Big Decision: Big Move

The following morning I hit the floor with tentacles thankfully about the same size of huge, ready to squarely face reality. Striving for a better balance and something closer to moderation, I made myself a full nutritious breakfast and stayed relaxed as I ate, before moving to my home study desk for a day (but with breaks and not all evening and certainly not into the night) of focused research.

With a cold front slowly creeping through the area, it was chilly enough that I felt the need to stuff myself into my homemade bra top and cover my midsection with a thin blanket, wrapping it snugly around each tentacle for snuggly warmth and elimination of mild shivering. Then again, the shivering could as easily have been my ever-greater worry rather than anything thermal.

I renewed my search for more information on the Internet regarding unusual and/or extreme mutations suffered by humans. To my disappointment though not truly my surprise, I found almost nothing new. What little was new was unhelpful for my situation.

Despite deep breaths and mind-calming exercises, the stress kept building. The changes were ongoing and I did not know what could happen tomorrow—nor apparently did anyone else in the entire world. As of this day I was huge!

I gently eased my rational mind figuratively back, to more clearly view a revisitation of the big overall picture. Based upon past performance data, the logical conclusion was that day after day, my body would most likely follow the same trend and continue to grow more and more. If true, as seemed likely, it logically followed that I could not stay in this house: everything other than me would stay the same size as I grew. Taken to the limit, the house and its spaces and passageways would become relatively smaller to the point of impossibility of movement.

A whole separate, equally compelling consideration: the summer would end sooner than later, and campus life would return to normal academic year activity. Throughout this ordeal, not for one moment since growing past what clothes could conceal had I formulated any possible means of functioning out and about amongst everyone else in the campus community.

Shattering as it was, the logical conclusion was clear: I could not stay here. What I could not fathom on this day was where I could possibly go that would be any better in terms of allowing me to continue functioning as these bizarre mutations of unknown origin continued to savage me.

Clear evidence for one of my logical conclusions happily greeted me first thing in the morning: my changes were not yet over. Not only continued slow growth of the same areas of my now-unusual body, but wholly new changes as well.

I woke up greeted by the ends of all my tentacles having a rounded shape rather than pointy tips. Bringing them all near my face, I discovered that at each rounded tip end the skin looked like it had a slit-like opening of some sort. Thankfully these new changes were minor (so far!), with no discomfort nor other problems presenting.

The loss of precision in manipulating objects with these newly-rounded tips versus when the ends were finer did disappoint me, which loss I knew from a brief in-bed test: attempting to retrieve my handheld resting on the nightstand. After filling the room with a long sad sigh, I gently kissed each of my 8 tentacle tips, forcing myself to practice self-love I wasn’t entirely feeling.

Once I was up and in my living room, I felt a new sensation down below, in the center area between my tentacle roots. Thankfully so far my vulva and anus remained intact, even if I no longer had buttocks surrounding the latter.

Smack-dab in the middle between these were signs of new growth: a brand-new softer fleshy area with 4 small bumps in a nearly symmetrical square or slightly trapezoidal pattern. At this point I couldn’t tell what it was, but whatever it was portended future unknown growth. It had the softness and pliability of breast tissue, but those bumps did not look at all like any nascent nipple buds I’d had back when puberty greeted me, or had ever seen.

Whatever it was, I was not ready to dwell upon it! Doing so would do no good anyway: this was all beyond my control. Whatever would be, would be.

The rest of the day I strove to keep doing normal things at home: touch-up cleaning and neatening up around the house, meal prep, staying connected to the outer world via the Internet… anything to give me a break from these relentless mutations.

Dinner that night started out pleasant enough. I cannot lie to you: as ridiculously and impractically huge as my breasts had grown, the novelty of them being so big and flattening somewhat to a nice level table-like surface such that I could—and did—eat dinner off myself was a wonderful life experience. It might get old in mere days, but for now, it was rad—and meee! #bodypositivity

Something I soon noticed about one of my aimlessly wandering tentacle tips blew up that last hashtag: the tip did not look as it had this very morning. Changes overnight were one thing, but now in the daytime too?!

Bringing it closer for detailed inspection, the skin was more wrinkled right at the tip, and what this morning had been a small slit was now larger and deeper.

