"Tyler!" Your father's voice is gritty, like sandpaper against wood. Standing in the doorway of your room, Rick glares at you, his hands smeared with black engine grease. "What the hell is this?" 

He holds up the translucent bottle of X-Change pills. Your heart drops. "Dad, I can explain—"

"Explain?" He barks a rough laugh. "That should be interesting. You're spending money on more of this shit when we can barely make ends meet?"

Your mother, Martha, enters the room behind him, worry creasing her weathered face. She looks pleadingly at you, her eyes filled with disappointment, "Tyler, your father is struggling... work hasn't been good. AI cars are too advanced, they need fewer repairs."

Your sister, Amanda, glares at you from behind them. “And while you're off playing with your pills, we're all pitching in to help. I've picked up extra shifts at the diner, Mom's selling her preserves, and Dad's busting his ass in the garage. You? You're just lying there, jilling off in your bed!”

"Dad, I--" 

"Save it, Tyler!" Rick snaps, his thick brows furrowing. "You're so busy messing with drugs, you don't see what's happening!"

"But, Dad—"

"No, YOU listen!" His bellow drowns out your feeble protests. "We're drowning here, Tyler. Shit's getting real out there. But you won’t notice, too busy playing with that fat ass while the rest of us are sinking."

The room falls silent, the tension unbearable. Amanda crosses her arms, a smug, satisfied look on her face. Your mother's eyes dart from Rick to you, her hands wringing as she silently pleads for calm.

"I'm... I'm sorry," you finally whisper, the weight of their words sinking in.

Rick deflates, exhausted. "We just need you to get real, Tyler. This...this isn't a game. We're a family. We stick together."

With that, he drops the X-Change vial on your bed, the pills rattling inside, a physical reminder of your follies. As he leaves, your mother follows him, a lingering, sad look thrown your way. Amanda stores one final look of disdain before following them out.

The door closes with a soft click, leaving you alone with your guilt, the vial of X-Change pills in your hand serving as a silent reminder of your selfishness. This isn’t the first time you’ve had an argument like this. 

This confrontation has been a long time coming, and it's clear—you need to wake up and face reality.

— 

The house feels eerily silent with your family away on the cruise. Rick and Martha were still dumbfounded when the Wilsons next door had extended the generous offer. A trip together on a luxury cruise ship was not something anyone could turn down, not even your hard-headed father. You, however, had decided to stay back. The tensions in the family were high, and you figured that some time apart might do everyone some good. So, you declined politely, offering to house-sit instead of joining them.

Lying in your bed, you can't shake off the guilt. You've tried to find part-time work, you really have, but the opportunities in Summer City aren't as plentiful as everyone thinks. Some of those AI-run fast-food joints have even started replacing their staff with machines. How the hell are you supposed to compete with that?

As you contemplate your failures, your hand roams over to the bottle on your bedside table. Inside, a single pink pill gleams in the low light of your room. The rest you've sold, given the money to your folks, but this one...this one you’d kept for yourself. A guilty pleasure, and now, your last remaining escape.

You've always felt connected to Taylor, the freckled redhead, whose body became yours every time you swallowed a pink pill. Not because you saw yourself as a woman trapped in a man’s body, but because becoming Taylor gave you a chance to experience a different aspect of being human—the female perspective. It made your existence feel more holistic, more complete. With X-Change, you were not just Tyler or Taylor; you were both.

Yet, every time you transformed, you also left behind a part of Tyler. The guy whose family was struggling, who was unable to meet the expectations, who was failing on all fronts. In Taylor's body, you found a sweet respite, a break from the harsh reality. And it wasn't the easy way out. It was just...different.

Your fingers trace over the smooth surface of the capsule. You couldn't deny the guilt gnawing at you. By indulging in Taylor, you were running away from your responsibilities, from your family. But it’s not all frivolous escapism, you remind yourself. Taylor is a part of you, a reality you need to explore. But is this the right time to do so?

The pill in your hand seems to weigh heavier than before. A single pill, a bridge to Taylor, but also a symbol of the growing chasm in your family. The silence in the room amplifies your racing thoughts. You toss the pill back into the bottle, the guilt momentarily subsiding. 

The creaking of the springs beneath you echoes in the quiet house as you sink into the old plaid couch. The frozen pizza, reheated in your parents' ancient oven, sits mostly untouched on a paper plate on your lap. The aroma of roasted tomatoes and melting cheese fills your nostrils, but you're not really hungry.

