Chapter 1 - The Consultation

CHAPTER 1: THE CONSULTATION

Dr. Nkanyezi felt it the moment Kwanele walked into the consulting rooms above the Port Alfred Private Hospital — that familiar stirring, the gift waking up and looking around.

Kwanele sat on the edge of the couch, hands clenched. "I can't even order coffee if a woman is behind the counter, Doc. I freeze. I'm terrified of saying the wrong thing."

The doctor knew the terror he meant. It was nothing next to the terror of the other thing — the thing that had kept the doctor awake last night, remembering the taste of being wanted.

"Then maybe we stop talking."

The change came the way it always did, like a wave the doctor had stopped trying to hold back. The chest swelled rapidly into massive, heavy breasts that strained against the shirt until the buttons popped. Hips widened. The face softened into something breathtakingly feminine. Kwanele's mouth fell open.

"Holy hell, you're…"

He couldn't speak after that. The doctor, in female form, climbed onto his lap and pressed those enormous breasts against his chest, and for a while the doctor stopped being anyone at all — no name, no practice, no secret — just heat and motion and the slow, drowning relief of it.

"Don't overthink it," she whispered, guiding his hands to her soft, full curves. "Just feel."

She moved with him slowly, making her massive breasts jiggle, and he moaned with delight, and the doctor moaned too, because that was the trap and the gift in one: every cure fed the hunger that had made the cure necessary. Kwanele left knowing the doctor had cured his phobia.

Twice.

The doctor sat alone afterwards, still in her body, listening to the tick of the wall clock, and did not want to change back.

Nhlanhla admitted it sheepishly. "I'm not a fan of lifts unless I'm trapped in one with a gorgeous woman, Doc."

The doctor laughed the way the town expected — warm, easy, harmless. Inside, the gift was already reaching for the shape of the woman's face before Nhlanhla had finished the sentence. That was new. It used to wait to be invited.

"Then let's make it real."

The shift took seconds. A stunning woman stood where the doctor had stood, in a tight blouse that barely contained her. They left the consulting rooms and stepped into the hospital lift. The moment the doors closed, the doctor hit the emergency stop.

"Hands on me," she ordered, pushing him against the wall.

She freed her massive breasts and pressed them into his face while stroking him through his pants, and then she turned, bent over, and guided him closer, and the lift shook with every hard thrust. Nhlanhla gripped her wide hips, staring at her heaving chest, and the doctor watched his surrender the way an addict watches a flame travel down a match.

A few minutes later the doors opened and Nhlanhla stepped out cured, straightening his collar, already becoming a story he would tell carefully.

The doctor rode the lift back down alone and pressed the stop button again — just to stand in the stillness, just to feel the echo. Completely satisfied, the town would have said.

The doctor called it something else, privately, in the part of the mind where the accounts were kept.