Chapter 8

Flotsam

Chapter 8: Bluebells and Clementines

I am standing outside the airlock door to my ex-boyfriend’s space apartment.

Maybe ex-boyfriend. Who is a girl now. With a penis. And has a sexy catgirl clone of me as a pet.

My life is complicated.

I take a deep breath and let it out as a sigh, clenching and unclenching my hands, shifting my weight from foot to foot. I am not ready for this. Not at all.

Steadfast Freya, who has been impatiently waiting for me to open the door, snorts and gives me a little shove. I stumble forward, throwing out my hands to catch myself, and touch the door which chimes and warmly chirps "Welcome home Halley!" The door swishes open and I fall into the house, Freya looming behind me. No escape.

I do a big cartoon swallow. Gulp! This is going to be so awkward.

Pussy the catgirl clone lackadaisically and fluidly crawls to the threshold to greet us, black furred tail twitching cheerfully behind her. She gracefully lifts herself onto her hind legs and narrows her green feline eyes at us, "Oh," she sniffs, "it's you."

It strikes me again just how fucking weird this is. I am looking at my own face, but with big green cat eyes, a pink little twitching nose, whiskers, roving black furry ears, and a blandly judgemental look. I am seeing my own nude body, but a leaner, dancer’s version sporting eight pointy little tits and limbs covered in black fur and ending in paws. A cats tail waves lazily from a much perter version of my ass and a hairless crotch shows my pink little pussy to the world. It's like looking at a bizarre pornographic reflection of myself, as if I was still in Illadra's clothing shop, playing with a hologram model of myself wearing the sluttiest cat costume ever. "Mrowr," Pussy says, "what do you want?"

"We have come to see the Healer," Freya replies, "she is expecting us."

"She is still with Master," Pussy says coolly, "but I suppose you could go watch if you want." She turns, tail lashing, and falls back onto all fours, slinking away, "I don't really give a shit."

"Charming," mutters Freya. For a catgirl, Pussy is kind of a bitch.

I take a look around Clem's space-trailer home. It's basically a one bedroom apartment with a modular galley kitchen, a small corner for a dining table, and a modest living space with a pair of comfy looking couches. The interior is lined with a seamless warm grey polymer: floors, ceiling, and walls. Some kind soul added a dark blue area rug by the couches; I suspect the handiwork of a girlfriend or past Hayley. The walls display a few holograms: a large photo of Earth from Space; a drones-eye panorama of the Flotsam City Mesa, like a picture of those villages in Italy perched on cliffs; and a photo-zone cycling candid pictures of Clementine smiling with friends and Halleys. A book shelf is covered in Clem-style tacky crap: sexy figurines, interesting looking mechanical components, a few geodes, and an outrageous looking bong. Also an enormous equine-looking dildo, which is new. Dildo aside, it feels like coming home to our trailer. But where was Clem and our 'Healer'? Other than Pussy who is lounging on the small dining table and tongue grooming her thigh, the apartment seems deserted. "Attend," Freya directs me, "we can see the Witch at her craft."

Freya leads me to the bedroom, the very room I woke up in at the beginning of my new clone life. I close my eyes and rub my face, I'm not sure I want to go back into that room. It's kind of a fraught space? Freya just barges in regardless of me, and not wanting to be left behind with Pussy, I scramble in after her. And walk into a bizarre scene.

It takes my brain a few seconds to figure out what I'm watching exactly. There are two people, women, on the bed in Clem's small bedroom. Clementine is sitting crosslegged at one end of the bed, head bowed in concentration, with the foot of the other woman in her lap. She is only wearing a little camisole top and a pair of underwear, both slicked to her body with sweat, and has her lustrous silver hair tied up in a loose topknot behind her spiralling goat horns. Her long tail is coiled behind her, and her three breasts raise and fall steadily with controlled breathing. Clem massages the other woman's foot with her hands, which give off a faint white glow. She frowns and chews her lip, sweat dripping off her forehead.

The other woman is lying naked on her back and is... blue? Is a Blue. But not like any Blue I've ever seen. The Blues I've met have all been tall and skinny and asexual. And clothed. The only way to tell their sexes apart was to strip them naked and get them horny enough for their junk to engorge. This Blue was curvaceous, with big tits and curves and an obviously womanly body. Four big tits to be specific, with long, teat like nipples and laying on her thighs, a big sack of flesh with more teats. An udder? And the Blue has horns on her head and a long ropey tail snaking out from below her wide pillowy ass and did she just moo?

Was Clem shaping a Blue into some sort of cow-person? A cowgirl? Why would anyone want to be part cow? Why would an alien want to be part Earth animal? Was a cow an Earth animal? This was fucking weird for so many reasons.

