Cow Boy II, Part 15 (Patreon)

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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.

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Taylor had admittedly been pessimistic about finding clothes that could accommodate his ludicrous body. But now that he had, he didn’t quite know what to think of it.

The store held a large variety of soft bras in various styles and sizes, as well as nipple covers that were amazingly comfortable on his tender, often-sore, breasts. Taylor thought of the way his mounds were typically squished and squeezed under his ever-tightening undershirts and tank tops. Suddenly, he couldn’t bear the thought of that abuse a moment longer. Not after discovering this mortifying yet wonderful alternative.

Taylor again glided his fingers against the pasties he had put on, musing on how the gentle material adhered to his nipples perfectly while somehow minimizing a great deal of the sensitivity. It was certainly a—good thing. At least it would be, in terms of functionality. This alone would quell the seemingly-perpetual state of arousal that plagued Taylor’s body lately.

He continued to examine himself in the mirror, taking in the eerie perfection of his four round, perky, breasts.

He peeled the pasties off his nipples, eyes drifting back to the pile of clothing he had there to try on. Taylor lifted an odd contraption that seemed like two bras attached to each other. The straps of the bottom one connected to the base of the upper one. What was odder was that the upper two cups were a different size from the lower ones. The store clerk—Patty—had guessed his measurements just by eyeballing his body.

Hesitating only a moment longer, Taylor managed to clasp the dual-bra around himself. The bottom cups, Cs, perfectly cradled his lower breasts, and the upper cups, (fucking hell) DDDs, seemed to fit him just as snugly.

Taylor glided his hands over the result. It felt good. Comfortable. Still silently baffled that his bizarre growths of incongruous sizes would now be common enough for companies to manufacture accommodating bras, Taylor dug through the clothing pile and continued to grudgingly try on women’s attire.

The first outfit was a long, shapeless dress that made him feel overheated just looking at it. “Yeah right,” he muttered, shoving it aside. It looked abysmal and would do little to disguise his abnormalities.

Taylor tried on a dark blue shirt that seemed to fit, at least. He found that the mirror in his booth was too narrow for him to properly see — well, the extent of himself. He bit the inside of his cheek. Wonderful, he thought sarcastically. He had seen the larger mirrors outside of his stall, in the communal area of the dressing rooms. It seemed a ridiculous design choice for a maternity store.

There was a tapping on the door. “You okay in there, hun?” Patty called.

Taylor’s annoyance surged. Despite his better judgement, he opened the door and stepped out.

He went straight to a mirror, ignoring Patty, and all the cow-whores around them. Frowning slightly, he examined himself, tugging absently on the fabric of the top.

It was at least more comfortable than anything else he owned. Yet it was tragically fashioned to show his condition off, the chest hugging against his two pairs of breasts, his belly protruding blatantly out in the formfitting material. Taylor turned to his side and wondered whether it was possible that his ass was getting even fatter.

“Gawgeous!” said Patty like a proper salesperson.

Taylor ignored her as he continued to scowl at his appearance in the mirror. In an outfit so fitted, he began to notice things he had been ignoring. Like his line of cleavage peeking up in the V-neck, and how his hips seemed to be rounding out at his flanks.

He undeniable looked like a cow girl. Even his cheeks seemed rounder, softer, pinker.

In his peripheral vision, he could see women in varying stages of pregnancy, adjusting their clothes, changing, some of them standing in the mirrors half-naked—if not completely naked. They conversed enthusiastically and were complimentary towards each other. They chatted about their conditions, whined about how big they were getting, and discussed their spouses—or lack thereof—but the consensus mood was excitement. There was a lightness to them which Taylor just didn’t associate with this disease.

Some of the women were flushed, glowing, and even savoring the “experience.” It wasn’t like the support group; there was none of the humiliation that Taylor had thought to be inherent. One of the women was barely showing but getting huge sizes of clothes. She spoke with giddiness to another store clerk. She said she was carrying a “heavy litter” and couldn’t wait to see how big she got.

Taylor tried not to look at them, not understanding how they could be proud of their freakish bodies. Taking a deep inhalation, he returned his gaze of his own mirror.

“What do you think?” said Patty cheerfully.

Taylor threw her a scathing look, and returned to his stall without a word.

For some reason, he tried on a dress, thinking maybe he could wear it as a shirt.

He was wrong.

It was black and stretchy, and was certainly the last thing a pregnant person should be wearing. He turned to his side, and stared uneasily at the way it exaggerated his eight-month-pregnant-looking belly. It hugged his ass and hips, and accentuated every curve of his breasts. The material snapped back against him every time he fidgeted and tugged as if he could somehow turn it more modest. Beneath the dress, he was still braless, and he could see every outline of his swollen nipples.

Taylor quickly doffed the offending piece. The next outfit choice was a relief in contrast. Taylor soon found himself wearing a trendy blazer with a button-down that was formfitting against his body. Though the clothing at this shop were meant for women, this piece was actually gender-neutral. It still wasn’t as loose as he would have preferred.

He exited the stall and looked himself over in the full mirror, the old sweatpants he had on mismatching with the store’s crisp clothing, but he still looked, dare-he-say, fashionable, freak pregnancy notwithstanding.

“Good find!” said a voice.

