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*Ding-dong. Ding-dong.
— Greg, for fuck's sake, goddamn you. I told you to come straight in, not ring the bell and wait for someone to open the door... — I mumbled... or rather, whispered. Or more precisely, she whispered.
I was crouching in the bathroom, staring into the mirror at a curvy stranger with wings instead of arms, massive tits, disgustingly long eyelashes, and a shirt hanging on her like it was on a hanger, tight only in all the wrong places.
My heart was pounding like I'd just gone through defibrillation, and now it was beating from the inside, trying to claw its way out. What the hell is going on?! How the fuck did I end up in the body of my own goddamn made-up heroine from my story?! It was supposed to be just an idea — a fetish fantasy for the site, that's it! Not real life!
— I'm coming in! — I heard Greg's voice and nearly jumped out of my skin, flailing my wings so wildly that a roll of toilet paper flew off the shelf.
— DON'T come into the bathroom! — I yelled, then froze. I forgot, goddamn it, I forgot that I wasn't supposed to give myself away like this. I didn’t even sound like myself anymore, not like a man, not like an adult with a slightly smoky voice. No, my voice now sounded more like some slutty hentai actress. Sickeningly sweet.
— ...Uh... who is this? — came Greg's cautious voice from behind the door. He clearly didn’t expect to hear a woman. — Mike, where are you? Is that, uh, your girlfriend? Are... are you okay?
— Shit... Greg, it’s me! — I shouted, not even believing what I was saying. — It’s Mike! Just don’t freak out and... and don’t come in, just give me a minute!
— ...What the fuck?
I heard him back away from the door, then slow, uncertain steps — he couldn’t decide whether to leave or stay.
Taking a deep breath again, I lifted my wing-hands to scratch my head, forgetting I didn’t have hands anymore. The feather tips slid uselessly through my hair, and I felt one snag on a strand. A sharp sting and overwhelming irritation. Oh sure, why not throw some itching into this absurd nightmare too?!
— Greg, — I groaned, — I’m coming out now, just... just brace yourself, okay? Don’t freak out, don’t scream. Don’t you dare run. And don’t touch me without my permission, goddamn it!
— Uh, are you for real? — he snorted. — Is this, like, a prank? Or are you rehearsing one of your stories live or something? Your voice is actually, like, top-tier. Are you even Brian or some chick? How’d he talk you into this whole mess? And—
— Greg, shut the fuck up, would you?! — I snapped, and once again my voice came out in that disgusting, overly sweet, porn-star tone, like strawberries and cream were stuck in my throat. I winced. Fuck, this is so annoying! You try to sound pissed and end up sounding like you're auditioning for a damn porno.
Silence followed. Too long of a silence not to start freaking out.
— Greg?.. — I muttered carefully, swallowing hard. — Are... are you still there?
— Yeah... — came his muffled voice. — Just waiting. Like, maybe you’re... finishing the transformation or whatever.
I shuddered. Finishing the transformation?! Yeah, sure, hilarious for him — not so fucking funny for me...