Abbigale's New Life Ch. 02

In the break room, I shook hands with my new co-workers and tried not to scream at them. “I nearly had a heart attack!” I cried, to more shared laughter. This time, though, I joined in. “You people are the WORST, and I think I love you all now, so thank you for that. I’m Abbigale. And yes, I would like a donut. Maybe two. I think all my blood sugar just got turned into cortisol.”

The shift supervisor was Missy Trent, an older, matronly sort of woman with an explosion of blonde hair. We hugged, and I was duly impressed to find out that her scrubs hid a very impressive amount of curves. She patted the side of one heavy breast with one hand, and her hip with the other. “The doctors here do good work,” she winked.

Next senior position was Carolyn Schwartz, who put me in mind of a swan-like ballerina. She seemed to weigh as much as a cloud when we embraced, but her voice was like a good-natured trumpet blast. “Another referee from the good Doctor S!” she exclaimed. “We hope you’ll last longer than ze last one!”

“Not referee, reference,” Missy corrected. “A referee wears the black and white stripes at sports games.”

“Reference.” Carolyn rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

“What... happened to the last ones?” I asked, suddenly nervous.

“They got better jobs,” Missy said. “Can’t stay here forever!”

The current, and extremely overworked, transcriptionist for the office was Juno Samir. The only word I could think of when I saw her was ‘lush’. I suppose our bodies were fairly similar at this point, her stunning and probably-enhanced hourglass straining at her scrubs, except she seemed to be all female. She held my elbows in a sisterly fashion, and glanced down at our figures. “Don’t go borrowing my uniforms,” she purred. “I’ll know.”

My final new co-worker, doctors notwithstanding, was a tall, lean, dark-skinned young man named Darryl Ferguson. Considering I’d met seven nurses and medical technicians so far, only one of them being male was actually still bucking the curve; in my own graduating class of forty-four, only three were guys (and, not to put too fine a point on it, one of those had been me). I stuck out my hand and stood ramrod straight, hoping to make a good impression.

“Pleasedtomeetcha,” he mumbled. A smile flashed across his face, lighting it up, but then disappeared. He shook my hand gingerly, his head moving in a peculiar fashion. I realized that he was doing something I’d noticed a couple times since I’d started developing: he was trying to look at me, but fighting with all his strength to keep from staring anywhere that might be considered rude or offensive. If he had laser eyes, he would have been carving a perfect Abbigale silhouette in the wall behind me.

I think it was safe to say that I was immediately interested in him.

Once I’d finished off my donuts and made some small talk about the move from Mount Hope (yes, it’s full of hicks... yes, the mountains are pretty... no, I don’t plan to go back), Missy took me into a tiny locker room at the rear of the clinic. I got my own locker, which gave me more of a thrill than I would have imagined, and seeing my name embossed on the little copper plate, my real name, my new name, nearly caused me to burst into tears.

I opened it, and hanging up inside were a pair of plain pastel lavender scrubs, already pinned with a nametag.

“You get credit for five of your own choosing from the shop on the other side of the complex,” Missy explained. “We’ll head over there just after lunch and get you hooked up. This’ll do for now.”

I pulled the scrubs out, sniffling slightly. “Thank you. This is... this is really nice, I have to say.”

Missy frowned. “They’re just scrubs. Polyester, bleachable. Whoop-dee shit.”

I laughed. “No, not that. Well, kind of that. But... just everyone here. Being cool with... with me. With what Doctor Schottenheimer is helping me do. With everything!”

“Honey,” Missy grinned, “you’re gonna see a lot of folks coming through here that are gonna make your jaw drop. Don’t get me wrong, you’re a stand-out kinda lady.” She pointed quite unabashedly at my lap, the clear outline of my bulge snug against my thigh. “But the good doctors have been breaking a lot of new ground. Plenty of people wanna be the first to make their dreams come true.”

“Don’t I know it,” I chuckled softly. “So, as I progress, and I keep... developing...“

Missy winked. “Just means you’ll get along that much better with the clients. Now you hurry on and get dressed. We got a lot of boring shit to teach you.”

At that, I laughed, long and genuine, probably the first time I’d done that since arriving. It was hard to feel self-conscious around Missy, which was probably why she was in charge of this place. She patted my shoulder and let herself out, leaving me alone in the locker room.

