The party was a success!

The evening at the apartment of some not-so-close friends went great—a fun crowd, alcohol, music, dancing, chatter, flirting. Time flew by unnoticed. The ending was hazy; by nightfall, I was thoroughly drunk. On autopilot, I crawled to the wide bed in the guest room, where someone with long hair was sleeping on the comforter. I only had the strength to smirk: "Cool! I'll be sleeping with a woman tonight." With that thought, I passed out.

Waking up at night was terrifying. My whole body was numb, unresponsive. After the third attempt, I managed to get up and tried to get my bearings.

— Seems like it's that way," I finally figured out.

The lights were already off everywhere. Stumbling over things scattered here and there, I struggled to move my heavy legs and walked. My head was swimming, coordination failing, but the urge to pee forced me to strive for the coveted door. A couple of times, miraculously not falling, I hobbled to the bathroom. Multicolored sparks flickered before my eyes, the horizon was at a slant—everything was spinning.

— Ye-eah. I don't remember a hangover like this. Good thing it's dark, I won't turn on the light, I'll manage by touch. Peeing isn't rocket science!

Swaying, I approach the toilet, lift the lid, hopping impatiently, unzip my strangely tight jeans with a familiar motion. The overdrinking unbearably presses on my lower abdomen; I want to pee impossibly badly. Meanwhile, my hand goes into my fly, moves aside the fabric of my underwear, and goes unexpectedly deep, not hitting anything; my fingers fumble aimlessly... there's nothing there! I shake my head fruitlessly, trying to clear the fog and start thinking at least a little. The jeans zipper digs into my hand; under my fingers, there's skin and hair, left and right—nothing!

— Where?!

There's nothing protruding there on my body. Frantically, I search my pubic area, which feels strangely soft. Under the hair, my fingertips find a small indentation that continues downward somewhere...

— What the hell? My hand is in the right place, but it's smooth there, just a narrow strip of coarse hair in the middle.

I push my hand deeper into the tightness of the fly; my fingers, tangling in the hair, slide along a fold of skin.

— Maybe my junk fell in there?" flashes a stupid thought.

— Oh! How am I going to pee with THIS?" flashes a thought in my addled head. "No! That doesn't happen! I need to figure this out thoroughly.

Bewildered, I let go of the fly zipper, which I was holding with my other hand. I feel my body, searching for other surprises. My palm, stroking my rounded belly, begins to lift the chest protruding under the T-shirt. It, filling my palm, turns out to be pleasantly heavy.

— I didn't have one like that! That's at least a third, maybe even a fourth size." I run my thumb over it. "And huge nipples!

— A glitch!

— A dream!

— Nonsense!

— Need to pull myself together!

Muttering this, I mindlessly continue lifting first the right, then the left breast.

— Br-r-r-r-r!" I shake my head for the umpteenth time to start thinking.

— So, what do we have? My left hand is groping huge tits, my right palm in my fly is on a shaved pubic area, my fingers are fumbling in a moist fold between my legs... Yeah, a little more and I'll wet myself... And all this is happening to me right now. Holy shit!" fragments of thoughts race through my head.

— So, this is a dream, definitely a dream, a hallucination. I need to pinch myself, maybe I'll wake up. But the body is female, my dick is gone, or hypnosis, or maybe drugs, something like that, I remember reading about it, I'll figure it out later...

— Pee! The plan is: take off my pants, lower the seat, sit on the toilet. Doesn't matter that I can't aim my dick; sitting down, I won't miss for sure! Pissing my pants, even with such a hangover, is utter stupidity.

I lowered the seat, unzipped my jeans, took them off—felt a bit better. I feel my underwear: normal in the front, silly strings on the sides and back. Tangling in the construction, I pulled them down from a suspiciously wide butt. Lifted the hem of my T-shirt, awkwardly brushing my breast with my wrist, turned around, and finally sat on the toilet.

Sitting.

— And nothing!

I want to unbearably, but how to start is unclear. It reminds me of a bad dream where you walk and walk around the toilet and nothing works out. There are no familiar sensations from the body, everything is unfamiliar. Below, between my legs, it's cool. My bladder is about to burst, but what to pee with is unclear. I try to relax, maybe then it'll happen on its own, and I nervously giggle to myself:

— Man, you have to get this drunk. In this dream, I'm a chick. What a trip!

— Whew," I exhale. "It worked! And anyway, when you pee through a dick, you at least notice something, but this way it's not even interesting, and there's nothing to shake off.

— What a relief!" I smirk to myself.