I take a closer look at the Blue woman's feet. The foot not currently being shaped isn't really a foot at all, but a perfectly formed cloven hoof. The other foot, or hoof, isn't quite on model yet: it looks more like two toes only half covered in hoof material. But as I watch, Clem keeps massaging these toes, kneading them together, and slowly, so slowly they begin to merge together as the hoof material expands. Freya and I watch in silence as Clementine patiently, laboriously, Shapes the foot into a perfect cloven hoof, a matching twin to the other one. Clem withdraws her hands and throws her head back and pants, taking great deep breaths of air.

"Sorry, Bell," Clem says, wiping sweat from her forehead, "that's all I've got for you today." She rolls her long, elegant neck in a circle, eyes closed "And I have an appointment today still. It's an easy one, but, bleh." Clem blinks her eyes and looks around the room, noticing Freya and me for the first time. She startles and then smiles, "Hi guys. Did you enjoy the show?"

Clementine's hair is a tangle of escaped locks and sweat makes her shirt cling tightly to her three tits, nipples showing. When she smiles her entire face lights up. She's fucking gorgeous. I nod mutely and blush. "This is Bluebell," says Clem nodding at the Blue cowgirl.

"Helloooo" lows Bluebell.

"It's nice to meet you," I say gamely.

The bovine-ish Blue pushes herself up to a sitting position, her heavy breasts spilling onto her udder. She moos and nictitating membranes blink across her large black eyes. Bluebell pauses uncertainly, like she's just had a spot of headrush, and swings her legs over the side of the bed. Carefully she places her new hooves onto the floor with a pair of solid clops. She takes a deep breath, her stretched nostrils flaring, and with a heave of mammaries, she stands up, unsteady, arms windmilling, and stumbles into the strong, waiting hands of Freya. "Moo..." Bluebell lows, "these hooves will require practice..."

"Easy girl," Freya says, "I've got you." She guides Bluebell towards the bedroom door and gives me a pointed look. "Shall we go to the common hall to practice your stride?" The pair step through the threshold leaving me alone with Clementine. It's an ambush! I've been betrayed!

"So you finally came to talk?" Clem asks, climbing gracefully to her own hooves and stretching her stiff body, giving me a pretty compelling show. I try not to stare at her breasts or the sweaty bulge in the front of her underwear.

"I, uh, actually think we came here for Bluebell... She's a healer of some sort, right? Something about immunity nannites?" I stammer, "b-but I would love to talk? To you, I mean."

Clementine laughs easily, "Don't be so nervous Hales, it's just me." I give her a skeptical look. "Fine, it's just me in a prettier package. I'm still not going to bite." She sits on the edge of the mattress and pats a spot next to her.

Blushing, I hesitantly step over and sit next to her. "You have definitely bitten me before."

Clem giggles, "I don't remember you complaining in the moment. Or for that matter, using the safe word."

I giggle too, Clem still knows just how to make me laugh. It seems surprisingly easy to fall back into our old rhythm. I playfully give her arm a gentle whack. Which is the first time I've touched her, Clem, since waking up on Flotsam. Waking up in this bed. Her bed. That I was in now.

Clem cutely snorts, and playfully says "Ha! I didn't think you'd hit a girl!" Because she's Clementine now. And just like that it’s weird again.

"Oh Clem, what the fuck?"

"I know Hales, I know. It's an adjustment..."

"Adjustment? I woke up to find that I'm one of two-dozen clones of me on an alien planet and that my boyfriend is an alien sorcerous with a catgirl sexpet who is one of those aforementioned clones."

"A big adjustment?"

"How can you be so calm about this!"

"Hales, I've been on Flotsam for eight years now, and a woman for most of them. This all... well, it doesn't seem normal, but it's my life, y'know? I mean, from your perspective we've been dating what? Three years? Maybe four?"

I do some quick math "Dating three and half, living in the park together for two-ish."

"Okay, well, I’ve had Pussy as my petgirl for five years now. Which is longer than you've subjectively known me."

"Well that's a total mind fuck."

Clementine titters, "Did you just call me an alien sorcerous?"

I pout, a little amused and a little annoyed. "That's really what you want to focus on?"

Clem sighs, "I know, I owe you a real talk. About me. About us. But I have an appointment with a really important client; someone who travelled to Flotsam from another star system." She rubs her face and smooths her long, elfin ears. "I kind of have to bail..."

"It's okay," I say, grateful to escape from having a real talk. I am so not ready for that. "I probably should have called ahead," I shrug, "but Freya."

Clem grins, "I get it." She stands back up, "I gotta freshen up and get changed into something more presentable. VIP clients like presentable. Do you mind?"

I shake my head, "Go ahead."

