Imagine The Strawberry Fields
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Green Fields free porn video
Green Fields
By Radioactive Loner
Nowadays, I often wonder how many asylum inmates are actually sane people
who just couldn't keep the presence of mind to keep their mouths shut.
It's an odd thought, I know. But I had something absolutely outside the
bounds of anything I've ever experienced happen to me. And I kept my mouth
shut. That's why I'm still living a... well, normal, I suppose... life.
Because I didn't try to convince people of the true reality of the
situation.
Still, I understand what drove those select inmates to convince others.
The story wants telling. But I can do that. I can do that anonymously,
thanks to the glories of the Web. And anyone who runs across it will
simply think it inventive fiction.
One day, I was typing away at a keyboard at work, when I noticed that my
fingers began to feel weird and began to fumble. I simply shook them,
assuming the problem was related to the muscle exhaustion I would
sometimes experience towards the end of a day. The problem persisted,
though, and I proceeded to interlace my fingers and push them away from me
in a stretching gesture. By doing so, I placed them in my field of vision,
and I drew in my breath sharply.
Cautiously, as if examining some mutant object, I examined my hands. They
had changed their appearance drastically. They had always had an extremely
pinkish hue, with darker marks around their knuckles. Now, they were a
much more pale color... the hue of peach ice cream, I'd say, except a
little less orange. And my nails, too, were not as red, but were much more
lighter, smooth, and... longer?
As I placed my left hand down against the desk, in stunned disbelief,
loose fabric of its sleeve slid down my arm. This, too, was odd; it had
fit me perfectly. The other sleeve behaved exactly the same as I put it
down. And, it felt, actually, as if my entire shirt was becoming much more
billowy, loose... larger. I would have thought that was the case, but at
the same time, I was noticing that the walls of my desk appeared to be
growing somewhat. I quickly rose to my feet. In doing so, I noticed that
the fabric of my slacks was beginning to bunch around my shoes, which were
growing looser.
I slid my hands into my slacks and, as quickly as I could with the shoes
sliding around my feet, I walked towards the restroom. (One simply does
not run at my office; if I had done so, every eye might have turned my
way.) I quickly entered and locked myself into a stall.
By the time I arrived, I knew something completely outside my experience
was happening, for my stomach had become simply flat. This, you need to
know, was impossible to happen by any normal means. I yanked up my (by
now, huge) shirt out of my slacks, to look at my stomach first-hand. It
was here that my mind simply threatened to become unhinged on me.
Suddenly, not only had an absolutely enormous paunch just up and
disappeared, my stomach no longer even looked normal to me. It looked...
well, just *too* thin, and the dark hairs that had been on it had
disappeared. (I realize now that what threw me was that it was too
tapered. The lines of men's physiques are a bit more straight.)
And I was becoming small. (At least... small to my frame of reference.
Don't forget, I was a heavy man. And I stood six foot tall.) Sadly, I
hadn't yet put everything together. I knew something outside my experience
was happening to me, but I hadn't realized exactly what I was becoming,
yet.
(I'm sure you all have guessed.) I was let in on the secret, however, when
the next change occurred. What, would you say, is the quickest way a man
identifies another individual as a woman?
As a man, I had been overweight. Because I had been overweight, fat had
collected underneath my pectoral muscles. That fat had disappeared along
with my stomach. But, suddenly, I felt a very alert tingling around my
chest. It was a sexual sort of sensitivity. I suppose the only way I can
qualify it to a man is to suggest a comparison to something we really
don't discuss in mixed company: the smaller of a man's two heads. Imagine
that being in a very sensitive state. Now, imagine someone very slowly
drawing a gentle cloth across it. That's how the nipples on my chest felt,
and naturally, they drew my vision down.
What I saw threw me for a loop. I saw two mounds growing, pushing the
fabric of my shirt out. They continued to grow, until they strained
somewhat against the buttons. (This was, after all, a man's shirt, not
built to house a bust.) I unbuttoned a few before the shirt popped open.
Then, thinking twice, I unbuttoned my shirt completely, let it fall to the
side, and pulled my undershirt up.
To reveal two very female breasts.
