Person-al Penile Protection

Author's note: This story contains depictions of a woman transforming, graphically and willingly, into a sentient male contraceptive. As I suspect this concept may, perhaps, have limited appeal to those not already possessing some form of fetish for similar content, I figured' I'd give a heads-up before you invest time into something you aren't necessarily going to dig.

Contains temporary, self-initiated girlfriend-to-condom TF, one-on-one coupling, and what probably (?) qualifies as vaginal sex. Written in the second person.

*****

"You ready, Mags? Done getting dressed yet?"

"No, I'm not! Stop asking, already!"

The sound of Maggy's annoyed voice emanating from your bathroom door brings a grin to your face. You know she's starting to get a little pissed off at your incessant nagging - but can't help yourself from teasing her. She always gives you the best reactions.

"Well, try to hurry it up, at least! You don't want us to be the last ones there, do you?"

*Click*

The bathroom door opens just enough for your girlfriend's face to pop out and glower at you - though her short brown bangs, still matted to her forehead with the remnants of her shower, do her no favors in looking menacing.

"C'mon, stop it! Don't be a jerk! Or I'll wear YOU over there!"

She glares at you, irritated. Then she disappears back behind the door.

You laugh to yourself at the empty threat, but decide to leave her to her preparations. Walking over to the window, you pull out your cell, content to bide your time as you wait for her; you've still got a little of it to waste, after all. Outside, the sun's nearly completely vanished, leaving only the barest glimmer of natural light still reflecting off of the tops of the surrounding buildings, and only just outlining the distinctive shapes of the campus in the distance. The streetlights illuminating the sidewalks below, however, shine brightly to compensate - and reveal to you the forms of a number of other students, all going about their own business in the twilight. Some traveling in tight-knit, hesitant cliques as they familiarize themselves with the area; others on their own, allowing themselves to settle back into older routines.

And others, you think, wryly grinning, with a more specific goal in mind. One you yourself hoped would soon lead you outside to join them.

Once Maggy was finally done preparing, at least. In the meantime, though, you simply watch the thinning crowds through your new apartment's window. There's a number of "normal", people, of course - most, yourself included, fell into that category when out in public - but the ratio of them compared to the more interesting figures was DEFINITELY more skewed towards the latter here on campus than it was back at home. Just looking outside, you can already spot pretty much all the standards, and a few more creative ones besides. An entire group of giggling women, each clearly acquainted with one another, walk together, each of their twitching ears and cat-like tails leaving thin, energetic shadows dancing behind them with every lamppost they pass; across the street, and a ways behind them, a man paces alone, his unnatural, pitch-black skin rendering him nearly invisible, as if he were a shadow himself. You probably wouldn't have even been able to notice him at all, actually - if it weren't for the bright, neon pink shirt he wears, a large, bubbly "Bad Girl" clearly printed in cutesy lettering on its front.

You thumb through your phone, briefly wondering whether the shirt or its wearer was the bad girl in question - It could go either way around here, really. But it only takes you a moment to find the message you're looking for, and the thought's quickly wiped from your mind as you re-scan the invite, double-checking its contents. Then, satisfied, you place the phone back in the pocket of your jeans. You can hear the sound of a running sink from the bathroom, and briefly entertain the temptation to tease Maggy again; ultimately, however, you decide against it. As fun as doing so would be, in all honesty, her slowness IS starting to worry you a little. Knowing her, you'd have thought she'd have been ready an hour ago, but she seems uncharacteristically...hesitant, tonight.

And you really can't figure out why. You KNOW she's not prudish, and it's not like she hadn't known you'd be getting invites; the event had practically become common knowledge for just about everyone who wasn't a freshmen. And even most of them were in on it too, these days; a couple more years, and it'd practically count as campus move-in tradition. Pretty much everyone went, if they could. It was a great way to get to know some new people - and have a good time, besides. And yet...

You sigh, flopping down on your shared bed. Ever since the rsvps had come in yesterday, Maggy had just been acting off. Usually, she'd be the first one to jump at anything pervy, but you can't deny she's been dropping some rather obvious hints that she has, at the very least, some reservations she's keeping hidden from you. And, as much as you like annoying her, you aren't an asshole. True, you've been looking forwards to going as a couple all summer, but if she DOES have some kind of issue with it...

