A Promise Made

Now that this story was rejected, I can open “A Promise Made” to my blog readers again. 

Be warned, there is sexual content, though I believe the sexuality is appropriate and in no way vulgar. 

A Promise Made

Her body was rougher than last he recalled. As they spooned and their warmth collected, she mumbled something about moving closer before moaning, “Good morning.”

The snooze alarm had not even gone off when she commented on his smooth skin, the sound of deep sleep still stuck in her throat. He assumed she simply felt as comfortable and loved as he did just then. Fourteen years together and every morning still felt like their first together.

The alarm sounded. She pleaded for him not to leave, but one of them had to break up the embrace. He always preferred it to be him. That way she did not have to feel like it was her fault when they separated. With that, he rolled over, slapped the snooze, rubbed his eyes, and stumbled off to shower.

Initially, he thought he was still dreaming. Pinching himself would not work since much of what he looked at did not appear his. His face was his, though it looked as if he had already shaven. The birthmark on his arm still existed where it had the day prior. His hair was disheveled but still his color and length. The similarities ceased there.

How much time passed while he stared into the mirror remained unclear to him. All that could be done was stare at the person staring back. The person in the mirror had the exact same look of befuddlement he felt. He started the shower figuring cold water would wake the senses. He hoped to emerge dripping wet but otherwise no different from when he fell asleep the night before.

An airy cry expelled from him when he gave his body no time to acclimate to the chilly rush of water. Rubbing his eyes again, he turned his back to the steady stream and looked down. Either this was an incredibly vivid dream, or it was no dream at all.

His chest swelled overnight to a size similar to that of his wife when she was pregnant with their little girl, Kira. His breasts were now far perkier than hers had been at the time though.  

His heart pounded at his new bosom so much so he watched them jiggle slightly with each palpitation. Fear bubbled inside that an otherwise malignant set of tumors had decided to come to maturity, with ferocity.

Oddly, he calmed when the thought crossed his mind that not only was this likely twin tumors, but that they likely already had passed the point of operability. Counterintuitive, yes, but perhaps it helped that he reasoned nothing could be done, so why worry. Either way, it happened, there was nothing he could do.

Without thought, he washed his body. As it proceeded, his mind wandered around trying to figure out how to tell his wife the news. It would devastate her. They have not spent an entire day apart since meeting fourteen years ago. Fourteen years ago…today.

“Its our anniversary”,  he realized in a whisper that disappeared into the shower spray.

I cannot tell her today. Of all days to tell her the love of her life is going to die, today cannot be that day.

Looking down again in hopes that the tumors played some trick on his brain and had retracted back into his chest cavity, he was not reassured. They remained bulbous. He looked up at the ceiling searching for answers and came up with another question. As his hand instinctively scrubbed away at his body in morning routine, it passed over his penis with unusual ease.

It was gone.

Lightheaded, he reached for the tiled wall. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. Swollen chests and lost penises don’t happen to non-reptilian males on any regular basis that he was ever aware of. By counting, by slowing his breathing, he figured he could wake himself up. If not completely, enough so that these bizarre hallucinations would dissipate. Rather than look, he reached between his legs. He came up with wiry hairs, little else.

Weighing the possibilities, he dug deeper between his thighs. It was not tucked anywhere viable, though if it had, it would have been a first for him. His fingers found only his own skin. Upon pulling back through, he ran his hand along where his legs met in hopes of grasping at what he missed the moment prior. To his surprise he did find something, though it was not his tucked away genitals. Instead he found a slit.

He slid down the wall of the shower as his premonition transitioned to thought, and thought transitioned to fear. As he touched down on the bath basin, fear turned to utter curiosity.

He poked his swollen chest several times. They did not ache. They were not sore. Truth be told, they felt like his pecs had yesterday, except smoother, and they protruded quite a bit further than last memory served.

This is every man’s dream, he thought.

To have the body of a woman, if for only one day. All men say they would never leave the house. Be this a dream, he could act on that fantasy until he woke. Nobody need be the wiser. Be this not a dream, he was still in the privacy of his locked bathroom. Nothing prevented a harmless frolic through feminine bliss.

