Abbigale's New Life Ch. 01

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story contains fantastical depictions of intersex and transgender individuals, unrealistic sizes, and unrealistic activities involving those sizes. If that's not your cup of tea, read no further!

- Abbigale

*****

Part 1: On The Road Again

The little black coupe wheezed up to the curb in front of the Lazy Daze Motel, ticking and hissing and desperate for a rest.

"Me, too, little buddy," I laughed tiredly, patting the dashboard. "Me too."

It had been a long-ass day of driving. I'd set out early that morning while the sun was still struggling over the horizon, though that act was somewhat impacted by the high, jagged hills. Dawn started a little later in the mountains. I was still jittering from the mixture of hormones and energy drinks when I finally crept out of the foothills, just after lunchtime.

And now, looking into my rearview mirror, looking back at the setting sun, I could scarcely believe what I was seeing.

There was nothing there.

I'd grown up in the mountains. Spent my whole life living where we had six months of winter, five months of summer, and maybe a couple weeks of really shitty transitional rain and mud. For the last several hours, though, I'd been driving through rolling plains, neatly-divided farmland, the Earth flat enough that I felt as though I could see all the way to the ocean.

Slowly, the weight of terror behind my eyes had been replaced with excitement, which then drifted somewhere definitely lower down on my body, and a good deal more fun.

Eventually, that exhilaration had given way to hunger. Then anxiety. For the last fifty miles, all I'd been feeling was my sore ass and my numb legs. Or, rather, NOT feeling my numb legs. You know what I mean. This was a long drive, and I'd lost a fair bit of muscle mass recently.

Behind me was a long, endless stretch of highway, and the syrupy golden sunset. All around me were small, fluffy trees whose named I'd not yet learned (if they weren't pine, I was pretty much lost). In the distance before me, the bright lights of Cherry Bay lit up the deep indigo sky.

That was tomorrow.

Tonight... holy fuck, I just needed a good meal and a good night's rest.

I pulled through into the motel parking lot, and mercifully took my key out of the ignition. The car was silenced with a grateful cough. I wasn't even out the driver's side door, my knees and my back creaking, before my phone rang.

"Yell-o?" I said, intending to sound bright and chipper and instead barking like a surly trucker.

I popped the trunk, the phone pinned between my ear and shoulder, and hauled my two suitcases out. "No, I haven't called you yet, you are correct. I JUST GOT HERE. Literally. I'm standing in a motel parking lot right now."

I juggled my luggage, slammed the trunk shut, and started to make my way towards the brightly lit motel office. There was a small diner attached to the motel, and there were enticing scents emanating from within, but before I did anything I needed a quick shower and a change of clothes. This was the 'new me', after all. The new Abbigale.

"No, I know it's not safe to just be standing in the middle of a motel parking lot, but that's kind of an essential step to getting a motel room. Mom? Mom, I'm hanging up now, OK? I need to talk to the desk... clerk... guy. OK?"

I managed to pull the office door open with one finger, spun through like a weary little tornado, and dropped my bags by the potted plant standing guard. The front office was small, the lights buzzed, and the man behind the front desk was staring at me like he'd seen a ghost. Or a dinosaur. Or something unexpected. I'm too tired to come up with a good simile.

"MOM. I'll call you back after I've eaten. I'm hanging up now. I love you. Lose my number. Bye!"

The phone beeped silent, went dark, and disappeared into my jeans pocket. I turned my full attention to the clerk, and flashed what I hope was my winningest smile. I hadn't had a lot of time to practice since the procedures, but I was pretty sure I was at least fifty percent winning.

"Hiya!" I said. I guess one thing I could be grateful to my mom for: talking to her had worked the hoarseness out of my voice. "I made a reservation for one night? Abbigale Reed?"

The clerk nodded slowly, only his head visible from behind the high edge of the counter. I knew what he was staring at, of course. On any other day, I'd have stared at the same thing, though perhaps for slightly different reasons. I'd dressed for comfort today, not fashion, so it shouldn't have been TOO shocking to see a young woman wearing a black Deftones shirt. It wasn't even that tight!

Still, I guess it was tight enough. His eyes were locked like missile targeting sights onto my breasts. Oh well, I mused. I did expect that. And I'd probably hoped for it. Just a little...