Dinner suddenly took a back seat to deeper inspection. I set down my fork so that I could get both hands on the tentacle end for a closer look.

It shocked me to discover that the skin was now loose! Before I knew it, my handling eased this outer skin back, revealing that there was an inner fleshy layer with its own dermis underneath. Gradually and carefully pulling this outer skin back made my brain virtually explode. {What?! No no no no no!}

What I had pulled back was a foreskin, behind which was a human penis! Not a normal one of course, because why would anything be normal on my strange body? This was obviously and undeniably huuuuge!

“Gaaaah! Whhhyyyyy?!” I loudly exclaimed to the remnants of my getting-cold dinner and the kitchen in general.

Falling deeper into shock by the moment, I quickly covered the tentacle tip back up, nearly tossed my dinner plate into the refrigerator, and rushed to bed, hoping the next day would bring miraculous resolution to this endless ordeal.

Next morning, I woke up with the hope that this nightmare had never happened, and I’d wake up normal again.

Silly me. Big Nope: all my tentacles were still there, my two giant breasts too. Most traumatic of all: all my tentacles still had huge peni at the end, just as I’d discovered last night. Fear of having just one normal penis in the usual location had me all freaked out not all that many weeks ago as my tentacles sprouted. Now there were 8 giganta-dicks surrounding me and one-eyed staring me in the face! Again, much as I’m ashamed to admit it, I can only tell you the truth: I’d just awoken, and was upset enough that my amygdala was in charge rather than my frontal cortex. In other words, I wasn’t thinking rationally. In this moment I was terrified of being attacked by these huge peni! It took another full minute or so for the fight/flight/freeze response to settle and allow my rational mind back online for me to recall that these were my body parts under my mind’s control, unable to do anything to me against my will. Friends, not foes, even if deeply disturbing.

I cried for quite awhile as I took each one in turn, gently petting it to blow through my mind’s attempts at denial that these huge dong tips were new prongy parts of me. Childish though it may have been, I felt the need to talk to them as a group, making them nod and shake their penis heads to appropriately agree and disagree with my savaged, struggling mind.

This was my least functional day so far, and nothing was getting any better. It took me the rest of the day with many sobbing, ranting, yelling, and screaming pillow-hammering tantrum spells to eventually make peace with this latest dramatic change to my body.

Though it did take me all day, by evening I’d managed to have moments of being very mildly pleased to have what seemed to be peni. {Maybe I will actually get to know in this life various things my boyfriends have felt} my mind pep-talked itself.

Difficult as it remained to process all these changes and what-all they meant for my life going forward, I managed to wind up my day and get myself into bed with the new penis tips on the ends of my tentacles as friends meaning no harm.

Even with no especial new changes overnight, it was beyond clear that burying my head in a hole and pretending I can somehow go on with any sort of regular routine would not solve anything. This morning I took action and fully made a decision I’d already been moving towards: I could no longer stay in this house. The summer was soon to end. The tranquility and relative safety of this house would end and I could not continue here as usual. I’d concluded this previously; now the realization was all the more acute with the passage of time and ongoing mutation severity.

Time was of the essence: my body would continue to change, specifics unknown until they happened. I did not want to face the outer world/society in general as I’d become—I could not. I had to go. Finding a way out became more compellingly necessary than ever: I had to forge a plan.

I started to work at the computer trying to organize a new life for myself. Between my modest savings from a few years of work plus if necessary help from my parents, I had the money to find a new home, away from civilization. Somewhere solitary, maybe in the middle of a forest or something.

First order of business was applying for a remote learning semester at school. I closed out my bank accounts, my pending jobs—all of my outer life, starting to make arrangements to do everything over the Internet, so I could still have a small income without leaving home. It was complicated, but I could perform virtually all work online.

It was daunting, closing the door on my life as I’d known and lived it up until this point. I had to destroy everything I had achieved so far, breaking with the past and starting from scratch. Having figured out no other possible path in all this time since things got bad, it was the only solution.

