Cali Gurl

Part I

by Dan Standing

It was definitely a streak of blue. It hung down in front of me, separated from the rest of my hair, as if it wanted to be seen. Behind it, out of focus on my desk, was the report I had been reading when this Technicolor atrocity fell before my eyes. I thought I’d shampooed thoroughly, but it was clear I’d missed some colorful moment from last night.

I had already arrived to work late, and didn’t have time to deal with this now. Nor did I feel up to it. The morning-after regrets of a night’s heavy drinking and karaoke singing were in full effect. The cold shower had done little to wake me up, and certainly hadn’t done any wonders for my stomach. No one at the office would care if, or seemed to have noticed that, I’d sprayed part of my usually blonde hair blue. Hell, they may like it. I pushed it back behind my ear.

Behind my ear?

At my last visit to the hair dresser I’d gotten a short pixie cut – how was I pushing something back behind my ear?

I really didn’t have time to concern myself with it. I had seven reports that needed review before I filed my own report on them. I really doubted that during my shower I’d overlooked some sort of extension worked into my hair at the karaoke bar, but I didn’t remember much of last night. A weave or extension would explain why the color had not washed out. I’d investigate it later.

As I continued reading my report I began to shiver. I grabbed the blanket I keep near my desk and threw it over my shoulders. Holding it tight I realized the thick fabric was not doing me any good…because the chill was coming from inside me? I slipped two fingers into my blouse and pressed against the muscles just atop my scant breasts.

My flesh was positively chilled.

“I support breast exams, but they are best done with the shirt off…and the door closed.”

I nearly jumped out of my seat, which did nothing good to my stomach. I looked up to see Agatha Crowley, our HR rep, leaning against the inside of my office’s door frame. My breathing was ragged, and my chest felt tight.

Because it was.

“I just wanted to check in regarding some stories I head about last night,” Agatha spoke up, taking a few steps into the room. I watched her nervously, my mind distracted…because I could feel my breasts growing. I could almost hear it, a slight hum as cold fat began to plump up what had always been barely palmfuls on my ribs. I might not have noticed the slow expansion as quickly as I had if it weren’t for the cold making my nipples rock hard. I could feel them burrowing into my bra.

“Last night?” I finally responded, realizing Agatha expected a reply.

“Yes. Rumors are you and some of the new hires got a little wild last night at a local watering hole. I don’t care what you do after hours, just make sure no pictures get publicly associated with you online that could embarrass the company, okay?”

‘Online.’ I knew she meant any of the various social networks. My answer was again delayed as I felt my tits, already stretching the skin at apple-sized proportions, pulling my bra strap tight against my spine. The growth of my breasts itself was kind of pleasant, like a tickly hiccup. But the effect they were having on my clothes was bordering on unbearable.

“Don’t worry, I don’t upload anything and my identity is marked very private,” I spoke up, gritting my teeth slightly. It was all true. Only the closest of my friends would be able to tag me in any of the pictures.

And one had been there last night.

“Good, just wanted to check now…in case anything needed to be dealt with before corporate sees it,” Agatha replied. Her voice wavered a moment. She could tell something was wrong with me, but wasn’t quite sure what.

I, meanwhile, could feel the underwire stabbing my boobs, and I felt as if the bra’s straps would start cutting into flesh at any moment. It was restraining my growth just enough that my changes weren’t obvious outside my blouse.

“You okay?”

“Just hung over, but working hard,” I gave a very forced grin, trying not to let it turn into a grimace. But maybe I had a way of getting rid of her before things starts ripping…or bleeding. “Actually, I’m starting to feel really queasy. You may want to close the door as you leave.”

“Uh, sure. Make sure to call into New York if you need to take the day,” Agatha replied, lingering a moment as if to assess the legitimacy of my statement. I could hear the stitches of my bra really straining, and finally Agatha turned and exited, closing the door behind her.

I was immediately up from my seat, simultaneously stumbling towards the door and trying to pull off my blouse so I could get to my bra. Amidst all of this my stomach was getting even more upset. As I pulled the blouse over my head I rested a shoulder against the door to keep anyone out until I was able to lock it. With all the sudden movement of my arms and body I could feel the extra weight of my chest heave against the brassiere, and a relieving snap finally rang through the room. The stitching under my arm that attached the left cup to the back strap finally gave way, popping the bra – still partially held up by the shoulder straps – up and over to the right. I felt a rush of gravity and growth as my breasts poured free.