Clem doesn't ask me to leave the room, so I stay, staring at the wall while Clementine peels off her sweaty shirt and kicks off her dirty underwear. I sneak a peek and watch her bend over and root around in a pile of floor laundry, her round perky ass wiggling in the air and her long sinuous tail swinging in sympathy. I try and glimpse her vulva or scrotum, but her tail resists me. Clem finds what she's looking for and stands up, back to me, and unpins her hair, letting it fall down her back in a shimmering cascade. She has... a towel? A towel that seems alive, like terrycloth made of living, clawing fibres. Clementine takes the creepy towel and runs it over her sweaty body, bending to run it over her hooves, and shapely digitigrade legs. My breath catches as this time I definitely see her pussy and the backside of her balls. She runs the towel over ass and the base of her tail, along her toned, elegant back, and up onto her shoulders. She turns, giving me a glimpse of ripe sideboob and the bulge of her cock and oh crap she can see me and I quickly look away. Shit! Did she just notice me peeking? I look fiercely at the wall and count to fifteen... and then sneak another look. And there is Clem wrapped in her towel, hands on a cocked hip, eyebrow raised as she smirks at me. I blush, clearly caught. Clementine giggles as she lets the magic towel fall open and wraps her hair in it.

Blushing I stare at my feet. This beautiful creature is definitely not my awkward, gawky Clem. But maybe we still fit together somehow? She still seems to get me, can still make me laugh, and talking with her was, despite the awkwardness, one of the most familiar and home feeling moments of my time here. While most of my romantic experience has been with men, my sexuality has always been fluid and I’m definitely attracted to this woman. And that cock... Dang! I could tap that. Maybe this could work? My heart hammers in my chest. Do I still want to be with this new Clem? Does Clem still want to be with me?

And what about that stupid catgirl Pussy? Ugh....

I am getting so far ahead of myself.

When I look back up Clementine is half undressed in some fancypants lingerie. Her breasts are snuggly foisted by a lacy black three-cupped bra that is fancier than any piece of underwear I've ever owned. Her legs are encased in sheer black stockings, somehow engineered to fit over her cloven hooves and inhuman gams. I boggle at how she managed to pull them over hooves without tearing runs in them. More future cloth? Her improbable stockings are clipped onto an oldschool garter belt that hugs a pair of lacy black, bikini cut panties, smooth against her crotch. She has crystal jewelry things hanging from her horns and a choker made from beads of the same stone. Clem has gathered her hair into a new and very professional looking bun, with a few artfully messy forelocks left free. Clementine stands there looking like absolute perfection, chewing a plump lip, all trussed up like a Christmas present to unwrap, tail lazily waving behind her. "How do I look?" she breathes, voice husky.

"Awooogah..." I breath, aiming for sultry and probably missing.

Clem giggles, prettily. Which I find myself liking.

Clementine clops over to another heap of discarded clothes and pulls out a black dress. She slips the garment over her head, baggy and loose, slides her tail through an opening and, with a prod at her Keyband, commands the dress to cinch tighter, to become a form fitting dress with a pencil skirt and a square collar showing off her wide double cleavage. Clem pinches the sides of her dress and wiggles her hips then smooths the front of her skirt. Her too smooth skirt. "Uh," I say blushing a bit, "where is your um?" I point at the flat crotch of her dress...

Clementine smirks, "My cock? I can, uh, retract it inside my body a bit when I want to go for that all female look. With the right pair of panties I think I can pass pretty well." Clem does a little pirouette to show me. "It's a bit... restrictive feeling. But it feels kind of formal? Like wearing heels or a corset or something. And it looks nice with some outfits." She shrugs, "Some of my clients are a bit conservative. A bit of hardware..." Clem wags her tail and thrusts out her chest, "is just good advertising. But the whole enormous cock thing squicks some of them out." She rolls her eyes, "So part of the VIP package...."

"...is putting away your package," I finish for her.

"And few clients are more VIP or more conservative than today's." Clem summons a holographic screen that she tweaks into a mirror and conjures some makeup from amongst her laundry. She begins to apply. "This guy is a Shaping fixer who sends the rich and famous to Flotsam to get work done discreetly. His hustle is sneaking the celebri-rich off their home planets, getting them safely here in comfort, ensconcing them in Upper Terrace luxury, and getting them the best Shaping money can buy from someone who can keep their flawless mouth shut. Which, yours truly, the most powerful shaper in the quadrant, is happy to do for a generous fee." Clem applies lipstick and moues, "It's mostly pretty easy work like thinning down a starlet addicted to Ellsbarron Honey, very addictive and very fattening; or making a pipsqueak singer taller and much better hung. It just has to be done quickly and quietly and with a certain 'professionalism' and 'glamour' to give the VIP clients a 'premium experience'. Then it’s a few days of spas in the terrace and yachting them back home to miraculously recover from that flu that gave them a new nose." Clem smiles, "Today it's some business executive’s daughter. Apparently she's getting herself a new nose and better boobs as a birthday gift." She winks, "I might throw something kinky in for free if she asks."

