A hard knock sounded against the metal skin of the van, violently ripping me from a dreamless sleep. I kept my eyes closed, hoping it wasn't real, but heard voices talking loudly from outside the van.
"Holy shit, dude, that bike is fucking mangled," came the first voice, probably in their late 20s or early 30s if I had to guess, and male. "How did he even get it back here? That's the kind of shit you don't walk away from."
"Hey buddy," came a second voice, deeper, but probably around the same age, and more knocking on the van. "Are you okay in there? We can call for help if you need it."
I groaned, opening my eyes slowly, a long strand of blonde hair covering my face. I raised a hand to brush it out of my way, noting absently that something was weird about the hand, unfamiliar. I held it in front of my face, studying it, my analytic mind failing to engage and process the image before finally the thought came to me. That doesn't look like my hand. I brushed the hair out of my face and sat up, glancing toward the door of the van where the knocking was happening, pausing once more as unusual sensations cascaded through my body.
It was like a weight had been tied to my chest, almost knocking me off balance as I turned, and I glanced down, mouth dropping open in surprise. A pair of enormous breasts jutted forward from my upper torso, almost defying gravity with how perky they were at their size, capped by eraser-tip shaped nipples that were slightly crinkled in the chill morning air inside the van.
The knock happened again, but then the first voice commented, "Maybe he just left the bike and went to the hospital?" The second voice countered, "No, look at the tracks - there's no other vehicles, just footsteps walking up to the van and inside. Maybe he's dead in there? I think we need to call the paramedics."
"I'm okay," I yelled, an unfamiliar voice echoing off the walls of the van, feminine and soft, with a slight throaty tone.
"Oh fuck, I'm so sorry, ma'am. Now we're the assholes harassing a woman in her van," the first voice said, frustration and embarrassment lacing his tone.
"We're really sorry to intrude," the second voice contributed. "We just saw the wrecked bike and it looked so bad, we wanted to make sure you were okay. We'll leave, we're sorry for bothering you."
I cleared my throat, trying again, "I'm okay, really. Thank you for checking. No hard feelings." I could hear the men talking, although not able to hear the words anymore, as they seemed to walk away from my van. A few seconds later, I heard the sound of car doors opening and closing, an engine starting, and a vehicle driving away.
I took a moment, glancing down at myself once more now that I was alone. "What the fuck is going on?," I wondered aloud. I could tell that the blonde hair was mine, running down my chest and stopping right about where my nipples were, so it was pretty long. I also needed to pee, and that brought up a whole new set of questions, so I slid out from the bedsheets, making my way to the van's small toilet. As I sat down to pee, I couldn't help but chuckle wryly.
Well, it's not like I was using my dick for anything, anyway...
After flushing the chemical toilet, I made my way back to the bed and sat down, taking in my body once more. My breasts were almost ludicrously large, perky, and protruded from my chest like cannons on an 18th-century sailing ship, ready to launch a broadside capable of destroying a ship of the line. My waist appeared to be very slim, but almost seemed to balloon out to wide hips, something I'd seen joked about online as "child bearing hips," and thick thighs that looked like I could crush a watermelon between them. I had a patch of blonde fur above what I had to, somewhat vainly, admit looked like a beautiful pussy, and my arms looked fairly toned.
What guy hasn't fantasized about turning into a hot chick and masturbating, right?, I thought to myself as I took a deep breath and scooted back slightly, leaning against a pillow. It's only natural to see what it's like. I reached a delicate hand up to my mouth, licking a finger, and then placed it on my left breast, running it back and forth as goosebumps started to raise on the exposed skin. I gasped slightly as I continued, tracing my fingernail around my nipple, watching the flesh crinkle and the nipple grow bigger.
In wonder, my other hand grasped my right breast, beginning to knead the tender mammary, my breath coming faster as I began to feel a heat building in an unfamiliar part of my body. I shifted my right hand from my breast further south, running it along what seemed like a pretty taut belly, perching it on my pubic bone as my left hand continued playing with my nipple. The fingers of my right hand sat poised on the edge of paradise and I slowly inched them closer, feeling a raw heat pouring from the new gash in my body, my index finger just edging close enough to feel the moisture.
A car door slammed, a loud female voice intruding into my exploration, "Fucking hell, Mike. Look at that bike!" I yanked my fingers away from my body and sat up as if burnt, all arousal instantly gone as if dunked into a cold bath.
A male voice returned, "Shan, that's a crippling accident at best. Fatal at worse. We should call this in. Can you get one of my coworkers at the station on the line?"
The female voice countered, an appeal, "Should we at least ask if there's anyone inside first?"