I let out a long breath as my skin rebounded from the painful confines, and the pleasant pulsing growth pushed over the lingering soreness. I locked my office door. I rolled and leaned my back against the false wood, happy to be able to so easily breath once again. After a few moments I pulled the broken underthing over my head and looked down.

I wouldn’t call my reaction a scream. More of a “yip” that got caught in my throat.

My breasts were freakishly large, and impossibly round. They stuck out like twin cantaloupes super-glued to my ribs. They bobbed gently, completely pain free. The tugging of their mysteriously weightless mass, coupled with the flow of air around their zeppelin shape, was quite pleasant. If the look of my tits alone wasn’t cartoonish enough, at their tips my nipples had also grown. They were each at least an inch long, and sticking straight out in front of me.

As I looked on, jaw agape, hands afraid to touch the over-sexualized orbs in front of me in fear of confirming their existence, more blue hair fell in front of my eyes.

Pulling it away I turned to the small mirror on my wall. It wasn’t much more useful than freshening make-up, but as I stared into it I could see the entirety of my hair had turned a bright blue. And, except for the curly bangs hovering over my eyes, it had grown to my shoulders.

“What the fuck is happening to me?”

I couldn’t remember last night, but I knew where I could get some information. My friend, Dori, wouldn’t be able to answer her phone while on shift, but I could at least see if she’d uploaded any photos of last night that held any clues. I started to run to my desk, but in my heels – even my conservative work heels – my breasts bounced so much I had to stop. They still didn’t hurt – in fact, they felt frustratingly like the opposite of “hurt” – but their swinging disrupted my balance so much I was at risk of being toppled over. Slowly I took my seat at my desk and logged into my account.

Indeed, I had a variety of photos tagged from Dori. They were in chronological order through the night, starting with the arrival of our respective selectively-chosen coworker groups. I wasn’t finding anything at first, just typical stuff; margaritas, wine, dancing with our arms in the air, dancing on tables, guys I’d never seen before, dancing with guys I’d never seen before, and crazy antics at a karaoke machine.

Wait.

I’d clicked too fast and went back a few images. The one that had caught my eye was me stepping up to the microphone. I was clearly drunk. That hadn’t gotten my attention. What I had noticed was that, in the background, was a woman I didn’t recognize. It looked as if she had been stepping up to sing, and I barged in front of her. I may have even pushed her, but it was hard to tell in the photo.

The next picture showed me on stage, mouth open, fist up, clearly doing more screaming than singing. In the background, completely unnoticeable if you weren’t looking for her, was the same woman. She was staring at me, her face clearly furious. Her mouth was open, mid-word, and her hand was pointing at me in a weird way. But what really struck – and frightened – me was her eyes. Yes, maybe it would have been easy to say she had red-eye from the camera flash. But the red in her eyes had not been there in the previous image, and no one else had red-eye.

Plus, I knew Dori’s camera was supposed to correct for that. As I stared at this stranger, studying the fury captured in every feature of her face, somehow I just knew;

She’d cursed me.

But how? What was happening to me? It didn’t make sense. Blue hair? Huge cold tits? I looked at the picture of me singing. She/I was completely oblivious to what was happening off the side of the stage. That’s when I noticed the walls behind me were mirrored. The karaoke machine’s lyrics were visible. Blowing up the picture I squinted and tried to read the backwards letters.

fresh fine fierce, we’ve got it

My hands flew to my face. It was Cali Gurl by Katya Petri. I knew the music video well. She danced around a fantasy world with long blue hair, big fake tits, and was half-naked in a bed of-

A tickle across my privates alerted me to a new concern. Very quickly I could feel a tingling, no – an itching. I could feel a pressure on my pussy, as if something was pushing against my panties and my panties were pushing back.

Remaining in my chair I shimmied my slacks down to my thighs and pulled up on the elastic of my underwear.

A thick pink cloud greeted me. I just stared for a moment. Then, for reasons I still don’t quite know, I pinched some of the soft fuzz between my fingers and pulled. It crackled away from the poof of pink and I placed it in my mouth. It dissolved away as a sugary stain on my tongue.

I was growing cotton candy from my crotch.

to be continued…