Chapter 1: Introduction
Peter couldn't help thinking about that curve in MJ's lower back, the one he loved to rest his hand on while they swayed to the nostalgic love tunes on Friday nights. Puppy love tunes, Hallmark songs, all that gushy crap. It cinched the deal for them, and now they were swinging on the same branch of the big sycamore tree of life.
And then it all changed, with a bang, in an instant.
When the almighty, snout-nosed Cleanse Pig came into the picture like an ill-wind, hitting Peter with a cloud of smoke from her device. And, immediately, the new reality smacked Peter in the face. Wiped away his pomaded quiff like it was drawn on with an invisible eraser.
"Affirmative, boys and girls! Witness a miracle, right before your very eyes!" squealed Cleanse Pig, exultantly.
"Let me introduce you to Peter Parker 2.0, now known as PK Potter, your friendly neighborhood pot-smoking, bisexual, alternative girl! Oh, and say "hello" to her bouncing hefty new cleavage too! If I do say so myself, it's quite a fabulously avant-garde transformation!"
Her voice oozed Grinchian glee, and this whole scene between the supervillainess and this once Spider-Man was taking place in a dank, cobblestone alleyway in New York City.
PK looked down to see her new cleavage and saw those unfamiliar swellings on her once-flat chest, and her hands meandered to feel them, like a traveler exploring newfound territories.
"What in the ever-loving Christopher Reeve happened to me?!", PK Potter bellowed, as if to the whole freaking universe. And the question hung heavy in the humid, yet cold alley air.
The change in Peter’s body proportion through off the landing and Peter crashed into some garbage bags in the ally.
The soft sound of shattering glass accompanied by the smell of cheap wine making PK Potter's nose crinkle.
PK slowly mustered the energy to stand again, noticing how tight her spider costume was feeling in the chest and hips. Unfamiliar and unwanted thoughts about Cleanse Pig started to emerge. What kind of sexual deviance did she have to explore to come up with such an insane transformation substance?
PK couldn't help but wonder, while trying to shake off her awkward thoughts. She couldn't figure out why she was even thinking things like this—it was as if her entire reality had been flipped around, turned completely upside down.
And it wasn't just the physical changes. Something more was happening to PK that couldn't be explained by the unseen mysterious substance from Cleanse Pig. She couldn't place it, she couldn't give it a name, but things were unraveling even more unbelievably than they appeared.
A new wave of sensations overwhelmed PK, sending tremors down her spine and pooling in her-well, she guessed she couldn't call them 'nuts' anymore. The floodgates of her femininity, opened up and glimmers of arousal sent shivers that went straight to her core. She couldn't ignore the growing dampness from her new place, the throbbing that thrummed its demanding presence.
A furious blush stole through her, her cheeks burning brighter than Broadway's grand marquees.
She had never entertained thoughts—not even subconscious ones—about the same sex did it count since she used to be a guy? PK felt a dizzying whirl of confusion with her emotions and identity, leaving her grappling with questions about herself that she had never thought to examine. Who was she, truly? And what did this transformation mean for her relationship with Mary Jane?
A sinister chuckle snapped her back to reality. Cleanse Pig loomed over PK, her eyes alight with wicked amusement.
"Oh, you like that, huh? I always knew men had insatiable curiosity simmering just under the surface, but I'd never thought I'd see this level of 'exploration' in the likes of Spider-Man." She sneered as she said PK's former heroic identity, evident amusement in her voice.
PK nearly felt embarrassed enough to dive back into the pile of wine-soaked garbage bags. Instead, she gritted her teeth. "Shut it. You don't know me. You may have change my body but I’m still your friendly neighbor spider, ready to mop up your crime” PK failed to notice she dropped “man” from her super hero name.
PK wasn't going to be a laughing stock, not while she could still climb walls and string up bad guys for questioning. She searched her new mind for traces of what made Peter Parker, Peter Parker and clung to it, letting the remembered strength of her former identity meld with her new physical form.
PK searched Cleanse Pig’s face, now that they were eye to eye “How long will these changes last?” A deep, heavy fear settled in the pit of PK’s stomach.
Her newfound consciousness had only just begun to peek through the cracking facade of the old Peter Parker, a fragile new growth, and layer by agonizing layer, Cleanse Pig had revealed her to be more than the once insecure and slightly awkward nerd who professed his love for Mary Jane Watson over a box of pizza in his sweatpants.
PK straightened her spine, her flesh brushing the cold brick alleyway lined with garish graffiti as she stared defiantly at the villainous woman in front of her.
Cleanse Pig brayed, her oinking laugh echoing mockingly through the alley. "Oh, so you're assuming your transformation is reversible, Ms. Spider?"