The next morning, another radical change confronted me: I now knew what had been growing in the center area between my tentacle roots: a flipping udder! This added insult to injury: now I was a super freak rarity in every way. {An udder?!}

Not a small udder, either: four gigantic bags of flesh hanging from me like something between one mega-udder and 4 separate giganto-udders. Whichever way one looked at it, each sack was more than a meter in diameter, and weighing plenty! Fortunately my tentacles had enough strength to manage these beasts, but why?! Why me?! And how in the known universe could such an extreme growth happen overnight?!

My gigantic udder was the final detonating bomb that blew the life I’d known utterly apart—two Ts: no udder puns! More than ever, I had no place in this society. I thought I’d have a week or at least a few days to tranquilly and systematically shop for a new home, pack up, and otherwise organize my big move, but no: I had to go now!

Frantically, I did my least-worst approximation of multitasking: moving forward second-by-second on whichever front allowed progress. I made up a story of volunteering in an obscure corner of the planet to appease my friends and relatives. On a whim I found what I needed to set myself up as a small-time independent web developer once I landed somewhere, in order to have some income from home.

Stressful as this all was, I caught a major break: stumbled into an excellent deal on a remote, isolated house! The real estate agent couldn’t believe that I didn’t want to check out the property in-person before purchase, though said nothing further about it once I made clear the urgency of my moving time line, and that I had money at the ready. The house was unoccupied and the seller needed the cash, hence it was a good match for which the agent was willing to expedite the transaction despite not having met me. (She did see snaps of my ID in several forms, with pre-mutation photos.)

What had become a dreaded alert sounded off on my device.

I kept it voice-only, “I really don’t have time for a chat now, Mom and Dad!”

“What’s with all this urgency?” asked my mother.

“A house on a remote lake in a rural county, bought outright?!” was Daddy’s biggest concern. My parents knew of the transaction because they still received alerts for transactions on the one online interest-bearing savings account I kept open, from which I’d funded the house purchase.

“This is what I need to do now. I‘m an adult, and I’m doing it!”

“OK OK, but how’re you gonna live out in the boonies? Income and all that?”

“This is the post-COVID-19 world: plenty of job opportunities for remote work! And I really do have to go now, and get packing.”

“Want us to come help? We can each take some time off, maybe get there sometime tomorrow.”

“That’s a very kind and generous offer, Mom, but really: I’ve got this.”

“We could help with reaching and packing the way-high-ups.”

{You have no idea how easy that is now} I thought at the time.

“Way-high-ups” had been the family phrase for anything I couldn’t reach, since around the time I started being able to first understand language, then later speak it. This sudden unexpected reminder that my parents had no concept of what-all had happened to me and my body hit me like a fresh body blow—of which I’d had far too many this past nearly 2 months!

“She’s hesitating, Mark. Sounds like she wouldn’t mind a little friendly parental assistance with packing and moving.”

“No no—I’m great! I’m really good to go having things lined up, long as I can get off this call soon and back to work.”

“Who’s driving you, hun?”

My eyes crossed so hard in annoyance and frustration, they were nearly audible.

“I still don’t know how you’re going to get everything packed” my father chimed back in.

“I hired a moving company with my own money, I’m riding with the driver, he’s cute—don’t jinx it!”

“Alright, but I’m just thinking—”

“—Let’s get off the line, Mark” Mom interrupted, as I counted on her doing when the faintest scintilla of possibility of grandchildren entered the picture. I tried not to snicker, imagining visuals in my mind to go along with the sounds I could hear of my mother towing my father away from whichever piece of tech they were using for this call. “She’s got it all worked out, and I look forward to hearing a lot more about this excursion once you’ve landed at your new home and started to settle in. Bye hun!”

“Bye Mom! Bye Daddy!”

Much as I wanted and needed a few minutes to collapse, rest, and reset, there was no time: I had to arrange for a van or truck or whatever could hold me and my belongings. Thankfully as sweet and well-appointed as my current home was, it was a furnished rental and I was away at med school: not so many possessions were my property, so there was less to move. Most of what I had beyond personal tech and books were clothes—none of which fit any more! Grrrrr!

Far and away the biggest item I needed to pack into whatever I rented was me. On this basis I focused on multi-passenger vans, since in terms of standard human body sizes, I now counted as at least 5 people if not more. Even thinking along those lines made me nearly want to give it all up and just go off and die somewhere—but I was too young to give up my entire life, and I still am!

