Stoned Desires (Patreon)

— Fuuuuuuuck, duuuuude! Where the hell are you?! — Rubbing his weed-red eyes, Jeffrey tripped over an empty Coke can and almost went face-first into the carpet. — Stan? Heeey!

But there was no answer. In the spot where his stoned buddy had just been, babbling some crap about how “it’d be cool to know and live life as a girl,” there was now only a warm dent in the carpet and a faint smell of weed mixed with mustard from a hot dog.

— Staaaaaan?.. — Jeffrey pressed his back to the wall, clutching the Coke can like it was holy water. — Not funny, man… We’ve never had hallucinations from this weed… usually…

He peeked into the kitchen — nobody. The bathroom — empty. Even the closet where Stanley usually crashed when he overdid it — dead silence. His heart was pounding like crazy, and his weed-slowed brain kept trying to spit out at least some explanation.

At that moment, the silence was broken by the doorbell. Loud, insistent, like whoever was on the other side had absolutely no patience.

— Ohhh, f*ck… — He staggered toward the door, already picturing cops, a snitchy neighbor, or worse — his ex with an axe.

Jeffrey cracked the door open and froze.

There was a girl on the doorstep. Not just a girl — a glossy magazine cover come to life. Her hair was in a high bun with two decorative sticks in it, the kind you’d see in a sushi place, except these had golden tips. A red top with a neckline that instantly drew his eyes downward… and kept them there. Under a red-plaid jacket and pencil skirt, her massive tits seemed to live their own separate life, softly bouncing as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. In her hands was a beige clutch, her long fingers tipped with crimson nails, lipstick to match.

She let her gaze slide over him, one brow slightly raised.

— You look… worse than I remember — she said in a confident, slightly mocking tone, stepping inside without an invitation.

Jeffrey blinked.

— Uh… miss, you… you are? — he stammered, unable to tear his eyes away from her tits, moving so clearly under the thin fabric of her top that he could almost hear the synthetic fibers stretch over those firm curves. It seemed like just a little more and the fabric would give up, letting him see it all.

She, as if not noticing where he was staring, walked past, her hips swaying in that pencil skirt, and casually looked around.

— Yeah… what a dump — she let out a quiet chuckle without even glancing at him, moving deeper inside like a homeowner who’d come back from a long vacation only to find the tenant had given up on cleaning.

— Uh… — Jeffrey felt like his brain couldn’t keep up with his eyes. He was staring at her hips, at the way the skirt’s fabric clung tight to them, and realized that inside him panic, arousal, and a dull, smoky haze had all gotten tangled together.

— Uh… miss… — he took a step after her — where… exactly are you from?

She pressed the clutch to her breasts, lifting them slightly, and lazily studied the dirty plates on the kitchen counter.

— Yep, all here: chips, sauce, empty bottles, and that smell… romance — her voice was low, a bit husky, with a clear edge of mockery.

— Listen… I mean, I’m not complaining that someone so… mm… well, gorgeous dropped by — he swallowed when he noticed her tits softly push forward as she bent over the table — but I’ve never seen you before in my life.

She turned to him with a sigh.

— Yeah, of course you don’t know. Maybe lift your eyes up, huh?

Jeffrey blinked, obediently dragging his gaze up from her tits like he was surfacing from a sticky dream. Red lips. A sharp jawline. Brown eyes — deep, and in them… something familiar, strangely hooking.

— You… — he frowned, tilting his head slightly. — Oh, shit… have we… met before? Did I… did I sleep with you?

She slowly ran a nail along the clutch, savoring the moment, and smirked.

— You always ask so directly, sweetie? — her voice was drawn out, like someone who was deliberately teasing.

— Well… I just… — he swallowed — I don’t want you to think I’m… uh… stupid. Although, okay, I probably look exactly like that right now.

She took a couple of steps toward him, her heels clicking softly on the floor, and stopped close enough for him to catch her perfume — sweet, expensive, with a warm, spicy note.

— Yeah, in my memory you looked… less pathetic — she said it almost warmly, but with a trace of mockery.

