(Fic) One Day In The Life Of Buffy Summers (Ch.2 of 10)
Buffy's having a really strange day.
Here's Chapter Two of this fic. Chapter One is here.
This chapter is 1792 words and rated 18R (NC-17). Characters, in order of appearance: Just Buffy. Well, unless you count Buffy's new appendage as a character in its own right... which at the moment, is rather how she thinks of it.
(Author's note: if you want an exact timescale for this fic, it probably takes place shortly before the events of 'Conversations With Dead People'. However, I've altered the continuity a little to move Spike into Buffy's basement straight away, instead of into Xander's spare room... mostly so in later chapters I can have her interacting with him without having to leave her house.)
Chapter 2: In which Buffy goes to the bathroom
Buffy stumbled her way along to the bathroom in a kind of daze, cold chills running up her body. She didn't often bother locking the door, but now she really felt she had to. So far, she'd done her best to avoid thinking about the sheer reality of her situation. The cold, hard (ahem) physicality of it. It was just some waking nightmare - or alternatively, a source of mirth for her supposed "friend" whom she'd definitely have to get back at one of these days. But it would soon be over, and until then she'd ignore it as best she could.
But there were certain activities where ignoring the new shape of her body was not actually possible.
She stood staring at the toilet as if it were some alien object, as if she'd never seen one before in her life. Did she really have to do this? Maybe it was all just an illusion and her body would turn back to normal. Any moment now.
Come on, come on. Please change back.
She even went to start her bath running, hoping to give herself more time. But the sound of the flowing water mingled with the increasingly urgent signals from her bladder, and she realised that denial wasn't working. So at last she walked back over, gingerly reached out her hand and lifted the toilet seat a little way... hesitated, then firmly swung it to the upright position. Come on. Men did this all the time, didn't they? So then she looked down at her front, and for the first time grasped for real something she'd known intellectually all her life: men's pants had a flyhole at the front. Her pyjamas didn't. So after a moment's indecision she pushed them right down and stepped out of them.
Which, of course, was when she actually saw it for the first time. Her - she didn't really want to say the word, even in the privacy of her own mind. Her thing. At least it wasn't erect any longer; it just kind of dangled there, all limp and ugly. How was she supposed to pee without getting it all over the floor? (Although men do that all the time too, part of her mind commented sardonically). Was she going to have to - gulp - hold that thing? Point it? She couldn't. She just couldn't.
In a state of near-panic Buffy pulled the seat back down, turned around and sat on it.
A few minutes later, as she sank back at last into the piping hot bathwater, she finally felt calm enough to relax again after her trauma. Maybe the fact that the rich foamy suds completely hid her new body from view helped her with that. She told herself firmly to sort herself out. This was just a stupid magical curse, and at least she wasn't invisible or singing or hearing voices in her head this time. She was just a man, her and three billion other people on the planet. She could cope. She just needed to get a grip.
That was a really unfortunate phrase to use, she thought, as her new appendage seemed to stir to life again as the warm water lapped around it. She tried to push it back down again, then blinked at how pleasant the contact felt. Experimentally, she touched it again. Mmm. Kinda nice.
No. Kinda freaky! She let go hurriedly and moved her hands far away. She shouldn't!
Why shouldn't she? After all, it was Saturday morning, with Dawnie out of the way and Willow off doing her own thing (and Spike locked up in the basement, but don't think about him), and a little pleasant me-time was a perfectly normal and natural thing for her to indulge in. Wasn't it? She had nothing to be ashamed of. And while she hopefully wouldn't be this shape for long, she'd be damned if she'd let her own (temporary) body freak her out like this.
And so before her courage could fail her again, she reached out and took firm hold of her... her.. her.. (say it!) her dick. It seemed to get harder than ever, and she started stroking her fingers up and down gently. She'd done this before enough times, of course, but always from the opposite perspective - and, well, she'd never had such direct and immediate feedback on what it felt like. This was actually rather good. Her breathing quickened as her hand slid up and down steadily, the water splashing and dancing around her in a rhythmic motion, sounding loud in her ears. She could feel the pleasure mounting up inside her, her hand flying rapidly up and down her shaft, faster and faster, her heart pounding in her chest, until before she ever expected it her body arced and twisted as her face pulled into a silent scream and she felt a series of powerful clench-and-release sensations deep down, like normal orgasmic contractions but somehow more focussed and sharply defined. And then she collapsed back limp into the water, eyes closed and barely able to move a single muscle.
