Cow Boy II, Part 2 (Patreon)

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Note: This is a male version of Cow Girl III.

Summary: Sequel to Cow Boy. Decades following Lucas’s ordeal, the cow-person condition is becoming an epidemic. Taylor has the misfortune of contracting the gene. Contains:  Male: pregnancy, belly expansion, breast expansion, butt expansion, multiple breasts, udders, lactation, and more.

Previous Chapter 

-

Late that night, Taylor paced in his parents’ garage, his cell phone held to his ear.

“Hello?” a groggy voice answered on the other line.

“You piece of shit,” said Taylor.

“What? Taylor?” Jack sounded wide-awake now.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you had the gene?”

“G-Gene?” Jack stammered.

“The cow gene. The condom didn’t work. I’m pregnant, you asshole!”

“’the fuck—??”

“I am going to find you and I’m going to rip your spleen out!”

“I g-gotta go.” The line went dead.

As he listened to the dial tone, Taylor was so angry and disgusted, he couldn’t help pacing as he breathed heavily in that dark garage.

A beam of light hit the room as the interior door opened. “Taylor, what are you doing down here? Is everything okay?” Dad’s voice called.

“Fine,” Taylor snapped, storming past his father and back upstairs. He spent most of the weekend locked in his bedroom, trying not to let his parents see what a mess he was, though he was doing a poor job of that.

Taylor was just grateful when Sunday night came and his parents were finally dropping him back off at the college.

"Bye mom. See ya, dad," he said as he opened the car door.

"Taylor, you know that you can talk to us," called Mom.

"About anything," Dad added.

Taylor closed the car door. With a sigh, he turned to his parents and forced a grin. "Yeah, I know."

Taylor waved as the car sped off, his face hardening once the vehicle turned a corner and disappeared from view. He lifted his duffle bag and headed into the building, walking past students scurrying around with armfuls of books, or small groups of them chattering and giggling amongst themselves. Carefree, the way Taylor should have been.

Grimacing, Taylor headed straight for his dorm. He closed and locked the door behind him.

Looking around, Taylor could see that neither of his roommates were around. Dumping his duffle bag on the ground, he pulled out his laptop and cellphone then got searching. Within the hour, he had called several dozen clinics, but none were willing to book him once he disclosed the particularities of his condition. It was finally, when Taylor called a clinic several hours drive from him, that he found a doctor willing to go through with the procedure.

"I'm afraid Dr. Brass is all booked up. The wait is four months."

"What!?” said Taylor in alarm. “Wait, how long can I..."

"In this state, abortion is legal up until the 24th week," said the receptionist kindly.

Taylor’s heart lifted. "Okay, then I'll take the appointment," he said.

After the call, Taylor breathed a sigh of relief. He just had to hold out for a couple of months.

Until then, he decided, he would ignore his condition. It was temporary anyway. Nothing more than an inconvenience. Closing his laptop, Taylor went to bed.

Days flew by as Taylor went back to trying to balance his studies and his social life, often giving favor to the latter. Every so often he would notice an itch here or a bump there, but Taylor largely left these things ignored.

Temporary, he would remind himself.

One evening he mussed up stop his hair in the mirror, admiring how deliciously disheveled he looked. He liked to go for that ‘just-fucked’ aesthetic, even though he hadn’t gotten any action in recent history. He tried not to pay too much attention to how large and green his eyes looked lately. Or how shiny his hair was nowadays, and how quickly it was growing, faster than he could schedule haircuts. All things considered, things weren’t going bad at all.

He struggled with his jeans a little. The seat was stretched tightly over his backside. His ass had clearly grown and was embarrassingly plump, though a lot of guys seemed kind of into it.

It was not a big ass by any means, but it looked huge on Taylor's otherwise slim frame.

"Damn Taylor," said Rick, one of Taylor's classmates. "What the hell is going on with your ass? You getting into those black-market butt injections?"

A passing group of girls burst into giggles. Taylor’s face flushed as he tugged down the hem of his T-shirt. It was weird. Sometimes he kind of liked the attention his ass got, and other times, he felt nothing short of mortified. He had always been a skinny guy, but now he was changing. His chest was growing as well, and he was regularly wearing chest binders and compression shirts to hide what had to be B-cups. Full, round, perky B-cups. They looked better than the ones his friend Pam had paid for. The fact that they were attached to him was something Taylor was still trying to reconcile.

And then there was that weird, contented feeling, even despite it all. A veil of pleasure hung over Taylor as his body grew more supple and sexual. Even on days that he hated himself, there was that overhanging pleasure.