...well, you hope it's only overactive nerves, or something else like that.

*Click*

Your thoughts are interrupted as, in your periphery, you spot the bathroom door opening again - and Maggy stepping out from behind it. Worryingly, a towel is all she has draped around her body; she's even less ready then you'd figured she was. You lazily roll onto your side, propping yourself up on an arm, ready to teasingly chide her slowness again. But you quickly notice a different problem that overrides whatever witticisms you've prepared for the occasion: her amber eyes appear to be avoiding your own.

You watch her for a moment longer, hoping your assessment is wrong. And, well, kinda enjoying the view, too. Maggy's 'normal' body is fairly small in stature, standing just over five feet tall, but her fluffy lime towel's a good bit smaller than even that, and leaves more than enough of her skin exposed to satisfy your tastes. The little bit of extra chub she carries works entirely in your favor, too; she's not fat, by any means - but the little extra heft to her thighs? The slight pudginess of her stomach, the adorably bulbous bounce of her bum? They're normally MORE than enough to get you going. The way she left her natural figure as it is just so uncommon - and it does some strange fuckin' things to your dick.

You can't deny what you see, though, nor fully enjoy the view because of it. Her steps are weirdly stiff, almost huffy, as she steps across the apartment floor. She only throws a cursory glance back towards you, her eyes irritable, to reorient herself before bending down. Apparently making sure not to accidentally show you too much as she moves to collect a blouse from her hamper.

Something's wrong after all. Her body language practically screams it.

...Damn it. Sometimes you wish you were an asshole.

"Mags, you know, if something's bothering you", you finally comment, hesitant to follow through, "We don't HAVE to go. I can explain it to the guys easily enough, tomorrow."

"It's not the guys I'm WORRIED about!" she snaps back, suddenly turning towards you. Her intensity startles you, making you jump a bit on the mattress - but it seems to startle her far more. Her eyes widen, the forcefulness of her outburst evidently unexpected; her cheeks quickly flush with blood, too, making her embarrassment apparent. You stare at her for a second, watching the redness spread rapidly across her face, uncertain how to respond to the uncharacteristic outburst. Then, finally...

"Pfff..."

You can feel the noise building in your chest, although do your best to arrest it, pursing your lips. You bite your tongue, too; you'd read somewhere doing that helped. This clearly isn't the time to giggle at her - you'd prefer to stay on Mag's good side, preserve whatever chance at action you might still have - but her reaction is just too perfect. Like a puppy startled by its own sneeze.

"Don't laugh! Please, just, don't..." she responds. But far less forcefully, this time. She's still squatting by her hamper, and she's still avoiding your gaze, her eyes apparently finding the carpeting to be far more worthy of their attention. This time, however, her motivation in doing so seems a bit different. More than likely, she probably thinks it's doing something to hide the scarlet flush of her face. Though it's really not. But, either way, you do your best to restore your own composure before asking the obvious question.

"And just what do you mean by that??"

"The...the girls!" Maggy dumbly stammers out in answer. But she doesn't give you any more than that. Which isn't exactly what you'd call helpful.

"What about them? Most of your girlfriends'll probably be there, too."

You're still grinning, but manage to refrain from actually laughing as you try to pry her issue out of her. This, at least, you were used to; she never did immediately give you a straight answer when something was bothering her. It was a little annoying, admittedly - but also a little cute.

Plus, this little quirk of hers tended to give you some rather easy setups to tease her with.

"Oh, DEAR. Don't tell me it's ME." You tsk at her in mock disapproval. "You're not trying to keep me all to yourself here, are you? That's not very nice, you know. This-"

You gesture to your body with mock seriousness.

"-Was meant to be SHARED with the-"

"Oh, shut up! Don't be weird!"

Suddenly, a wadded-up sock comes flying through the air, bonking you on the nose. You blink, startled by its sudden impact - but when the momentary shock wears off, you can see Mags has lightened noticeably, and is even giggling a little. You're glad to see it; it's a step in the right direction. Normally, you'd retaliate, but you opt to let her get away with the attack, at least for the moment.