Taylor abruptly turned away from the mirror, fully intending to snap at Patty, but found himself suddenly face to face with an unfamiliar young woman. Patty was actually several feet beyond, amiably helping a—perhaps more willing—customer.

“It looks incredible on you,” continued the stranger with a broad grin, her red hair accentuating her crimson-painted lips. She looked to be in her early twenties, probably around Taylor’s age. “The bulls will be falling all over themselves.”

Taylor grimaced at the implication that he wasn’t a bull. Which he wasn’t. Clearly. He frowned down at himself, before looking back up at the redhead. She reminded him a little of Mindy, in a bad way. “I’m not trying to attract any bulls — I don’t even think that’s appropriate. I’m already fucking pregnant.” Taylor motioned to his midsection with a sarcastic sneer.

She raised an eyebrow, her smile not faltering. Taylor was surprised that it had taken him this long to notice that she was wearing nothing more than a pair of strapless bras and some panties. Not that he cared. He was gay, after all. But his heart sank as he registered the fact that their bodies seemed to almost match. There were exceptions. The woman’s belly seemed somewhat larger that Taylor’s, and she was a little chubbier around the hips. And of course, she didn’t have the now very-embarrassing and very-small nub where Taylor’s ever-shrinking gender sat practically hidden in his briefs. In its place, she had an ominous fluffiness to her pubic region, a prominent curve that Taylor quickly tore his gaze away from.

The redhead stepped closer, her bulging navel lightly brushing against Taylor’s. He released a sharp gasp. He hadn’t realized how close they were to each other. Lately, his belly made that a difficult thing to gauge.

“Screw appropriate,” she said, casually pressing her belly harder against his. “I didn’t ask to blow up like a blimp.”

Taylor had to agree. All of this had happened so rapidly. He stepped back, forcing another smile, if just to cover up the sudden onslaught of emotion. The redhead seemed to have a way about her of putting people on edge. “I guess you’re right.” He shrugged.

“Damn straight I am.” She only got closer.

Taylor froze as the redhead reached out with her arms. She really had to stretch and crane to reach Taylor’s shoulders, their bellies pressing far too snuggly. There was a clear wriggling inside her, and it was all just…odd. Taylor felt his cheeks warm.

Finally she reached her goal, pushing on Taylor’s shoulders until he reflexively leaned back, straightening his tender spine while pushing his belly outward. The change in posture undeniably felt great.

“There,” said the redhead, as she pulled back with a self-satisfied smirk.

Taylor blinked, now straightened from the hunch he must have adopted when he had first started to show. He was not sure when it had become an everyday thing. Walking around with his shoulders rolled forward, futilely trying to mitigate what was present and obvious.

“Their shame is not your problem,” declared the woman.

“I…right,” said Taylor, nonplussed. As the redhead turned and waddled off, Taylor unconsciously wrapped his hands around his belly. He had never really thought of things that way before. He took a deep breath, and returned to his booth to try on another outfit.

The afternoon proceeded like that, with Taylor trying on outfit after outfit, as the surrounding cow girls idly threw him compliments and sometimes wolf-whistles from their own mirrors. He wasn’t sure if they were teasing him. Maybe he reeked of insecurity, and they were just being…nice.

They threw cheeky smiles, sometimes cooing or calling him “adorable” and generally making Taylor’s cheeks burn. He undeniably stuck out amongst them, but rather than treating him like the freak that he was, the cow girls had somehow taken a liking of him.

Taylor decided to be irritated. It was easier than dealing with the queasy emotionality. He became less ashamed of his body than he was of his timidity. He gritted his teeth and ceased with his shuffling in and out of his booth. He arched his back—as the redhead had made him—his belly even more prominent as he stood there in just a straining little tank top he was practically exploding out of, as well as some tight briefs that hugged his round ass, as he tried to study the shirt in his hands.

God, what am I still doing here? Taylor deflated somewhat. Clearly he wasn’t planning to wear any of these clothes, much as he tried them on.

“Too cute,” someone intoned. Taylor turned to a brunette who was wearing a mischievous smile. “Looks like your udder is coming in.”

The shirt dropped from Taylor’s hand as he returned his gaze to his mirror. He slid his hand along his lower belly…and lower. He swallowed. He had been avoiding it. He hadn’t wanted to think about it at all.

Yet he allowed his fingers to ghost over the front of his briefs, over the faintest swell contained within them.

Taylor abruptly returned to his stall. He hastily jerked on his sweatpants and Jack’s shoddy sweater, before gathering up most of the clothes from the pile, and staggering with them towards the registers. He ignored Patty’s enthusiastic waves as she bid him goodbye.

Soon enough, he was dumping two bulging bags of clothes into his car’s trunk, and then easing his weary body into the driver’s seat.

His belly perched itself heavily in his lap, its insides turning. The steering wheel slid against the mound as he turned out of the parking lot.

The red-haired woman had been right. Taylor’s shame wasn’t serving him. It was only making him uncomfortable and fortifying stigmas that cow-people were lesser just because of the cow condition.

Taylor couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t hang his head or hide away, or try to conceal his body with baggy attire—not that there was anything that could conceal this belly at that point.

It was time to be unapologetically him.

It was time to just be…a cow.

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