"Ethan had been super excited to go to this new music festival this year. Tons of his favorite bands were performing, and he thought it would be a great time to get high as FUCK! Once he arrived and he and his buddies had made a little base camp, he busted out the shrooms. He took a lot, way more than he was used to. YOLO, right? He chowed down on about seven or eight grams of the stuff, and downed it with some lemon water for good measure. Then, fuck it, dropped a tab of LSD too.
After about thirty minutes, it kicked in. He was listening to this psychedelic rock act. As the drug started to take hold, his vision began to feel like watercolors. His senses melded and warped together, lapsing in and out of conscious processing, the music influencing his sensations and his sensations influencing the music. He began to feel his body melt, and this idea form in his head. "I am connected with the universe." It was more of a feeling than words. Pretty soon, his experience was incomprehensible bliss, overcome with this feeling of oneness accompanied by dancing lights, colors and deeply spiritual imagery. As his ego became more and more intertwined with his senses, he came to a revelation. "I am everyone. Just not tuned into them yet." That was the last coherent thought he ascertained before he got completely lost in the experience. There was no Ethan, just the self.
Soon, his senses began returning to him. First, his vision began to stabilize. Still out in the desert. Then, his tactile senses began to return. But ... at first he thought he was still tripping, but something was off. As he moved, he felt daintier, fragile, and something jiggly attached to his chest that made itself known with every gesture.
"What the ..." a sultry, high whisper escaped his now quivering lips.
He was slowly inundated with a surprising revelation. His mouth was smaller, his tongue smaller, his hair long and tickling his back. He felt his erect nipples press against foreign fabric, and the fat deposits in his lower body sway as he scrambled to confirm his findings.
"Am I a ..."
Curious, delicate fingers made their way to his new secret garden. Surely he's still tripping. He pressed in, feeling the outline of his vulva, the fabric moistened from sweat and drug-induced arousal. He let out a pathetic whimper. Reaching up to touch his face, he was met with delicate, well-maintained skin that delighted in response to his fingertips, and got a waft of foreign but enticing feminine musk as he did so.
Another young lady approaches him, carrying a bottle of water.
"Nicole, girl, you were rolling for three hours - you have to hydrate."
"But I'm n-not ..." Ethan tried to plead, tears welling in his eyes. Despite his shock, he tried to play it cool. Maybe I'm still just tripping. I'm probably still just tripping. As day turned to night, though, he realized he was in this for the long haul. He looked for his old body, but was soon herded back to the hotel with "Nicole's" friends, who believed her to be having a bad trip and took care of her for the rest of the vacation. Soon, "she" was back home, questioning her memory and sanity. "
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