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Confused

I blink, staring at the ceiling. My head feels… weird. Like I just woke up from the deepest sleep of my life, but my brain is full of static.

Something’s wrong.

I sit up, groggy, rubbing my face. My fingers sink into something soft. I pull and long silky strands slip between my fingers. Blonde.

I freeze.

That’s not right. My hair is short and brown. I pull again, harder this time, but the golden locks stay attached. No, no, no…this isn’t….this can’t be…

My heart pounds as I scramble up, only to feel a strange weight on my chest. My arms press against something soft, and…oh god. I look down.

Two round, perky breasts sit right there. On me.

No. I…I don’t…

I grab them instinctively, feeling their shape, their weight, the warmth of my own hands against them.  They’re sensitive. Have they always felt like this?

I stand on shaky legs, the room tilting as I rush toward the mirror. I have to see. I have to.

The girl in the reflection is stunning.

She can’t be me.

Long, wavy blonde hair, big blue eyes, soft, kissable lips. Her body is toned and curvy in all the right places, her skin impossibly smooth. She’s wearing a tiny red bikini that barely covers her…my figure.

I lift a shaking hand to my face. The reflection does the same.

That’s me.

No. No, this is wrong. I had brown hair. I was taller. I was a guy.

But if I was so sure, then why… why can’t I remember my own name?

I know I was a guy.

But I press my thighs together and nearly collapse when I feel the horrifying absence between them.  I put my hand to the warm, wet slit where a penis should be.  It feels so good.

I try to focus, to distract myself from this feeling, but my head feels like mush. My thoughts are sluggish and warm, slipping away the moment I reach for them. Why can’t I think?

I was…I was smart.  Right?

I wrap my arms around myself, trying to ground myself, trying to fight back the haze creeping into my thoughts.

This isn’t right.

I’m not supposed to be like this.

Am I?

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but it only makes things worse. My chest rises and falls in a way that feels … natural?

I stare at my reflection, searching for something that will prove this is all some kind of mistake. But as I move, adjusting my stance, shifting my hips, I don’t feel clumsy or awkward. In fact, I move with a kind of effortless grace I don’t remember ever having.

I don’t remember ever walking like this, but somehow, I just know how to sway my hips in a way that draws attention. I don’t remember wearing makeup before, but when I reach for the vanity, my hands move on their own, uncapping a lipstick and applying it with perfect precision. My lips pout instinctively, and…oh god.

I look hot.

No. No, no, no, this isn’t me! I’m not a girl! I’m not supposed to want to look sexy!

But then… why does it feel good?

My eyes flick toward the door. I should be panicking. I should be looking for a way to fix this, to undo whatever the hell happened to me. Instead, I catch myself thinking about going out.  About walking through a crowded place, feeling eyes on me.

Not just any eyes. Men’s eyes.

The thought makes my stomach flutter, a strange, electric excitement I don’t understand. My mind flashes with images of strong hands on my waist, warm lips against my neck, deep voices murmuring in my ear.

I shudder, my thighs pressing together. There’s that feeling again.  That warm, intoxicating feeling.

No! I…I wasn’t into guys! I was straight! I liked…

But what did I like?

The more I try to remember, the fuzzier it gets. I should be freaking out. I should be trying to fight this.

But, what if I just…lean into it? Just for a little while?

What’s the harm?

Maybe I was wrong.  Maybe I’ve always been a hot, sexy woman.  Maybe I’ve always desired buff, dominant, Alpha males.  Maybe I’ve always wanted to get pounded by their massive dicks over and over and over again.

Yeah, the more I think about it. That seems right.

I must have just been confused.

So true every time I look at a woman or a girl I imagine myself as them of the life I could live of the sex. I could have as a woman having periods getting pregnant lactating having my belly swell with my man’s baby. I so wish I’ve been born as a woman.

I so wish I was a woman and could find a black man to breed me over and over and over

Femanize me.