ShamrockDelight

Michael woke up naked two
days after St. Patrick’s Day in a room he didn’t recognize with a massive
hangover and a heavy pair of breasts attached to his chest. The pain from the
hangover was bad enough that the shock of the breasts didn’t get him moving at
first but eventually he felt the need to address the situation.

He got up and staggered into
the bathroom, wondering if he was going to die before finding out what had
happened to him. His assault on the commode was comprehensive, during which
time he found that the breasts weren’t the only proof of his sudden femininity.
His cock and balls were gone as well, and he started to feel a faint concern.
When he felt up to it he stood and looked into the mirror.

The woman looking back was
the very flower of Irish beauty. Her red hair was tousled from sleep and her
face was a bit puffy from the same but her green eyes were bright and her lips
were red and full. She gaped back at him. He looked downward and saw that her
tits were just as large in the reflection as they seemed to be on his chest.

Panic filled him, worming
its way in through a thousand different ice-cold cuts in his skin and nerves.
He gingerly touched one proud breast. It jiggled. He felt it from both sides,
both the springy sensation at the poke and the warm softness of touching a
woman’s breast. He looked around, trying to find anything that might tell him
what was going on or some way that this could all be a joke. Men simply didn’t
wake up female.

Nothing in the bathroom
presented itself. Michael left it and prowled the bedroom area, recognizing
that he was in a hotel somewhere. Next to the phone he found a small brochure
that told him that he was in Chicago, which was welcome news. His last clear
memories were of coming to Chicago to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day with some
friends who lived here. After that was sort of a big blur and now there were
tits.

He paced, searching for
clothing. He found some discarded around the bed as if whoever had been wearing
it had simply exploded. Once he gathered it all up he found that he had a full
set of clothing sized and fit for a woman about his current size. There was
even a pair of sneakers. The clothing wasn’t incredibly clean, bearing the
scent of a long night at a bar, but it was all he had.

He struggled into the
clothes, having particular problems with the bra and the pants. His hips were
dramatically wider now and his large breasts kept getting in the way of
everything. All the experience he had with bras involved getting them off; he had
to experiment before figuring out how it went on.

Dressed, he went and looked
in the mirror again. He couldn’t see how the tightly packed jeans looked but
the bra actually made his new boobs look bigger. The shirt dipped low in front,
showing several inches of deep cleavage.

“That’s gotta go,” he
whispered, and then he said, “’Ello?”

His voice was a woman’s now
as well. Even better, he seemed to have picked up a broad Irish accent
somewhere along the way. It was disconcerting for a boy from Georgia. One shock
among many, Michael let it go for now. He had to find out what had happened and
where he was. Finding his friends would be incidental but he was curious about
them as well; had they turned him into a woman somehow and then left him here?
How? Why?

He looked around for more
clues. There were a couple of matchbooks from various pubs in the city, and his
phone was on the nightstand. He also found an envelope on the counter labeled
“Molly.”

When he opened it,
hundred-dollar bills cascaded out. A slip of paper fell to the floor along with
them. On it was the word “Blarney,” and a phone number.

Michael kept hold of the
note and picked up the cash. There were fifteen hundreds in there, along with a
dried, pressed shamrock. He felt a shock when he touched it, as if someone had
plugged him into a car battery for a tenth of a second.

Michael sat down and looked
at the phone. It was dead and he couldn’t find a charger anywhere. He found
that the room’s phone had been torn out of the wall at some point; only a few
stripped wires were left dangling from the plug, with no sign of the phone
itself. He would have to venture outside if he wanted to find out what had
happened to him. He muttered as he stuffed the money into his pocket; the jeans
were very tight around his new ass and he had a hard time getting his delicate
hand in there.

Cold panic kept gnawing at
the back of his mind as he opened the door. Everything felt wrong, from the way
that he walked to the way that his new chest bobbed with each step. He walked hunched
over, trying to minimize the size of his boobs while doing his best to not think
about them. It was a difficult act to pull off while keeping his balance and
worrying about running into people in the hallway.

Michael didn’t see anyone in
the halls. He made his way to the front desk. The concierge’s eyes flickered
down to Michael’s chest and then back, so quickly that he wasn’t sure if he’d
imagined it or not. “Can I help you, miss?” he said.

Michael said, “I need a
phone charger for this model.” The words came out flavored with the dulcet
tones of the Emerald Isle, which he couldn’t seem to help.

“Sorry, miss, we don’t have
that one. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Michael thought for a moment
and then got directions to the courtesy phone in the lobby. Once there, he
realized that he couldn’t remember any of his friends’ phone numbers; they were
part of the memory on his cell phone, so there’d been no reason to learn them.
Swearing to himself, he dialed the number from the note in the envelope. Whoever
was on the other end was going to give Michael some answers.

Unfortunately, there was no
one home to answer the call. A machine picked up instead. The voice was just as
broadly accented as Michael’s new one. “Top o’the mornin’ to ya! Leave a message
an’ I’ll get back when I can.” It was a woman’s voice, one he didn’t recognize.