But something came over Taylor one day when he was coming out of the Math Department building.  He noticed a familiar black truck sitting by the curb and he was flooded with memories of one night several weeks before. Taylor pulled out his keys and ran them over the side of the vehicle, making sure to dig them into the shining new paint job.

"Taylor?" said a stunned voice.

Ignoring Jack, Taylor walked off. Other students gathered around pointing, gossiping, and taking pictures of the scene.

-

As the days passed, Taylor could still feel himself…changing. When he looked in the mirror, his face was softer somehow. Maybe less angular now? He was still fit, just...different. His shoulders were less sharp, his ribs no longer showing, and his abdomen…was no longer concave. Taylor had always had difficulty gaining weight and he found the whole thing to be fascinating.

One morning Taylor was walking around his dorm in just a tank top and boxers. Things must have escalated farther than he’d realized, because his roommate, Mike, stopped to stare.

“Dude, what the – shit, you didn’t tell us you are like — well, shit.”

Taylor blinked. “What?” He looked down at himself. “Oh.”

“You’re—transitioning.”

“No, I’m not…er…” Taylor flushed. “I’m not trans, it’s just—”

“It looks good,” Mike said, then he went back to peacefully brushing his teeth while slapping together a turkey sandwich.

Taylor gawked. Shaking himself out of his reverie, he locked himself in the bathroom, and regarded himself in the full-length mirror. He couldn’t deny how tight his boxers had gotten on his ass, some of his crack now bulging over the waistband. And his newly grown tits were protruding blatantly in the old wifebeater he had on. They had only gotten bigger. The sensation of his nipples rubbing against the cotton often made him squirm, and lately the mounds jiggled enough that he craved confinement in his painfully tight constriction garments, uncomfortable though they were.

And then there was the increasing softness of Taylor's abdomen. Over the past week, he had found himself eating a minimum of five meals a day. It wasn't as though he could control it. Lately his stomach had a mind of its own.

"Right," Taylor stated blankly to the mirror, feeling numb. He folded his arms over his chest as he walked out of the bathroom, passing by his other roommate, who was waiting by the door. Peter didn't even bother to look up, too busy texting on his phone.

It was the weekend of his first group therapy session. Taylor was to attend the meetings monthly, at minimum. Fully intending not to look like some whiny head-case, Taylor went through his closet. “Fuck it,” he muttered, as he pulled on a string tank top. No compression, no binder, no undershirt. Just the extremely low-cut tank top that his tits were practically spilling out of. It was a statement. He had no need for counseling.

He stared at his bizarre reflection, thinking back to what Mike had said. Maybe Taylor really didn’t have to be embarrassed by all this…all this temporary stuff going on with him.

A guy with boobs. Fucking crazy. And now he was just going to like, show them off? He must have been insane.

Nevertheless, Taylor pulled on a pair of joggers and some sneakers, then headed out. It was only a fifteen-minute ride from campus. The drive brought Taylor to a small, darkened library that didn’t even look as though it was operating anymore. Though finding it somewhat dubious, Taylor went inside. The door was unlocked and there actually were a couple of patrons walking up and down the shabby rows of books. There were also signs on the wall with the words THERAPY GROUP in bold letters, with arrows pointing towards a door off the main room. Nice and subtle. Taking a deep breath, Taylor let himself inside.

The room was brightly lit, and he must have been late, because a small group of a dozen or so people were already seated in a circle in the center.

There was a woman with a large, strange mound bulging in the front of her shorts. And there was a chubby girl with cow-ears protruding out from her hair. Taylor saw a young buff man with two small horns poking out from the top of his head. There was a woman with two pairs of C-cup breasts perched on her chest. Taylor noticed one or two women who looked perfectly normal, as well as another guy with no clear abnormalities. Taylor was beginning to realize just how unique he was in this space. He was one of three guys in the room, and the only one among them who had…well…tits.

In the back, a woman in business-wear was pacing while having a hushed conversation on her cell phone. She looked heavily pregnant, maybe at term. Taylor couldn’t help staring. She had two pairs of D-cup breasts perched above her belly. Beneath her belly was another rounded mound, this one the size of a large grapefruit. Though the woman waddled slightly, she seemed surprisingly mobile.

“You must be Taylor.”

Taylor’s eyes darted back to the circle. A woman in a blouse and dress pants was smiling his way.

“I’m Ms. Clark. Why don’t you have a seat?” She motioned to the chair beside hers.