I stood up abruptly. This resulted in three things happening, nearly all
at once. First, the new weight of my breasts caused them to shift slightly
on my torso, making me very aware of them. Second, by now, my slacks and
underwear began sliding down my... wholly female, my God... lower half.
They caught a little bit on my wider hips, but continued to slide down
past them, and finally, dropped to my feet.
And, in doing so, my hair shifted against my neck. I had kept what I had
of my hair short and brushed back, so when I reached up and cupped the
curly... red... hair that was nearly touching my shoulders, I... I...
It wasn't exactly an unwelcome thing, to escape from the prison that my
body had been. But it was immense, total, body shock. Suddenly, I was in a
physique that operated on an entirely different system than I was used to.
But, the changes didn't end there. And now, we tie back into those asylum
inmates.
I blinked, because suddenly, the patch of white that had been collected
inside the black of my slacks was, instead, pink. I bent down (trying not
to think about the pendulous feel of the heavy weights on my chest), and
pulled them up around my waist... to find that I had just put on a pair
of pink panties. Panties that had not been there before.
As I pulled the panties to their final resting place, I noticed I had been
unhampered by my male undershirt, which had been huge on me. I placed a
hand against my midriff, frowning somewhat, then looked downward... to
find that I was wearing a black satin bra.
The tent that had been my dress shirt behaved the most independently of
all, and I caught its change, perhaps because it was the most extensive
of them all. The sides of the shirt that had been unbuttoned, hanging
loose on my side rose of their own accord, reaching for each other and
merging. They then drew themselves tight against my breasts, my midriff.
The sleeves of my shirt pulled themselves upward, stopping at a
short-sleeve shirt length. The neckline plunged a little bit. I felt my
dress socks doing almost as massive a change, changing in form to panty
hose as they crept up my legs and to my waist. The color changed from the
clean, bright white of my dress shirt to a dark, fresh green.
I closed my eyes in simple sensory overload and cognitive disbelief. When
I opened them up, I almost didn't catch the difference, but then, I
noticed that there was now a metal dispenser on the right of the stall. I
reached into that container, and pulled out a small cylinder wrapped in a
wrapping with the word "Kotex" on it. Shocked, I dropped it on the floor.
I stood. My (much, much, MUCH smaller) feet were now enclosed in women's
shoes... thankfully, with only a modest heel. I opened the door, and what
I can only describe as my dream woman looked at me in the mirror. She was
what people would describe as "fresh-faced". She was most definitely
Irish, with a creamy complexion, red hair, and freckles. Her bust seemed a
touch towards generous, but not melon-like.
And looking at her, I felt... I can't really tell you what I felt.
Perhaps it was this step that puts most people into asylums. I can only
say that the near-entirety of this woman's life fell into my brain, giving
me a second lifetime's worth of knowledge in a span quicker than man can
measure. Within moments, I knew this new woman's name. That she was who I
would have been had I been born a woman; that my mother was still my
mother, my father my father, my job my job. That this was a transformation
to my own identity, not an inversion with someone else's.
I knew that I would find a purse near my desk. That I would still be a
techno-wiz, except now I was "that cute redhead who knows everything about
computers". But that now, in addition to the photograph of my family,
there would be a picture of a handsome young man next to it. And that
instead of spending nights alone tapping at the computer and wondering
about my future... well, this girl had a lot in her life. Her boyfriend.
Her family. The stage. Volunteering at a shelter. Working out. She even
was in a volleyball league during the summer.
Had I died? Was this my heaven? Or was this just a new reality I had been
brought into by some Fae or unknown magick in the world?
In that one moment, I felt as if I was truly standing on the edge of a
precipice, and it is here that the so-called 'insane' make one choice and
the 'sane' make another. I could reject this body, this life, and insist
to everyone and everything that reality was truly what I had known. Or...
I could accept this as a gift. As a gift from Someone -- be it God, Queen
Mab, or some other unknown force usually unseen in our mortal concerns --
who looked down and saw a world-weary soul that felt as if they could no
longer take any more steps. And who gave that person a hand to a better
life in a new reality.
The gift was gratefully accepted.
I am Tara Kelley.
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