging from a vibrant pink trimmed bush, curving up against the flat plane of Kaylee’s stomach. The tip was flushed, glistening faintly.
“Jesus,” Tracy whispered, the word vapor in the chilled air. Her own body throbbed in sympathy, a deep, demanding pulse. She remembered the self-portrait from the art book, Kaylee sitting naked, a vision of feminine sultriness contrasted by masculinity, that she’d never understood until now. This was that fantasy, made real and warm and pressed against her.
Logic was a distant rumor. Her hand, trembling, reached out. She stopped a centimeter from the heated skin, her knuckles brushing the coarse hair at its base. The scent of lavender and sleep and something muskier, uniquely Kaylee, filled her senses. She let her fingertips finally, delicately, trace the vein running along the underside.
A soft sigh escaped Kaylee’s lips. Tracy froze, her heart hammering against her ribs. But Kaylee just nuzzled deeper into the pillow, a small, contented smile touching her lips. She was still deep under, surrendered to whatever dream this new reality provided.
Emboldened by the stillness, Tracy closed her hand around it. The heat was profound. The skin was like silk over steel. She gave a tentative, experimental stroke from root to tip, feeling its perfect weight, the way it twitched in her grasp. Her own body clenched, empty and aching, and the conflict shattered.
Her own body clenched, empty and aching, and the conflict shattered. This was Kaylee. This was the secret thrill from all those hidden magazines, the poorly-concealed fascination Kaylee thought no one knew about, made flesh and resting hot in her palm. Tracy’s thumb brushed the slick head, smearing a bead of moisture, and a full-body shudder racked her from the core outwards.
“Trav?” Kaylee’s voice was thick with sleep, husky.
Tracy snatched her hand back as if burned. She stared rigidly at the ceiling, her face flaming. “You’re awake.”
“Kinda hard to sleep through that,” Kaylee murmured. There was no anger, just a slow, drowsy amusement. She didn’t move away. The heat against Tracy’s hip remained, a persistent, undeniable presence. “You were checking your work?”
The casual question, the old joke from when Tracy would fix her laptop, landed in this new context with surreal force. Tracy barked a laugh that was mostly panic. “Something like that.”
Kaylee finally shifted, propping herself up on one elbow. The movement made the mattress dip. Her pink hair was a chaotic mess, her eyes still soft with sleep, but her gaze was acutely focused. She looked down at herself, then at Tracy’s stricken face. “Oh,” she said, the single syllable loaded.
“Yeah. Oh.”
Kaylee didn’t cover herself. Instead, she watched Tracy’s expression with an artist’s scrutiny. “You freaking out?”
“I don’t know what I am.” Tracy’s voice was tight. “My brain is screaming. My body is… not.” She gestured vaguely between her own legs, the admission costing her everything. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Since when has any of this made sense?” Kaylee’s smile was small, tentative. She reached out, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from Tracy’s forehead. The touch was familiar, a best friend’s gesture, but the context electrified it. “Look at me. I’m literally my own secret fetish. I woke up with a dick, Tracy. A really nice one, honestly. And my best friend was just giving it a handshake.”
Tracy groaned, covering her eyes with her arm. “Don’t. Don’t joke.”
“I’m not.” Kaylee’s voice lowered, lost its sleep-rough edge and gained a raw, curious timbre. “You touched it. You’re touching you right now, too, aren’t you?”
Tracy’s breath caught. She hadn’t realized her own hand had drifted between her thighs, palm pressed hard against the new vulva at the base of her own huge cock, trapped in her underwear, seeking pressure. She froze. Exposed.
The air between them stopped moving. Tracy’s fingers curled, nails digging into her own thigh through the thin cotton. She couldn’t look at Kaylee.
“Yeah.” The word was a scrape of sandpaper. Admitting it felt like stepping off a cliff.
Kaylee didn’t laugh. She didn’t pull away. The mattress shifted as she moved closer, her body a line of renewed heat. Her breath warmed Tracy’s cheek. “Does it feel good?” she asked, her voice a low, intimate thing in the half-dark.
“That’s the problem.” Tracy’s arm stayed over her eyes, blocking out the world, the cat-lamp’s watchful gaze, everything but the sensation humming under her skin. “It shouldn’t. I shouldn’t.”
“Says who?” Kaylee’s finger touched Tracy’s wrist, a light, tentative circle on the sensitive underside. “The ghost of Travis Past? He’s kinda dead, babe.” Her tone was gentle, a soft counterpoint to the brutal truth of it. “I’ve got his memories, his bad jokes, all that stuff. But this body you’re in? The way it’s reacting right now? That’s all brand new. That’s yours.”
Tracy let her arm fall. She turned her head. Kaylee was right there, her expression stripped of its usual performative confidence. She looked curious. Open. Her pink hair was a wildfire against the grey pillow. “I’m scared,” Tracy whispered.