When she was gone, I scanned the lockers and the nameplates. I was surprised, but perhaps only a smidgen, to see that the locker immediately to my left was Darryl’s.

I walked out a few minutes later, tugging at my scrubs. I think they’d had to guess at my size, but if they’d been guessing based on what Doctor Schottenheimer said I should have looked like by now, then they were way off. My top was quite tight, little ripples of taut polyester framing my breasts. It was a little uncomfortable, but I’d manage.

My pants, however, would have fit perfectly only if I had been born a woman. As it was, it was as though I could feel every stitch and seam against my balls, which were practically being lifted and presented. With every step, they swayed heavily from side to side, reminding me constantly just how full they were getting. My cock snaked around them, guided down my left pantleg, where it was about as subtle as a bowling pin.

“Well,” I breathed nervously. “This is me, and... they’re just gonna have to get used to it.”

Over the next fifteen minutes, as the clinic prepared for the first clients and patients, I was given the proper tour. I introduced myself to Doctors Smithee and Thompson, who both repeated that they’d heard a lot about me from Doctor Schottenheimer. I saw the storage rooms, the prescription rooms, the exam rooms, and then the magical little wonderland where I would be spending most of my time: the filing rooms.

During that time, Missy glanced at my ridiculously tight scrubs and just laughed. Carolyn nodded approvingly, glancing at my pants and giving me a thumbs up. Juno grinned a grin that made me briefly uncomfortable, but I supposed that was also something I might have to get used to. Darryl walked into the reception with an armload of files, smiled at me, and then let his gaze drift down my body.

In keeping with that grand sitcom narrative tradition, he then walked into the corner of a desk, dropped the files, juggled madly to try and catch them, slipped on one and then finally sprawled out flat on his back, to everyone’s delight.

If I’m being honest, I would say it was the most gratifying thing that had happened to me since my transformation begun.

“If you’re quite done napping,” Missy said, standing over him.

I knelt, my scrubs clenching tightly around me, and started gathering up the files. “Sorry,” I said softly.

“Don’t be sorry!” Carolyn said in her piercing tenor. “He’s gonna keep doing that!”

I noted that Darryl didn’t disagree with her. He righted himself, keeping his eyes squarely on the ground, and picked up the rest of the files. He mumbled a brief thanks when I handed over the ones I’d fetched, and then hurried out of the room. Before I could ask about his behaviour, he hurried back in, remembering that he’d been bringing the files to reception for a reason.

Other than that, the rest of the morning went fairly smooth. Mondays were always a busy day at the clinic, but they were a very specialized facility so there were no surprises. Everyone was on the schedule for the day, everyone had an appointment, and nearly everyone had been there before. Unlike the Mount Hope clinic, this was very nearly as relaxed as I could ever imagine a medical clinic ever being.

It wasn’t until around ten-thirty that I started to understand just what Missy had been talking about in the change room. Although me and Juno were busy with the endless reams of paperwork that a modern networked doctor’s office still produced, they still found time to get me to call names and bring patients back to the exam rooms. I wouldn’t say most of the patients stood out in any particular way, which made sense, I supposed. Most folks who would be here for some sort of gender or representation assistance probably didn’t want to stand out or be especially noticeable. They just wanted to be... well, they just wanted to be themselves.

The third patient I brought past reception made me realize that there were definitely folks like me out there.

“Shirley McIver?” I called, checking a clipboard. I felt so official holding a clipboard.

A pretty young woman stood up, hoisting a hefty denim book bag. She wore what I would consider the ‘busy fine arts student’ spring ensemble: a large, loose-knit button-up sweater, a black high-collared shirt underneath, and a pair of simple black sweatpants. She was dark and frumpy, much too busy to be concerned with such banalities as style and fashion.

When she stepped around the reception seating, though, shifting her book bag to her hip, I nearly dropped my clipboard.

She smiled nervously, glanced down at my scrubs and laughed, high and birdlike. “You too, eh?”

I was big. Let’s not beat around the bush here. The night before, standing in my shower, hot water coursing down my body and both hands gripping my shaft, I’d measured myself at a little over sixteen inches. If you’d asked me any other day, I’d have considered myself in contention for a world record down there.

