Is That Me? Ch. 02 - Treasure Chest

The way the fabric slopes out and off my body, how these fingers graze against my chest, pressing silk into a valley between two unmistakable mounds. They're not just breasts -- they're on my chest! Huge too -- okay, not that big, but definitely a handful. I mean, they're at least bigger than anything I went to bed with, that's for sure.

They're as soft as any other pair I've held, but if I squeeze them, it's like -- oww! Okay, okay, too much. Maybe just one at a time -- oof -- and a little slower than that. Ahh -- even through the gown, that's really good! They're squishier than I expected, but -- ahhh -- it's not like they're all that sensitive on the surface. No, it's almost like there's a little bundle of nerves deep in my chest, a knot just aching to be pressed out by the cushion surrounding it.

Lefty is definitely the peppier of the two...come to think of it, wasn't that arrangement in my old body? Before all of these changes -- "Ohh, f-fuck, that's amazing."

"I-Is someone here!?"

Right... It's just my voice -- this girl's voice that fills her bedroom while she gropes her tits. How they brush against her nightgown with each breath, buzzing along all by themselves from the slightest bit of friction. But maybe she could lean against the bed, close her eyes, slip her hands underneath, and concentrate on making them feel better.

I get to hold them and feel what it's like to be held.

To touch and be touched.

It's almost like Alexa and I could taste both sides of the same reaction.

These strange new sensations building in my chest...This tension that exists on both sides of pain and pleasure, how it insists that I take a handful of myself and work my fingers toward something I've never felt so closely before.

And just like that, a spark crackles out from deep inside me, a short relief that's quickly washed out under another wave of tension that aches to be touched all over again. The words slip out of her mouth before I could think to stop myself, "W-Why don't girls do this all day?"

Another whisper comes out as that same electricity in my chest recharges again, "'Think...I'm getting dizzy." That must've been the last bit of air left in my chest, bound by a tension that burns to the touch like the coldest ice. But if this is how the dream ends, then fuck it -- I'll finish it by pressing on, commanding this woman's fingers to twist and roll against her tits until the feeling consumes us both.

No turning back...

Something's coming...

I'm ready for whatever's coming -- Ahh!

Oh god, no, no, I'm not! This spark filling our chest must be paralyzing every muscle, keeping our hands gripped against the same bundle of nerves that bind them, and now I'm stuck in this moment, frozen at the peak of a sensation...Is it one that I've felt before?

Something about the memory seems to shove that cold tension off a cliff, falling deeper into my chest and through a patchwork of nerves inside me. And like an attempt to catch a falling icicle, the feeling slips past every nerve until it crashes somewhere south of my belly button and shatters into a thousand pieces.

I must've tumbled back down to the carpet somewhere between that and what felt like my brain rebooting. God...Just what was that anyway?! An orgasm in my chest? Is that a thing? And why haven't I woken up yet?

Whoever this woman is, I'm pretty sure she didn't appreciate giving the neighbors a peepshow, so I tip-toe us back to where this all started -- the full-length mirror. The beet-faced girl stares back, fabric bunched up and tucked under her chin, more silly than the sexy than I expected. But she smiles on through auburn curls with an expression that asks, Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

Time to lose this nightgown and take a closer look at ourselves...

I expected some changes from last night, but this was so much more than I imagined. The Alex that I knew was the straightest interpretation of a twink you could think of: a T-shaped boy with enough muscle that said gym-goer, but he wasn't exactly winning any strength competitions either. But this girl's body staring back through my reflection tells a different story. Her name is Alexa, and there isn't a straight angle on her!

Ugh, I have to find a hair-tie or something to keep this mane of hers out of the way. I swear, these strands go all the way down...to my breasts.

--Snap out of it and focus!

It wasn't like I had much chest hair to work with before, but aside from a few stragglers, the only hair left on her is a bit of fuzz that's more ticklish than noticeable. And that always present "I'm bulking" ponch is now more of a curved belly pouch -- just a touch of tummy outlined by the waistband of a pair of lace panties.

Oh. My. God.

My voice trembles, too afraid to speak with anything but a shallow whisper, repeating a phrase that shapes each breath until my chest feels as hollow and flat as the night before, "I have a...I have a...."

I guess I'm still stuck on the sight of them. Panties. Honest to God, plain white -- panties. It's not like this was the first time I wore this kind of uhm...undergarment, but this is different! You just can't exist in panties when you're dealing with a bulge that's constantly straining against the satin, shifting around until you're stiff enough to slip through the top. But instead, this is just a simple bit of fabric resting flat and closer than it ever had before. And how the elastic contours against my thighs...I can't help but whisper it out loud, "This is different."

"I-Is ahh, is anyone home?!"

...Silence.

Right, I keep forgetting that's Alexa's voice, and this is her room...And rather than looking for clues, I've spent the better half of the morning fondling myself, staring down through a valley between the mounds on her chest... It's enough to make a girl weak in the knees -- boy, man. Whatever. Would it be so bad if I slipped my thumbs under the waistband and took a peek?

Tracing my fingers against the fabric, I can recall a few moments like this that always kept the experience all too brief, usually from a woman who didn't appreciate a guy gawking at her...bits. What could I say on a date, "Hey, I'm really more curious than horny. Mind if I take a look down there for a while?" Talk about a mood-killer!