"Is it... ready?" I asked, leaning against the counter. Spoilsport that I am, I positioned my arms as best I could to obscure my chest, though after a week of treatments and pills, I was only partially successful. I could hear the fabric stretching, my breath constricted. These girls were really starting to get heavy!

He shook his head as though clearing away the cobwebs and smiled, huge and broad and inviting. "Yes! Spic and span and ready and waiting, Miss Reed," he said, almost leaping to his feet. "Room 313! Let me get your keycard ready. Diner's open until nine, full menu, local beers. There's plenty to do around here on a Saturday night, if you're looking for some excitement-"

I cut him off with a yawn, waving away his suggestions. "Oh, lord, no," I laughed. "I've been driving all day, and I've got a little ways to go still tomorrow. Just need me a meal and a bed."

He nodded, seeming dejected. "We can do you for both of those, miss," he said, trying to sound upbeat. "Renovated the whole place last year. All new beds! Very comfy."

Quite the salesman, I thought wryly. And here I just thought this place was the cheapest one on the highway that managed three stars out of five on Trip Advisor. "That sounds lovely, thank you."

I signed the sheet confirming my reservation, snagged my keycards, turned down the offer of a drink after he got off shift, and hauled my luggage up to Room 313. I don't know if he got a good look at the rest of me as I made my way out of the office, even when I was politely refusing help with my bags. He might have changed his tune if he'd checked me out... but then again, he might not.

These were strange times.

The room was nice enough. The bed might have been new; it was somewhere between 'firm' and 'rock hard'. In my current state, though, it was a flat surface that didn't involve driving, and that was MORE than enough for me. I threw myself onto the mattress, stretched out, and allowed myself a private little "Woo hoo!"

I'd done it.

I'd gotten out.

I was Abbigale Reed now, and tonight was the first night of the rest of my life.

- - - - -

I'll say one thing for hotel and motel showers: they never run out of hot water. If I had my way, I'd live in a hotel forever. Someone would do my laundry, someone would make my bed, and the hot water would last until my final days.

It was close to seven pm when I finally stepped out of the little stall, steamed pink and finally feeling free of the road rust. Hot, humid air swirled around me, and I knew that once I opened that thin wooden door, I'd be cold again. Best to delay that as long as possible.

Look... I'm not going to make excuses. I'd spent a LOT of time over the last week checking myself out in the mirror. I had been assured that was perfectly natural and normal, and even healthy. Doctor Schottenheimer had been very clear that it was important to monitor all stages of the procedure, and be constantly vigilant for anything that seemed out of the ordinary, or at least the out of the new ordinary in which I found myself.

First thing, of course, I wiped a towel across the mirror and checked out my tits.

No-one really told me how heavy these were going to be, or if they did, I didn't listen. I'd spent countless hours experimenting with all manner of falsies, both silicone and homemade, in a hundred different sizes. There was definitely something to be said for the weight when you knew that, at the end of the night, you could take them off. I cupped them with my hands, or at least tried; after a week of hormones, constantly feeding the open and receptive metabolic state my body had entered, they were already more than a handful.

That morning, I'd put on my lone 34-DDD bra, and it had fit nicely. By the time I'd taken it off to step into the shower, it had been awkwardly tight, with little curves of flesh escaping around the straps. It had gone into the trash can without a second thought. At my current growth rate, there was no way I was going to need it again.

Once the obvious was out of the way, I inspected my face. Come on, it's hard to shake the habits of a lifetime, you know? I scrutinized my features, my eyes, my nose, my cheekbones, everything. It was all still ME, you see. I could recognize the face staring back at me as the same one I'd been saddled with my whole life. It hadn't done me any favors in the past... but things were different now.

I shook out my long, auburn hair, and flashed my winningest smile. The pretty young woman with the big dark eyes in the mirror smiled back, and my heart leapt.

My hands slipped down to my tummy, trim and slim and narrow. That had generally been my experience before, too. Lucky genes, I suppose. I'd never had any trouble keeping the weight off, though that was something that had posed a slight complication for the procedure. The new me needed quite a bit more body fat than it had to work with, and needed it in different areas. The diet that Dr. Schottenheimer had me on was high-protein and high-fat, and it was like I'd died and gone to deep-fried heaven.