PK winced; she hadn't yet come to terms with her new name or gender. "No—I mean, I don't know. I just—I have to believe it's not permanent." She paused, trying to appear more collected. "How did you even manage to do this to me?
I mean, I know I'm not exactly a regular guy, but being turned into a—a—a girl? This has to be against some sort of cosmic rule!" PK declared, hands on her hips in disbelief. "You can't just go around changing people because you think they need it."
Cleanse Pig rolled her eyes, adjusting her snout with a gloved hand. "Oh, come now. Don't be so dramatic.
You're not the first man to be transformed into a woman, and you certainly won't be the last," Cleanse Pig replied, a wry smile curling at the edges of her snout. "Your ignorance about gender fluidity is staggering, but it just goes to show that there is indeed a need to 'cleanse' societal expectations of what ought to be considered 'normal' behavior.
In light of this ignorance, I took it upon myself to mix things up a bit, to enlighten you."
Her words sliced through the fetid alley air, bloodthirsty seagulls perched on tenebrous fire escapes squawking in attendance. Cleanse Pig was a tragic and perversely lonely figure. Her whole villainous cause rooted in the twisted mission of remolding a perfect, gender-compliant society.
PK took a few steps back, squinting up at her nemesis.
"That's exactly what I'm talking about—you can't go around deciding who needs 'cleansing' and changing their bodies to fit your delusional standards," PK retorted. "I can handle a change, but not when it's forced upon someone who isn't ready for it."
The bitter taste of injustice flooded PK's mouth, and as she met Cleanse Pig's gaze the villainess leaned forward and planted a big old kiss right on the lips of PK’s spider mask.
"When you're ready to embrace your new identity, give me a call. Perhaps we'll meet again, and I'll help you discover even more of the joys of existing as PK Potter." She grinned, tusks slicing through the air a mere inch away from PK's trembling face. Pressing a small calling card between the webs of PK's mask, Cleanse Pig turned on her heel and click-clacked her hooves on the cobblestone street, disappearing into the shadows.
A strange mix of frustration, confusion, and excitement made PK's heart race. She panted, staring at the piece of cardstock embossed with gold lettering: Cleanse Pig, Lover of the Unexpected and Defender of Gender-Normative Consciousness.
Not knowing quite what prompted her actions, PK felt drawn to the card. Their situation seemed absurd; no one would blame her if she chose to ignore the calling card or left the alleyway without giving it a second thought.
“Fuck I need a smoke,” thought PK unaware how up until this point she had no interest in pot, hell she had never even smoke a cigarette.
Quickly while no one was looking she changed into her civilian cloths and headed for the nearest smoke shop.
The streets of New York City had never felt so alive, and yet so overwhelming. As the moonlight danced and flickered in between the cracks of towering skyscrapers, PK felt a foreign heaviness in her heart, her thoughts filled with a torrent of questions.
The rouge-red neon sign illuminating the front window of the smoke shop ahead cast a surreal glow onto the pavement. PK found herself standing outside the store in a daze, contemplating what the rest of her life would look like with this suddenly acquired second identity.
She was aware that Mary Jane didn't know the drastic changes that transpired in a matter of minutes in her very existence. Guilt and attraction wrestled in her thoughts, and despite feeling as if she'd been thrust into turbulence, PK simultaneously considered the idea of this curveball as a sexual awakening.
Pushing the door open, the jingling chimes announced her entry into the dimly lit establishment. The storekeeper welcomed her with a nod, barely acknowledging the damp spot on PK's shirt or the rips on her jeans.
He was a grizzled man with a silvery beard, eyes obscured by reflections bouncing off his glasses as he tended to the cash register.
From the corner of the shop, a few regular patrons stole glances at PK, their curiosity piqued by the young person with bewildered eyes and a strange new energy that warranted an attention.
PK noticed the man behind the counter and before she understood what she was thinking, thought “he’s kind of hot, in a silver fox kind of way” before the horror of finding a man attractive struck her!
Attracted to a man?? But she was—she is a woman now. She couldn’t deny that realisation or the new feelings it brought her. The emotional turmoil of her ever shifting identity also led to thoughts that left her breathless, almost giddy; she couldn’t help stealing glances at her reflection in a mirror propped against the wall.
Her hair was still the same tousled, mussed chocolate color, falling to her shoulders, a soft fringe brushing her cheekbones, a strand delicately curling at the corner of her eyes. But now her brows were sculpted beneath her forehead, her eyes flecked through with striations of green, and the shape of her lips – yes, it was her, but so different, somehow. The eyes that met hers in the mirror held secrets only she could uncover, and her own gaze seemed to be inviting her to explore. And yet it didn’t seem right, she wanted to change her hair, chop some off colors or anything brightly instead of this dull brown!