— Wait… — he stared into her eyes, and in that depth there was something familiar, but absolutely impossible. — Are you… a friend of my ex? Or… were you at Ted’s party?

She laughed quietly, and her tits gave a soft bounce under the thin fabric of her top, making Jeffrey instinctively drop his gaze again.

— Eyes up — she said it almost in a whisper, but there was steel in her tone.

He obediently lifted his head, feeling like some schoolboy caught red-handed.

And then she smiled — not sweetly, but like she had just won a bet he didn’t even know he was part of.

— That’s better — she said slowly, adjusting her jacket so the line of her cleavage stood out even more. — Look me in the eyes, because I’m about to explain to you what it means to “live life as a girl.”

— What?.. — he swallowed, trying to figure out where the hell this was going.

She leaned in a little closer, her warm breath brushing his cheek, and without breaking eye contact whispered:

— Jeff… it’s me. Stan.

His throat tightened. His weed-fogged brain felt like it just got hit with an ice-cold shower.

— Whaaat the…? — he breathed, stepping back. — That’s some… bullshit.

— I thought the same thing when I came into the world 27 years ago as a newborn, and was even more shocked when I found out I was a girl — and that it was 1998, wrapped in some pink blanket — she said it with a look that made it clear she still hadn’t forgiven that blanket for existing.

— Wait, wait… — Jeffrey instinctively backed up to the table, leaning on the edge. — You’re not gonna fool me, I’m not faaaalling for this…

— Suit yourself, though I’m honestly surprised you even remember me. I was sure coming here was a waste of time — she tilted her head slightly, her gold earrings giving a soft clink. — Because here, I was never even here.

— What? — Jeffrey jerked, clutching the can to his chest. — What the hell are you talking about? We literally just… like… a couple of hours ago, we were sitting here smoking, and you… I mean he was… well… here, and then just vanished! — he trailed off because he’d just noticed again how her tits rose smoothly as she breathed out.

— Sweetie — she said it like talking to a child stubbornly refusing to admit the obvious — in this reality, there is no “Stan.” Never. Not yesterday, not twenty years ago, not ever. There’s only me — Stella. But I am glad you remember what I used to be like.

— This… is bullshit — Jeffrey looked around awkwardly, as if searching for anything to prove her wrong. — Just… wait… — he pulled his phone from his pocket and, still swaying, opened his contacts. — I’ll show you! — he jabbed a finger at the screen… but “Stanley” wasn’t there.

— Ohhh… — he froze. — Shit… — he immediately jumped to his messenger, scrolled through the chat history, then the photos.

Not a single one — no drunk selfies, no party shots, not even an old college pic.

— No way… — he slowly sat down on the edge of the couch, feeling panic start creeping in through the thick haze of his high.

— Yep — she leaned her hip against the table, the skirt’s fabric pulling tight enough to make Jeffrey’s mouth go dry — in my world, I grew up as a girl. And “thank you” — she curved her fingers in the air to make quotes — for these… monsters I have to carry around now. You have no idea, Jeff, what kind of… hell this is. Especially when…

— Uh… — he stared at her tits again, forgetting he was supposed to look her in the eyes. — What do you mean?.. How’s that my fault?

— You, sweetie — she made the quote marks again — and your brilliant, stoner speech about “a busty chick who eats men like hot dogs.” That’s exactly when that damn coin decided my wishes were garbage, and yours were holy scripture.

— What? No, I said she… — Jeffrey blinked, trying to recall exactly how he’d phrased his brilliant baked monologue — …like… should want dicks the way I wanted that hot dog… but it was just… you know… a figure of speech!

— Oh my God, that’s why I… — she started, then stopped, covering her brightly painted lips with her palm, staring off for a few seconds as if realizing something filthy and deeply personal at the same time. Then she slowly dropped her hand, gave a crooked smile, and looked at him again. — That’s where I got… this hunger. This… constant itch in the back of my head, like you’re always waiting for something.

— Uh… what itch? — Jeffrey frowned, but his eyes betrayed him, sliding downward again.