— So-o... now what? One problem less. Even though thoughts in my head are still floating like a flock of clouds, at least my bladder isn't distracting me.

— An amazingly detailed dream." I try to start analyzing what's happening, mechanically placing my hand on my chest.

— The tits haven't disappeared?

— Still there.

I slip my hand under my T-shirt and critically stroke, knead with my fingers the "wealth" that has befallen me.

— Hmm, turns out when breasts are groped with cold hands, it's not as pleasant as it seemed from the outside.

— What else?

Carefully, I try to feel the body I've acquired. I turn my head; long hair tickles my neck. I run my tongue; in my mouth, in the usual place, there's no bad filling. My teeth are smaller and arranged differently. My breasts noticeably pull forward. I stroke myself with my hands, awkwardly catching on long nails. Everything is somehow voluminous, soft, flabby.

— Hmm, not a fashion model, no muscles, a tendency to plumpness... Unlucky lady. Although... That means I'm unlucky now?

What worries me most is the empty space between my legs. In my groin, there's no familiar part of me; there's something else there, sensations from which are still unclear. I put my hand there, closed my eyes, relaxed, trying to feel my body in this unfamiliar place.

— What do I feel THERE?

Carefully parting the hair, I slowly run my finger along the groove. My cold finger slid inside. Carefully stroking my new acquisition, listening to the sensations. My fingers gradually warmed up; from the movements, my lower abdomen strangely warms. A ticklish stirring below. Light scratching pricks from my nails seem pleasant. Inside, a wave of pulling ticklishness descends, warmth surges. Abstract images flash in my head. It seems I'm starting to gradually open up; inside it's already hot, wet, my fingers slide softly; I want to stroke more and more. The T-shirt roughly catches on my hardening nipples; with my other hand, I involuntarily begin to stroke my breast. My breath catches; I nervously lick my lips several times. My fingers move faster on their own; something soft rolls under them; inside, a languid swelling rises. I feel my hand gradually descending lower and lower, gently stroking and smoothing every fold. A desire to fill myself, to press against someone romantically strong, to not be alone, not by myself. From the touches to my opened body below, a wave of trembling rolls through. Like jelly, I slump back against the wall, only my stomach involuntarily tenses. I shudder; my fingers sink inside me; I feel them moving there. The languor grows and finally completely floods me; a sharp wave of spasms tightens my body, I can't breathe, I just want to continue this sensation further and deeper. For a moment, I black out... Surfacing from the engulfing whirlpool, I realize I can't stop. I'm not there; my body does everything on its own. An image of a man floats before my eyes; I want to passionately press against him, for him to hug me, caress me, and entering me, fill me...

— Hey! Who is that? What, what's happening to me? Do I want? Want a man to fuck me?" All the sensations of this foreign body wash over me in a piercing wave; the cottony haze in my head disappears. The murky wall that gave everything an unreality is gone.

— So this isn't a hangover or hallucinations. Is this me now? Or am I like this?

With a sharp awareness of what happened, a wave of panic washes over me. My legs tremble; I have no strength to stand up. "This isn't a dream; I really am a woman now! Alone. A woman! In the dark! For unknown reasons! How? Why? What for? What happened?" My cheeks became hot; a few drops fell on my T-shirt.

— What's wrong with me? Where are these tears from? Hysteria? Nothing dangerous is happening; I'm in the bathroom, the door is locked..." I try to talk myself down. "Everything's fine, calm down. Relax. Breathe. Everything's fine. There, already better. Inhale-exhale. Not scary.

From the fright, the wave of languor leaves my body. Sniffling, I wipe my wet face with the hem, gradually calming down.

I continue sitting on the toilet; a whirlwind of questions races in my head:

— What happened to me? Is this me or not me? What to do next? Actually, is this for long? What will they think of me? How to get everything back? Or maybe not immediately back? (Specially for .org — ) Maybe try the world from a female point of view? Where to go? What will they think of me? I don't know anything. Probably, if I behave carefully and boldly, no one will notice? And what's my name? What to tell the other guests? Probably, if I behave naturally, no one will notice? And what's natural?

— What to do?

The situation starts to amuse me. If you can't stop the madness—use it! I come to this comforting conclusion and, like a "real woman," with an observed motion, carefully wipe myself between my legs with toilet paper. Right now, my body is a woman's, so let's take care of hygiene. Inside, it remained noticeably hot, slippery, and still suspiciously ticklish. I toss the paper down, then quietly flush.

Going outside is scary.

Suddenly, the light flicked on; someone knocked on the door—"Hey! You gonna be long? Come out." A familiar voice, from my voice recordings, came through.