Ms McIver’s sweats bulged obscenely, a thick mound as big around as her bicep nearly reaching her knee. The stretchy fabric shifted around a pair of bouncing orbs, low and even more pronounced than my own.

“Me, too,” I breathed.

Our eyes met, and in an instant I knew we shared an unspoken bond: and I’m not done growing yet, we thought together. I led her back to the exam room, told her that Doctor Smithee would be in shortly, and then retreated to the break room to have another mild panic attack.

Wow, I thought. She’s fucking huge! That... is that what I can look forward to?

Feeling a twinge of guilt, I glanced down at her chart. She had been a patient here for close to eight months, and sure enough she’d started Assigned Female At Birth (or AFAB, as we liked to say in the biz). Her initial procedure had been a stem-cell scaffolding, a form of low-invasive implant that would create a responsive region of tissue adapted from her own genetic material. After that, the careful balancing of male and female growth hormones, along with the other proprietary compounds originally developed by Doctor Schottenheimer, had allowed her to start developing her magnificent new endowments.

I skipped ahead to the final sheet on her intake file, and sure enough, her size had been accelerating. She had been undergoing these treatments for eight months, but her current size was double what she’d been at only two months ago. Her current appointments were to monitor the re-stabilization of her hormone levels, to try and bring her growth rate back into what was deemed acceptable parameters.

In spite of that, scrawled at the end of the file in a simple, clean script, were the words ‘PATIENT INSISTS THE CURRENT RATE OF GROWTH IS ACCEPTABLE, AND WISHES TO CONTINUE’.

“A girl after my own heart,” I purred.

“That’s why I sent you to get her,” Missy said from the doorway. “What did I tell you, hmm?”

I stared at her, a little shame-faced. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have been reading the file...”

She waved her hand. “You’ll know a lot of these files by heart in a month, don’t worry about it. Really, if you hadn’t checked, I would have been worried about you. Just... y’know you don’t speak about this outside the clinic, right?”

“Oh my god, I would never!”

“Good girl. OK, come on, back to work! Time to learn how we file in-house prescriptions. Up and at ‘em!”

Before lunch, I was allowed to escort two more patients back, and each time they seemed selected especially for me. One was a woman in her mid thirties, and her file indicated that she’d initially come in for a ‘lift and fill’ after having three kids. Apparently unsatisfied with the results (they were deemed ‘insufficient’), she was now taking part in the clinic’s more specialized services, which were now stretching a Three Wolves Howling t-shirt to its limits. She wasn’t Jenny Zhang’s size, but she was definitely on her way. She smiled at me demurely, clearly still getting used to the attention she drew.

The other fellow was similar in a way to Ms McIver, in a fashion. He was a burly young man, college student, with a fresh tan, gleaming teeth and a somehow coiffed buzzcut. Normally he would have been the sort of person I thought of as a ‘dudebro’, which is to say he reminded me of every jerkass who made my life hell growing up, but he was nothing if not polite as we chatted on the way back to the exam room. I allowed myself a surreptitious glance, after scanning his chart, and sure enough his khakis showed the clear outlines of two extremely substantial members, one down each pantleg. I couldn’t quite fathom what would make someone want to double their pleasure in that way, but... I couldn’t deny that he seemed happy.

After one morning of working here, I realized that seemed to be a common denominator. This was a medical clinic, sure, but everyone I saw, everyone who came through those doors nursing their early morning coffee, checking texts from work, rifling through the old magazines... everyone was happy to be there. Some changes were quite subtle, some changes were extreme, some changed I couldn’t even figure out (there were a lot of dense acronyms I would need to learn), but everyone who came through here had undergone some sort of voluntary transformation, and it had brought them real, tangible joy.

For that reason alone, I couldn’t imagine working anywhere else.

- - - - -

Since I needed to get some scrubs and other essentials (a breakroom mug that everyone knew was mine, for starters!), lunch was a speedy affair. Missy and Juno whisked me out of the clinic promptly at 12:30, setting the cardboard sign on the door to indicate that we would be back at 1:15. The doctors had left fifteen minutes before, because I guess they ate slower than nurses.

“See ya after lunch!” Carolyn called as she and Darryl headed north across the quad. I waved at them both. My smile faltered when Darryl waved without looking back, hunching his shoulders.

