(MtF TG)

There were few benefits to working a late shift. Friends weren’t able to hang out, cute girls had already bedded up for the night, and nothing good was on cable. But there was one benefit that Carl privately enjoyed: Carl could toke up without any judgment from the neighbors.

Carl leaned back in his cushiony sofa, a lazy smile on his face as he admitted the joint in his hand—or, rather, the contents it held. According to the store’s clerk, it was pure fire, the best smoke a guy would have in his life.

With hype like that, who could possibly pass it up? He kicked his feet back and clicked his lighter, taking a lingering look at the dancing flame before touching it to his blunt’s rolled tip. It caught after a moment’s pause, and a surprisingly sweet flavor filled the air.

“Not bad.” He muttered aloud, wondering how it tasted. He sent an idle look to the plush on his right, his smoking companion for the night. It was a stuffed cat from a game one of his friend liked, and was the perfect thing to hug when blazed. “You get any of that?”

Carl took the plush’s answer for a yes, and touched his lips to the blunt, taking in a low, long drag. It filled his mouth with a warm, caramel flavor—one that was surprisingly fruity for its flavor. Better yet, it hit quickly, and he could feel his worries and tensions evaporating away.

Carl really needed this. It had been a long day at the office, with hard questions that were still below his engineering degree. In spite of that, they were aggravating enough to set his teeth on edge, and worded in such a way that he felt small despite his average stature.

Conversely, right now Carl felt like he could touch the clouds. “Five eleven, and ready for heaven.” He breathed softly, his voice losing some of its natural hardness. Society didn’t think well of soft-spoken men, and so he tended to put on a façade-one that quickly dropped while under the influence.

His toes curled in his shoes, and he wiggled his rear in his seat, blissfully ignorant of the subtle softening of his features, or the way his clothes hung just a little looser on his frame. He let out the hit with purse of his lips, puffing a thin trail of sugar into the air.

His lips remained plush after the motion, soft and welcoming. His tongue played along them, letting them glisten in the faint light. His pulse slowed in his chest, which swelled with the motion of his breathing. He arched his back, curling it more and more until there was a satisfying pop that made his new breasts jiggle.

Carl stayed like that for a few moments, toes curling easily in his roomy sneakers, soft thighs straining to hold him in what looked like an erotic yoga pose. The young man had dropped nearly half a foot in height, with no sign of slowing, even now.

He slumped back down into a much roomier seat, nearly bouncing back up as his butt ballooned out. Of course, his hips had to swell to accommodate, which also meant that his pesky manhood needed to pull back into himself. Carl didn’t notice these as much as the warm, delightful spiritual massage he was receiving.

Every change brought with it a warm, kneading sensation that made him squirm in his loose clothes, smiling like a loon. She kicked off her loose shoes one at a time, holding in another great, warm hit. It was great, perfect, and… Not what weed normally felt like. Ever.

The realization doused him like a bucket of cold water, and he sat upright in an instant, the wide neck of his shirt falling over his left shoulder. Much as he didn’t want to stop feeling so great, his analytical mind knew something was awry, and wouldn’t be sated until it had been found.

“I… Uh…” He blinked, vision blurring for a second. His right hand gripped his breast with a curious expression, one that flitted away to a nervous anxiety. “I dunno if I feel right, you know? I think that I’m seeing things?”

His plush elected not to respond.

“Helpful.” He muttered, crinkling his nose. It tingled for a second, losing an aquiline edge in favor of a cute, rounded button. Ironically, the plainest feature on his face escaped his notice, as he instead looked down to his body.

He wasn’t that high. He was sure of it. Right? It wasn’t like weed hit him any harder than alcohol, and he’d been blackout drunk once or six times, but who was counting? Probably not him… He shook his head, ignoring how his long hair flicked against the backs of his ears.