“Me too.” Kaylee’s admission was a surprise. “I’ve fantasized about this, about having one, since I was, like, sixteen. But fantasy is safe.” Her gaze dropped to where her own body had changed, then back to Tracy’s face. “This is… a lot. It’s real.”
“But you like it.” Tracy realized it as she said it. The exhilaration in Kaylee’s voice last night hadn’t been panic.
A slow, genuine smile spread across Kaylee’s face. “I really, really do.” Her hand left Tracy’s wrist and drifted to her own stomach, her fingers trailing down through the pink hair, coming to rest at the base of her shaft. She watched Tracy watch her. “And you… you touched it. You weren’t disgusted.”
Tracy swallowed. “No.”
The word hung in the air, a naked admission that changed the geometry of the room. Kaylee’s fingertips, still resting at the base of herself, twitched. Her bright smile faltered, replaced by something more vulnerable, more searching. “No,” she echoed, softly. “You’re just… massively confused.”
“Aren’t you?” Tracy’s laugh was a dry, brittle thing. She finally dragged her own hand away from between her legs, placing it on her stomach as if to trap the feeling. “One minute I’m helping you pick a binding spell off Etsy for a joke, the next I’ve got…” She gestured vaguely at her own body under the covers. “And you’ve got…”
“The Ultimate Limited Edition Kaylee 2.0 upgrade?” Kaylee offered, her attempt at levity not quite reaching her eyes. She glanced down again. “Complete with the optional, deluxe attachment.”
“It’s not a joke, Kay.” Tracy turned fully onto her side, facing her. The space between them on the rumpled sheet felt charged, a minefield of unsaid things. “This is real. We’re real. And I just… I wanted to touch it. I did touch it. While you were sleeping. That’s seriously messed up.”
“Is it?” Kaylee’s brow furrowed. She looked at Tracy not with judgment, but with a focused curiosity Tracy recognized from their late-night debates about art theory. “You saw me change. You helped me. You’re the only person in the universe who knows this is even possible.” Her hand lifted from herself and pointed at Tracy. “And you’re living your own version of it. Why wouldn’t you be curious? Why wouldn’t it be… overwhelming?”
“Because it’s you,” Tracy blurted out. The confession felt like pulling a splinter. “It’s not some random… appendage. It’s growing out of my best friend. The person I’ve shared literally everything with for three years. Except this, apparently.” She gestured at Kaylee’s nakedness. “You hid this… this whole part of yourself.”
The room got very quiet. The cat-lamp’s bulb gave a soft, persistent hum. Kaylee’s cheeks flushed a deep, mortified pink. She looked away, focusing on a tear in the poster of an anime girl on the wall. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I did.”
“Why?” Tracy’s voice softened. This was the old hurt, the friend hurt, surfacing through the new, visceral shock.
“Because it’s embarrassing!” Kaylee’s gaze snapped back, shiny with unshed tears. “It’s not just a kink, it’s… a whole identity I could only have in stupid comics. Telling you would’ve been like admitting I wanted to be an alien. I thought you’d look at me different. Travis would’ve…”
“Travis is gone,” Tracy said, the words final. A strange certainty settled in her then. “And the person who’s here… she’s looking at you. And she’s not disgusted.” She took a shaky breath. “She’s terrified. And turned on. And she has no idea what to do with either of those things.”
Kaylee stared at her. A single tear tracked through the faint freckles on her cheek. Then, a wobbly smile broke through. “Welcome to my world for the last, like, four years. Minus the whole magical transformation thing.” She sniffed, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. “So, what now? We lie here in a weird homoerotic panic attack?”
Tracy’s laugh was a sharp, relieved breath. “That’s one option.” The weight of the confession, hanging between them, felt lighter now. She studied Kaylee’s face—the tears drying on her cheeks, the unabashed curiosity in her eyes. This was still her best friend. Just… more.
“The other option,” Kaylee said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “is we stop panicking. Just for a minute.” She didn’t move closer, but her gaze was an open invitation. “See what happens.”
The air grew thick, charged with a potential that stole Tracy’s breath. Every instinct screamed to retreat, to rebuild the safe, familiar walls of their friendship. But those walls were already dust. She watched her own hand, as if it belonged to someone else, reach across the narrow space.
Her fingertips found Kaylee’s stomach first, just below her navel. The skin was warm, soft. She traced a slow circle, feeling the muscle beneath tense. Kaylee’s breath hitched, a tiny, sharp intake.
Tracy’s hand drifted lower, through the coarse pink hair. She didn’t look away from Kaylee’s eyes. She saw the exact moment her fingers made contact—a dilation of pupils, a parting of lips. She wrapped her hand around the base, feeling its solid heat anew.
“Okay?” Tracy whispered, the word trembling.