Michael hung up, not knowing
what he might say. He headed out the front door and found that he was standing
in afternoon sunlight. The passerby gave him appreciative looks and he barely
kept himself from giving the entire world the finger. A sign down the street
struck a faint note in his mind, and he dug down into his pocket to find the
matchbooks. Sure enough, one of them was from the bar down the street: Paddy’s
Staff.

When he got closer, he found
that the sign showed a stylized picture of St. Patrick striking at a snake with
his staff. The saint was winking at Michael, who didn’t want to think about a
saint winking at him in his current form.

The pub had just opened and
there was no one in it yet besides the bartender and one waitress. The girl
took one look at Michael and made a disgusted noise before heading back into
the storage area. The bartender laughed and said, “So you survived. Welcome
back, shamrock girl.”

Michael frowned at him. “So
you’ve seen me before, then?”

The bartender laughed.
“Yeah, you’re hard to forget. Why?”

“I, ah, I don’t recall much
about that. I found this matchbook, so I was hoping you could help me out. Also
I need a charger for this brand of phone if you have one.”

The bartender shook his head.
“I’m not surprised you don’t remember. I’d never seen a girl drink like that.
Not too many men, either.” He leaned over and looked at the phone, incidentally
sneaking a glance or two at Michael’s chest. “Yeah, I think Rhonda back there
has one of these.”

He leaned back and called
back to the store room, and a few moments later the waitress came back out. She
glared at Michael and said, “What.”

The bartender rolled his
eyes and said, “We need to borrow your charger for your phone, just for a
little while.”

“What for?”

The bartender jerked a thumb
at Michael. “She needs to charge her phone. Why did you think?”

Rhonda turned her gaze on
Michael again. Michael was glad that looks really couldn’t kill; his heart
would have exploded in his new chest if Rhonda had had her way. “I left it at
home,” she said, her voice flat.

“Whatever. Go clean
something,” said the bartender.

She stalked back through the
doors and he turned back to Michael. “Yeah, sorry about that. My name’s Victor,
by the way. Call me Vic.”

“Yeah, hey. Why is she so
pissed at me?”

Vic snorted. “You really
don’t remember, huh? You flirted with her boyfriend, and maybe more. It was
hard to be sure from where I was. I was busy. But you and your shamrock thing
pissed her riiiight off.”

“My shamrock thing? What
shamrock thing?”

He shrugged. “You had some
kind of bet or something. I didn’t get the details, but you sure seemed to be
collecting shamrocks. It was like watching Mardi Gras girls collect beads.”

Michael paled. “You mean…you
mean I…”

Vic waved his hand. “No, no,
nothing like that, just…well, you know, I don’t know. You left with a couple of
guys who gave ‘em to you. But you came back pretty quick, so I didn’t think
anything of it. You stuck with that loud guy outside of that.”

“Tell me about the loud
guy.” Michael pocketed the phone again, disappointed and scared. How on earth
had this happened? Any information might give him a hint.

“Yeah, uh, he called himself
something weird, something Irish. Busy night, you know how it is. I don’t
remember many details. Anyway, he was dressed like a leprechaun. All green and
with one of those hats and all. Tall for a leprechaun, though.” He chuckled,
but it trailed off when he saw that Michael wasn’t amused. Vic cleared his
throat and said, “You came in with him and you left with him. I mean, you left
with him when you finally left for real.”

“And what…that’s it?”

Vic shook his head. “You two
were already pretty lit when you walked in. If you’re really looking to find
out what you were up to, I’d look for a place that sold you a lot of booze.”

Michael sighed impressively
and nodded. “Well, okay. Thanks for the help, anyway.”

“Yeah, no problem. Oh, hey,
we had a few of these left over, thought you might want a souvenir.” Vic
rummaged under the counter and held out a laminated four-leaf clover. “For
luck.”

Michael gave a rueful grin
and took it. Once again, he felt the weird shock run up his arm. This time,
though, it was a hundred times stronger, enough to make him close his eyes for
a moment and sway on his feet. “Th…thanks,” she said, when she could speak
again.

“Are you okay?” said Vic.

Michael shook her head as if
flicking away a fly. “Yeah, I’m…just a hangover, you know?”

Vic grinned. Michael was
struck by how confident and even attractive the grin was. “Yeah, I bet. Well,
good luck out there.”

Michael smiled back. It was
really nice of Vic to give her such a great present. Michael found herself
standing straighter and even pulling her shoulders back, giving Vic a much
better view of her magnificent breasts and cleavage.

Michael pulled the
matchbooks out of his pocket with her other hand and spread them on the bar in
front of Vic. Then she leaned on her elbows, framing that bottomless cleavage
so that Vic had an even better view. Michael felt strange, but it was a good
kind of strange. She felt daring and wild, and for the first time since waking
up her body didn’t feel strange. It felt wonderful, and she knew that the
shamrock had something to do with that. Vic’s gift had helped Michael in some
way that was connected with whatever had changed her, and she was grateful for
it.