My third comm I got from AmberHuntWrites. She no longer writes here, but you should check her out here: https://amberhuntwrites.blogspot.com/?zx=f27b352d3ed9f1cf

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I've been in love with Elliot ever since he moved in three months ago. Not even the fact that he was a trans man could cool the passion. Only, he's gay. Totally not into women, which leaves me out in the cold.

In addition to that, I have a little problem with a transformation virus, and not the regular kind. If I only turned into a dude, I'd be fine and could pursue Elliot, but not, poor me, poor little Mary, has to have the kind that activates at random and turns me into something I can't plan for.

Anyway, I figured what the hell, and i snuck into his house one day when I noticed he'd left the back door open after exercising. After taking in his musk in from the room, I let myself relax and waited for the transformation to happen.

But instead of turning into something useful like pants or even a pair of boxers, I floated to the floor as a pair of dark socks. And there I waited for no telling how long. There wasn't a clock in the exercise room, and on top of that, I had landed so that the part of my new body that housed my eyes was folded over on myself, leaving me effectively blind.

Eventually, though, Elliot returned and was apparently ready to work out again. He kicked off his flip-flops and noticed me on the floor. Next thing I knew, I was being stretched and pulled over his sweaty feet. His odor became my odor. His shape became my shape. I was as much a part of him as I was myself. He started with stretching, and each time he touched his toes was heaven to me. Finally, I was getting some attention from him. Finally, I was feeling his touch. The trouble was, well, you know how some people have a feet fetish. I have the opposite. I hate feet. I think feet are the most disgusting part of the human body. So while the touch was nice, the prospect of living my new life wrapped around his toes, insteps, and ankles kept me on the verge of vomiting--not that I could in my new form, but I could still experience the feeling of needing to in my memories. Not pleasant in the least.

He did some stretching, some yoga, even a little weight lifting, and in the end, I was drenched with his stench. Not scent. Not just odor. But full-on stench. He peeled me off and dropped me into the hamper. I could see for a few minutes, but even that disappeared when the rest of his workout outfit was dropped on top of me.

And there I stayed for several days. Little did I know that Elliot wasn't the type to wash his stuff more than once a week, and then in a marathon session that got it all clean. By the time he took me out, even I couldn't stand to be around me. I was rank.

Well, it's not all bad. I'm still socks. I'm still stuck on his feet. I'm trying to get over that, but at least he doesn't only wear me for workouts. Sometimes I even get to relax and watch some TV, like tonight. I'm even learning to enjoy all those stupid game shows he loves so much.

The image used doesn't belong to me and I will remove it at the behest of the copyright owner. I claim no ownership of the image.