Serum

On a soft couch bathed in the rays of the morning sun, slightly leaning on his elbow, Professor James Crenson tried to distract himself from everything that had happened to him by reading his own monograph, published just a year ago. The words on the cover stood out in bold black letters: “Cognitive Processes and the Nature of Consciousness: New Frontiers.”

Each word on the page reminded him of the past—of days when he was respected by his colleagues, when he lectured in packed auditoriums, and no faculty meeting was complete without his authoritative conclusions. His lips tightened unconsciously as his gaze fell on a line he himself had written: “Human identity is inseparably linked to bodily perception. But what happens when the body changes completely? Does self-awareness shift? Can we claim that human nature and one’s sense of being the same person endure? According to my theory, in which I am absolutely convinced, identity remains unchanged, as the awareness of ‘self’ exists beyond the physical shell. The body is merely a tool perceived by the mind but does not define its essence.”

James slammed the page shut and irritably tossed the book aside. Such outbursts of temper were unlike him, yet now it seemed to have become part of his personality.

— What utter nonsense! — he burst out. But the thin, almost flirtatious tone of his voice sounded so absurd in this fit of anger that James froze instantly. He tried to rise quickly, and his ample chest heaved forward, a weight he still couldn’t fully ignore. His rounded hips and full backside lifted slightly off the couch before settling back down with a soft, muted thump.

— What the hell… — James exhaled quietly, once again this week brushing his hand against the smooth skin of his body after the transformation. The touch sent warmth surging through him again. It spread across his body like a wave, from his stomach to the tips of his fingers, making him shut his eyes tightly. It was unbearable—the desire he could neither suppress nor ignore. Every movement of his hips, every accidental brush against himself only grew stronger with each passing day in this body.

By now, he had stopped even attempting to find an antidote. His thoughts frequently wandered to places they had never gone before. Every touch of his skin, every motion, sent waves of heat through him that were impossible to ignore.

He tried to distract himself, slowly standing and taking soft steps toward the window. His hips seemed to have a life of their own, swaying with each step, and James felt their weight both physically and emotionally. His movements were fluid, feminine, no matter how much he willed otherwise. He couldn’t suppress it—his body seemed to know instinctively how to move, how to attract attention.

‘Damn that serum,’ he thought again, staring at the horizon. The serum had been his most ambitious project—a breakthrough meant to place his name among the greatest scientists in history. James had spent years researching it, aiming to create a formula to extend life. Naturally, as a true scientist, he decided to test it on himself. But something had gone terribly wrong. Instead of a toned, familiar male physique, he had woken up the next morning to find a woman in the mirror—a woman who looked like every teenage boy’s fantasy.

A passerby on the street snapped him out of his thoughts. It was a tall man in a sharp suit, walking confidently with a phone in hand. He slowed his steps as his gaze drifted upward toward the window and froze on James.

James felt his heart begin to race, but it wasn’t the usual mix of irritation and anger he’d expected. Instead, something else was rising within him—a wave of strange, unsettling excitement.

“God, not again…” His face betrayed him with a smile—soft, barely noticeable, but so natural that James instinctively tried to wipe it away. He bit his lip, struggling to regain control, but it was too late. The man below had noticed it and raised a hand in a friendly wave.

James knew he should turn away. He should retreat behind the curtain and let his emotions fade into the background. Instead, he raised his hand and waved back, a smile appearing on his face.

It was too much. The stranger, whose face James could no longer make out, began to cross the street, heading toward the house. "Damn, what have I done?" James muttered. His breath quickened, and his hands began to tremble as he realized that he was standing n**d, his large, perfectly smooth chest exposed, waiting.

— Damn, damn, damn, — he repeated, and hurriedly backed away from the window. His breasts swung softly from side to side, and a strange sense of arousal gripped him as he watched the motion. He couldn't take his eyes off them, as if seeing them for the first time. His nipples had hardened into two tiny points, and he imagined what it would be like to feel someone's tongue running over them.

Sitting on the couch and trying to calm down, James closed his eyes tightly, hoping it would go away. But his hands were already moving toward his breasts, and his palms touched them gently, his thumbs caressing the nipples. A wave of pleasure surged through him, and he felt a throbbing warmth between his legs.

— This is not happening, not again, — he repeated like a mantra. But he could no longer hold back, and his hands moved slowly down his stomach. In his mind flashed an image of a handsome man touching his thighs, caressing him, making him feel things he had never known before.

— Oh god, — he moaned, as his fingers found his clit and began stroking it slowly. The throbbing inside him grew more and more intense, and the wetness between his legs was almost unbearable.

— The body is... uh... is merely a t-o-o-o-l! — James exhaled, trying to convince himself that what he was doing was just a physiological need, a side effect of his new body. That is why, as his finger slipped inside him and began moving slowly, he closed his eyes tightly and thought about science, about experiments and data, and especially about his theory.

But the stranger's image was stubbornly present in his thoughts, and James could no longer ignore his feelings. His breathing quickened, and his heart pounded in his chest.

— Why? Why it is so good?! Oh, God! — He was almost crying as he increased the pace, his fingers sliding in and out of him, sending waves of pleasure through his entire body.

"I need a cock! A real one inside me!" He screamed internally, convinced now that this is the only thing he needs.

This week, after waking up, he did not leave the house even once and did not communicate with anyone except his assistant, who helped him with new clothes and food delivery. And she was extremely surprised by what the professor chose when they discussed clothes, sexy lingerie and revealing dresses.

He couldn't explain it, he just couldn't bear to even think about wearing some ridiculous, ugly clothes. It was not that he was ashamed or embarrassed, he simply did not want to hide his beauty under something so unattractive.

He had been fighting obsessive desires all week, but this battle was finally over. He had been fighting his obsessive desires all week, but the battle was getting harder and harder with each passing day. He could hardly resist picking up the phone and calling his colleagues as he stroked himself.

He imagined how his old friend, a young scientist and a talented physicist, would look at him if he saw him now. Would he like it? Would he kiss him, run his hands over his body, caress him, or would he reject him, disgusted?

— No, stop, stop, please! — He whimpered, his fingers sliding in and out more and more frantically, bringing him closer and closer to his release.

"It's just biology. Biology! Not me! I don't like it. I... uh... I don't need this! " He tried to tell himself that this was just a physiological need, a side effect of his new body, and not his own desire. He tried not to admit the truth. He was a man, a scientist, not a sex object, not a slut who craved attention and cock. He didn't want any of that! Or... did he?