She wasn't sure how long she lay there; time seemed to slow to a crawl. She'd never felt this lethargic, but it was kind of like being cocooned in a warm haze. It was nice. Vaguely, she began pondering how male orgasms compared to the female type she was used to. It wasn't better, as such, but it was more... intense? Abrupt? Like jumping off a balcony instead of sliding down the bannisters. She grinned, thinking she was possibly the only person in the world with the first-hand knowledge to make that comparison.
And then she suddenly realised that if she was now a man, then when she felt those peculiar contractions as she came... she must have been ejaculating. Into the bath. So the water she was now lying in... uurrggh! Lethargy forgotten, she sprang out of the bath in a shower of spray and stood dripping on the rug, resisting the urge to scrub at her body with her hands. Eww eww eww.
Oh God. What if she became pregnant? Then she caught herself, and stifled a slightly mad giggle. Of course she couldn't become pregnant, she was a man now! Curiosity overcoming revulsion, she peered over into the bath and swept the suds away with her hand, looking to see if she could spot any trace of her recent activity in the water. She couldn't. But she'd better rinse out the bath extra-carefully now after she emptied it.
As the water drained away down the plughole, Buffy studied her new body with renewed interest. Her little orgasmic adventure had at least done some good; she was no longer scared to look at herself. The person who stared back at her in the mirror seemed almost a stranger, but not quite. He was quite a lot taller than her, and his face was more solid-looking; shorter-necked and with a definite adam's apple that bobbed as she swallowed. But the eyes were still identical, and the nose, and as she became more accustomed to the sight she decided that he looked much like her brother might have appeared, if she'd had one. His body was in excellent condition; trim with well-defined muscles - if a little more thin and bony than she really liked her men. Buffy looked with approval and then wondered why she didn't feel any twinge of lust.
She moved her hands up over her torso, watching as the man in the mirror did the same thing. The flatness of her chest didn't really bother her that much; but she still thought those tiny nipples were creepy. Her arms and legs were smooth, and that actually disturbed her even more. Shouldn't they be hairy if she was a man now? Her face actually felt more stubbly than her legs, and she realised with a jolt that she'd need to shave at some point. Cross that bridge when you come to it, Buffy. The man in the mirror also had long blond hair, which made him look kind of bohemian and artistic (or possibly a hippy and/or gay). As she looked at it, Buffy suddenly realised something crucial - and the man in the mirror made his mouth into an 'o' of surprise to match her own. That man's hair was in the exact same style as her own hair had been last night. Clearly her sex had changed, but not any alterations she'd made herself to her body. Which also explained why her legs were still shaven; and, when she turned her head and pushed back her hair to check, she still had pierced ears. Right. That made more sense now.
Finally, her inspection complete, she turned her gaze back to the most, um, obvious sign of her change. Her penis still seemed like this enormous and obtrusive thing tacked onto the front of her body, but now with a more relaxed and judicious eye she realised that actually, it wasn't the biggest she'd ever seen. Comparatively speaking.
Oh great. Thanks a lot, universe. First you hand me the small boobs, and now the little dick?
Well, okay, not that little. In fact, it actually seemed to be growing again. Buffy watched in fascination this time as her newly acquired male genitalia firmed up into an erection once again. She even helped it along a little with some judicious hand contact. But her penis looked peculiar somehow, and she frowned as she tried to work out why. Then it clicked; she wasn't circumcised. Well of course, since she obviously hadn't been as a woman either and this must be something else that carried over. She wondered what difference it would make; she really didn't have much experience with guys to base her conclusions on. (For the record: Parker yes, Riley yes, Spike no, but she'd not really been in the mood for tender and patient exploration of her partner's body that year. Maybe she should talk to him about it? Ooorrr maybe she should dance naked in a feather boa down Main Street, because that would be slightly less embarrassing. And speaking of embarrassment - Angel: she couldn't actually remember. That night had been too much of a blur in her mind, and afterwards...) Her thumb teased her foreskin, sliding it back and forward experimentally.
Was it self-indulgent to jerk off twice in once morning? Buffy quickly decided the answer was 'no'; and besides, now she was really curious to know what her, um, her very own sperm would look like.
And she also discovered that as a man, she was tall enough that the bathroom sink came to her thighs instead of her waist.