I turned to the side, pooching out my hips a little and admiring my backside. This hadn't been something I'd been especially keen on, back when discussing the procedure. It had just been another body part that I knew I had, and would continue to have. I was fairly ass-indifferent. The standardized process I was on, though, was having a considerable effect, and I have to say... I was loving the results. Round, plump, inviting... if I did say so myself.

Then it was back to the front. I'm sure the shower helped, but it still made my heart skip a beat to see the narrow triangle of soft skin guiding my eyes down to where my thighs met. The light, strawberry-blond hair blended almost invisibly into my shower-pinkened flesh. I gave my hips another little wiggle, and laughed audibly at the results.

I'd been a decent size before, nothing to write home about. Six-ish inches, let's say. I hadn't measured since high school, and hadn't really seen the point. Girls had never been interested in me, and I'd never had any luck with the people I pined after. Average, maybe a touch above, nothing more.

Now, soft and limp and frankly exhausted, there was nine inches of shaft on display (yes, I'd measured that morning), reaching more than halfway to my knee. Perhaps more impressively, depending on my outfit, were my fist-sized balls, the skin of my sac soft and snug and smooth. Those were what really filled out my panties, and were going to make shopping... interesting, as the procedures continued.

Just the thought of hitting all the new specialty shops and boutiques in Cherry Bay sent a shudder through my body. My junk twitched, and I could feel the blood starting to rush into it, starting to fill everything out, longer and thicker...

"Whoa, fellas," I giggled, wrapping myself in a towel. "Easy! We just got here. There'll be plenty of time for that. For now... let's start small. So to speak. Abbi needs dinner."

I opened the door, shivering at the sudden cold (dammit), and padded back out to the bed. I'd laid out my outfit for the night, which would really just be for a quick meal at the diner. Another black t-shirt, though this one was a babydoll tee in size Small, rather than a men's Medium. Dark blue yoga pants, nice and stretchy, though the color did tend to mute my, uh, outline.

For how long, I wondered.

I grabbed my phone and perched on the edge of the bed. First things first. I dialed, and then started to dig through my suitcase with my free hand.

He picked up on the first ring.

"Hey, Doc," I said brightly, this time actually managing to sound like I meant it. "I made it!"

I pulled the three pill bottles out of my luggage, setting them reverently on the night stand. The smallest one had a pink lid, the next largest blue, and the beer-can-sized one your regular medical white. I popped the lids off while we talked.

"Yup, taking them before food, like always. The drive was good. ... yeah, it didn't fit by the time I got here. Threw it out."

I tilted the biggest bottle, and shook it carefully to spill one huge gelcap onto the nightstand. "Yup no beer, I know. Don't worry, doc! I'm not much of a drinker anyways. This isn't a major issue for me."

Next the blue bottle. Tilt, shake... one, two, three pills. These were smaller, thankfully. "Nope, nothing out of the ordinary! Checked myself out in the mirror just now after my shower. I'll fill out the form after dinner and e-mail it to ya."

Then the pink bottle. Tilt, shake, one, two, three. These were tiny, not even the size of those little breath mints that come in the metal tin. Piece of cake. "Fat and protein, I know. Burger, onion rings, cheesecake. I'm ON it, doc! Relax!"

I replaced the lids and scooped all of the pills into my free hand. I was glad Doctor Schottenheimer couldn't see my grin.

"One of each pill, doc. Don't worry. I got this. You too. Goodnight."

I hung up the phone, slapped my hand to my mouth, and downed all seven pills with a furious gulp.

New life, I thought. New me.

- - - - -

Dinner was delicious, and well-deserved. Being under medical orders to basically pig out on everything that I WASN'T supposed to eat in my past life? If there was a down side to vast, experimental hormone therapy rearranging my entire body on the cellular level, I wasn't finding it.

The handful of truckers and tourists still eating at that hour tracked my entrance. I had been acutely aware of just how much everything on me was bouncing, which was an excellent time for me to remember that I'd picked out a shirt and pants, and no undies.

The new Abbigale clearly had some things to get used to.

