Joyce was printed on her nametag. I guessed that she was in her thirties. She had short blonde hair that went in all directions ... on purpose I assumed, and she wore glasses. I shook my head no in answer to her question.“That’s okay,” she said, “you’ve been in and out of consciousness, but you’re looking pretty alert. I think your memory will stick this time. The doctor will want to see you. Let me get her.”Joyce left and Beverly strode into the room a minute later. She looked very much the busy doctor in her lab coat. “How do you feel?” she asked as she scanned the various machines and their read outputs.“Like I was hit by a train,” I said.“Hmm...” she said in doctor speak. She proceeded to poke, prod and peer at most of my body.“Am I going to live?” I asked, mostly in jest.“Yes,” she said so seriously it was frightening. Her face fell and she sniffled. A tear rolled down her cheek. “When I put the charm in you, it almost killed you. It wasn’t necessary. I shouldn’t have done it. I. I could feel more and more of heras I began to feel leg muscles not my own tense, the feel of a tight pairof jeans on those legs. I could feel flare, soft hips, a full ass, thetight tug of the fabric of panties on a very different nether-region. Icould feel the warm, internal void of a woman's sex, the feel of a vaginabetween a pair of thighs previously foreign to me. I could feel thetight, fit belly of her, the soft sweater against her smooth flesh. Icould feel the tight grasp of a bra on a pair of large, perfect breastson her. I could feel the soft skin of her shoulders and arms in thatsweater as well. I could feel the air of the room on two hands, two handswith ten delicate, graceful fingers. I could feel the long ponytailswishing on her back. I could feel her face as it flushed withexcitement. I could feel and taste her mouth, rubbing her own tongue overher teeth. Finally, I could smell the room with her nose, and see itthrough her eyes. I was seated in the chair, looking at.
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