Pressing onward… minivans were right out: some could take all of me—me as I currently was, and who knew what I’d be tomorrow?—but there’d be little to no room to spare for possessions, and I did have some. Some of the so-called Sprinter type vans looked plenty big enough, as did the 9 to 15 passenger full-sized more traditional vans.

Homed in on the type of vehicle, the next challenge was figuring out how get one delivered here then picked up from the vicinity of my new home, since even getting myself to a rental agency negated much of the purpose of the entire exercise. Fortunately I remembered Pikop Andropov from listening to Car Talk as a young child with my parents. A search on that redirected to Bizzy Big Wheeeeeeellllllzzzz, touting itself as a rental company for busy executives who didn’t have time to mess with showing up at vehicle rental agencies.

Despite feeling a lot more like a failure (from being a med student with no clue what was happening to me) than a successful executive, after further research Bizzy Big Wheeeeeeellllllzzzz still seemed like my best option. I was able to work through the entire rental process online, setting up delivery very early this forthcoming morning, so I’d be able to slip away in the dead of night, hopefully unseen.

Now I know what some of you are thinking: “Hey octo-woman!: you didn’t used to have any legs. Rental places always want one’s driver’s license. How can you have one if you were born without legs?” To you I say HAH! Ha-HAAH!: I have a legit, valid driver’s license! Those of you who are typically-abled tend to forget about motor vehicles specially equipped for the differently abled. As a matter of frugality I’d not yet ever owned one, but assuredly I had learned to operate one during my driver training course and tested in another for the driving test to get my license. So again I say (or write) to you: HAH! I didn’t make it all the way through pre-med and into med school with chicken feed for brains!

Now in addition to the time pressure clock relentlessly ticking in terms of whatever new growth might be forthcoming, the countdown timer was in full swing in terms of the availability of my rental van, and cover of darkness. I actually said the following aloud to myself, specifically other parts of my body: “OK tentacles: time to stop dicking around. We have to be packed and out of here no later than an hour after the van gets delivered, to ensure we‘re far enough away from prying eyes by sunrise. Let’s thrust onward!”

Truth was I had not been dicking around, nor otherwise wasting time, nor did I from this moment forward.

Packing went smoothly, with everything I was taking boxed or bagged and by the front door not all that long after dark—hours before the van was due to arrive.

Originally I’d intended to have all my no-longer-fitting clothes bagged up ready for pickup by whichever charity-type entity was willing to claim them. An unexpected text message which nearly made me shut off my handheld for the duration changed all that: my classmate and friend Tiffany was renting this house I was moving out of! Other than the fact that she had standard human legs, we were of similar build and wore the same size in most brands and cuts. She didn’t understand why I was giving up my whole wardrobe, and I almost spun a yarn about joining a nudist cult as the reason for my hasty departure before thinking better of it. The alternate lie my mind struggled to fabricate regarding getting a job as a fashion model for women without legs thankfully never had to be completed: she received an urgent incoming call from a relative, requiring us to quickly say our goodbyes and her to thank me one last time.

Things went smoothly enough that I found myself with several hours to spare: all ready to go, waiting for the end of the current day’s night to turn into the wee hours overnight dark morning of the new day, and for the van to show up. Plenty of time to check, double check, triple check, and even quadruple check every possible nook, cranny, crevice, cupboard, and wall for anything belonging to me (not part of the furnishings belonging to the property management company). I’d done well: the single thing I’d missed was the appointment card for my appointment with Ms. Chew the nutritionist. Holding the card in my hands, memories of that day, what led up to it, and all that had happened since washed over me, nearly figuratively drowning me in intense emotions.

Dropping the card in the bag with the rest of my outgoing paper recycling, I did the one last thing I had to do to reach closure of my life here: placed my final order with Cluck ’n’ Chuck.

The juicy, hot, and not especially nutritious final meal for me in this house proved an ignoble end, as well as an ignoble beginning of my new life of hiding away remotely.