At least with porn, I could take all the time I wanted, but it's not like I could reach through for a hands-on look, let alone get a glimpse at what it's like to really experience sex from the other side. But something about this...even for a dream -- it's just too easy! I mean, the tits are fun...but dreams like this always end the same way. As soon as these painted fingernails lift the fabric, I'll wake up and Alexa and everything else in her little pastel-colored room will disappear for good. But I guess I could always say it was fun while it lasted, that is, if I remember any of this when I wake up.

I might as well see how far I can get...If I could lean down and brush these pesky strands of hair back....Now just lift the panties and start with a peek....

...Light-headed, the first sign of trouble...

...Next comes the fade to white...

...Oh my god, I can actually see that I have--

"It's a pussy!" I shout, the revelation echoing off the ceiling and no doubt to the entire city block. But I don't care anymore -- this is amazing! Bit by bit, the panties slip down and all I can do is whisper it to myself all over again, "I have a...I have...a...."

But the excitement is cut short. Not by a sudden pull back to my waking life, but by a voice shouting from afar, "Alexa! Breakfast!"

Shit! Someone else is here! And just when I was getting a glimpse at myself too!

"--You awake yet?" they ask, maybe down the hall, or are they behind the bedroom door? Oh, what difference does it make -- I gotta get dressed! The panties must be sensing my desperation, rolling up and around itself -- how is it so flimsy and yet so impossible to get back on right? "Oof!" I yelp, yanking the fabric up and past my waist to wedgie levels of elevation.

God, this still looks so bad, though. If I could just lock the door before they barge in and see me...

But only after just a few steps toward the door, my new assets and I tumble down into the cream-colored carpet. "Owwww -- fuck!" I cry, nursing the rug-burn on my forearms; a painful lesson that sprinting in a nightgown was a mistake.

The sound of a stifled but familiar cackle pours out from behind the door that I'm frantically crawling toward, gracelessly flailing at the little brass boob-shaped knob with a lock where the nipple would go. "Everything okay in there?" they ask as the lock goes from outie to innie with a click. I can almost recognize the woman's voice, but all my brain power is tied up in remembering how to talk, "I-I'm...I'm getting dressed--"

But my attempt at good human talk is cut short by the tearing of the stitches in my shoulder straps, quickly followed by the feeling of them slipping off to join the rest of the gown still caught under my knees.

The woman's voice perks up again, "Lex, you alright in there?" What am I supposed to say: I woke up as a girl and spent half the morning on the floor groping myself? She gives the locked knob a jiggle, "Everything alright? Need me to come in?"

"Yesss...I-I mean n-no!" God, why does everything have to sound so high-pitched? Maybe if I clear my throat again and attempt at something bassier. "Ahem...Who~ooo's there?" I ask, a touch more well-spoken than an owl's first run at English.

"Your rooooomate?" she replies and asks again, "You sure you're alright? I heard a lot of noise, and it's umm...almost noon."

Like everything else in Alexa's reality, she sounds so familiar!

She continues, "And if you're wondering what that delicious smell is...I'm making breakfast, so you better hurry up before I feed yours to the dog -- Oh, heck! The dog!" Her hurried voice seems to fade out in footsteps down the hall, "Just shake a leg, alright?"

As I lift up and off the carpet for the third time since getting out of bed, I think now would be an excellent time to take stock of Alexa's life. Apparently, she has a nosey roommate that'll paw at her locked door like a cat and will probably come back up here if I take too long. I still can't find Alexa's phone either, so I'm not even sure where she lives! But at least that mystery lady didn't see this perverted train wreck of a morning, barging in as I practically hulked out of her nightgown. Well, I'm not about to walk Alexa out looking like she just came back from a night out as a werewolf. We need clothes.

Parting back the sweat-soaked curls behind ears, I step toward what I think is her dresser, shuttling the drawers open, desperately looking for something normal to wear.

So this is actually her house...

And didn't that person call me Alexa? Maybe she's my long-lost twin!

...I mean, maybe we switched bodies! Some spell, gamma rays from space, a magic skirt, or even a cursed pair of panties, bras and blouses and, and...

Ugh! Doesn't she have anything to wear that isn't so girly?!

No, no, and definitely not, but the black sport-shorts and white tank-top look like our best shot at something gender-neutral.

Taking what's left of the nightgown off is really just letting it slip off my body, and pulling the shorts up seems to go smoothly, "S-Shame," I mumble, "A-Almost like I'm wrapping Christmas presents back up." But the tank-top isn't so straightforward. Sliding the opening past my curls is hard enough, but the feeling of my now liberated tits swaying back and forth is another level of distraction. One shimmy dance later and the entire top eventually slides over my chest until the nipples are snug and imprinted against the fabric, seemingly pleased with our arrangement, the pair responding with a pleasant buzz. "D-Don't you two start with that again," I hiss, then compromising on a softer tone, "But later though, I promise."

It has to be at least five minutes after I'd gotten dressed, but now that I've seen Alexa in the sunlight, I can't seem to pull myself away from the mirror. Just look at her eyes! They're the same color as mine were, hazel with a starburst of green. There are just so many little things that have changed from who I was last night, and yet when I really look at her, really see her as a person, there's more of myself in Alexa than I first thought.

When she stares back at me, her gaze seems to ask, how did we get like this? But I can't even begin to think of when we first met, at least not without that pulsing headache coming on again.

"Maybe I can just stay up here and touch m-my...her -- ughhh -- I can't even say the words out loud."

Breathe. This isn't so bad! There are worse things to wake up as than a girl, and whatever's outside Alexa's room might just hold the next clue as to how I ended up in her body. Maybe she's the type of girl who wanted to live as a boy and is having a great time back in my old body....

Maybe I could enjoy this for just a bit longer.