Kaylee nodded, a quick, jerky motion. “Yeah.” Her own hand came up, hesitant, and brushed Tracy’s cheek. The touch was feather-light, questioning. “You?”
Tracy guided her hand upward in a slow, firm stroke. The smooth skin slid under her palm. A soft sound escaped Kaylee, half sigh, half moan. It went straight to Tracy’s core, a live wire connecting the motion of her hand to the aching wetness between her own legs.
“I don’t know,” Tracy breathed, answering the earlier question. It was the only honest thing. She leaned into Kaylee’s touch on her cheek, her eyes fluttering closed for a second. “But my hands aren’t shaking anymore.”
“Good.” Kaylee’s thumb stroked Tracy’s cheekbone. Her other hand fumbled between them, finding the hem of Tracy’s worn t-shirt. Her fingers slipped underneath, skating over Tracy’s ribs. The touch was electric, making Tracy arch slightly into it.
Tracy opened her eyes. Kaylee was watching her with an intensity usually reserved for a complicated canvas. There was fear there, but it was drowned out by a blazing, hungry wonder. Tracy understood it completely. She increased the pace of her strokes, her thumb sweeping over the slick head on each upstroke.
Kaylee gasped, her head tilting back against the pillow. Her hand on Tracy’s ribs slid higher, skimming the side of her breast. Tracy froze for a second, a jolt of unfamiliar sensation rocketing through her. It was overwhelming. Too much.
She almost pulled away. Then Kaylee’s eyes found hers again, dark and pleading. “Don’t stop.”
So Tracy didn’t. She let her body react, her own hips pressing down into the mattress seeking friction. She leaned in, her forehead resting against Kaylee’s temple. She could smell her shampoo, the sleep on her skin. Her rhythm became less tentative, more sure.
“Is this okay?” Kaylee murmured, her fingers tracing the undercurve of Tracy’s breast, a question mark against her skin.
Tracy answered by capturing Kaylee’s mouth with her own.
It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was a collision. Months, years of unnamed want poured into it. Kaylee made a muffled sound against her lips and kissed back, fierce and immediate. Her tongue swept into Tracy’s mouth, a bold, tasting exploration. Tracy’s hand on Kaylee tightened, her strokes becoming rushed, urgent.
Kaylee broke the kiss, panting. “Wait,” she breathed. Her hand closed over Tracy’s, stilling her movement. “I’m gonna… it’s too fast.”
Tracy stilled, her heart hammering. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Kaylee’s smile was shaky, radiant. She guided Tracy’s hand off of her, lacing their fingers together instead. She brought their joined hands down, placing them on Tracy’s own stomach. “Your turn.”
Tracy’s brain short-circuited. “What?”
“You’re all…” Kaylee’s gaze flicked down Tracy’s body, then back to her face. “Wound up. I can feel it.” She squeezed Tracy’s hand. “Let me.”
The permission unlocked something. Tracy nodded, a silent surrender. Kaylee shifted, moving down the bed. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of Tracy’s underwear, a question in her eyes. Tracy lifted her hips, a clumsy, eager motion.
The cool air hit her newly sensitive skin. She felt terrifyingly exposed. Kaylee didn’t touch her, not at first. She just looked, her artist’s eyes taking in every detail of her dual anatomy. Tracy watched her watch, her face burning.
Tracy watched her watch, her face burning. Kaylee’s eyes weren't clinical. They were wide, absorbing, tracing the lines where Tracy ended and this new reality began.
“Wow,” Kaylee finally whispered, her voice full of an artist’s appreciation. “It’s… you’re symmetrical.” Her finger hovered, then touched a point just below Tracy’s navel. “This is where his abs were. Yours are softer.” The finger trailed lower, through the dark hair that felt so foreign. Tracy flinched.
“Ticklish?” Kaylee asked, a ghost of her old smirk playing on her lips.
“Terrified,” Tracy admitted. Her hands clenched in the sheets.
“Don’t be.” Kaylee’s touch drifted lower, a slow exploration that bypassed the obvious, the thick, resting weight of her, to find the folds beneath. Tracy jerked, a gasp punching out of her. The sensation was a lightning strike—strange, shockingly direct, utterly devoid of metaphor. “Oh,” Kaylee murmured, her gaze fixed on her own moving fingers. “You’re so wet. Already.”
“You were hard,” Tracy managed, the words stumbling out. “I felt it. All morning.”
“Yeah, well.” Kaylee’s blush deepened, but her eyes sparkled. “Dreams were weird. You were in them.” Her finger pressed, circled, a clumsy, perfect pressure. Tracy’s hips lifted off the mattress of their own accord. “See?” Kaylee breathed, awed. “Your body knows what it wants.”