"What? Like a penis nose?" I say, joking.

"Oh, I wouldn't recommend that. It'll get stuffy every time you cum and just dangle from your face when it's soft." She tuts, "Very inconvenient. Imagine dipping that in your tea?"

"Youch!"

"No one ever considers the practical considerations of genital face and..." Clem glances at her Keyband, "Shit! I really have to run! Being late is not VIP." She clops over to me, gathers me into a hug and a kiss on the cheek and hoofs it out of there. I watch her go, enjoying the orbit of her hips and sway of her tail. I touch the lipstick smear on my cheek and sigh.

Maybe I want to get back together with my ex?

***

I find Bluebell and Freya waiting for me in the living room. Freya makes the face of someone who really wants to gossip, but is too proud to admit it. I let her suffer, she deserves it. Bluebell for her part looks as placid as a cow, and smiles pleasantly at me. "I'm told that you’re some sort of 'healer'?”

Bluebell snorts in amusement, "One prefers the term Physician, but one understands that Nordics have a certain way of speaking."

Freya crosses two pairs of arms, "Do you not heal the injured? Provide succour to the sick?"

"One does."

"Then you art a healer."

Bluebell chuckles, "Why do you require the services of a... healer? You look healthy."

"I, uh, wish to visit The Grove? And I've been told that I need some sort of immunity update?" Hand wave, hand wave.

"Ah, one sees. You still have the Halley-Prime nanomachine configuration, and need to be outfitted with resistance to the Sylvannic Funganoid. One can do this for you."

That sounded suitably technobabble-expert. "You can?"

"Mooo-f course. It is a simple procedure; much akin to a vaccination."

"Great." Getting jabbed with a needle by an alien with a cow fetish.

"We shall have to travel to ones clinic though," Bluebell says with regret in her voice. "One does not have the necessary materials on their person to 'heal' you."

"You shall have to journey without me," Freya interjects, "I vowed to toil as Fair Hank's bar wench and must return to the Hideaway before the eventide rush."

"Does Hank want me come and help too?"

"Nay, tonight shall be too chaotic for an unaccustomed hand. You should go with Bluebell and have your medical needs addressed. And to make sure the healer journeys home safely."

Bluebell nods her head, "One could use a companion. One fears she is still unsteady on her hooves."

And so I am outflanked again. "Alright Doctor Bluebell, lead on."

The cowgirl doctor has managed to get herself dressed and is standing on her hooves, leaning with her flanks pressed against a wall. Like every Blue I’ve seen she is very tall, nearly seven feet from hoof to horn, but unlike other Blue’s who are androgynous and thin going gaunt, Bluebell is pneumatically curvaceous and very womanly. She has thick, generous thighs; a round, heavy ass; and hips with a shocking wingspan that have been squeezed into skintight knee length shorts. Instead of the narrow torso of her species, she has a slightly rounded belly, a bulging pink udder which nestles in the curve of her wide hips, and four huge breasts capped with long drooping teats, now squeezed into a Holstein patterned bandeau that does almost nothing to obscure her bovinified bust. Her face has also been remodelled, her large black eyes rest above a squared, muzzley nose with wide nostrils and a mouth with bee-stung, humany lips. Her skin is still blue, but instead of the deep azure of most Blues, her’s is a pale robin egg, with emerging blotches of navy. And then there are her bovine flourishes: mobile cow ears, short little horns, her altered legs and brand new hooves, and a cute, ropey tail that swishes against the wall. Bluebell frowns and takes a hesitant step forward and stumbles. I rush forward to catch her, am shocked by the solid weight of the altered Blue. “Thank moo,” she says.

“Farewell, Pussy,” Freya says as we stumble out the door.

The petgirl, who is sprawled in a sunbeam, waves a dismissive paw and flicks her tail. “Whatever.”

***

I’m holding the hand of an alien doctor who has decided to become part human and part cow. A cowgirl? But not like a yeehaw, rodeo cowgirl. Cow-hybrid. Cow-woman? Cow-sapient? Alien-Cowgirl? What’s the polite way to say this? “Cowblue? Bovine-Blu-man?”

Bluebell blinks her huge eyes at me, “Pardon?

Did I say that out loud? “Sorry, never mind.” Idiot.