So he did.


Showers had not felt so good in years. Heavy humidity clouded his vision as he pulled the curtain back. He reached for his towel, huffing from shortness of breath as if he had just had the best sex of his life. After all, he had.

The softness of the towel produced another wave of sensuality. He could not help but relieve himself with another frolic through his new female sensations.

Opening the door a sliver, he peered out to see if his wife still slept. There was no reason to wake her up this way. The blanket collected all around her as he watched the wave of gentle rise and fall of her midsection. For that brief moment, his present condition melted away.

Only he and his love existed, in perfect harmony. But it could not last.

One swift movement, he slid passed their bed. In the confines of their walk-in closet, he proceeded to dress. Perhaps if he dressed and snuck out of the house, he would wake and this would all disappear. If not, it gave him time to figure out how to explain this to his love on their anniversary.

Pants slipped on with relative ease where once they needed to be pulled over and around his man parts. The cotton felt cool against his newly bare pelvis as if he were putting on the most comfortable pair of silk pajama bottoms. Another wave of sensations threatened to keep him from buttoning his slacks. He grumbled through the urges. Catching his outburst, he looked back at the closed closet door hoping not to wake his partner.

Buttoned, he looked down. He craned his neck to look beyond his swollen bosom. The front of the slacks appeared not his own. Everything looked the same as the day before except for the contours his new body provided. One hand rubbed the sleek, unencumbered fabric as he took in his new point of view. His other hand reached down and pulled the first away. Rushes of sensations he thought might never subside were increased. Pulling away provided only modest relief.

He grabbed the first button shirt his wandering fingers came across. Each arm slid through its sleeves with ease. For a moment, his day was like every other day before this one. As usual, he fastened the very top button first. Two buttons in, the shirt ran out of slack. He tugged and pulled, but his shirt would not close around his newfound breasts.

He bit his lip. He looked back at the closed closet door. Around the closet he looked for something he owned that might be a size bigger. Two shirts later, he found one that at least had enough fabric to clasp the two halves together, if only just.

A sport coat not worn since his college days provided much needed cover to hide his new curves. Looking in the full length mirror of their closet, he smoothed the coat several times and turned to one side, then the other.

It’s not perfect, he thought. But I just might get through the day.

Nothing else to do but leave the closet and join the rest of the world. He hoped he would wake up before his wife rolled over. As vivid as this dream was becoming he wanted no part in explaining his situation to anyone, especially not his beautiful wife, not on their anniversary.

Personal inhibitions aside, he could not remain behind the door forever. Perhaps she slept sound enough to sneak past without detection. Then he heard a rustling of covers. All hopes of continued secrecy went up in a puff of fading smoke. He breathed deep and opened the door.

She still faced away from him. He stared at her silhouette in hopes of determining whether or not she had fully woken. Where gentle waves rose and fell moments ago, her curved side shuddered. Listening hard enough to bring a ringing to his ears, he heard faint whimpering.

She knows, he mouthed. She thinks I somehow did this to myself, that I wanted this.

Earlier sensations of lust dripped away from his hips and into the carpet. How could he feel lust for his own new body when his loving wife struggled to grasp what her husband now was.

I’m disgusting, he realized.

Every piece of him begged to go up to her, to hold her. If only he could tell her it would all be OK in the end. They overcame far greater situations early on in their marriage. They could certainly overcome something as simple as an abnormal growth. After all, neither of them were that shallow.

He could not just leave her crying. He swallowed something hard in his dry throat. Into the bed he climbed, not caring about added wrinkles to his suit coat. Like so many times before, he glided behind her. One arm over hers, one leg against hers. He took precautions to ensure his large chest did not come in contact with her shoulderblades. With his nose and lips, he brushed her hair away from her exposed ear.

She recoiled against his touch. He pulled back knowing he went too far. It was a lot for anyone to handle. How could he expect her to just lay there and be groped by some strange woman she thought she knew before today.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

Held up by his elbow, he waited for her to respond. Her whimpering grew louder. His body quivered as instinct pulled his free hand back toward his love. He drew it back before its fingers finished moving her hair away from her ear. Two more times it inched forward to console. Each time it retreated. Though he felt the urge to hold her, he read into it as only selfish want rather than genuine sympathy. He had no right to touch her. Not like this.

