<div class="floatleft"><table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td><div align="center">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/0e/Lauren_Budd_512.png)<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Michael / Emmy</div><div class="spoiler_body"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: times new roman;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 13pt;">● Fully female.<br/>● Wearing white dress and heels.<br/>● Self confident.<br/>● Susceptible to Cloe's and Circe's thoughts<br/>    but can control the exposure via inner door.<br/>● Mmmm...  Pizza...<br/>● Somewhat turned on.</span></span></div></div></div></div></td><td></td></tr></tbody></table></div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 2pt;"><br/></span><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;">The pizza is easily the best I have ever tasted, although I cannot rule out that my perception was altered by my friends' earlier anticipation of it.  And although Chloe's ritual gave me the means to shield myself from further influence, I cannot help but wonder if there are residual effects from prior changes.  It would be difficult to say though, since my current state is the new normal; maybe if I compared to a previous state?<br/><br/>I finish eating the slice and reach for another.  This probably is one of the changes, I wasn't a big fan of carbs before.  Hopefully it's just this restaurant and not pizza in general -- that would be more difficult to manage.  Then there's the fact that I am not freaking out about having a woman's body, which seems like it should be, stressing over it will not accomplish anything other than mental anguish, but I distinctly remember freaking out before, so that's two...<br/><br/>My train of thought is interrupted by a kick under the table and Crice's hand on my shoulder.  "No problem," I reply to her apology, but her touch lingers, and drifts, and soon becomes something not at all apologetic.  "Not so fast, girlfriend," I push her hand away from my breasts, but not as quickly as I should have.  "There are people here."  Which kind of implies that I would be OK with it if we had more privacy, and come to think of it, I probably would...<br/><br/>Her next suggestion, to measure my tits, doesn't sound too bad either.  "They look big," I sit up straighter and push my chest out.  "They certainly feel big, especially compared to what I had before.  But you're right, that is awfully imprecise, as well as subjective, so an independent measurement," I wink at her, "preferably with verification by an unbiased third party," I wink at Chloe, "should be the way to go."  Oh god, am I flirting with them?  It sure looks like I am...<br/><br/>But while we're we're skirting the issue, hinting and alluding, Chloe is the one to address the elephant in the room.  I pause to consider it.  Am I horny?  'Interested' would probably be a better word to describe it.  Most guys are, pretty much most of the time, and I am still a guy where it counts the most.  No, not between my legs -- I am quite sure that I am all girl in that department -- but between my ears.  And speaking of what's between my legs, I wouldn't mind taking my new equipment for a test drive, and who better to do it with than my friends, who know who I am, what I have become, and how it came to be, and can account for it.<br/><br/>"Not 'horny' per se, more like curious, but definitely open to that scenario.  Except that I don't see any bed around here.  Should we pay and bail early?"</span><br/>