Bluebell is mostly able to walk, but she isn't exactly sure-hoofed yet, so I'm forced to clutch her hand to prevent stumbles. Holding hands with a strange alien turns out to be awkwardly intimate, and since she towers over me, it's making me feel childlike and very silly. And of course everyone is definitely watching us. Local humans gawk at us and give Bluebell fondly bemused looks; expressions that suggest familiarity and a kind of acceptance. Blues on the other hand avert their eyes and make a show of ignoring my new bovine acquaintance. Which is somehow worse than the staring. We are definitely a spectacle, which is making me more than a little anxious.

"So," I say to get my mind off being stared at, "why did you decide to..."

"Shape oneself into a...what did you call it? Bovine-Blue-man?" Bluebell grins, "It is a long story."

"Perfect!" Distract me from my social anxiety. "Give me the whole scoop."

"Mooo. One supposes it all started when one was training to become a doctor. It is common for young Blue physicians to travel to a new planet when they do their final, practical training. One managed to find a placement in a fantastic hospital on a world at the edge of Blue space. This world had many human citizens, so a great many of one's patients were human instead of Blue.” Bluebell smiles wistfully, “the human body is so strange and wonderful, an artifact of incredible engineering and design. One found herself deeply fascinated by human biology and one resolved to become an expert in human medicine.”

“As one spent more time among humans, dealing with the human body and the human matters that seep into providing medical counsel, one began to get enamoured with human culture,” Bluebell moos, “and sexuality.”

“You humans are so sexual! You perform your gender and sexuality constantly, publicly, instead of only privately in the nest between lovers. You have women and men. You have ridiculous, gorgeous external genitals and secondary sexual characteristics that you emphasize. You all live sex!”

“One found herself attracted to humans, sexually and intellectually. One began to take human lovers, men and women, and to experiment with dressing in human drag. For the first time in ones life, one got to live openly as a woman. It was incredibly liberating,” she moos like a hungry growl, “and very fulfilling.”

“However, this is what got oneself into trouble.”

I grimace, “your bosses didn’t like you... fraternizing with humans?”

Bluebell shakes her head making the small cowbell she wears on a chocker tinkle. “Blues value their human citizens. As a people we encourage friendship with your kind and we expect there to be a certain amount of sexual exploration. It is considered a harmless kink. Ones flirtation with human-style gender was considered distasteful, but it was tolerated as long as it did not impact ones work.” Bluebell pauses, “The reason one was dismissed from the hospital was that several of ones human lovers were former patients, and this is a violation of the Healers Oath.” Bluebell sighed, “One deserved to be terminated.”

I squeeze her hand in support. “Is that why you came to Flotsam?”

Bluebell nods, “As a disgraced doctor with a known deviancy, finding employment in medicine within Blue space would have been difficult. One would have had to forsake her experiments with gender and Conformed to Blue society. One was reluctant to do this, so one sought alternatives. Flotsam was attractive because it is perennially short of doctors and has both Blue and human communities.”

I smile as we stumble past a gaggle of laughing human teens with antlers and horns growing from their heads. “And Flotsam is already full of weirdoes.”

Bluebell moos in amusement, “Yes, one did consider that Flotsam is a refuge for many outsiders.”

“So one began her life anew on Flotsam, catering to the medical needs of humans and Blues. Initially one worked hard to Conform, to build a place within the respectable Blue community. But the heart travels where it must and one began to discreetly dress as a human woman in covert clubs catering to certain fringe communities. It is through these clubs that I became acquainted with the Changelings.”

“Change…lings?”

Bluebell shakes her head, “Changelings are a human subculture that Shape themselves for aesthetic and recreational reasons, often in ways that defy convention. It is not unusual for them to grow extra limbs or breasts or genitals or for them to experiment with animal hybridization.” My mind flashed to Clem with her tail, hooves, and extra breasts. “Casual members will often try small changes, maybe a tail or extra nipples that can be hidden. Core members, the ringleaders, will spend fortunes pursuing wild transformations, becoming so altered that they could never pass as normal again. One found in these people kindred spirits, outsiders who wanted to change their bodies as part of a path to their truer selves. One made many close friends among the Changelings and found many excellent lovers. One also became aware of Clementine.”

“It began as a rumour, a new Shaper on Flotsam, some unknown talent from a backwater called Earth. A new Shaper of incredible potency, who could do more challenging transformations far faster than anyone else on the planet. As the Changeling scene began to see nagas, people with serpent tails in place of legs, or four-legged humantaurs, it became clear that a truly remarkable Shaper was in our midst. Then one heard something that would change the course of her life: the new Shaper, this Clementine of Earth, was so powerful that she could shape non-human sapients. Ones mind exploded with new possibilities.”