“I…I…” was all he mustered.

She turned her head no more than an inch, but enough to let her eye catch his. There it sat. Something in her eyes triggered his to weep as if they commanded it. His sternum started shaking as he held back everything he wanted to do or say. It was not his place to speak or do anything. She would have to make the first move.

As if she suddenly realized she was not dreaming but awake and all this was real, she exploded out of bed. Her naked body shivered from a chill in the room but not in the air. Standing in front of him as she never had before, one forearm cut across her chest, her hand cupping her left breast. Her free hand raced down her abdomen to her groin. Never being the modest type, he was assured that his recent morph into someone else brought a level of discomfort not experienced in all his years of knowing her.

His tongue fumbled over what words to produce.

“Don’t look,” she screamed, turning halfway around to bare a naked back and butt, of which he knew better than his own hand. Were he capable of such artistic scribblings, he could sketch her curves so perfectly without opening his eyes. His body beckoned for the small of her back like never before.

Taken aback by her comment, he found words, “But Sweetie, you’re just as beautiful as ever. It’s me who should be ashamed. I don’t know what happened.”

At these words, she turned only her head. Her visible eyebrow was cocked. Between whimpers, “What do you mean you should be ashamed? Look at me.” She turned into full view.

He bellowed a thunderous cry, fleeing from their bed, landing against the wall close to the open closet door. There in front of him stood his wife, bare as the day she was born, but not as she was born. Instead, her chest had flattened. Between her legs swung a flaccid object that, because he thought he knew her curves so well, appeared as an out of place growth more than the fully developed penis that protruded from her pelvis.

Nausea crept into his throat as he struggled to grapple with what stood before him.

“What happened to…”

Her arms assumed their initial position covering her privates as she spun around again.

“Don’t look at me. I’m hideous.”

“But this can’t be,” he barked. “It’s me. I’m the one. This is my dream. How the hell.” His last comment came out less a question than an exclamation of doubt.

“You,” she turned her head back to him. “You?”

“Yes,” he unfastened his suit coat. Then he unbuttoned his shirt. His hands shook making the already awkward swollen chest a more complicated obstacle to overcome. Frustrated, he tore his shirt, popping off several buttons. Then he undid his slacks, which slid to the floor.

She turned and let out a scream he did not think possible of any human let alone his own wife. She covered her mouth with both hands as she spun around. Their bare bodies, awkward and new, faced each other with unabashed curiosity.

For a long time neither spoke, nor moved. They simply stared. No sound but their breathing entered or left their bedroom. He wondered if this even was a dream. No dream in all his years of dreams ever had such a long, uncomfortable moment in space and time as this. He looked at his naked chest again in hopeful reassurance that things were not as they seemed. But there they stood, at attention, like budding flowers of a virgin college freshman.

He looked back across the room at his wife. Her chest appeared concave juxtaposed to what his brain expected to see. He felt his head cock to one side as his gaze meandered southward.

It was just as hairless as she had kept her previous parts. That much had not changed. But the similarities halted there. Tears welled in his eyes as his thoughts wandered into what possibilities lay ahead. How could they possibly move forward. He was not gay, nor was she.

As a single tear escaped his right eye and crashed on his bare foot, his look sharpened on her flaccid appendage. Certain he saw it quiver somewhat, he rubbed his eyes and looked again. It began to point at him. He looked back up at his wife. Her face shined with emotion running down her cheeks. He watched her lip shake like a child about to fall to the floor in a fit of tears. Something beneath his new breasts broke in two. Nothing hurt him more than to see his wife fall apart in front of him.

He felt the muscles in his face tighten as he took a step. Then another. Around the bed he tiptoed until they stood as close as they stood on their wedding day. The same tears flowing down her face, the same butterflies fluttering in the pit of his stomach. In her eyes he witnessed the same fear and ache he melted away as he slipped that ring on her finger.

He reaffirmed his promise.

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