In the deafening silence of the house, the hum of the CRT TV is almost comforting. It's an old-school model, with a bright, clear picture and a boxy design, a throwback to simpler times. The screen flickers as images flash, characters in the sitcom you're mindlessly watching crack jokes and laugh, but you're hardly paying attention.

Suddenly, the scene changes. The soft laugh track fades, replaced by an upbeat jingle only too familiar. "Are you stuck in a rut? Need a break from the humdrum routine? Try X-Change, and let a whole NEW-U take the wheel!" (Editor’s note: ‘NEW-U’ is a subsidiary variant of X-Change) 

The ad is flashy, with quick cuts of happy, laughing men turning into beautiful, carefree women - and vice versa, frolicking on the beach, dancing, enjoying a drink at a bar. The NEW-U product allows not only genders to change, but also your DNA, in case you feel like trying out a totally different body. 

“Stock” X-Change - the kind you would always use, just shows you the alternate chromosome version of you, without further modification. It’s always been the one you prefer. And you just take Basic pills - 24 hours in another body is all you can really take. 

"At X-Change Corporation, we believe that you deserve to experience life to the fullest! Why limit yourself to one body, one gender, when you can have it all," the chirpy female voiceover continues, as wholesome images of transformed people being accepted by their friends, loved ones, and co-workers flash across the screen.

A series of testimonials flood the screen—grinning, satisfied customers, thanking X-Change for giving them a new outlook on life, for making them happier, more content, more complete.

The ad hits a nerve. It's everything you, as Tyler, want to hear. It's everything you, as Taylor, want to be. It's a validation, a vindication of your choices, your desires. But it's also a stark reminder of the conflict between your fantasies and your family's reality.

As the ad ends, you find yourself standing up, leaving the half-eaten pizza behind. You march upstairs, past family photographs of happier times. Upon reaching your room, you snatch the bottle from your bedside table, the pink pill inside calling out to you. 

In the silence of your room, the reality of your decisions weigh heavy. But the pull of becoming Taylor is more potent than guilt or fear. You pop the pill between your lips, wash it down with a gulp of lukewarm water, and in that moment, you're no longer just consigning yourself to a change of gender. You're choosing to embrace and explore the depth of your desires, the breadth of your existence, the complexity of your reality.

The transformation begins gradually, like the unfolding of a flower bud under the warmth of the sun. First, there is a tingling sensation, beginning at your scalp. You watch in awe, as your once short, locks grow longer, curling and turning to an even more luscious shade of red, that trails down your slimming shoulders. There's a shimmering quality about it—a vibrancy and a gloss that had been absent in your male form.

Next, your shoulders begin to recede, softening and narrowing—the bulky muscles melt away like ice left outside on a summer’s day. Your arms begin to reshape too, becoming more slender, more delicate, skin growing a bit paler. There's a certain grace to them now, a certain femininity in areas you’d rarely think about being gendered. Your fingers follow suit, elongating, nails growing out and shaping into an oval form, like pristine, natural talons.

You watch as your face changes next - the squaring jawline softens, becoming more rounded. Your lips plump up, turning into a lush, kissable pair that possess an intoxicating gentleness. Your prominent chin recedes and becomes softer, refining your once rugged masculine features into an attractive, feminine face. Your facial hair recedes, sucked in by the skin, leaving a smooth, freckly complexion in its wake.

The transformation continues downwards – the hard angles of your torso shift and change, your ribs adjust, curving tenderly inward, creating a slender, cinched waist. Your belly tightens—the layer of fat softens, becomes more delicate, creating a flat, trim midriff. 

Your body hair begins to thin, retracting and vanishing until the only visible hair remaining on your body is at your head. Below your head, your body is left with only smooth, porcelain skin. Maybe a little “peach fuzz,” but not much.

The sight of your own dick shrinking is always a little unsettling - the familiar appendage pulls back, skin wrapping inwards, creating a fleshy bud that evolves into the clitoral hood. The balls ascend, their skin softening and darkening to form the outer lips, while the shaft collapses and visibly inverts, transforming into the vaginal canal. You feel it “sucking” The transformation from dick to pussy is as gut-wrenching as it is fascinating. Your dick is fucking gone, replaced by a pussy.

Then comes the best part - your ass. You twist in front of the mirror, your eyes widening as your once-flat ass expands. It inflates like a balloon, each buttock rounding off to form a juicy, jiggly ass. You give it an experimental squeeze, watching it jiggle in your grip. God, your ass is fucking perfect. 