“I met Clementine at a Changeling event, an unveiling party for the new body of Villah dox Quillix, a wealthy heiress and leading patron of the group. Villah would change her body in the manner most sapients would change their clothing. Every few Shifts she would commission a team of Changelings to remake her body around a new theme and hold a lavish party to reveal it to her admirers. She held a Jungle Gala when she gave herself tiger stripes, a tail, and a few feline features. She threw an elaborate beach party when she had her legs Shaped into a stimulated fish tail like a mermaid. When she briefly became a man she threw a rather raucous bachelor party. She would pay to have her closest friends tweaked to fit the theme and would always feature Changelings whose bodies fit her current whim. This particular party was promised to be truly spectacular: Villah had found a new Shaper of incredible talent and gossip said she had done something particularly daring.”

“The theme of the evening was Earthling decadence: guests were instructed to wear Earth tuxedos or gowns, Earth delicacies were circulated, and jazz music was performed by live musicians. Villah dox Quillix made her grand entrance upon a hovering dais, fashionably late as always. She was laying on a divan, snug in a gorgeous black lace corset and matching evening gloves, legs draped under a silk sheet. At first everyone was disappointed, Villah appeared human; fashionably thin and perhaps a bit too beautiful and busty, but far too baseline for all the hype. But then the silk sheet covering was drawn off, revealing that the heiress had replaced her legs with a whole other body: from the hips down she had the torso, arms, and head of a ravishingly handsome man. A man who looked, as everyone who knew Villah knew, like the male version of dox Quillix. Villah also, her dates had gossiped, had her mouths altered so that despite their normal appearance, inside they felt like vaginas with internal clits on her palettes and tongues that could engorge and become phalluses. The crowd had gasped, not just because the mirrored torso form she had chosen was impossibly difficult to create, but because of how quickly it was accomplished. Villah had worn a towering, hugely obese body only two Shift Changes before, and such a transformation in a short time was beyond all of the Shapers on Flotsam. That this was all accomplished by a single Shaper was sensational.”

“One met Clementine by accident, amid this todo, an awkward and lanky woman with three breasts hiding against the wall. She nearly jumped out of her plain black evening dress and heels when one wished her greetings. One admitted that a friend had pointed her out, and that one wished to convey compliments on her astonishing work. She blushed and smiled proudly and stammered thanks. One explained that this one had heard that she could even shape nonhumans, perhaps even Blues. Clementine cautiously admitted that she had been informed that she could, but that it would be very difficult and that she had never tried. One took a deep, wavering breath and explained her great desires to become womanly, to take on human characteristics, and that she, Clementine, was this ones only hope to do this. Clementine looked at this one, took in her Blue body wearing a platinum blonde wig, squeezed into a red sequinned dress with false breasts and fake hips, and thought. She reached up to stroke her chin, to feel facial hair that was not there, frowned and tugged on her unkempt mousey brown hair instead. She told me that she knew something about feeling trapped in the wrong body and that she would help if she could.”

I smile a little sadly for Clem. Always a good guy, even when he’s a girl. “And so you started to be Shaped.”

Bluebell smiles and moos. “Yes. It took ages and happened very gradually, but ever so slowly Clementine began to make my body womanly. Ones skin began to plump with fat, making one look deliciously supple. Ones thighs and hips and ass swelled, creating real curves. One grew breasts! Nipples that sat upon swollen flesh that grew into tiny buds which became handfuls of breast which expanded into a generous bosom. One grew external labia and a real, human clitoris. After many seasons one could look in the mirror and see a smiling blue woman looking back.” Bluebells black eyes grow shiny with moisture, “One finally looked like how she always pictured herself. One was overcome with joy.”

I smile, genuinely pleased for Bluebell and give her hand another squeeze. But... that doesn’t explain the whole cow thing. “Um, sorry, but how did you go from wanting to be a woman to wanting to be part cow?”

Bluebell blinks her eye membranes and smiles mischievously, “It was these beautiful things!” She moos and shakes her tits, “These magnificent breasts! One had no idea how amazing it would feel to actually have tits! One became obsessed, constantly looking at her busty body, constantly hefting her titflesh, caressing her nipples. But one wanted more. One wanted to be bigger and bustier and..." Bluebell moos, "one wanted to make her breasts lactate."

"So one returned to Clementine, who was happy to assist her. Slowly, over many Shaping sessions, ones breasts began to grow again, eventually becoming huge with protruding nipples. Then, starting with a trickle, ones breasts grew heavy and filled with milk." Bluebell closes her eyes and moos softly, "One was in ecstasy, the weight of ones breasts jostling with every step, the new painful tension of being engorged, the joyous relief and abandon of being milked... it was the most sexual thing one had ever experienced!" She moos again, longer this time. "One needed even more!"

