Grimmlord 2.5 (Patreon)

Chapter 6

Let us return now, reader, to Grimmlord, the now winsome lass. When last we saw him, he was struggling with the fact that the male heroes he once counted as manly comrades have now taken to hitting on him.

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Grimmlord shook his head. There was no way he wanted to tell his former lover how he’d been freaked out by guys hitting on him. “No. It just— happened.”

Noemi, however, knew better, and she gently drew it out of him, getting Grimmlord to confess to what had happened and how confused and grossed out it made him feel. Finally, he finished with,”I don’t know what to do. How do I get them to stop coming on to me?”

“Hmmmmn,” Noemi said, brushing a loose hair away from his face, then cupping his smooth, soft cheek. “There is actually a simple answer to that.”

“What?” Grimmlord said, excited.

“Get a boyfriend.”

“What?”

Noemi shrugged. “Get a guy.”

“If you aren’t going to take this seriously, forget it,” Grimmlord said, tossing his long hair.  He started to get up and storm off, but Noemi put a hand on his arm. “Hold on. Sorry. I was teasing a little.”

“It isn’t funny.”

“It is what I did, myself. Especially back in high-school. A lot of girls did. I got tired of guys pestering me, so I got a boyfriend. Brad.” She sighed as she remembered her younger days.

“I don’t like guys just because I have this body now.” Grimmlord felt more than ever that he needed to assert his manhood, especially given that he was not only a female now, but had a bombshell body that would make most women envious. From the time he’d started changing, finding himself with an impressive bust, he’d felt that his physical emasculation demanded an ever more aggressive demonstration of the true self he felt inside, which was all man.

“I know. I know. I didn’t actually like Brad. He was pretty boring. But, once other guys knew I was going steady with someone, they backed off. Still, that may not be for you.”

“It isn’t. So, what can I do?”

“Get used to it?”

“No way. Why should I have to get used to guys being a-holes?”

“Because guys are guys. You’re a hot girl now, and you have those crazy pheromones.”

“They should show some will power.”

Noemi shook her head. “You sound like every woman I know.”

“I am NOT a woman.”

“You’re going to just have to keep fighting them off. As long as you have that body, I doubt guys are going to stop hitting on you.”

“Great. Good talk.” He got up. “I’m going to go workout. I need to figure out my next move. Once I get back to my real self, I won’t have to worry about— guys— anymore. And I do my best thinking when I’m sweating.”

Noemi watched him go. He was wearing sweats he’d borrowed from her. They were baggy in some places, tight in others. Watching his hair sway, his wide hips, she felt for him. He’d been such a badass, actually as aggressive and pushy as any man she’d ever known, and for him to be trapped in such a curvy, female shape had to be hard for him. Having all these guys treat him like a female? She couldn’t even imagine.

Grimmlord took the elevator down to Noemi’s training room. He’d hung with her a lot back in the day, and he knew his way around. She had money and was not afraid to spend it. Her gym had everything— dead weights, machines, squat racks. Looking around, he dccided to do some lifting. I need to find out what this body can do, he decided, looking at the rows of dumbbells, the stacks of heavy steel.

He soon discovered that this new body could not do anywhere near what his old body did. He started off trying to pick up a 50 pound dumbbell, but his skinny little arms shook, and as he pulled the weight off the rack, it immediately yanked itself down, and he found he could barely even hold it, yet alone lift it.

His heart sank as he had to use both hands and strained to put it back on the rack. He worked his way down until he found he could only lift a 15 pound weight. He did some curls, some presses, ashamed, glad that no one could see how weak these tiny little arms really were.

Putting down the ridiculously small dumbbells, he got down and tried some pushups. He could’t even do one. Even as he got into position and started to lower himself to the floor, his arms trembled and burned. He felt his breasts swaying from his chest, and then as his arms gave out and he collapsed to the floor, his soft breasts were crushed beneath him.

He rolled onto his back and cursed at the sky. Not even one pushup?

Fortunately, his costume- even the new one he’d been stuck with— enhanced his strength. But without his costume, he was weaker now than many women— even teen-age girls.

His head swam with anxiety. His new body chemistry had been altered to make him highly emotional. What if I am stuck like this? What if this is for the rest of my life? He looked at his tiny hands, his slender wrists and those thin, pretty forearms. It was one thing to go out into the world as “Danger Kitty” with enhanced abilities, but what about the rest of his life? His real life? How was he supposed to face the world like this?

I’m not safe. The thought hit him like a hammer. I can’t protect myself.

I’m helpless.

He felt tears coming, which only filled him with more self-loathing, his heart racing. I won’t cry. I am not going to cry!

He fought back the tears.

Start where you are, he told himself, remembering his days as a young man, when he’d first started working out. Start where you are to get where you want to be. Taking a deep breath, he got on his knees.

It was humiliating, but if he couldn’t do a traditional push-up, he would have to start with what were once called and which he still thought of as girl pushups. Knees down, he put his little hands on the floor. The pushups were still hard. Even girl push ups were hard! But he did as many as he could before rolling on his side, breathing, calming.

Pushups done, he got up and took a bar off the rack. It was a smaller, lighter bar of the type used by women. I am not a woman, he reminded himself as he took the cold steel in his hands, feeling the gnarl against his soft skin. He gripped and did some deadlifts with the empty bar, warming up. Then, not wanting to set himself up for another embarrassment, he put a ten pound weight on each end. Gripping the bar, he lifted, pleased. The deadlift mostly used the legs, and he knew that women had strong legs. He added some more weight, and did a few sets, feeling a little better. More capable.

Once he’d done the deadlifts, he looked over at the punching bag hanging in the corner. He found some gloves. Got in position. He punched the bag as hard as he could, and while the action of punching was the same as always the sensation was not— his whole body jiggled. He felt his breasts bounce, the soft swell of his behind bounce.

The sensation was so wrong, he stopped, annoyed. He did a roundhouse kick, and once more felt his new body bouncing and swaying and jiggling. Just ignore it, he told himself. Power through. He hoped and expected that eventually, once he got used to it, he wouldn’t be so aware of the soft, bouncy nature of his new shape. He punched and kicked, his ponytail flying, punched and kicked until his heart rate rose, and he felt a good endorphin rush.

Breathing hard, breasts heaving, he sat on a weight bench, peeling his gloves off, throwing them on the ground. I can do this, he told himself. I can get stronger. But there was something new. He arched his back. His breasts ached. Too much movement.

Once more, he found himself thinking he needed a bra.

“I’m Grimmlord,” he said out loud, the words not carrying the gravity they once did when he’d had a man’s voice. “I don’t wear a bra.” And yet, it seemed his breasts had a much different idea. He’d heard women talk about needing support, and now he understood. It just went so against every idea of being a man. And yet, if guys had melons like these, he thought, they would wear bras.

But what if the other guys found out? He wondered. What would they say? Did it matter? Was he going to put up with pain and discomfort just to try and prove what a man he was?

An alarm sounded. He looked up. The intercom crackled. “Come on, Danger Kitty,” Noemi called out. “We’ve got action!”

Grimmlord smiled and raced toward the elevator, one arm over his aching breasts to try and keep them from bouncing. “Yes!”