You're quite acquainted with the plump roundness of your female butt after taking Basics a few times, but each time, you're left in awe of the significant difference compared to your flat, muscular male butt. It's softer now, each cheek fuller than before, giving you a bottom-heavy hourglass figure. And the way it feels is cool too - like a plush pillow attached to your torso. 

The mirror reflects your transformation in all its glory, displaying your pale, peach-shaped ass. You can't help but give it a good smack, just to see how it reacts. You almost gasp as your hand comes into contact with the round globe, and your fingers sink deep into the soft, fleshy mound. It jiggles in response, creating a small ripple effect. It's a mesmerizing sight…

Feeling daring, you give it another spank, a little harder this time. The sting travels up your butt, sending a signal to your brain that makes your thighs clench unconsciously. There's something naughty, almost scandalous, about spanking your own ass in front of the mirror. The very thought makes your big nipples harden.

Walking around is a different experience altogether. With a larger, heavier ass, you can feel it wobbling subtly with each step you take. The sensation is both hilarious… and kind of arousing. Both of the juicy spheres bounce and shake with their own personal rhythm.

There are some other factors about using X-Change you can’t QUITE explain, but you know from experience. 

First, your perspective of the world seems slightly different - as if your female body inherently alters how you perceive your surroundings. Everything around you seems a bit larger, more intimidating in a way. You're more conscious of your surroundings, of the space your body occupies. You're also hyperaware of how vulnerable you seem. 

And it’s not a bad feeling at all! Just different. 

Fragrances seem stronger, more pronounced. You notice the smell of your own body, a scent that's softer, more feminine than your usual masculine musk. Even your bedroom, a place you thought you knew like the back of your hand, always seems slightly altered. There's a distinct shift in the way you perceive colors, the way you process sounds, how you react to textures. It's like seeing the world through an ever so slightly different lens. 

You would never walk around in public like this though. The idea that walking around in public would draw attention to your stunning new figure is quite an anxiety-inducing concept. 

The thought of heads turning, people staring at your ass, even potentially catcalling you, fills your mind with a rush of conflicting emotions. You’ve never done it so far, always stayed confined to your house. 

As much as you love the thrill of transformation, there's also a certain degree of fear and anxiety. Each time you transform, it's like stepping into an uncharted territory, despite having been there before. You are aware of how attractive you are in this new body. Your willowy frame, your beautiful face, your red hair cascading down your back, and that ass—god, this ASS. 

Ok, time for your first orgasm!

You start by setting up your space. You've learned over time that atmosphere is key when it comes to a proper female masturbation session. You light one of your favorite scented candles – vanilla and sandalwood, soothing and sensual. The soft, ambient glow of the flame and the intoxicating aroma instantly set the tone. 

In the background, you set up some audio erotica – a romantic husky voice recounting a lurid tale. You've tried visual porn, but it doesn’t do the trick when you’re a girl. Being a woman is about the buildup, the anticipation. It's about the storyline, the gradual escalation of dirty words whispered into your ears. 

Strangely, even the sound of your own breathing, heavy and desirous, adds to the play and makes you so, so wet.

Once the setting is right, you start scrolling through some sexy forum threads online. You're part of an exclusive X-Change community where everyone shares their naughty experiences. The stories of other transformees always get you going - many of them are MUCH more adventurous than you are. The anticipation begins to build up, a current of lust gradually growing stronger. But there's no rush. You've set aside hours for this and you're going to enjoy every second. 

You look at yourself in the mirror. The pale skin, freckles sprayed across your shoulders and chest, the red hair falling down in waves. And your ass… jeez. It's huge, plump. You give it a squeeze, feeling your firm, chubby cheeks in your hands. It jiggles slightly and you can't help but smirk at the sight. 

You cup your breasts next. They're petite and perky, capped with large, pointed nipples. The slightest brush of your fingers makes you gasp. Your hands glide down to your pussy, the folds of your labia are slick already. Your clit, that ultimate pleasure button, is already swelling with need. But you don't touch it yet. More teasing, more anticipation. You've learned that the slow buildup is key. 

With fingers glistening, you take one of your plump pillows and lie down on your front. You're completely naked on your bed, the smooth sheets cool against your heated skin. Your butt is in the air, thighs spread, the pillow between your legs. 

You start humping it slowly, your wet pussy leaving streaks on the soft fabric. You clutch your ass as you grind your hips, a slow, sensual dance, rousing your lust further. The sensation of your engorged clit rubbing against the pillow sends jolts of pleasure through your body. 