On to Chapter Three
Here's Chapter Two of this fic. Chapter One is here.
This chapter is 1792 words and rated 18R (NC-17). Characters, in order of appearance: Just Buffy. Well, unless you count Buffy's new appendage as a character in its own right... which at the moment, is rather how she thinks of it.
(Author's note: if you want an exact timescale for this fic, it probably takes place shortly before the events of 'Conversations With Dead People'. However, I've altered the continuity a little to move Spike into Buffy's basement straight away, instead of into Xander's spare room... mostly so in later chapters I can have her interacting with him without having to leave her house.)
Chapter 2: In which Buffy goes to the bathroom
Buffy stumbled her way along to the bathroom in a kind of daze, cold chills running up her body. She didn't often bother locking the door, but now she really felt she had to. So far, she'd done her best to avoid thinking about the sheer reality of her situation. The cold, hard (ahem) physicality of it. It was just some waking nightmare - or alternatively, a source of mirth for her supposed "friend" whom she'd definitely have to get back at one of these days. But it would soon be over, and until then she'd ignore it as best she could.
But there were certain activities where ignoring the new shape of her body was not actually possible.
She stood staring at the toilet as if it were some alien object, as if she'd never seen one before in her life. Did she really have to do this? Maybe it was all just an illusion and her body would turn back to normal. Any moment now.
Come on, come on. Please change back.
She even went to start her bath running, hoping to give herself more time. But the sound of the flowing water mingled with the increasingly urgent signals from her bladder, and she realised that denial wasn't working. So at last she walked back over, gingerly reached out her hand and lifted the toilet seat a little way... hesitated, then firmly swung it to the upright position. Come on. Men did this all the time, didn't they? So then she looked down at her front, and for the first time grasped for real something she'd known intellectually all her life: men's pants had a flyhole at the front. Her pyjamas didn't. So after a moment's indecision she pushed them right down and stepped out of them.
Which, of course, was when she actually saw it for the first time. Her - she didn't really want to say the word, even in the privacy of her own mind. Her thing. At least it wasn't erect any longer; it just kind of dangled there, all limp and ugly. How was she supposed to pee without getting it all over the floor? (Although men do that all the time too, part of her mind commented sardonically). Was she going to have to - gulp - hold that thing? Point it? She couldn't. She just couldn't.
In a state of near-panic Buffy pulled the seat back down, turned around and sat on it.
A few minutes later, as she sank back at last into the piping hot bathwater, she finally felt calm enough to relax again after her trauma. Maybe the fact that the rich foamy suds completely hid her new body from view helped her with that. She told herself firmly to sort herself out. This was just a stupid magical curse, and at least she wasn't invisible or singing or hearing voices in her head this time. She was just a man, her and three billion other people on the planet. She could cope. She just needed to get a grip.
That was a really unfortunate phrase to use, she thought, as her new appendage seemed to stir to life again as the warm water lapped around it. She tried to push it back down again, then blinked at how pleasant the contact felt. Experimentally, she touched it again. Mmm. Kinda nice.
No. Kinda freaky! She let go hurriedly and moved her hands far away. She shouldn't!
Why shouldn't she? After all, it was Saturday morning, with Dawnie out of the way and Willow off doing her own thing (and Spike locked up in the basement, but don't think about him), and a little pleasant me-time was a perfectly normal and natural thing for her to indulge in. Wasn't it? She had nothing to be ashamed of. And while she hopefully wouldn't be this shape for long, she'd be damned if she'd let her own (temporary) body freak her out like this.
And so before her courage could fail her again, she reached out and took firm hold of her... her.. her.. (say it!) her dick. It seemed to get harder than ever, and she started stroking her fingers up and down gently. She'd done this before enough times, of course, but always from the opposite perspective - and, well, she'd never had such direct and immediate feedback on what it felt like. This was actually rather good. Her breathing quickened as her hand slid up and down steadily, the water splashing and dancing around her in a rhythmic motion, sounding loud in her ears. She could feel the pleasure mounting up inside her, her hand flying rapidly up and down her shaft, faster and faster, her heart pounding in her chest, until before she ever expected it her body arced and twisted as her face pulled into a silent scream and she felt a series of powerful clench-and-release sensations deep down, like normal orgasmic contractions but somehow more focussed and sharply defined. And then she collapsed back limp into the water, eyes closed and barely able to move a single muscle.
