The blizzard got worse. 

He didn’t think he’d been gone that long, but what had started as gentle, fat flakes were now a violent flurry of angry snow. Funnily enough, it actually didn’t feel too bad. Kind of nice, actually. The cool air was soothing against his sore backside, though with a bit of internal heat management he made sure not to let his butt get too cold. The last thing he needed was his vent freezing off. 

He shook his tail feathers to that unpleasant thought.

Charlie eventually arrived at the mouth of the cave he called home. It wasn't glamorous, nor was it big, but the sight was enough to get him excited. He would get to lay down in the nice, warm room--made of rocks--and relax. Hopefully he’d be able to take a nap in peace.

Then he nearly slumped into the snow as he realized he would have to face his father. 

I can't tell him I laid an egg. I'm his son, not his daughter! I don't-- I don't think I could handle the embarrassment. He'd look at me differently after. He'd know I squeezed an egg out of me. Every time he saw me, every time I smiled at him, or cuddled with him, it would be there, nagging in the back of his mind.

He cradled the egg under his wing, holding it close, almost taking comfort in its presence. Which was ironic, considering it was the source of all his problems. He considered leaving it in the snow to rot, but the thought of that sent such a rush of dread through him that he ended up holding it tighter, almost possessively. Like it was his child. 

He keened in confusion. 

Ohhh, this is weird. It's not even fertilized. Why can't I just throw it away? It came out of me, I should be disgusted!

He brought it inside anyways, for better or worse. 

Lying down in some fluffy plants by the entrance was his father. The ninetales immediately noticed him coming in, and his chest grew tight when they locked eyes. 

"Back so soon?" his father asked with a tilt of a snow-white head. "I thought you were going to play with your friends all day." 

"B-blizzard," Charlie explained quickly, lacking the courage to say anything about what had happened. Instead, he rushed past his father, egg still tucked firmly under his wing. "Going to lie down," he continued on his way to his room. " Not feeling well."

His father could only manage a bewildered, "Feel better!" before Charlie was out of sight. 

Charlie's room was small, cramped, and had just enough light from a magic crystal to illuminate his bed--more a bundle of twigs and moss than a bed, really. 

I guess it's a nest now. 

He collapsed onto his 'nest', let the egg roll down next to him, and clenched his eyes shut, trying to pretend everything was exactly as it used to be. He let his wings spread out and stared at the ceiling, simply stared, until the glowing ice crystal hanging above him blurred into two blue blobs. What now? he wondered, kicking his legs absently. Should I act like nothing happened? Or should I act all girly now? I don't feel girly. What would being girly even feel like?

Sensations of the laying flashed through his mind, and suddenly he knew exactly what being 'girly' felt like. He had a newfound appreciation for the opposite gender. Only, he couldn’t quite call them the opposite gender, now could he?

Gosh, this is freaky. I can’t believe I’m actually a girl. If it weren’t for how painful laying that egg was, I’d think I was dreaming.

He had honestly never thought much of his gender before. Being male, well, it was normal. It was him. A constant. Things fell down, the island was cold, and he was male. Period.

Flushing madly, Charlie snuck a peek between his legs, trying to get a good look at his cloaca. He didn't see much. Just the light silvery gray feathers of his bottom, matted from the laying. Twitching his tail feathers, he managed to bend his rump forward until he could make out the subtle sideways vent of his cloaca. Or, what would have been subtle if not for the massive egg that had exited it.

He stared in disbelief at how distended it still was. His folds seemed to pout. Like the facial lips that some of his friends had instead of a beak. It was also similar looking to when he had, um, masturbated, only without the twitching and slickness. 

Ew. Why is it still open like that? Did the egg really stretch me that much? Arceus, I hope it closes up soon…

With a start, Charlie realized he was staring at a female's vagina--or at least, there was one just within his vent. Something he had always wanted to do was examine a female like this. Maybe touch her, ask her questions about how it felt. And maybe other things if he had the confidence. 

What he hadn't anticipated was doing it as the female.

It felt perverse, almost. Too easy. Only a day ago he'd have jumped at this opportunity. A fletchinder, a girl fletchinder, bending over and showing herself off? To him? But this was his body--always had been. He wasn't looking at some random female: he was looking at himself. He had no reason to feel shame, or even awkward. It was the same cloaca he'd had his entire life. 

He wiggled his tail feathers again and watched as his vent flexed. A shiver went down his spine. An egg had come out of that hole. He had felt it come out. He knew there was a vagina in there, had to be a vagina in there. Could he locate it? 

Thinking for a moment led to him sighing in defeat before he even tried. It wasn't like he had the best equipment to touch himself there. His talons couldn't reach very well, and while he could bend down and touch it with his beak, he figured it wouldn't be well suited for… spreading. 

Not to mention the possibility of accidentally getting a beakfull of his own ass. That was not an appealing thought. At all. 

Yet, he had to see it for himself. Charlie wouldn't--no, couldn't accept that he was female until he saw the vagina inside him. Until he felt what being a female was like normally. Not just experiencing the less than desirable moments like egg laying. Pure pain and discomfort couldn't tell the full story. It simply couldn't. 

He eyed his vent wearily. After taking another moment to lick his beak, he leaned in and pressed himself against his sex. If Charlie had expected it to be miraculously different, he was sorely mistaken. He had humped against his beak a few times to masturbate--he wondered if the egg and being horny a few weeks ago were connected--so he knew what his cloaca felt like, and this was like that. Soft on the lips, a bit rough around the inner rim, and slightly moist as he continued to nudge it.

Basically, he didn’t feel very feminine at all.