This is not the quick, easy jerk-off routine that you were used to as Tyler. This is better. This is a slow dance, a drawn-out symphony. You grind against the pillow, your fingers pressing into your ass, kneading your plump cheeks. 

Your moans fill the room, joining the seductive whispers of the audio erotica playing. The friction builds up and you can feel the fire in your belly grow.

The pleasure is sweet, but incomplete, like sipping lukewarm coffee – you want it hot, scorching. You whimper, your fingers digging into the pillow as you grind harder, your hips swaying as you start to FUCK the plush fabric. 

You’re dripping, your wetness staining the pillow. 

After more unsuccessful humping, you push a finger inside, expecting that familiar tingle of pleasure to spike into an orgasm. But all you get is more frustration. 

Sensation remains, the delicious wet pull and squeeze of your cunt, the fullness that should be satisfying, but only adds to your need. You slam your fingers in and out of your pussy, desperately chasing pleasure that remains just out of reach. 

You roll over and sit up, your ass perched on the edge of the bed. You're restless, your body humming with unfulfilled arousal. You catch sight of your glistening fingers, slick and shiny. You smear it over your tits, your nipples hard against your touch. It's erotic, filthy, but it's not enough. 

Why isn’t it fucking enough???

You stand up, your legs trembling, your body hot and sticky. You walk towards the bathroom, feeling betrayed by your own female body. 

You fucking need to cum at this point - you’ve been going at it for 2 hours now. 

You need it like a drowning man needs air. 

You step into the shower, the cold tiles sending a jolt up your spine. You turn the shower on, adjust the water temperature, and then remove the showerhead. The pulsating water jet is your secret weapon, your backup. 

You spread your legs, placing one on the bathroom wall. Your hand guides the showerhead towards your needy pussy. The pressure of the water against your clit is intense. You let out a desperate moan, your hand gripping the shower handle for support. 

The water hits your clit just right, the pulsating sensation sending jolts of pleasure through you. You’re on the edge, teetering, flirting with orgasm, but it slips through every time. You squeeze your eyes shut, frustration bubbling up inside you. Your body is refusing to give you the release you NEED.

You grind against the showerhead, your cries echoing in the bathroom. Your body is wound tight, every muscle strung taut. But you can’t cum. Your body won’t let you. It’s like you’re stuck in a cruel loop of extreme arousal with no exit. 

The sheer amount of tension inside you is a live wire under your skin, a torturous cycle of tantalizing pleasure and mounting pressure. It’s maddening, infuriating. You just want to cum. You NEED to cum. 

The tension continues building, peaking, and just when you think you’ll explode, it plateaus. You’re stuck in a state of constant arousal, your body refusing to crest, to release. It’s a tantalizing limbo of stimulation and denial. Your body is a live wire, buzzing with need, with pleasure, and with frustration. 

The heat, the steam, the relentless jet of water on your swollen clit, and yet, the pleasure eludes you. You’re begging, pleading for release, your own voice bouncing off the tiled walls, your echoed whimpers resonating with your torment. Your body is an instrument on overdrive, and the sweet symphony of an orgasm still eludes you. Your pussy clenches and unclenches, your juices mixing with the water, your hips grind in rhythm with the pulsating water, but that sweet, sweet release is just not coming. 

Your body, your mind, your senses, everything is saturated with a need. A need that is turning desperate, turning painful. Hours pass in a frenzy of desperate attempts and failed climaxes. 

Defeated, you collapse onto your bed, a heap of frustration, your sobs echo off the walls of your room. Your body is screaming, an unbearably intense need gnawing at your insides. You crave release, a climax that can extinguish the consuming fire of arousal within you, but it's beyond reach.

You sob, pound the pillow with a clenched fist, thrash about in desperation. Your body is your prison, trapping you in a cycle of buildup, with no release. The sobbing turns into crying, an intense, raw, gut-wrenching cry. Not emotional, but purely from the sheer exhaustion, the agony you're feeling.

Out of options, you log onto your computer, and type out a desperate plea on an X-Change forum. Overwhelmed, you pour your heart out, explaining your predicament. The post is hurried, littered with spelling errors and grossly explicit details about your inability to cum.

Replies pour in quickly; the forum is a thriving hub for X-Change users, people who've undergone similar transformations. One user, @GenderBender69, asks about the specific pill you've taken.

"It was just a Basic. Pink," you reply, your long-nailed fingers hitting the keys with a clickity-clack. 