As Wednesday night faded into memory and gave way to Thursday, I found myself in a good news/bad news situation. The good news: my rental van was parked outside my home, the key handed to me through the smallest possible crack in the door* by its driver, himself picked up moments later by a colleague in what I can only presume was another of the company’s rentals, given that it looked like a high-end Tesla.

* “I’m not currently situated for public viewing. Just hand it through the door gap, please” spoken in a pleasant feminine tone is the best assured way I know to perform quick physical item exchange transactions without seeing the other person, having them comply straightaway without questioning one’s motives or goals. #wimminwin

The bad news:

“AAAHH haah haah haah haah, that’s so funny, Josh!”

People outside. Yakking away. At midnight.

“Go inside, go insiiiiiide!” I impatiently hissed through gritted teeth. Their game play was clear enough that I knew what the exchange was most likely about, despite not knowing either of these age peers (and, likely, fellow med students, or at least students at this same university). With no one to hear me and nothing else to do until they went away, I ranted onward, “You obviously want to bed him! Just dooo it!”

Rationally I know my rant had nothing to do with the timing of external events. It pleased me to believe that I vibed them so hard that they finally made their move. For whatever or no reason, they did go inside what was likely his place, for a night where at least one of them might be saying “wheeeeeeeeeee!” longer than that part of Wheeeeeeellllllzzzz in the name of my van rental company.

No one else was out. A fresh blast of adrenalin powered me into a van packing ninja… though in reality I was nothing more than a sizable and entirely nude octo-uddercow mutated woman, using every appendage I had to pack as fast and furiously as possible, secondarily as I could making the least amount of noise as possible. When inevitable tradeoffs occurred, I picked greater speed over lesser sound. This wasn’t a party school, yet it was a med school, thus sleep deprivation was common. If anyone saw me, odds were reasonable that they’d be sleep-deprived enough to be prone to and capable of visual hallucinations.

I was packed, out, house locked up, and in the van with the doors locked within 10 minutes. Rocking and rolling on rubber without the vehicle actually traversing ground happened during my struggle to squeeze into a position where I could safely drive. The struggle was real: by themselves, my giant boobs more than filled the entire driver’s seat! That’s where they had to go, else I wouldn’t be able to steer with my hands (and I didn’t feel comfortable trying to steer with my tentacles on a first time driving in my revised body). It was also the only way I could approximate anything remotely close to normalcy for those who might come upon me and be able to see inside.

{Tinted windows: that’s what I should’ve thought to specify!} I huffed, as I continued working the physique puzzle.

My giant, still-growing udder naturally fell across the middle row of seats. Good thing it was an entire armless bench seat row: my udder filled the whole thing!

Tentacles went where they could. One each of left and right wrapped around their nearest front seat back rest, establishing my upper body stability for safe wheel-turning driving. I kept 2 in position near the pedals, in case more than one might be needed for sufficient braking force. (No clutch: continuously variable automatic transmission. I’ve never driven a clutched vehicle in my life, and don’t understand why people bother in this automotive tech advanced millennium.) The remaining 4 I parked in the third row of seats—the back-most row as I had this vehicle configured when delivered, so there’d be room for my belongings.

Vrrummmm!—the van started right up: nice and clean and smooth and fast, idling calmly. Full tank of gas, as promised. I was ready to roll, making my big possibly-forever move!

My mean lean forward to be able to reach the wheel mirrored my internal desire to race away fast and furiously, barreling towards my inevitable unknown future of presumed and hoped-for safety via isolation. That’s not what happened at all: I needed to ease into driving this thing, for starters, having not driven at all in over 5 years. Besides that, the point of this first stage of my getaway was slipping away unbeknownst to anyone else, of which peeling rubber or otherwise jetting away would be an antithesis.

I signaled and eased out into the empty street, pleased with my ability to control the van so well from the first moment.

Left turn: major local road.

Right turn: arterial.

Left turn: major arterial.

Soon I was on the highway, aiming towards my new home, which I’d only seen in pictures. Being rural meant that no limited access highway ran near it—certainly not an Interstate! Now, here on this multi-lane highway with traffic signals and cross streets, I was traversing the most major road of the whole trip, for another 30 miles at most.

{This is way easier than driving with just my hands!} I realized as I drove along. Awful as my body had become in so many ways, at the moment I was seriously digging my tentacles. Driving a standard vehicle with appendages able to sufficiently fake regular human legs was far easier and more straightforward than I had imagined.