"It's just...it's just that..."

She finally continues, though she struggles for a moment, looking for the right words. But then, oddly, she returns her gaze to the floor - and her speech swiftly shifts to an unclear mumble.

"...gross..."

You cock your head, having missed most of what she'd said. It'd practically been a whisper. But she doesn't repeat herself, or offer you anything else to work with. It actually seems like she might even be a little embarrassed by whatever it is she's said. So you take the initiative, sitting up to better situate yourself. It sucks, but by the looks of things, the night might be off. You're not about to force this on her, after all. Might as well work through this now, right?

"You think it's gross? We can just stay here, then. Sorry for giving you a hard time? I just really figured you'd be into this; hell, I could've sworn you'd already BEEN to a bunch of these kinds of things."

"Nooooo..." she moans in response, rocking in agitation - though she still refuses to budge from her spot on the carpet. "That's not what I meannnn." Then she raises her head, at last allowing her gaze to meet yours. "Come on, you know me better than that. I obviously WANT to go."

"Then what's your issue?" you ask, confused. But Maggy merely scowls at the question - before begrudgingly reiterating what she's already said.

"They're GROSS, ok?? That's my issue! Geez."

This time, you DO manage to catch it - even if what you hear still doesn't make any sense. You stare at her for a second, at a loss for words. You're not so much confused, anymore; more like...weirded out? You just can't make heads or tails of what she's trying to say, is all. Maggy's always been super open to non-standard body configs, after all - and you've CERTAINLY never known her to have had a problem with whatever sexy bits a person happened to sport. She'd made that very, VERY clear early in your relationship. But you can't really come up with another way to take her words.

"...What the hell are you talking about?" You finally reply. You figure you should just ask her directly. Unfortunately, that appears to be the wrong move - as your girlfriend suddenly pounces off the floor, displaying surprising agility as she leaps at you and bowls you over onto your back.

"Hey, what are you-"

But your words are stopped halfway past your lips as Maggy comes to a rest on top of you, her weight knocking the rest of the air out of your lungs. She squirms against you briefly, establishing a defensible position atop your body - but then you can feel her chin scraping against your chest as she excavates her face from your chest. Leaving her irritated, pouting face gazing upwards at you. Or, uh...sideways at you? Towards you, at any rate.

Then she speaks, her voice a good bit whinier than you're used to.

"They're just NASTY! I..."

She hesitates for a second, a complex, mostly indecipherable series of expressions gliding across her face before she continues. "I know it's not right, but I just don't trust them! What if they give you something? Or...or try something weird with you??"

"Again, not really sure what you're - excuse me, what the FUCK?"

But Maggy doesn't wait for your response, or attempt to make herself any clearer. Instead, you suddenly feel her arm shoving itself downwards against your belly, towards your crotch. Where it quickly weasels itself inside your jeans, your girlfriend's fingers coiling insistently around your cock making you swear instinctively. They're fucking COLD.

But then she starts to gently squeeze your junk, and you find your angry shock swiftly diminished.

"...I just...I guess I just really don't want to share you with anyone else, ok??" she finally finishes. "'Cause they're gross", she again clarifies. Then she sticks out her tongue, emphasizing her distaste.

A confession. At last. Took long enough to wring it out of her. Though, to be fair, the timing of your success isn't great. Penis usually came first, after all. You know your priorities. Usually, you'd put her issues on the backburner, at least until you've tried your luck with what you already have.

If, at least, the confession she's given you wasn't so...unexpected. Absurd, even. It takes you a moment to process it, but once you do...

"Pfffffffffff..."

"Hey!"

But you can't help it. The attitude's incredibly old-fashioned; almost hilariously so. Even moreso for the area. You glance down at her, doing you best to look skeptical - but, from what you can see of her serious, insistent expression, she's expecting you to take her at face value.

"Pffffff." Your force that one. Testing her waters one last time. But her forehead only furrows further, her lips pursing with more agitation than you're comfortable with. You feel the hand tighten a bit around your junk, too - presumably a warning.