Another user chimes in with a probing question. @Switcheroo asks, "Are you sure it was just a Basic? Because that's exactly what happened with me on Breeder."

You feel your stomach drop. But no. Couldn’t be. “Yes, I'm sure. I bought them myself. I just can’t figure what's going wrong. I'm just... stuck."

A flurry of other suggestions and questions flood the forum. People advising you to just buy a fertility test, to see a doctor, to touch yourself in different places, to try different fantasies... 

Amid the barrage of suggestions, a thought forms in your mind: COULD it be a Breeder? Maybe there was a mix-up at the pharmacy? No. Those things are much more expensive. A Basic is $100, whereas a Breeder is $500.

Shaking free from the idea, you type back hastily, "Guys, there's no way I'm leaving the house like this. I'll wait it out till tomorrow."

You sign out, leaving a frenzy of suggestions and concerned posts in your wake. The idea gnaws at the back of your mind, an insidious possibility that you're on a Breeder pill. 

Your eyes drift to the clock. Only twenty more hours till the pill wears off… or so you hope.

— 

Tossing and turning, you fight to free yourself from the throes of an intensely vivid dream. 

You're in this outdoor market, carrying a basket full of ripe, round fruits. The basket is overflowing. You can't contain them all; they keep piling on, and you're straining to hold them close.

You stumble upon a stall selling clothes - but not just any clothes. They're maternity dresses, intricate lace lingerie, and sexy pregnancy robes. You look down at your own body in the dream - your belly is grotesquely swollen, full of ripe potential. You're heavily pregnant, feeling the weight in your lower back, the itchy stretch of the skin, the surreal sensation of another life kicking inside you.

Suddenly, you feel a rush of warm liquid cascading down your legs. Panic rises in your throat. 

The dream is so disturbingly real that you wake up drenched in sweat, your heart pounding. 

A low heat emanates from your abdomen. Your sides are tender to touch. You feel bloated. The sensation is akin to the cramps you used to get during intense workouts, only different. Oddly specific. Concentrated. Like the feeling you get when a muscle is being worked on.

You check the time again. It's been twelve hours, halfway through. You decide to fill your time with a workout. And maybe you should put on clothes, to feel a little bit less… sexual. 

Digging through your sister’s clothes, you find a pair of her pink workout shorts. They cling skintight around your plump asscheeks. 

You arrange the kettlebells and start with some warm-up exercises. As you progress, you can't help but look at yourself in the mirror.

You bend down to do some bodyweight squats, and the stretch of your hips is different now. Wider. You can go lower than ever before, but it's also a bit harder to stabilize your center of balance. As you rise and fall, you can feel the meaty jiggle of your ass. Each upward thrust sends a thrill through those thick, round cheeks.

Your workout continues with push-ups. Trying to do as many reps as you can, you can do like… a third. Each push from the ground is harder, more straining. 

Finishing up the workout with a plank, you can feel your core straining, the heat spreading through your belly. Your body screams for a break, almost louder than it’s screaming for a fucking orgasm. Pushing up into a downward dog, you stretch your legs. Your ass points up high, the taut fabric of the shorts clinging onto the ripe globes like a second skin. 

After the workout, you step into the cold spray of your shower, shivering as the chill hits your sensitized nipples. It's like a jolt, each droplet a pinprick on your hypersensitive body. Then, you pat yourself dry and pull on an oversized sweatshirt that hangs loose over your feminine curves. 

Time ticks on, excruciatingly slow. 

You curl up on the couch, tuning in to some random talk show. 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you hit the 24-hour mark. But instead of relief, panic surges through you. No pain, no cramps, no sign of shifting back. Your tits are still there, your pussy still in place, not a hint of dick in sight. 

Enough is enough, you decide. You HAVE to know for sure. 

Dressed up in baggy clothes meant for Tyler, you head for the convenience store. It feels oddly liberating, the loose fabric hiding your feminine form, your secret safe under the layers.

This is the first time you’ve ever stepped out of the house as a girl. It feels strange, like you're sneaking around, trying to cover up something shameful. Even though in Summer City, this is a perfectly normal thing for people to do, everyone’s swapping genders all the time. The feelings of guilt probably come from your traditional upbringing.

You roam through the shelves, trying to be casual, but your heart is pounding. You grab a few things first, snacks, bottled water, anything to make it look like you're just doing regular shopping. 

Then, your eyes fall on the shelf you've been avoiding. The pregnancy and fertility tests. There are so many brands. Eco-friendly ones, the typical strip format… there's even one that connects to your smartphone.

