Viral Second Puberty - Part Two

Holding the paper up to the white fluorescent light the doctor inspects the results, exhaling a little as he turns to me.

"It looks like you have an Early On-Set Milf Variant" the young doctor mutters, double-checking his work with a sharp hiss. "I'm...sorry..." he continues, taking a set away out of the fear of catching such a life-altering variant.

My stomach would sink with it weren't churning and threatening to upturn its contents, my blood would run cold with it weren't for the chills and fever already wracking my body. I'd seen people affected by this in the news, articles being written about the poor few who rapidly found themselves losing anywhere from twenty to thirty years of their lives.

As if catching my dismay the doctor quickly begins to walk over to the nearby desk, dropping the strips in a bucket marked bio-hazard before beginning to work at the old-looking computer.

"Don't worry..." he remarks, attempting to use what little bedside manner the young doctor had to calm me down. "You'll still live a few and rich life. You'll still be... Twenty-Seven, just on the inside" he explains, the thought of being a youthful woman beneath a middle-aged exterior doing little to quell my concerns.

"What can I..." I begin to whimper, a hacking cough emerging from my lips and causing the doctor to jump away slightly. "There has to be some...something I can..."

"Painkillers will help" the doctor says, returning to the screen as he types at the keyboard. "Plenty of water too. You'll need protein, and usually this variant requires a decent amount of fats as well" he explains, essentially building a shopping list for me. "Do you have someone who can buy all those things for you? You certainly can't go to a store like...this."

I had been stocking up due to this disease spreading through the community, hoping to wait it out in my apartment until things blew over. Being unemployed certainly helped with that, not needing to risk leaving the house beyond getting the supplies I needed until I had the all-clear. And yet, it was for nothing.

The printer on the desk suddenly whirs to life, sheets upon sheets of paper quickly whipping out as the doctor quickly begins to take and read through each one.

"Alright, your condition has been reported" he states, passing me the papers after he finishes up with them. As I glance down, my eyes glazing over as I try to read the small text, I see a few phone numbers and empty boxes labeled 'Appointment Time'.

"What are..." I weakly wheeze, following the doctor with my eyes as he heads towards the door.

"You'll need new identification once your Viral Second Puberty has run its course" he explains in a matter-of-fact tone, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. "Those are the numbers you'll need to call to set up the appropriate meetings for things like pictures or going to the counseling service. There's also one there for getting supplies delivered to you, though it isn't much..." the young doctor explains nervously, obviously eager to leave the room.

"But...but I..." I whimper, still struggling with the thought of what was happening to me.

"Just head home for a few days" the doctor pleads, a hint of desperation in his voice as each second he spends in here with me increases his odds of suffering the same fate. "It'll be over soon, you'll feel fine afterward just...different..."

Straining hard I manage to heave myself out of the seat, a dark wet patch getting left behind where I sweated through my heavy clothing. Noticing the wet patch the doctor quickly opens the door and gets a sticker from the pocket of his gown, a red diamond reading 'Infection Risk'. In a swift motion he slaps it to the outside of the door before writing a time on the bottom, letting people know not to come in for some period of time.

With my muscles groaning and bones creaking inside of me I slowly shuffle my way out of the office, the doctor quickly saying goodbye before racing off to decontaminate.

The walk home is a blur, a hazy and swaying struggle to not only stay upright but to keep away from everyone in the street. Thankfully, the many were out in the middle of the weekday either being at work or simply avoiding the infection that being outside caused.

The stairs leading to my apartment felt like a mountain I needed to climb, my aching body begging to rest at each landing as I wheezed my way to the fourth floor. Droplets of sweat led along the carpeted stairs and down the hall after me, a pathway leading to my apartment being made out of what little water my body still had to lose.

Stumbling into my apartment I quickly lock the door behind me, not wanting to risk anyone coming in to check on their sick neighbor. With a wet gurgling sensation in the pit of my stomach I race to the kitchen, my body moving faster than it had all day as I bump into the counter and lean over the sink. With a pained dry heave I try to force up whatever is causing me to feel so violently ill, though all I managed to do is spit and splutter into the shiny metal basin beneath me.

"Fuck..." I mumble with a shaky voice and a pained wince. "This...this is going to suck..."