She wasn't sure how long she lay there; time seemed to slow to a crawl. She'd never felt this lethargic, but it was kind of like being cocooned in a warm haze. It was nice. Vaguely, she began pondering how male orgasms compared to the female type she was used to. It wasn't better, as such, but it was more... intense? Abrupt? Like jumping off a balcony instead of sliding down the bannisters. She grinned, thinking she was possibly the only person in the world with the first-hand knowledge to make that comparison.
And then she suddenly realised that if she was now a man, then when she felt those peculiar contractions as she came... she must have been ejaculating. Into the bath. So the water she was now lying in... uurrggh! Lethargy forgotten, she sprang out of the bath in a shower of spray and stood dripping on the rug, resisting the urge to scrub at her body with her hands. Eww eww eww.
Oh God. What if she became pregnant? Then she caught herself, and stifled a slightly mad giggle. Of course she couldn't become pregnant, she was a man now! Curiosity overcoming revulsion, she peered over into the bath and swept the suds away with her hand, looking to see if she could spot any trace of her recent activity in the water. She couldn't. But she'd better rinse out the bath extra-carefully now after she emptied it.
As the water drained away down the plughole, Buffy studied her new body with renewed interest. Her little orgasmic adventure had at least done some good; she was no longer scared to look at herself. The person who stared back at her in the mirror seemed almost a stranger, but not quite. He was quite a lot taller than her, and his face was more solid-looking; shorter-necked and with a definite adam's apple that bobbed as she swallowed. But the eyes were still identical, and the nose, and as she became more accustomed to the sight she decided that he looked much like her brother might have appeared, if she'd had one. His body was in excellent condition; trim with well-defined muscles - if a little more thin and bony than she really liked her men. Buffy looked with approval and then wondered why she didn't feel any twinge of lust.
She moved her hands up over her torso, watching as the man in the mirror did the same thing. The flatness of her chest didn't really bother her that much; but she still thought those tiny nipples were creepy. Her arms and legs were smooth, and that actually disturbed her even more. Shouldn't they be hairy if she was a man now? Her face actually felt more stubbly than her legs, and she realised with a jolt that she'd need to shave at some point. Cross that bridge when you come to it, Buffy. The man in the mirror also had long blond hair, which made him look kind of bohemian and artistic (or possibly a hippy and/or gay). As she looked at it, Buffy suddenly realised something crucial - and the man in the mirror made his mouth into an 'o' of surprise to match her own. That man's hair was in the exact same style as her own hair had been last night. Clearly her sex had changed, but not any alterations she'd made herself to her body. Which also explained why her legs were still shaven; and, when she turned her head and pushed back her hair to check, she still had pierced ears. Right. That made more sense now.
Finally, her inspection complete, she turned her gaze back to the most, um, obvious sign of her change. Her penis still seemed like this enormous and obtrusive thing tacked onto the front of her body, but now with a more relaxed and judicious eye she realised that actually, it wasn't the biggest she'd ever seen. Comparatively speaking.
Oh great. Thanks a lot, universe. First you hand me the small boobs, and now the little dick?
Well, okay, not that little. In fact, it actually seemed to be growing again. Buffy watched in fascination this time as her newly acquired male genitalia firmed up into an erection once again. She even helped it along a little with some judicious hand contact. But her penis looked peculiar somehow, and she frowned as she tried to work out why. Then it clicked; she wasn't circumcised. Well of course, since she obviously hadn't been as a woman either and this must be something else that carried over. She wondered what difference it would make; she really didn't have much experience with guys to base her conclusions on. (For the record: Parker yes, Riley yes, Spike no, but she'd not really been in the mood for tender and patient exploration of her partner's body that year. Maybe she should talk to him about it? Ooorrr maybe she should dance naked in a feather boa down Main Street, because that would be slightly less embarrassing. And speaking of embarrassment - Angel: she couldn't actually remember. That night had been too much of a blur in her mind, and afterwards...) Her thumb teased her foreskin, sliding it back and forward experimentally.
Was it self-indulgent to jerk off twice in once morning? Buffy quickly decided the answer was 'no'; and besides, now she was really curious to know what her, um, her very own sperm would look like.
And she also discovered that as a man, she was tall enough that the bathroom sink came to her thighs instead of her waist.
On to Chapter Three