The Home Stretch

 

I stand in front of the mirror, my phone in hand, snapping a picture of my reflection. “Wow,” I murmur to myself, running a hand gently over my round, swollen belly. Nine months pregnant. If someone had told me a year ago that this would be me, I would’ve laughed in their face. But here I am—nine months pregnant, expecting a little girl in just a few days. And the craziest part? Nine months ago, I was a man.

I stare at my reflection, almost in disbelief. The Medallion of Zulo—it changed everything. I was just curious, you know? I wanted to see what it would be like to live as a woman for a few days. That’s all it was supposed to be. Just a little experiment. I figured I’d change back and have a story to laugh about. But instead… instead, everything spiraled out of control. I let out a soft laugh. "Curiosity killed the cat," I whisper to myself. Or at least turned him into a pregnant woman.

At first, when I swapped bodies, it was weird. I remember standing there in front of a mirror, just like I am now, staring at myself and feeling completely disconnected. My body was softer, curvier… I had breasts. I was just trying to get used to all of it when something even crazier started happening. It feels surreal even thinking about it. I used to be a guy—an average, carefree guy who had no idea what it would be like to live in a woman's body, let alone carry a child. That all changed when I found the Medallion of Zulo. It was supposed to be a simple experiment, a temporary curiosity—just a little gender-swap adventure. I thought I’d switch back in a few days, maybe get a kick out of the experience, and move on with my life. But instead, that one decision altered my world in ways I couldn’t have imagined.

The moment I put on that medallion, I felt an instant pull deep inside me, like a heavy weight sinking through my body. There was a momentary flash of warmth, followed by a buzzing sensation that started at the back of my neck and rippled down my spine. It wasn’t painful, exactly, but it was disorienting. I remember closing my eyes, my heart racing, trying to stay calm as the transformation began.

First, it was subtle—the feeling of my muscles loosening, of my skin softening. But soon, it became much more intense. My chest began to tingle, and when I glanced down, I saw my pectoral muscles slowly shifting, rounding out into soft, fleshy mounds. Breasts. I gasped in disbelief as they swelled before my eyes, my nipples darkening and becoming more sensitive. They felt heavy, alien, but undeniably real. I could hardly believe what I was seeing, and yet I couldn’t stop it.

The next thing I felt was the tightening of my waist. It was like invisible hands were gently molding me, reshaping me from the inside out. My torso cinched in, narrowing, while my hips began to push outwards. I placed my hands on my hips, feeling the bone structure beneath my skin expand, becoming wider and rounder as my pelvis shifted into a more feminine shape. The sensation was unlike anything I’d ever experienced—uncomfortable yet fascinating at the same time. It was as though my entire skeletal system was being rebuilt to suit this new form.

Then came the most dramatic change: my lower body. I could feel my thighs thickening, my muscles softening and reshaping themselves into a more feminine form. I felt a strange pulling sensation in my groin, and suddenly, I knew—my male anatomy was being reabsorbed, replaced with something new, something distinctly female. The sensation was sharp at first, like a twisting, before settling into a dull ache as my body completed its transformation. I closed my eyes again, trying to steady my breathing, feeling my manhood disappear completely. In its place, I felt a soft, warm void—a new set of parts I had no idea how to deal with. It was all so strange, so foreign, and yet undeniably real. I was no longer a man. I was fully, completely female.

When I finally opened my eyes and looked in the mirror, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The person staring back at me wasn’t me—not the me I had known my whole life. My face had softened, my jawline less pronounced, my lips fuller, my eyes somehow larger and framed by longer lashes. My hair, which had been short and cropped, now cascaded down my shoulders in soft, wavy locks. I reached up to touch my face, my new face, and it felt strange—smooth, soft, delicate. I looked like a woman… because I was a woman.

My hands trembled as I ran them down my body, feeling the curves that hadn’t been there moments before. My breasts were full and heavy, my waist was narrow, and my hips were wide and rounded. My thighs touched in a way they never had before, my entire body feeling softer, more pliable. I couldn’t help but explore every inch of my new form, still trying to wrap my mind around what had just happened.

As the reality of the transformation settled in, I began to notice other, subtler changes. My sense of touch felt heightened, more acute. Every brush of fabric against my skin sent shivers down my spine. My new breasts were incredibly sensitive, and I could feel the weight of them with every movement. And then there was the heat. It started low in my belly and spread through my body like wildfire. My libido surged, stronger than anything I had ever felt as a man. It was overwhelming, almost unbearable, like my entire body was humming with need.