Ok. Fair enough. An angry girlfriend's the opposite of what you're going for. You'll roll with it. It's the first you're hearing of this particular side of her, though, and you still aren't 100% buying what she's selling you. It wouldn't be the first time she'd tried to manipulate you up with a sob story - and something about a regressive Maggy doesn't seem quite right to you. Assuming it's for real, though, this could be a little annoying. Though it's still somewhat flattering, you suppose; even slightly sweet.

Either way, you're not about to argue against her newly-discovered possessiveness now. Way you figure it, a score's a score, even if it's more vanilla then you'd planned. You can still play this field.

"Ooookay. I guess that's fine? We just won't go, then. I'll stay here with you so you..."

But you again find yourself grinning, unable to resist another easy jab. "So you don't have to worry about me hooking up with any of those other icky girls and-"

"No!", "Oof!", "Eek!"

You've gone a bit far too far with that one, apparently, and she makes a menacing move slam a fist into your chest, once again coming dangerously close to your lungs. This time, however, you're ready for her, and quickly retaliate - playfully pushing her off of yourself, and sending her rolling, surprised, onto the mattress besides you. Though you realize too late that means one less hand down your pants, ruefully watching as Maggy's arm swings out to follow her.

Nevertheless, you haven't missed that "no" of hers. That deserves a follow-up.

"Make up your mind already, girl. We going or not?"

She hesitates, staring up at the ceiling. Then: "Yes. I definitely want to."

"Ok."

"But they're still nasty."

"...Ok?"

You roll your eyes, her contradiction of herself solving nothing. But you're not super interested in arguing this with her. It's her issue to deal with; all YOU need from her is a definitive yes, or a...

But then you think for a moment. Her phrasing does actually kind of rub you the wrong way. You don't really mind her being possessive, but mean-spiritedness doesn't seem Maggy's style. "No, wait. Not ok." You turn your head back towards her, giving her a stern, judgmental stare. Maggy returns it, her indecisive determination unphased. Neither of you move to get up, though.

"What do you mean, nasty? You're not talking about all the women going there, right?"

"I am", she repeats, nodding decisively. "They're nasty."

"They heck makes you say that??"

"They just ARE! You don't know what it's like! They're all sleeping around, all the time!"

"So?? That's not exactly uncommon."

"But what about, like...diseases?? Who KNOWS what those nasty sluts have-"

"Hey now!" you interrupt, her language shocking you. You give her a light, disapproving tap on her arm. "Don't talk like that! What the hell, Mags? We know a bunch of these people. What's your deal?"

"Well, it's true!" She shivers, then, the mere thought seeming to aggravate her. "And just 'cause they're my friends doesn't mean I want them slopping themselves all over you like a bunch of whores!"

"You gonna call Julie that?? What about Barb? How would YOU feel if they-"

But the mention of her friend's names only seems to increase your girlfriend's aggravation - and, with the bedsprings creaking beneath her, she scoots herself back onto the floor, agitated. Her towel only barely succeeds in making the leap with her, but now you barely even notice it. She's started to pace around, and you can hardly believe the change in her demeanor. This, too, is a side of her you've never really seen before. And you're not entirely sure you like it.

"Barb isn't even gonna BE there!!"

"Why not?? Has she not moved into her new place, yet?"

"I'm not sure she's even coming back! Last I'd heard, she'd gone inanimate for who KNOWS how long!"

That one does takes you aback; even around here, going long-term inanimate wasn't exactly common. But you can't say you're completely surprised. Barb always had been a bit of an oddball, admittedly. That does maybe help explain this outburst of hers, though. She and Mags WERE pretty close; you can see how something like that might've been eating at her. This, you can give her some leeway on.

"...Oh. Like...like a shirt, or...?"

"A SEX TOY. A fucking FLESHLIGHT thing."

"...Wow. Boyfriend's a lucky guy, I guess?"

That makes her stops pacing, and she turns to face you again. She looks rather distressed, though it remains a bit difficult for you to take her very seriously, given that she's still mostly naked.

"Not so much. It said in her email said she wanted to be passed around; I think she has a straight-up weekly list of who she wants using her. Like...ARGH!"