— This one — she snapped her fingers sharply in front of his face, snapping him out of his visual coma — when your brain just keeps running the same… mm… scenario. You get it? You could be in a meeting, in a café, picking out lipstick at Sephora — and somewhere in the back of your mind there’s this picture of… — she smirked slightly — something warm and firm filling your mouth.

— Uuuf — Jeffrey exhaled, realizing that after those words he’d gotten hard without meaning to, and immediately tried to shield his lap with the Coke can, like that could save whatever was left of his dignity.

Stella noticed it and slowly, with almost theatrical pleasure, tilted her head to the side.

— Ah, there it is — my favorite effect — she said with a slight smirk. — And you, sweetie, have no idea what a shitshow it was when… — she gestured deliberately around her breasts, making the red top stretch even tighter — when all this started. I was thirteen, and my tits were just… hinting they were going to turn into this. I thought it was just hormones. Then at sixteen, when the first guy tried to really kiss me, I realized — no. This wasn’t just curiosity. This was straight-up… hunger. And the older I got — the stronger it became.

— Uh… — he swallowed, his gaze dropping lower as she rolled her shoulders slightly forward, making the top cling even more to her curves. — And your boobs… well… they’re…

— They’re a damn prison sentence, Jeff — she cut in, raising a brow. — Do you have any idea what it’s like to carry six kilos of this around every day? Shoulders ache, back hurts, running is hell. And bras? Mine cost more than half your wardrobe. And all because your baked-ass brain once decided that “a busty chick friend” was funny.

— Well… — he scratched his temple — but right now… mm… they do look… you know… amazing.

She scoffed, arching one brow.

— Oh, thank you, Mister Expert on Amazing — she drawled with icy, almost velvet sarcasm, and at that moment her phone buzzed in her hand. The ringtone — expensive, refined jazz with a muted saxophone. Stella glanced at the screen, the corner of her lips twitching slightly.

— Mmm… — she purred, and a shadow of something intimate flickered in her eyes. — That’s… my boyfriend.

Jeffrey, still high but already feeling his heart trying to pound through the cotton in his chest, blinked.

— Wait… boyfriend? But you… if you’re Stan, then… you’re… uh… like… for real… — he swallowed — …a girl girl?

She lifted the phone to her ear, and her breasts under the red top gave the slightest bounce, her nipples instantly showing through the thin fabric.

— Hey, baby — her voice into the phone became warm, a little sultry. — Yeah, I’m done. No, no… I just stopped by somewhere.

Jeffrey caught himself stupidly staring at the way the fabric of her top hugged her tits, trying to process that these were the very “monsters” she’d complained about — and they were now… reacting to her boyfriend’s call.

— Yeah — she smiled slightly into the phone — I missed you too. A lot. — She closed her eyes for a moment, as if savoring the words on the other end, and absently ran her fingers along her thigh, straightening her posture.

Jeffrey swallowed. — F*ck… Stan… or… Stella… you… really… — he hesitated — like… became her. With all the… you know… urges, that whole… life…

She opened her eyes and, covering the mic with her hand, looked at him with a slight, almost predatory grin.

— Jeff, sweetie… I didn’t just become her. I grew up as her. That’s twenty-seven years where instead of a morning hangover, I had periods. Instead of our baked hangouts — endless stares down my cleavage since I was fourteen. Instead of simple T-shirts — bras that dig into my skin.

— Ugh… — he ran a hand down his face like he was trying to wipe away reality, but the high and the strange arousal only grew stronger. — This… is too much.

She gave a small scoff. — Welcome to my world.

Something on the other end of the line made her nipples twitch even harder under the fabric, and she bit her lip lightly before replying in a soft, drawn-out tone:

— Mmm… yeah. Tonight. Just you. Okay, baby, I’ll call you back.

Stella glanced around the apartment again, adjusted her skirt so the fabric once more stretched dangerously tight across her hips, and slowly walked past Jeffrey to the door.

— Well, Jeff, I’m kinda disappointed — she said, glancing back with a smirk — This was nothing like I expected. Goodbye. And clean up — it stinks in here.

The sharp click of her heels echoed one last time, and she vanished into the hallway, leaving only the sweet trail of her perfume in the apartment.