Grabbing the lower 'lip' in his beak, Charlie pulled it toward him, opening himself up to reveal pink, though slightly red, insides. He shivered as the cool cave air rushed inside, though he couldn't quite tell if it was his rectum being opened up, or his vagina. 

Tugging harder--he winced as he bit down too hard--Charlie spread himself more, eying what he saw. It was difficult to make out much with how tightly he was clenching, so he breathed deeply and tried his best to relax. It worked. Within moments his previously cinched cloacal muscles gave way, and he found himself being greeted by more pinks and vibrant reds. 

More important than the color was how deeply he opened up. Along the posterior walls of his inner cloaca was a tiny, taut orifice. Now, he didn't know much about bird anatomy, especially not fletchinder, but he was pretty confident that the nearly invisible hole was his anus. 

Which means the deeper part in the middle… is that my vagina? His heartbeat thumped in his ears as he gazed into his femininity for the first time. Those pink insides seemed to stare back at him, though he knew that was his imagination. What wasn’t his imagination was the subtle sheen lining his quivering walls. All this time it was here, just waiting for me to discover it.

He accidently clenched down, causing his opening to momentarily close itself, and he shuddered as a tingle rocked his body. It also made a noise. Like the wet smack of a muzzle. It was deeply embarrassing, and he was thankful no one was around to hear it. 

The lip in his beak was beginning to ache quite a lot, but he couldn't just let go. He needed to memorize this sight. Had to. Not only because he wanted to learn more about himself, but also because it was kind of hot. 

At least he was confident in his sexuality.  

Wincing at a sharp pinching sensation, he let go of his cloacal lip and felt it snap back into place. "Ow," he whispered, glaring at the red welt on his vent that the grip of his beak had caused. "Stupid beak…" 

It was times like this where he wished he had forepaws like many of his friends had. 

Staring at his cloaca with thoughts going all over the place, Charlie was brought back to reality when it suddenly winked at him. Not just a random, accidental flutter, but a hard, fleshy squeeze. With an equally fleshy noise. Heat burned in his cheeks. “Oh gosh, am I aroused?” he whispered. His folds quivered before clenching again, sending another flare of need through his bottom half. “I am…”

Maybe if I pretended I turned into a female this would be more agreeable, he thought as he eyed his randomly pulsing cloaca. I’ve always wondered what it felt like, haven’t I? M-maybe if I go into this with that mindset it wouldn't be so bad? Yeah, just trying out the other side… h-ha...

Charlie leaned forward and gave his puffy lips a tentative lick. It was hard to pretend he had turned into a female when the touch felt exactly the same as always. In his mind, this was how males felt. That brush against his sensitive folds wasn’t some female nervously licking herself, but a male excitingly exploring his body. Discovering himself. Masturbating.

But he couldn’t deny the reality. At the end of these nerves was his female flesh. He was feeling what females felt. Because within that tunnel, deep, deep inside his core, was biological machinery designed to produce eggs. He had eggs in him. He had passed an egg out of him. 

Strangely, none of these thoughts stopped his licks. If anything, they urged him on. He dug his beak into his clenching vent. Deeper and faster, feeling more of his warm, wet tunnel squeeze around him. 

I’m inside a vagina, I’m inside a vagina, I’m inside MY vagina! This is so weird! Why is my body clenching so much? O-oh, gosh, it feels… It’s… Ah...

As a bird, he never could last long. The slightest of touches with only the slightest sensual thoughts had sent him over the edge in moments before. But here, with his beak digging into his vagina? A vagina he never knew he had until today? A vagina that he’d always wanted to see, to feel, to experience in another; had fantasized about rubbing against, about mating? It was more than enough to break even those records.

Fleshy walls crashed down around his beak. It was a familiar pleasure, a pure pleasure, one which sent his brain alright with its intensity. He couldn’t think, couldn’t react as his insides danced to a thrilling rhythm he couldn't help but sing to. It was a good thing his vagina doubled as a fantastic beak muffler.

Fluids squelched out of his vent with a loud, embarrassing shlorp, gumming up the feathers surrounding his face and likely sullying the floor. But that was okay--all that mattered anymore was the pleasure washing away his reality. 

The orgasm died down quickly, and usually he would be content to leave it there, to relax and leave his vent alone until he recharged. However, that was before he knew he was female. He didn’t know much about female orgasms, but one of his friends--Lexi, of course--did brag about a very interesting feature: they could chain them. Unlike males who needed to wait, he could just… keep going. 

If he was going to be cursed with laying eggs for the rest of his days, then by Arceus his consolation would be exploiting this body to its fullest.

Still sensitive, Charlie continued licking, intent on testing this theory. It was overwhelming at first, almost overstimulating, but after a few seconds he was back to humping into his beak as if he hadn’t just squirted all over himself, getting into the bizarre sensations of his afterglow merging with another rising orgasm.

Faster than anticipated, it struck, and he found himself moaning into his contracting cloaca, still intent on humping himself to the next high. He didn’t stop after three. He didn’t even stop after five. One orgasm melted into another, and by the seventh he was sore, and tired, and honestly getting thirsty, but it didn’t matter. It was exactly what he needed to keep his mind off of reality.

Ironic? Yes. Effective? Definitely.

After who knew how many orgasms, Charlie collapsed into an exhausted heap. He had needed that. Very much needed that. Wings splayed, tail feathers twitching, and lungs burning as he gulped down air, he was nonetheless content. Giddy, too. One taste--metaphorical and literal; he was quite tangy--and he was hooked. Like a dying pokemon stumbling upon an oasis in an endless desert, only much less dramatic. 

I am totally trying that again… but maaaaybe in a few days, when feeling returns to my butt.

Charlie giggled at his own stupid sense of humor.