"One was with a lover she had not seen in many cycles of the sun. He was a human space trader who chased profit and adventure throughout the Nexus, and one last saw him after she became womanly, but before she expanded her bust. We made love. His eyes were as large as moons as he stared at the this one's huge surging breasts as she rode him. One bent forward, straddling him, his cock inside her, and made him nurse from her tits until we both climaxed.” Bluebell licked her plump lips and smiled. “Afterward, as we lay together, he told this one that she had surprised him, that she had becomes a ‘sexy cow’.”

“One had replied, what is a cow?”

“As a species, Blues do not farm animals for milk. Blues do not lactate, our young are born with a neonatal hump which feeds them until they are ready to wean, so milk is foreign to us. Here on Flotsam arable land is so precious that it is uneconomical to raise cattle, so one had never encountered a cow before. Ones lover summoned a hologram and showed her what a cow was. One was enraptured! Here was an animal that was the ultimate expression of mammalian femininity. A creature bred for lactation, an animal with a wondrous mammary gland called an udder. One became fixated! One knew that she had to embrace this creature with her body, to incorporate bovinity into her form." Bluebell shivers and moos. "It was like discovering the answer to a question one did not know to ask."

“One was nervous to bring her new desire to Clementine. Ones body had already taken years of hard work to Shape. To become part cow would take years more. One was also unsure if Clementine would even be willing: ones lactating, busty body was strange for a Blue, but not so unusual in the mixed community of Flotsam. To become part cow would make one a true outsider. One is not a human, capable of being Shaped and re-Shaped on a whim. If one spent years becoming part cow, it would take additional years of painstaking Shaping to reverse it, making these changes effectively permanent. It was, as Clementine would say, ‘a big ask.’”

“One saved her breast milk for many Shifts and with the help of a friend made cheese. One purchased some vinefruit wine and a terrine of savoury vatmeat and presented it all to Clementine during our next Shaping session. One smiled when she saw how Clementines eyes became fixated on the cheese and how delighted she was when one told her it was real. Coyly, one enquired how Clementine felt about a regular supply of cheese. She frowned thoughtfully and fidgeted with her tail, asked me what one had planned. Bashfully, one informed her that she wanted to be part cow. Clementine had laughed and told this one that she did not have to resort to bribes. She sketched a salute with her tail and declared she was in no place to judge unusual desires. Clementine with a wink told one that she would happily accept cheese in payment.”

“And so one began her next transformative journey. It has been slow, tedious, periodically painful, and often embarrassing. It is still a work in progress, but one think she looks quite sexy.” Bluebell puffs out her double cleavage and thrusts out her udder. Tail swishing behind her, she bats her eyes at me and moos long and deep. I’m staring, and realizing it, I blush. Bluebell notices and snorts, visibly quite pleased.

We enter a familiar looking plaza, the one I had tea with Freya in. Bluebells new hooves clop loudly on the mosaic cobblestones, and I squirm a little at how conspicuous we are. The humans in the plaza look up at the commotion, a few smirking like jerks, and a couple offering Bluebell a friendly wave. The many Blues in the plaza completely ignore us. No, they actively ignore us, pointedly avoiding us like a charity canvaser. Assholes. I glance at Bluebell and see a mask of bovine stoicism. “You okay?”

Bluebell moos in amusement, “Yes, one is quite used to being shunned.” She waves a hand dismissively and flicks her tail as if swatting a fly. “It is just our way.”

“Seems pretty shitty to me...”

“One is a Deviant.”

“You’re unusual but I’d hardly call you a pervert...”

Bluebell grins, “One is most assuredly a pervert. One has a fetish for an alien animal and lactation.” She gives her mammaries a shake for emphasis. “However, that is not what one is saying.”

“One is a Deviant. Blue culture has a concept called Social Responsibility. It stems from our experiment with unrestricted Capitalism, when greed and resource mismanagement nearly destroyed our homeworld. The survivors knew a new outlook would be needed: the common good needed to be emphasized and non-material forms of wealth needed to be valued and celebrated. The survivors knew that enforcing this change with laws would be tyrannical, that social change has to be organic and generated at the community level. So they created the Contract of Social Responsibility, a code of conduct where Blues tried to live according to ideals of community, family, ethics, and egalitarianism. They would hold themselves to a standard and pressure others to live the same ideals. Over time Social Responsibility became formalized and today it is the foundation of Blue culture. The Congregation Hall is the centre of our community where we gather to meditate on the harmony of our community and to celebrate Paragons, Blues that exemplify our shared ideals.” Bluebell moos, “It is an imperfect system, but it has allowed ones people to peacefully thrive for generations.”

“One is shunned, not so much for her body or sexual interests, but because one behaves against the code of Social Responsibility. One has been deemed selfish for her drive to satisfy her own needs without regard to the community. Ones body makes many Blues uncomfortable, but it is ones choices that make her Deviant.”

“That sounds...” like total bullshit that is super fucked up. “Pretty repressive...”