PK itched to tart herself up a bit, but old habits die hard and even in this new body, she couldn’t shake off the seed of efficiency that Catherine Wheeled in her thoughts. Why spend money on making herself pretty, if she wasn’t even going to be permanent? So she pushed those thoughts into a corner of her mind.
She chose a pre-roll from a display case in the shop, favors to one of the most respected weed growers in the city.
Her fingers grazed over the THC-infused edibles and paraphernalia, her choices erratic, muddled, as she thought of how she would present these changes to Mary Jane.
There would be no casual, gradual reveal. It was an impossible scenario, whitewashed or concealed; and if she couldn’t tell the truth, what meaning did their relationship hold for either of them.
Thoughts of Mary Jane surged through her mind.
Witnessing Peter's transition into PK Potter would demand an open perspective and acceptance from Mary Jane, qualities they both valued and admired in one another. Could she rise to the challenge and accept PK as the transformed person she now was? Would Mary Jane run, caught off guard by this turn of events, or would she stay, offering her support and understanding in the heat of things?
As PK meandered her way through the labyrinth of her thoughts, she found herself plagued with doubts and contradictions, her tranquility disturbed by the ever-growing dichotomy.
The intoxicating aroma of her freshly purchased pre-roll weaved its way between and through her thoughts, further muddling them together until they resembled a chaotic, tangled ball of yarn.
The shopkeeper glanced at her, studying her with a distinct mixture of curiosity and concern. But his expression soon morphed into a begrudgingly sympathetic smile when their eyes met, which PK found oddly reassuring.
She nodded at him, clutching the small, neatly wrapped package the shopkeeper had handed over with pride. It contained the joint she'd impulsively purchased after surveying the vast supply of weed-related merchandise on the gleaming, well-polished shelves.
It burned a hole in her pocket, metaphorically speaking, and PK couldn't help but eagerly anticipate the relief and indulgence it promised.
The mix of curiosity and concern from onlookers faded as PK departed the shop, her footsteps echoing softly against the cobblestones.
The sound was a comforting, familiar symphony, one that skirted the edges of her newfound femininity, reminding her of the old Peter Parker still lingering in her thoughts.
PK finally caved to the cravings, freeing her clenched hand and guiding the pre-roll to her dry lips. Her nerves fired with unspent energy, static and crackling demands. In that moment, for the very first time, she acknowledged the change, she conceded this was the reality.
Her fingers fumbled with the tightly wrapped paper before the flame danced into existence.
The cherry’s glow illuminated PK's anxious smile, already lighter and more liberated as smoke filtered into her lungs.
They traveled from her body, merging with the thick air, visible whispers of her hidden desires and tangible explorations of her new identity. PK had surfaced, pushing aside the buried Peter Parker inside her with unwavering determination.
The shadows stretched and twisted as PK felt her anxieties slip away, wordlessly melting under the mellow influence.
The smoky tendrils wrapped themselves around her newfound identity and blended into the mysterious fabric of her existence. It all seemed so unreal, as if she’d somehow tumbled into a parallel universe—an alternate reality where she wasn’t Peter Parker but PK Potter, an entirely different person.
This shift, she realized, could be an exhilarating opportunity. Embracing this newfound identity would not be easy; she would inevitably encounter unanticipated challenges. PK felt her deep affection for Mary Jane as strong as ever.
It quivered in her chest, allowing her heart to carry her as she succumbed to the calmness brought about by the pre-roll. She ambled along, thoughts swirling, stamping out unfounded fears about her future with her beloved.
Her limbs felt weightless as she moved. It was a revelation, to feel this lingering, gentle shiver of ecstasy course through her body. Her breasts seemed to call to her as she walked, malleable mounds that begged to be acknowledged.
They were smaller than those of the average woman, but PK couldn't help feeling entranced by the way they moved as she walked, an oddly captivating dance she couldn't seem to tear her thoughts away from.
It wasn't just her appearance that demanded her attention; it was the peculiar nuances of her character, the curious tidbits of her personality that seemed to bubble out of her unannounced. The physical changes had ignited a spark within her, setting off a chain reaction of emotional and mental shifts, her identity in a perpetual state of flux and evolution.
With each puff of the pre-roll, that newfound spark revealed another facet of PK's persona, smoldering desires that Peter Parker either dismissed as irrelevant or didn't care to address.
The revealed identities struggled to organize themselves, fighting for dominance, vying for PK's unwavering attention as she walked in the cool night.
The former, uneventful alleyway, now cloaked in a melancholic quiet, was shaken by PK's affirmed new character.