A knocking sounded on the door of my van, a male voice once more intruding, asking, "Hey, are you okay in there? Do you need help? We can call an ambulance if you need anything."
"I'm okay," I tried to reply, my voice weak and breathy. Fuck, I sound so helpless. "The bike looks worse than it is."
"Are you sure?," the female voice asked, closer by the door. "My boyfriend is a part-time medic, if there's anything we can do. It looks like there's a lot of blood on the frame. Or we can call it in for EMS."
Please just leave, I thought to myself, but tried to put on a polite tone, "No thank you. I promise, I'm okay. It was a bad wreck but somehow I escaped with only a few scrapes and bruises. Nothing worse."
"Okay, well, I'm glad to hear it," she replied. "Just ... Holy shit, that bike. Look, we were gonna use this clearing to park and get ready to ride. I don't want to be a creeper, but we're gonna set up on the other side of the clearing, okay? If you need anything, we'll be around for the next hour as we unpack our campsite, eat breakfast, and then we're going riding. Anything at all, okay?"
"Okay, thank you," I replied, feeling like I should probably say more, but no words came to me. I really need to put the bike away, too. Sure, they meant well, but I was really tired of people knocking on my van door and asking if I was okay. At the same time, I needed clothes if I was going to go outside and put the bike away, right? Somehow, I didn't think any of my clothes were going to fit right about now.
With a sigh, I opened up the dresser I had built into the side of the van and began rummaging through clothing, trying to find something appropriate. I plucked an old pair of gym shorts from the back of one drawer, pulling them on. They were a little snug over the hips, but comically loose around my waist. I pulled the drawstring as tight as it could go and was reasonably certain they'd stay put. A pair of flipflops I used as camp shoes were too big, but I could probably walk around without tripping. Now for my chest, I thought, staring down at the giant tits. And wow, what a chest, I couldn't help but think. I mean, come on, I'm just a guy. Even if I never got laid and hated people, I was still entranced by a wonderful pair of naked boobs.
Finally, I found a size Large t-shirt tucked in the back of a drawer from a consulting convention I'd been to. The convention had been a mistake. I thought I was going to meet potential clients and instead it was just a bunch of smarmy salespeople trying to insert themselves into my pipeline, taking a portion of my earnings in return for "talking to clients on your behalf." Fuck that, I may hate my clients, but I could manage the occasional video conference in return for not handing 10% of gross over to those slicked-up assholes. They'd only had Large, which ended up too baggy on my frame, but I had never bothered to throw it away, figuring I'd use it as a rag in an emergency. I can always find a use for more rags in the van-life mountain-biking world.
I pulled it on over my head, the seams of the shirt creaking ominously as I tried to tug it down over my breasts. I squashed them flat as I yanked at the shirt, gasping for breath as I finally covered my breasts with the white fabric, hearing the shirt straining as I yanked it into place. I looked down, grimacing in an almost horrified amusement as I took in the shirt once more. A sense of heat rushed through my body, unfamiliar but not unwelcome, as my nipples seemed to take offense to the garment pressing painfully into them and I could feel them respond, crinkling with pleasure as my thighs rubbed together unconsciously like two soft pillows. Traitors.
The company's name had been FocuSphere, a play on words about data acquisition, cloud platforms, and consulting. All the usual buzzwords you'd expect. Their logo was a pair of dark circles, meant to emphasize clouds, with an upside-down V or carat shape between, defining their focus. However, as the shirt was nearly ripped asunder by my prodigious chest, a different scenario unfolded.
The circles of the logo lined up on my nipples, with the carat spread wide to point right up at the straining neckline, emphasizing my cleavage. And the words "FocuSphere" almost seemed spread apart to read "Focus Here" as the white shifted to almost translucent by how badly the fabric was being stretched. My chest was also so big, and the shirt struggling so much, that the end of the shirt hung from my nipples, leaving most of my midriff bare, and I was pretty sure I was showing some underboob. These tits are gonna be a problem, I mumbled in my head, and went back to digging the dresser, seeing if I owned anything I could throw over top the shirt.
Finally, I came up with an oversized hoodie that I used as an impromptu camp pillow, zipping it up and watching my curves vanish into its depths. It hung low, covering my thighs, and I shuffled to the door, opening the van and stepping into the morning's light. Somehow, despite my whole world having changed overnight, everything else seemed normal. Birds chirped, I could see a few mule deer off on the distant mountainside, and about a hundred yards away on the other side of the clearing sat a Jeep Wrangler with a young couple setting up a small campsite. The woman waved at me and I waved back, hoping she wouldn't walk over and try to talk to me