Missy, Juno and I headed southwest. The Cherry Bay Biomedical campus was packed at midday, with patients as well as employees streaming out of every building. Some folks were picnicking on a grassy knoll, surrounded by spring wildflowers. Wheelchairs and motorized scooters whizzed about, longer-term patients and residents getting some much-needed fresh air.

Maybe I was getting more acclimated to this sort of thing, but I started noticing some more... ‘unique’ bodies as we walked, and some people were definitely noticing me. With every step, I was reminded that my pants were extremely ill-fitting, and every time I paused to try and adjust myself I remembered that my breasts were now getting large enough that even seeing my pants was starting to get difficult.

God, this is wonderful, I thought. Even the inconveniences were awesome!

Every time I caught someone eyeing me up, I tried to catch their gaze and smile back. It didn’t always work; some people got bashful or scared, averting their eyes and scurrying away. Some definitely caught my wavelength, though, and I received more than a few lewd winks. One older lady, packing just as much flesh as I was into her hot pink bike shorts, flashed me a double thumbs up.

“This place is... crazy. And awesome,” I breathed. Missy and Juno flanked me, and every time I slowed down too much, either to deal with my outfit or flirt with some stranger, they tugged at my elbows to keep me moving. “I can’t imagine anything like this in Mount Hope!”

Missy nodded firmly. “I grew up in a small town, and I’m fixing to move back there before too much longer,” she said. “But there’s something about the big city for just... helping folks not give a shit. You see a thousand people in a day, and they all look like you? You think that’s how the world’s supposed to be.”

“You see a million people in a day,” Juno continued, gesturing at me. “And a thousand of them look like you? You get used to it.”

I smiled and nodded agreeably. I’m not gonna look like this for very long, I thought, thinking of my slightly-altered pill regimen. There’s not gonna be a thousand that look like me, if I have anything to say about it...

We pulled up in front of one of CBB’s many quick-service kiosks, Remade Ramen. The interior looked like any little Asian restaurant, with a handful of tiny tables and seating for less than a dozen, but the lineup was all the way out the door. It moved quickly, though, and in less than five minutes we were standing at the counter. The menu was an explosion of color, throwing around a lot of terms I didn’t really understand, but Missy ordered for me. Pretty quick we were back outside and walking quickly, slurping noodles out of our giant styrofoam cups and laughing.

I was laughing. On the first day of a new job. On our way to buy clothes. Call me old-fashioned, but this was probably one of the best things that had happened to be since my transformation.

We finished off our speedy lunches in a chorus of loud slurps, tossed the containers into the recycling, and then headed into the Cherry Bay Biomedical Shopping Centre. “I can’t believe this place has a mall!” I said.

Juno shrugged. “Not even close to a real mall. Just enough to service the complex. Banking and insurance, book stores, coffee shops, gifts, and of course clothes!”

“We got a lot of patients that find themselves no longer fitting their old wardrobe,” Missy winked.

“Gee,” I drawled. “I wonder what that could possibly be like.”

Located right on the first floor of the small, brightly-lit shopping tower was a busy boutique that specifically catered to CBB employees. Fully one half of it was dedicated to various scrubs, jumpsuits, coveralls and uniforms, in more colors than I could have even dreamed of back in Mount Hope (boy, I was thinking that a lot these days).

Pretty quickly, I found my ideal sizes. My hips were quite ample (and only getting moreso), and I had a narrow waist, but there were some brands that came with baggier legs. After trying on a couple, showing my clothed junk off for my co-workers, I picked up five pairs of bright yellow pants that had a little give and stretch, and were still a smidgen loose. Juno said I should get some that show my size off a little more, but I just winked and said I planned on growing for a while longer.

Tops were easier, and fortunately came in more styles and cuts than I’d expected. Although overt cleavage was considered technically unprofessional, there were little sidesteps. Juno’s scrubs were quite low-cut, but she wore a tight white shirt underneath that hinted at her own enhanced bust. I grabbed some lilac tops with deep V-necks, and promised that I’d wear the proper chemises to maintain the office dress code.

I got a little nervous when we went to pay, since there were some scary price tags, but Missy was as good as her word. They punched my name into the computer system at the checkout desk, and sure enough I was in the corporate database and credited five pairs of job-relevant uniforms.