Shawn's First Shift

This is Shawn's welcome cap! Hope you like it, man.

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At 42, my life was a routine. Divorced, bored, and comfortable with being lonely, my Friday night ritual was always the same: a booth at the Golden Dragon, a Tsingtao, and General Tso's chicken. But tonight, my usual waitress was gone, replaced by some cagey old lady. She moved slowly, and when she got to my booth, she didn't ask for my order. I amiably asked where Ling was, but she seemed to ignore the question. “You look tired,” she said, her voice raspy. “I have something special for you. No charge.” What the fuck...? I was about to refuse, but she kept talking. “In return, we need a favor. This place needs young people. You help bring them in. You become... an advertisement.” Um... okay? It was bizarre, but I was lonely and a free meal was a free meal. “Sure, whatever,” I said. Her thin smile was deeply unsettling. “It will be very personal.” She returned with a small bowl holding a single, glistening dumpling in a dark broth.

Licking my lips, I took a bite. The flavor was out of this world. A spicy, sweet heat burned my tongue and sank into my gut, spreading like hot tendrils through my body. A deep groan, an “Mmmh-hhngh,” rumbled out of my chest. Good lord, this is some good-ass Chinese. The warmth then started vibrating, which was definitely odd, as the food wasn’t that spicy. It started in my core and radiated out, making my skin prickle all over. I reached up to scratch the stubble on my jaw and... what the...? My fingers met smooth, soft skin. My eyes shot down to my hands, and I watched in horror as the coarse hair on my knuckles receded into my pores. I felt my stomach seize as the vibrations intensified. My body, always thick and solid, began to shrink. I felt a wave of vertigo as the table seemed to rise up to meet me. A pained moan, “Nnnnnggghhh... aahh,” tore out of me as my bones felt like they were grinding down, my muscles softening. My jeans were pooling around my ankles, my shirt hanging off me like a tent. My shoulders pulled in, my neck felt thin. A sharp, aching pressure started in my chest, and I watched two small mounds begin to push out against my polo shirt, my new nipples instantly hard and sensitive. The worst part was the feeling between my legs. My old companion, who’s been with me through thick and thin, through porn-less nights just visualizing Ling as she crawls under my booth for a big fat tip--my cock felt like it was dissolving, pulling back into my body with an inverted pressure that was both agonizing and pleasurable. My whole body seized up as my sex was completely reconfigured, a slick, wet emptiness replacing the solid flesh I’d known for my entire life. My hips compressed with a pop, and I let out a shriek, “Eeeeee-yah!” The intense vibration shot up my spine and into my skull. I felt a cracking pressure in my jaw as it narrowed from a hard square into a delicate V-shape. My nose felt like it was being squeezed, the cartilage reshaping into something smaller and finer, while my cheekbones pushed upwards, pulling the skin taut. The skin around my eyes tightened, stretching them into an almond shape that felt alien to my own sockets. My scalp began to itch and prickle intensely, like a thousand tiny needles, and I could feel hair sprouting, growing at an impossible rate, cascading down past my ears, my neck, a heavy curtain of black silk falling over my soft, dainty shoulders. I ran my tongue over my lips and felt only plush, shocking softness where thin, chapped skin used to be. Each new change ripped a fresh sound from my throat--no longer a man’s groan, but a series of helpless high-pitched gasps. This was the final straw. I had to see what the hell I had become.

I stumbled out of the booth, drowning in my own clothes, and lurched into the men's room. I hit the lights and stared. The reflection wasn't Shawn. It was a young Chinese woman, maybe 19 or 20, with huge, terrified dark eyes and a waterfall of jet-black hair. I tried to yell, but what came out was a stream of high-pitched, frantic syllables. “Shénme?! Nǐ zuòle shénme?!” I didn't understand my own voice. I slid down the tiled wall, sobbing in a language I couldn't speak, my hands starting a desperate inventory. I felt sharp new collarbones, the shocking softness of my own cheek. My hands drifted down my body, over a small waist and the startling curve of my hips. When my fingers brushed the hard points of my new breasts, a spike of pure sensation shot through me, making me gasp. A low moan of “Hhnnnng...” vibrated in my throat as my hand slipped down, inside the waistband of my huge pants. I had to know. My fingers found a patch of silky hair and then, something wet, slick, and so incredibly sensitive that a single, brief touch sent a spasm through me that made my toes curl. This body wasn't just new; it was turned on, and I didn’t know how to control it.

The bathroom door creaked open. The old waitress stood there, holding a pile of neatly folded clothes. She knelt down beside me, her expression unchanged. “Hǎo le, hǎo le,” she soothed, and somehow, I understood the command behind the soft words. It's alright. Get dressed. “Time to work, my pretty little sign.” I let her help me out of Shawn's clothes, a , shameful heat flushing my skin as she guided me into a very short, dark skirt and a tight-fitting red top. The fabric rubbing against my nipples was exquisite torture. The skirt barely covered my thighs. When I was dressed, she led me out and stood me near the restaurant's entrance. The terror was still there, but now it was fighting with the body's unpredictable waves of arousal. I saw a group of college boys walk past, and one of them glanced in, his eyes meeting mine. He stopped, did a full double-take, and nudged his friends. A deep, mortifying blush burned my cheeks, but it was accompanied by a slick rush between my thighs. I understood then, with clarity. I was the neon sign. And as I offered them a tentative smile that my face made all on its own, I knew the lonely life of Shawn was gone forever. It had been replaced by this exhilarating new existence, enslaved to a body that knew exactly what it wanted, and whose only job was to make sure every boy in town wanted it, too.