Your sweaty hands reach out, shaking slightly. You don’t want to spend too much money, but you want the result to be reliable. You grab one of the tests, a digital one, developed in Summer City.

Then, after summoning every ounce of courage in you, you head to the counter, your heart pounding in your chest. The store clerk, a grumpy middle-aged woman, barely glances at you as she scans your purchases. 

Escaping the store feels like a victory, a huge relief. You are self-aware enough to know that your social anxiety as a female is completely on you - it’s a lot more likely that no would care, unless you dressed up super slutty or something. 

Back home, you throw your other purchases onto the counter, your hands trembling. The box feels unusually heavy in your hands, like a damning verdict waiting to be unfolded.  You read and re-read the instructions, painstakingly, like it's the most important exam of your life.

You lock yourself in the bathroom, your reflection staring back at you from the mirror, tormenting. You should be Tyler, lanky, awkward, with a dick, by now.

You follow the instructions, peeing on the stick and then setting it aside. You don't watch it immediately. The timer on your wristwatch seems to crawl. Each tick, a jab at your sanity. 

Eventually, you gather the nerve to look at it. 

Instantly, your heart plummets to your stomach. The screen shows the fertility levels off the digital chart, blinking with a harsh intensity. It's like the device is screaming at you: "YOU'RE SUPER FERTILE!"

The world around you spins. The cruel truth settles into you. You slide down onto the cool tiles of the bathroom floor, your body shaking uncontrollably. The test slips from your hand, clattering onto the tiles next to you, the blinking result mocking you.

You scream, the sound echoing off the walls, a wild animal caged in fear and shock. It's a raw scream, filled with panic.

— 

Your eyes consume paragraph after paragraph, detailing the effects of the Breeder pill. The articles online don't pull any punches. They vividly depict the overwhelming need to reproduce that consumes the Breeder pill takers, the insurmountable arousal that becomes a constant, aching companion.

It's crazy. Abso-fucking-lutely insane.

You've always enjoyed the thrill of the unknown, basking in the slight adrenaline rush that comes with every dose of X-Change. But this? This is something else entirely. This isn't just a game anymore. This isn't Tyler's secret, dirty little pastime. This pill potentially carries life-changing consequences.

Fuck. You can't even fathom the idea of permanent change.

But you aren't given much of a choice, are you?

Gazing at the display blinking on the fertility test, you chew on your bottom lip, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Your family's faces swim behind your eyes, their disappointment, their anger. 

You feel sick to your stomach. It MUST have been a mix-up at the pharmacy. 

On top of your own immediate horror, is the feeling of uselessness. You'd ASSURED your family that you would change, that you would pull your weight around the house. But now, you’re about to disappoint them even further. 

With your head spinning, you decide to call them. They're still out on that cruise with the Wilsons, but you need to confess, to get it off your chest, even if they might yell at you through the phone.

You dig out the slip of paper your dad had left tucked under the coffee pot on the kitchen counter—"In case of emergencies" scribbled on the top. The number for the cruise line's customer service is printed neatly underneath. The ship's name, "Ocean Serene," is scribbled at the bottom. 

It takes a few anxious minutes of speaking to the ship's operator and providing them the cabin number and last name before you're connected. 

The line rings twice before it's picked up. You hear the distant sounds of laughter, music, the murmur of conversations, the clinking of glasses. It must be a party onboard. 

"Hello?" your sister's voice comes on. Amanda. She sounds cheerful, probably enjoying the cruise.

Then she hears the trembling in your voice. "Amanda, it's…" You choke on your own words. "It's Tyler." You correct yourself, your feminine inflection unmistakable. "I mean, Taylor." 

There's a pause on the other end. "Taylor?" she echoes, her tone shifting.

You take a shaky breath and start to explain. The words tumble out, frantic and rushed. You tell her everything about the Breeder, about the fertility test, about the agonizing arousal and the unnerving changes.

You sob, your voice catching in your throat as you apologize. You tell her about the pill’s side effects, duration, the panic that’s seeping into every corner of your mind. You explain about the accidental mix-up at the pharmacy, about your negligence, and about your fears concerning the consequences.

She doesn't interrupt you, doesn't echo your panic, just listens, as you repeatedly apologize, your voice raw with regret and guilt. 

"...I didn't...I didn't mean to," you sob into the phone, expecting a scolding or a tearful, angry response. Instead, you're met with giggles.