Chapter 1

"I'm sorry," Mr. Jones said. He slid my resume across the table back to me. "We would love to hire you, but your skills don't exactly fit our... Clientele."

What was that supposed to mean?

I stood up, and thanked him for his time. I heard somewhere that saying that is supposed to make them remember you for your politeness. If a job opening ever came up, hopefully I'd be the first person he would think of for the job.

I took my resume and left.

______________________

At my apartment, I tossed the folder containing my resume onto my bed, then sat down.

What had I done wrong? Was I over-certified for the job? My resume was flawless; top-notch education, glowing recommendation from previous job, all the required knowledge and then some.

But, what did he mean by clientele? I was applying for a job at Friech Electrical: I would have been doing work on community buildings and eletrctrical devices, such as lamp posts and traffic lights and cell towers. There WAS no clientele.

I got up to use the bathroom. When I came back, I saw a small CD poking out of the folder of my resume on the bed.

How had that got there?

I must not have noticed it when I set it on the bed, but that still didn't answer what it was doing in my folder.

Curious, I picked it up and examined it. Then, I strode across the room to my CD player and put it in. Only one way to figure out what it was, right?

No sound came out.

Uh, okay.

Then, I started to feel really strange. I sat down on the bed, dizzy.

My mind was spinning, every part of my body felt wrong. Feverishly hot, I took off my clothes.

It was then that I noticed I was changing. My hands looked considerably smaller than usual, and my skin was unnaturally smooth. A quick feel on my face revealed that my acne was gone.

Then, I felt really lightheaded. My body felt like it was compressing itself, getting smaller. Shorter. My shoulders caved in, becoming less broad.

My arms and legs were really thin, but my thighs seemed to do the opposite; they ballooned, turning into squishy fat. My hips were next, shooting outwards with a crack. The change wasn't painful, but instead left me feeling even more dizzy. My butt followed, inflating to such a size that it would have been embarrassing for a man to be out in public with.

But was I still a man?

My penis, which had been in the middle of erect and limp (no doubt confused about what was going on), shrunk so fast I didn't have time to notice. My balls followed, the skin around pulling really tight, then really loose, forming a vagina.

My nipples, which had been erect up to this point, grew, a weird tingling sensation that spread across my chest. The skin surrounding them followed, forming two huge, round breasts. My small hands gripped them uncertainly, making me moan involuntarily in a feminine voice.

The pleasure was electric, sending chills all the way down my body. I groped my breasts some more, running my hands down the nipples and then stoking them. I moaned again, and this time I felt an odd itch inside of me, a weird sensation I couldn't describe.

My hands rapidly became wet as milk flowed freely from the breasts, warm liquid that dribbled in streams down my body. I hesitantly stuck my hand into my new womanhood, moaning with the intense pleasure it brought. I masturbated, the pleasure of my self-fingering and breast fondling bringing me over the edge in less than a minute.

The screaming orgasm easily took the cake.

Later that day, I stood up and examined myself in the mirror.

Curvy. Brunnete.

Horny.

Hornier than before. 

I had no bra, but I had a tank top. I slipped it on, along with a pair of pants, but the tank top  quickly became unpresentable because of the amount of milk flowing from my tits. 

I wouldn't be able to leave the apartment, not like this. Instead, I picked up the phone and dialed Mr. Jones' home number, something I didn't know before.

He picked up. "Did you get my CD?" He asked.

So that's how it got there. Anyways, it didn't matter anymore.

"Yes," I said as seductively as I could. I really, REALLY needed a man right about now.

"I need a thick cock," I said, a desire that bubbled up to the surface faster than I could suppress it. I was a woman now, and my sexuality seemed to reflect that. 

"Now THAT'S the kind of clientele we are looking for," Mr Jones said. I heard him set the phone down.

"I'll be there in five," he said.