It wasn’t all that many more miles before I basically had it mastered, allowing me to relax somewhat, and better focus on the remainder of the long journey ahead.

As expected (and previewed on satellite images hours before I departed), the branch highway off the bigger one I’d been on dropped the lane count from 3 each direction to 2. Lonely stretches of highway were exactly what I wanted: the fewer the number of other vehicles near me in any direction, the better.

One of my bigger fears was anyone in a vehicle as high or higher than mine having a wide open view of my nude body. It wasn’t an issue of modesty, since my boobs were mostly below window level, and my actual genitals buried deeply enough under other flesh to require excavation. The udder would have been shocking to the point of possible trouble if seen, yet huge as it had become, most of it was under my tentacles and out of view of everything other than the highest-up semi tractors, with an optimal viewing angle. The big, wide middle sections of my tentacles were visible, and there was nothing I could do about it. Best I could do was keep all the tips well out of sight.

Things were going great until exactly the worst possible vehicle in terms of my privacy rolled up along side my van on the right, in the #2 northbound lane: a big rig driven by what was likely a long-distance trucker, easing past me somewhat above the speed limit, likely to make time.

The angles and glowing dashboards/screens were all too perfect for us to see each other clearly. {Tattoos: check. Trucker beard: check. Presenting as male: check} my mind ticked off as he rolled past, checking me out at least as much as I was checking him out. As expected, his eyes grew wide. As expected, he notched his speed down to match mine. In no way was I trying to flirt with this stranger, however I’d been away from actual in-person human contact long enough that my friendly instincts kicked in. I smiled and wanted to wave, but didn’t want to take either of my hands off the wheel. None of this nor what followed was conscious, I hasten to add! Before my conscious mind knew it, a below-executive part of my brain had one of my idling rear tentacles doing its best approximation of what is sometimes called a queen’s wave, or a parade float rider wave: the swiveling back and forth hand waving motion.

His look of shock mirrored ones of my own that I’d seen reflected in various mirrors and shiny surfaces in the home I’d just left, over the course of this devastatingly-real surreal series of extreme body mutations. I cannot know what precisely was going on in his mind. This I can tell you: despite his apparent need to stay on-time and make it to his next destination on schedule, he pulled into the very next rest stop area available and able to take his rig, fortunately only a mile or so past his freak-out point. I’m glad he made it, and I’m grateful that at no point did he aim anything my direction which looked like it could possibly have had a camera in it.

My determination and focus made the long overnight road trip seem shorter. Thankfully what had been few vehicles on the road nearer the city diminished to none (other than my van) once I turned off the 4 lane (2 each direction) highway onto the first of two 2-lane highways which would bring me to the access road to my new home.

No one other than that one trucker had seen me, to my great relief and enduring gratitude.

A fresh round of gratitude arose as the pre-dawn light lit up the the turnout to my new home’s access road such that I could see it in time. I’d been following the moving position dot on the map on my device, but reception was spotty enough that there were long spans where it did not update. Had I not been paying attention and had this dim glow not helped me see the turnout, I likely would have missed it.

Dawn broke just as I arrived at my new home. It was beautiful!: a charming wooden house, almost like a log cabin, next to a beautiful lake. Fully furnished, just like the rental home I’d left. {I wonder if the previous owner had their own urgent need to leave quickly?} I mused as I eased the van into the obvious parking area: dirt, as was the entire access road all the way back to the highway.

I shut off the engine and wiggled my way out the bigger sliding side door, struck immediately and equally by the morning chill and the quiet. The only sound I heard beyond occasional tinks of hot metal parts of the van cooling off was the gentle morning breeze whispering through the red pines and other local greenery.

Halfway between the van and the house I paused, taking it all in, enjoying more of the whispering breeze and less of the van cooling sounds. “This is paradise” I whispered aloud.

Everything about this new property I owned was breathtakingly gorgeous on the outside. Wonderful as that was, there was a vastly more important attribute: no trace of civilization for around 30 km, other than two or three other houses fronting the lake as mine did. Obviously this had been a concern when I shopped, and I had researched what I could about these other parcels, as well as asking the real estate agent. I learned they were weekend getaway cabins, empty almost all year. Especially given the intense time constraints I was under, this was as close to the most perfect place to start a new life that I could have imagined!