Something was up. His paranoia had been sparked, and he needed to douse it before it ruined his buzz. He took another puff of his blunt, holding it in while he pulled out his phone. His hands softened further, shrinking just slightly. By the time his phone was before his face, a stranger’s fingers were gripped around its edge.

Carl didn’t know why he had the urge to take a selfie, but something triggered the urge to. His phone’s camera clicked, and he tapped the preview image, looking at his reflection. A soft, delicate, feminine face looked back at him. She had rounded cheeks, a sign of a cute chubbiness that didn’t cross the line to fat. Her hair was down to her shoulders, and her eyes twinkled with a blue light.

“Well, glad everything’s in order.” He muttered, looking at his reflection for a few seconds longer, proud of its cuteness. Then he leaned forward, tapping the phone against his soft inner thigh. “But there’s got to be something else…”

He trailed off, seized by a sudden impulse. He looked to his phone again, flicking to the left and looking at the last photo he’d taken. A sloped male visage looked back at him, a quiet anxiety in the man’s eyes and a forced grin on his face. For some reason, this was equally familiar to the young man.

Carl wriggled in place, reaching his hand towards his crotch to adjust his shorts. They were really riding up, getting deep into his… He blinked, looking to the photo again and pairing it with the sensation that his body was telling him.

Then he looked down slowly, to the breasts hanging from his chest. “Oh nads, I’m a girl.” Carl breathed, spending a long second in that calm before panic struck. He-she?

He?

God, why didn’t he spend more attention to those gender politic protestors on his old campus! She. She was a girl, so she’d refer to herself as one. That made sense. One problem done. Probably.

Carl stood up, moving at a brisk pace toward her room, to grab a notebook and start writing a chain of events. Said task was made difficult by the fact that her shorts were now around her ankles. After a few shuffling steps, she crinkled her nose and kicked them to the side of her room.

“Jeez, stop! I need to think and stuff!” She struggled to focus, her shoulders slumping. She swayed back and forth like an inebriate, and thought it a rather good word for her situation. “Okay, calm down. Stop acting like an ineebrit… Aneebrat? In… Drunk person.”

Her cheeks flushed, her attempt at a pep talk dying on her admittedly gorgeous lips. Her professors back at community university would have thrown a fit at her bastardization of the word. Community university? She was pretty sure that didn’t sound right. It was really more of a community college, after all… And she didn’t even get a diploma, so why was she remembering it now?

Her brow furrowed, and even in her current state, she realized that her thoughts were slowing. Like, more than the usual high level of slowing. Carli growled under her breath, only to gag at the taste. “Gross, it’s like I have guy breath.” She muttered, taking a deep puff of the joint in her hand to wash it out.

Carla realized it was a mistake a second later. She… Wait, Carla? Carli? No, that wasn’t right. She was… Calsie? She… She didn’t know. She crinkled her eyes, struggling to remember a life beyond her intelligence. Not that she was dumb or anything, she just wasn’t an honors student.

That said, she’d never thought she was dumb enough to forget her own name. ‘Carla’ didn’t sound right, not entirely. ‘Carli’ didn’t either, but the last part had a good ring to it. She took another hit and wobbled back towards her couch, squishing her plump butt against its cushion.

“CarLi… Li… Something. Lisomething? Li…suh… Oh! Duh, Lisa.” She slapped her palm against the side of her head, and giggled cutely. “Now that I’ve got that in order, it’s time to… What was I doing again?” She remembered wanting to go to her bedroom for something, but couldn’t quite grasp it.

Her soft belly rumbled, and she looked down to it with a squeak. “Oh! My cookbook! Duh, that’s what I was getting!” She giggled, fond aspirations of her life as a chef heading to the forefront of her mind. Some people would judge her for working late in the kitchen, but some people didn’t get high and try her Cajun chicken.

Lisa took one last drag on her joint before letting it drop into her ashtray, hopping to her feet with a hum. Her short, curvy body practically bounced with a giddy delight, utterly at odds with the man she’d once been.