“It wants to short-circuit,” Tracy choked out, but she was pushing against Kaylee’s hand, a silent, undeniable plea. The conflict was still there, a dull roar in the back of her skull, but it was being drowned out by a sharper, more immediate frequency. Every nerve she hadn't known she possessed was singing.
Kaylee leaned down then, her pink hair falling around them like a curtain. She didn’t kiss her mouth. She kissed the sharp line of Tracy’s hipbone, then the soft skin of her inner thigh. The warmth of her breath was more intimate than the touch had been. Tracy trembled.
“Can I?” Kaylee asked, her lips brushing skin. The question was barely audible.
Tracy’s mind offered no coherent answer. Her body did. Her hand found Kaylee’s hair, fingers tangling in the vibrant pink strands. She didn’t push. She held on. It was permission enough.
The first touch of Kaylee’s tongue was a revelation.
It wasn’t like anything Tracy could have imagined. It was heat, and wetness, and a shocking precision that erased the last fragments of ‘Travis’ from her sensory map. A high, thin sound escaped her, one she didn’t recognize as her own voice. Her back arched, her knees falling wider apart.
“God, Kaylee,” she gasped.
Kaylee hummed in response, the vibration traveling straight to Tracy’s core. Her hands came up to grip Tracy’s thighs, holding her open, steady. She was an eager student, learning this new landscape by taste and touch, guided by Tracy’s shudders and sharp inhalations. The abstract, crude fantasy from under her bed was gone. This was specific. This was Tracy, twitching under her mouth, smelling of sweat and salt and her.
Tracy’s world narrowed to points of sensation: the scrape of teeth, too gentle to be anything but exquisite; the flat, lapping pressure of a tongue; the dizzying, building coil deep in her belly. Her grip in Kaylee’s hair tightened. She was chasing it, hurtling toward an edge she’d never approached from this direction. The pleasure was a tidal wave, formless and vast, and she was going to—
She wrenched herself away.
She rolled onto her side, curling in on herself, breathing in ragged, painful gulps. The sudden absence of touch was a physical pain. The sheets were cool against her overheated skin.
“Tracy?” Kaylee’s voice was raw, concerned. She rested a tentative hand on Tracy’s shaking shoulder.
“I can’t,” Tracy panted into the pillow. “It’s too much. It’s like… like being unmade.” She forced herself to turn, to look at Kaylee. Her lips were swollen, glistening. Tracy’s stomach did a complicated flip. “I’m not ready to… finish. Not like this. Not yet.”
Understanding softened Kaylee’s face. She nodded, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Okay. Yeah. That’s… that’s big.” She scooted up, leaning against the headboard. The awkwardness descended again, but it was a different flavor now. It was charged. “So. That happened.”
A startled laugh burst from Tracy. It felt like cracking ice. “Yeah. That happened.” She mimicked Kaylee’s pose, pulling the sheet up to her chest. They sat in silence for a moment, two transformed friends in a riotous dorm room, the taste of each other still on the air.
“I liked it,” Kaylee said, staring at her own knees. She said it like a confession of guilt.
“I noticed,” Tracy replied, her voice dry. The tension broke a little more.
“Shut up.” Kaylee nudged her with a foot. “I meant… I liked doing it. To you. It didn’t feel weird. It felt…” She searched for the word, her artist’s brain ticking. “Right. Which is insane.”
“Nothing’s sane,” Tracy sighed. She looked at Kaylee—really looked. The pink hair, the bright eyes, the generous mouth, the undeniable, soft curve of her breasts, and the spent, beautiful evidence of her other nature resting against her thigh. A strange, solid feeling settled in Tracy’s chest. It wasn’t panic. It was recognition. “You’re still you.”
“And you’re not Travis,” Kaylee said, not unkindly. It was just a fact.
“No.” Tracy absorbed the truth of it. The ghost was finally quiet. “I’m not.” She reached out, her hand finding Kaylee’s. Their fingers laced together, a simple, profound anchor. “What do we do now?”
Kaylee looked at their joined hands, then out at the chaotic room—the glittering con photo, the plushies with their exaggerated forms, the secret magazines hiding in plain sight. Her secret was out. Their whole world was.
“I don’t know,” she said. Then she grinned, that bright, Kaylee grin that had launched a thousand dumb, beautiful adventures. “But we’ve got all day to figure it out. And I’m starving. You owe me pancakes. You promised, like, a lifetime ago.”
It was such a mundane, desperately normal thing to say. Tracy felt a wave of dizzying affection for her. For this. For the impossible tightrope they were now walking between cosmic upheaval and maple syrup.
“Pancakes,” Tracy repeated, a real smile finally touching her lips. “Right.” She made no move to get up. The space under the sheets, the warmth of Kaylee’s hand in hers, felt like the only solid ground in the universe. The momentum was still there, a low, promising thrum beneath her skin, but it wasn’t frantic anymore. It was patient. It had all day.