I chuckle at the memory. “That was wild,” I mutter. One night, I was out with some friends, trying to ignore it. A few drinks in, I started feeling tipsy. And then there was this guy. I don’t even remember his name. He was tall, with dark hair, and we hit it off. We flirted, danced, had a few more drinks, and before I knew it, we were back at his place. I should’ve known better. God, I should’ve known better. But my new body wasn’t letting me think straight.

“Just one night,” I tell myself, shaking my head at the memory. “One night of impulsiveness…” I didn’t think about consequences then. I was too wrapped up in the moment, in how my skin tingled under his touch, in how my body responded in ways that were still so foreign to me. We didn’t use protection. I didn’t even think about it. It was stupid, but I was still getting used to everything—the heightened libido, the sensitivity, the overwhelming pull of desire that I couldn’t quite control yet.

And here I am now. Nine months later, standing in front of the mirror, pregnant with his child. He doesn’t even know. Hell, I don’t even know if I remember his face clearly. But none of that matters anymore.

I sigh, turning slightly to the side, admiring the curve of my belly. “Look at you,” I whisper to her, feeling her kick lightly in response. “You’re strong, aren’t you?” I smile, feeling warmth flood my chest. I didn’t expect this. Not the pregnancy, not the way my body would change, and definitely not the way it would make me feel.

At first, I was terrified. Those early weeks were rough—morning sickness that lasted all day, exhaustion, and the emotional rollercoaster that I wasn’t prepared for. My body felt alien to me. I would lie awake at night, wondering how I had gotten here. Wondering if this was some sort of cosmic joke. A man, pregnant? It felt like a punishment at first, like life was mocking me for messing with forces I didn’t understand. I used to talk to her—well, talk to myself, really—but it felt like talking to her. “You’re a girl,” I’d whisper, resting my hand on my belly as it began to grow. “And I have no idea how to be a woman, let alone a mother.”

But as the months went on, things changed. The nausea faded, my belly grew rounder, and I started feeling her movements inside me. At first, it was like little flutters, almost like bubbles. Then, as she grew stronger, the kicks became more pronounced, more real. I couldn’t deny it anymore—I was going to be a mother. The panic I once felt began to ease, replaced by something softer, something deeper. “Maybe this isn’t so bad,” I would think to myself during those quiet moments. “Maybe this is where I’m supposed to be.” The pregnancy—though unexpected and terrifying at first—started to make me feel more connected to my new body. It wasn’t just that I had grown used to being a woman; I had come to embrace it.

I glance down at the maternity dress hugging my belly. “Who would’ve thought I’d actually feel… at home in this body?” I say aloud, shaking my head in amazement. It’s true, though. The pregnancy has given me a new appreciation for being a woman. I feel grounded, connected to something bigger than myself. Sure, my body isn’t what it used to be—I’m softer, curvier, heavier—but there’s power in that softness. There’s strength in knowing I’m carrying life.

It’s funny, really. For all the years I lived as a man, I never thought much about what it meant to be a woman. And now, here I am—nine months into this journey, and I can’t imagine life any other way. “She’s changed everything,” I think to myself, smiling. “And I haven’t even met her yet.”

The third trimester has been a blur of emotions—joy, fear, anticipation. I’ve spent weeks preparing for her arrival, setting up the nursery, folding tiny clothes, trying to wrap my head around the fact that soon, I’ll be holding her in my arms. Sometimes, I catch myself talking to her as if she can hear me. “I promise I’ll do my best,” I whisper when I’m alone, rubbing my belly in soothing circles. “I don’t know how this happened, but I think… I think I’m ready.”

I snap one more photo, the corners of my mouth lifting into a soft smile. This body—the one I once feared would be my prison—has become my sanctuary. It’s taken time, but I’ve come to love it. Every curve, every stretch mark, every kick from the little life growing inside me. She’s taught me more about myself than I ever thought possible. And maybe, just maybe, this was where I was always meant to end up.

The man I used to be? He feels like a distant memory. I’m not him anymore. I’m someone new—someone stronger, softer, and maybe even a little wiser. And soon, I’ll be someone’s mother. The thought makes me laugh softly as I cradle my belly, feeling her respond with another gentle kick. “We’ve got this,” I whisper, more to myself than anyone else. “We’ve come this far, haven’t we?”

With that, I take one last look in the mirror, feeling a quiet sense of contentment wash over me. The journey that brought me here was strange and unexpected, but I wouldn’t change it for anything. Whatever comes next, I’m ready.