As usual, the first glances were at my chest. I tried not to arch my back, but I won't lie: I was proud. A lot of work had gone into sculpting the body I now inhabited, and it was only natural to want it to feel appreciated. I did catch several pairs of eyes glancing at my legs, though, and my ass. God bless yoga pants. Before the waitress had guided me to my booth, I'd detected two wolf whistles, three coughs, and a "wow", though I can't say for sure if that last was because they liked what they saw, or they noticed the rather unusual bulge straining at the front of my stretchy garment.

I think watching me eat might have scared a couple of them off, but it did seem to impress the others. I was five foot six, and I was down to about a hundred and twenty pounds now. Apparently, watching a gal like me put away the Road King Burger, complete with onion rings, clam chowder, cheesecake, and four Cokes isn't something they see every day.

While I ate, I felt that one pair of eyes in particular was regularly aimed my way. Across the aisle and several booths down, a strapping older man, maybe early 40's and wearing faded plaid, was picking away at a piece of pie. He'd been nursing that slice of pie for close to twenty minutes, and it wasn't a huge leap of logic to realize it wasn't the only dish he was savoring.

I could feel my pills starting to take effect, though, so I decided that maybe I was going to see how far his good nature extended. Obviously, the pills' more powerful and subtler effects, brute-forcing incremental changes to my physique, couldn't possibly be noticed so quickly, but the hormone cocktail did tend to have some acute side effects. Normally I was alone when they kicked off, but that was part of the reason I'd decided to eat out tonight.

My face felt flushed, my fingers twitched with nervous energy, and bit by bit that big fella in the booth was looking more and more my type. I tended to prefer slender guys, the sort that get described as 'lean' and 'rangy', but that scruffy, burly boi was fast becoming an exception. I squirmed in my seat; the guy might have thought it was me preening under his attentions (guys tended to view their actions in the rosiest-possible light), but it was actually because I was semi-hard under the table, and my yoga pants needed constant adjusting. I could feel my too-hot flesh pinned to my thigh, moving closer and closer to my knee.

Jesus, I thought, I'm really starting to get some size down there! I still wasn't where I hoped to be when all this was done, not even close, but I did also keep moving the metaphorical goal posts. I was going to need a lot more pills and a lot more burgers to fuel my metamorphosis, but I didn't mind the wait. I was patient.

The waitress dropped my bill off, and I thanked her. The big guy in the booth also waved for his check, and the glances he aimed my way were getting less and less subtle. By the end, he was winking and smirking, as though he assumed I was not only reading his mind, but I was approving of whatever salacious nonsense was going on up there.

It might not have been nonsense, though! There was always that chance... that gamble that he might be one of those open-minded fellas out here that I kept hearing about, who were liberal and non-judgmental, willing to experiment without sacrificing their confidence or their self-image.

A random trucker in a motel diner didn't seem like my target demographic, but hey, win or lose, I needed the practice.

I smiled and winked back, slowly sliding my legs out from under the table. His eyes widened, his smile broadened. The look of victory on his face was, frankly, a turn-off; I knew that he thought this was just another conquest, and boy howdy his buddies weren't going to believe the hot piece of ass he picked up the other night. She had that reddish-brown hair that you saw on country music starlets, she had tits that made you wish for bigger hands, and legs that you just wanted wrapped around your-

When I stood, I saw his eyes widen, first the left, then the right. The fabric of my yoga pants was pulling strangely, and it took all of my self-possession not to glance down and check myself out. My shaft stretched down my left leg, definitely to my knee now. It throbbed insistently, not fully hard but damn close to it. The strange, tingling pressure in my balls was maddening, especially when I started walking towards the guy, and I could feel them bobbing and straining at the lycra leggings. They certainly felt bigger than when I'd gotten out of my shower!

I smiled at him, swinging my hips saucily. "Hey," I breathed, resting my hand against the back of his seat, right next to his shoulder. He was still sitting; my dick was just inches from his elbow. "I... saw ya lookin' at me."

The guy coughed and, jittery and jerky like a piece of heavy equipment that needed oiling, he forced his gaze straight ahead. He picked up the bill and pretended to inspect it. I might have not existed, for all the attention he was paying me. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Didn't mean to."