Competition - part 2 (Patreon)

He didn't place. He'd gone out under the hot lights and squeezed until he thought his temples might burst, but the definition just wasn't there anymore. The judges had basically looked right past him.

The showers at the venue smelled like old spray tan and cheap soap. Most of the heavyweight guys were still out by the vendor booths eating donuts or packing their bags. The water was scalding, which helped a little. He stood under the showerhead, trying not to look down at his legs - or his crotch. He dragged a bar of hotel soap over his chest.

Then his collarbone ached.

His pecs were swelling. Pushing out against his hand. The muscle felt like it was shifting underneath, gathering at the bottom and pulling heavy. He stared at his blurry reflection in the wet tile. His areolas were spreading out, getting darker. The tissue kept pushing forward until he was looking at actual breasts. Wellness division breasts.

His delts were still capped. He still had the width up top, but the whole frame was wrong now. His lats pulled in tight against his ribs, pinching down into a tiny waist before flaring out into the hips he'd been dragging around since prejudging.

He left the curtain shoved to the side. Cold air hit his wet skin. From the neck down, he was a woman. A heavy, muscular woman. His face still had the same two-day shadow. Same buzzcut. Same wide, hyper-alert eyes staring back at him. Someone's head glued onto the wrong body.

His hand moved on its own, catching the underside of his left breast. Heavy. The skin was painfully sensitive where his calluses scraped it.

"Shit," he said. His voice cracked.

He reached past the spray and wrenched the tap shut. The pipes groaned, and then the sudden quiet of the room dropped over him. The towel wasn't going to disguise this. He clutched the wet edge of the shower curtain, leaning his head out past the stall to scan the rows of shower stalls, heart hammering against his new chest, checking to see if any men had walked in.