Heart racing with excitement despite my exhaustion from having been up and driving all night, I continued on towards the front door of my new home.

The key was hidden inside a secret compartment on the front porch, exactly as described by the real estate agent and shown to me by her in a photograph, once the sale completed.

“Ulllghh.” {OK: going to have to expand the size of all the doorways} I thought as I slowly squeezed my enormous udder through, to more than mild discomfort. Actually, what I did was back up and out, using my tentacles to set down my day pack and the small rest of my first load. Squeezing through was difficult enough that I needed to at least make it worthwhile via carrying a full load of my belongings.

Eight strong, long tentacles can carry many things at one time: with this first full load, I’d emptied nearly half of what I’d brought out of the van! Good thing, since now that I was here the biggest time pressure was getting the van totally emptied out and myself totally hidden inside before the Bizzy Big Wheeeeeeellllllzzzz pick-up driver arrived to claim it. I laugh at myself as I look back and think about my time worry: scheduled pick-up of the van wasn’t until noon.

This full load made it worth squeezing through the front door and getting fully inside my new house. {Nice} I nodded silently as I looked around, briefly too taken with how glistening clean, lovely, and homey it looked to think about setting anything down. The more I took in, the more I grinned. {Looks and feels bigger than what it seemed like in the photos—great!}

Suddenly overwhelmed with where to put things and the work needing doing to make this house fully livable for me, I just set everything down right there in the main room where I was standing.

There was more work to do besides widening and possibly raising the height (if I could) of doorways. One reason I got such a good deal on this house was that it had a half-built addition, intended as a new part of the house with an extra room for guests. Not even truly framed, much less finished! My plan was to try to finish it myself, once settled in. {It will be very useful extra space} I remember thinking and smiling. {I think I’ll be fine here.}

Nothing else mattered more than getting the van emptied and ready for pick-up, and myself and all my possessions securely inside my new home. I did have an urgent need to work the business end (not really my end any more) of myself into the bathroom, which I did the moment the van was fully unloaded (but before my final cleanup and checks). {Remodeling this doorway at a minimum is a top priority} I sighed as I let loose. {For now, taking the door all the way off will help. Later today, for sure.}

The bathroom worked, and I could use it as it was.

Final check and cleanup of the van thankfully revealed no surprises. I carefully drove it back out very near the main highway: far enough off that it wasn’t on the shoulder, yet close enough to the highway to be seen from it easily. Yes, this meant that I needed to exit the van where it was, however I’d carefully thought this through, working out the final details on this slow and careful drive I’d just completed.

I was parked so I’d exit the van facing away from the road, the van itself giving me a total body block during final lock-up. I left the key fob inside as instructed, ensuring I was outside with all doors fully closed before the timer auto-lock cycle I triggered from the fob before setting it down timed out. The pick-up driver of course had a separate fob for getting in, quite possibly some kind of master device. Whatever the specifics, not my problem: I’d fulfilled my part of the contract and had pre-paid, so now it was up to them to pick up from this designated drop-off location and handle things from there.

Once outside with the vehicle locked, I had plenty of time to let traffic clear before making my approximately 25 m tentacle dash along the lake access road before it turned a corner and the dense foliage blocked the view from the highway. Highway yes, but it’s a rural highway, thus even during big city morning commute hours as it now was, not all that much traffic.

I waited… I listened… I dashed. The roughness of the reddish brown dirt with embedded small rocks here and there did not faze me in my adrenalin-fueled rush towards what I hoped would be ultimate safety and shelter, after so many weeks of intense worry and emotional suffering. There would be scuff marks, possibly minor bleeding… such is life slither-running nude out in the near-wild. I successfully managed to keep both my huge udder and all 8 tentacle tips off the ground—no small accomplishment!

No vehicles drove by during my surprisingly swift slither-run: I made it!