Feeling a strange magnetic pull, PK found herself close to the disheveled graffiti, the raw, vibrant illustrations of spray paint swirling and blending together in an exquisite ode to the human spirit, confined within the alley's concrete limits.
With the absence of other pedestrians, PK gave into her curiosity. Her body moved intuitive, driven by the energetic, colorful expressions. Her earlier concerns appeared trivial, unworthy of her anxiety. She realized how the graffiti was an expression of the artists soul and longed to make some of her own, who cared if it was against the law.
Peter Parker would have shook his head at such an act but PK began humoring the idea; the consequence's, no, thrill, of breaking rules was unexpectedly filling her with an enticing feeling. She watched the wall in front of her, a virgin canvas in an alternate universe where PK Potter was the protagonist, no longer the sidekick belittled by the oppressive belittlement of societal norms.
Her fingertips, still sticky with smoke residue, traced the mural's jagged lines, graffiti seeping into her soul.
She considered the voices clawing to break free, an internal battle more significant than any metahuman brawl—all fighting for their place in PK's newfound identity.
The graffiti swam before her eyes, shapes twisted in an alluring dance, enticing her to join.
Looking at her plain finger nails, PK notice how dull they looked, they would look better painted black and green.
Even as these odd thoughts swimming in her mind, the sparks of who PK truly wanted to be, grew stronger, louder, and more persistent.
She had the impulse to grab a can of spray paint, dip her fingers in and go to town on the brick canvas in front of her. She could picture it now, messy but bold in its audacity to capture the spirit of the new PK.
But then, who was the real PK, she wondered, looking at her spider costume in the alley, now dirtied and crinkled from the fight with Cleanse Pig.
And why did she even have to have this struggle—how would that even benefit Cleanse Pig's nefarious goals?
Yet despite this turmoil, PK could feel herself growing excited at the idea of this new identity and the different direction it might take her life in. After all, who said that being PK meant that she had to be any less of a hero than she previously was as Peter Parker? This could be her opportunity to explore other parts of her personality she'd never really considered.
Sure, she had always been a bit of a rebel, flouting the rules here and there, but now she was faced with the most significant rule-breaking decision of her life – to embrace her newfound identity wholly or to resist it, clinging to her former self.
As the night deepened, the neon lights from the distant buildings began to cast long, dancing shadows across the alleyway, and PK felt herself drawn further towards the energy coursing through the graffiti.
It was as though the multitude of different styles and colors were all whispering to her, welcoming her into their secret world.
She reached for aVC can of spray paint lying abandoned next to the brick wall. It lay forgotten, left behind in the wake of the city's ceaseless march. It called out to PK, and she couldn't resist any longer.
Slowly, she raised the can and pressed down on the nozzle, a tremor of excitement coursing through her as the first spurt of vibrant, inky black paint splattered against the wall.
The dry, metallic scent permeated the cool night air as PK allowed the creative release to surge forward, the internal conflict washing away with each deft stroke of the spray paint can.
Forgetting the passage of time, PK surrendered to the euphoric moment, her body swaying and hips shuffling in rhythm to a silent beat echoing in her mind as she continued to paint her masterpiece. She etched on the wall her newfound power, her journey and everything she wished to be.
The buzz of the pre-roll dwindled and PK's heartbeat pounded in her ears. She panted and smirked with a fierce passion, meeting the rich darkness she'd created. In an explosive deluge of fervent strokes, PK's essence oozed into the graffiti, and she reveled in her unique display of artistry. An inner force of inspiration and long suppressed creativity burgeoned.
PK scarcely recognized the stranger she was becoming, ethereal, rebellious, unafraid to celebrate her newfound sensuality.
The graffiti was a pulsing mirror of the alterations she had experienced—and the potent emotions she unlocked.
Fueled by her anxiety, passion, and desire, PK's hands moved with speed and confidence, leaving abstract patterns and swirling motifs in her wake—daring to claim the alley as her canvas.
Colors and shapes flowed into one another, joined in a sensuous, improvisational dance.
She felt free! She wanted to cut her hair! She wanted tattoos and piercings!!! PK's blood hummed, abuzz with elation. She felt fierce, unstoppable. It was a welcome liberation flavored with an undercurrent of trepidation.
The proud display of PK's artwork lured curious onlookers, their figures casting shadows in the eerie ambiance of the alley. From a distance, their furtive eyes glittered with interest, as if they sensed a spark in this once hollow corridor.
PK paid them no mind as the spray paint can continued its rhythmic whoosh. Blood surged through her body, shed the worries of identity crisis. She moved on, it was getting late, she should probably return to her apartment and get this whole thing over with MJ.
Her heart skipped a beat, anxiety snaked around her stomach like a BTN's tentacle, but she steadied her breathing, told herself that no matter what happens, the world would not end.