Bluebell swings her head from side to side. A Blue shrug? “It is just our way. It is not so terrible. One is not a victim of violence or confinement. One still has all her rights: if one requires food or lodging, the community is obligated to ensure her needs are met. One is unwelcome in the Congregation Hall but not barred from attending, since no Blue can be denied this. Blue merchants will still do business with this one out of duty to the ethical code. One still has Blue friends and acquaintances, even among respectable society.” Bluebell pauses thoughtfully, “One is not required to change and is free to pursue her perversion, just without the endorsement of her community. Which is more than many societies would allow.”

Bluebell does her head wobble again, “It is not ideal, but it is tolerable. One loves herself, her life, and her body. This is an acceptable price to pay.” She moos loudly, making a passing Blue cringe. “Besides, one finds Blue society much too rigid and stuffy!”

“Still, It must be hard.” I deploy another supportive hand squeeze.

Bluebell directs us down a narrow footpath made of raised steel plates and lined with homes. “The main difficulty has been professionally. When one first arrived on Flotsam, ones practice mostly catered to Blues. Once one was declared Deviant, many of her patients left to find doctors more in harmony with the community. Many humans, understandably, prefer to have a human physician. Ones medical practice has suffered because of her choices.” Bluebell grins, “One has become something of a renegade doctor to make up for it. Flotsam has many outsider groups with special medical needs, groups that are more openminded than the Blue Community. One works with cyborgs, restrictive cultists, and minority Sapient species with similar physiologies.” She glances around, “Sometimes one does work for the Syndicates or other Deviants. Ones main patrons are the Shaped. Many have challenges caused by their changes and being a fellow Shapist, they feel comfortable working with this one.”

Bluebell gives her udder a fond pat, making the pink sack jiggle. “One has also started selling her milk. Real, fresh dairy on a planet with no cows is very valuable.” Bluebell looks wistful, “One dreams of finding other individuals fascinated by cows and one day starting a cowgirl dairy business.”

We clop down a secluded narrow path between a rock outcropping and an unbroken metal wall, and enter a small courtyard. Bluebell moos bovine contentment, “Ones home nest and clinic.” Nestled between a rusty cylindrical apartment block and a huge space freighter turned into flats is a cute little A-frame building. The building facade is fashioned from layered shingles of metal, some bright and silvery, others copper, and a few patina green. “Heat sink fins,” Bluebell informs me proudly. The sloped roof is made of starship deck plating attached like a tin roof. There is a single round porthole window near the top of the front, probably brightening a top floor loft. On the main floor is a shiny metal door flanked by a pair of square windows hung with Holstein pattern curtains. Below each window is a planter box filled with bluebell flowers. At the apex of the building hangs a rusty iron rooster weathervane. Wind chimes tinkle in the breeze. It is absurdly adorable.

Bluebell leads me to the door which recognizes her and opens, and ushers me into her clinic. Despite the rustic exterior, the front room of her adorable house is a sci-fi infirmary. The entire inner surface, walls, floor, and ceiling, is coated in seamless white laminate. A worryingly articulated looking examination chair sits in the middle of the room lit by a cluster of powerful examination lights. Cabinets and counters line one side of the room and the other has a collection of anonymous future machines. An open door at the rear allows a peek at a quaint living area and kitchen in the next room.

As soon as we walk in, Bluebell summons a hologram and starts typing commands. A large 3D hologram of a beating heart with sheets of light cruising around it hovers in the air with accompanying squiggly graphs. My vitals? “Should I sit in the chair? Or take off my clothes?” I ask nervously.

“If it would make you comfortable,” Bluebell says. “But one does not require it. One would usually have to analyze a sample of your immunity nannites, but one already has ‘Halley-Prime Standard Load’ on record and an immunity booster prepared for Halley-23. It should only take a few moments to synthesize what one requires.” Bluebell clops over to one the machines, a modular pharmacy maybe, and opens a compartment, removing a small ampule of clear fluid. “Your immunity nannites cannot be directly reprogrammed, it is a safety feature. So one is going to inject you with short lived nannites that will provide immunity immediately and, in a process not unlike plasmid transfer between bacteria, provide information your native nannites will incorporate.” The Blue cowgirl clops over to the cabinets and withdraws a little gun shaped device and slots the ampule into it. “This will protect you from everything currently on Flotsam, including the Sylvannic Funganoid.”

Bluebell steps up to me and gently grasps my left arm. My heart is pounding in my chest and my hologram heart is a reflective light show. I hate needles and am none too fond of doctors. I look away and wince my eyes closed, bracing for the sharp prick of a needle. And instead I feel a warm spot on my skin, like a tiny heat lamp. “There. Now you can safely go visit Halley-22 in The Grove.”

***

Chapter 9