A powerful sense of freedom and possibility washed over me on my now-more-leisurely return to my new home along the access road. {I’m free to be meeeeeee! Whatever I may be, or become} I remember thinking as I cautiously and slowly slid-walked along. Despite feeling very safely alone, fear of someone I didn’t know about being around or suddenly driving in kept me from saying anything aloud. {Oh how I hope the changes are finally over!}

I had a theory then that whatever got my changes going might well have had an environmental component, therefore radically changing my environment as I’d now done might help put a stop to things… maybe even reverse them. {If I could lose the udder, revert the tentacle tips to the pointy non-penis versions, have maybe not so many tentacles and much closer to normal leg length, I could be good with that. Oh—yeah, these boobs are somewhat much. Fun experiment playing and living with these big girls, but I’m ready to move on now.}

The mix of feelings I felt once squeezed back inside my new home slammed me: delight and relief from having made it, being securely inside, along equally with feeling totally overwhelmed with the unpacking and setting up of everything. Exhausted, but no time to sleep. Hungry, but nothing about the kitchen was even unpacked yet, much less set up. No sleep whatsoever last night made everything worse—I knew that. I also knew there had been no other choice.

Many foods I’d brought with me are subject to spoilage, so my rational mind wisely instructed me that unpacking all the perishables and putting them away appropriately was my next top priority task. Merging the kitchen utensils and modest serving ware I’d brought with what was already here was a logical co-step. So was scarfing down whatever nummy noms appealed to me and needed little to no prep work. “The more I eat, the less I have to put away” I said aloud with a giggle, feeling a fresh wave of relief being in this secure, isolated, private home. It wasn’t until now that I fully realized that even staying in my old home all the time, subconsciously I stressed that someone unexpected might come over at any time.

That thought led to feelings of obligation to contact my parents. These I quickly rationalized away with the reasoning that none of my tech had yet met the promised home network supposedly already in this house, and that I’d yet to check cellular reception—a factor I’d not even considered during the home purchasing process. This rural, I was lucky to have reasonably high-speed Internet service.

The van pick-up went off without a hitch, as the notification from Bizzy Big Wheeeeeeellllllzzzz confirmed. Yes: the next priority after food was introducing my multifunction so-much-more-than-a-phone to the home network, as indeed this was Zero Bar Land for cellular. Login credentials had been left on a piece of paper, right out on a table in the main room. {Given how remote this place is, I might or might not change these later.}

Touring around my usual online haunts informed me that the outer world remained basically intact and no one missed me enough yet to be reaching out to me. {The Internet is saving my life!} I thought with a smile. The distance from the highway to my luxurious log cabin-ish home was plenty far enough that I’d not have heard the van pick-up team, unless either or both of them did some sort of extreme screaming peel-out. Thankfully that didn’t happen.

Looking back on this day, how I ever managed to push through my exhaustion to unpack so much and try to find homes for my belongings or why I even tried so hard dumbfounds and amazes me: I was safe, and in a sense had all the time in the world! I could’ve had a nap.

I didn’t have a nap. Pushing ever onward, I kept going, even if woefully inefficiently and fading into an ever-greater state of delirium. Not only was I unpacking and finding homes for things, I was rearranging furniture! What was I thinking?! Whatever I was or was not thinking, it seemed sensible at the time.

One last notification from Bizzy Big Wheeeeeeellllllzzzz confirming that the van passed its full return inspection, thereby closing our contract, put an exhaustion-weakened smile on my face mid-late afternoon. Indeed, no one else had attempted to make contact with me, either electronically or (gak!) in person.

After a full night of moving and day of unpacking, I went to bed early, beyond exhausted. The bedroom was nice; the bed about as comfortable as anything I’d slept on. It wasn’t exactly big enough for me, but then no single bed was—even a king.

As I lay in bed, muscles relaxing (tentacle muscles in particular), my mind drifted aimlessly. I couldn’t help thinking about my very big, very sore, very tired body. Until now, rarely had I thought of any of my new appendages or other parts as much beyond trouble. Relaxing further, on my way to sleep thinking about tomorrow and future days, given how useful they’d been recently and today in particular, I became convinced that most if not all my changed body parts were going to be very useful going forward.

Moving from that thought to again thinking about all the work that needed to be done made my brain so tired, it finally let me fall into a deep sleep.