Alan Hyde was not a happy man. To be honest after the sun changed he was no longer a man at all, but we'll get back to that later.
Alan had worked for the US postal service for close to 35 years now, stubbornly clinging to a job that had become less and less relevant as technology improved and internet had all but replaced the need for paper mail. At 55 years old he'd become a tired, haggard loner with little connections to anyone at all.
Still he had his job, sometimes Alan thought it was all that kept him sane. Delivering the mail gave him a sense of purpose that he'd all but forgotten after his stint in Vietnam. Disillusioned, after the war he'd wandered for a while, drinking himself stupid in whatever dive or hole-in-the-wall he'd come across. To this day he didn't remember quite how he ended up a mailman in a relatively small town. But Alan didn't reminisce about how his life could have gone or about the choices he'd made, that way lead to regret, pain and drunkenness. He'd gone down that road already; he intended to keep life simple from now on. So Alan delivered the mail.
Unfortunately due to the nature of his job, Alan was among the first changed by the sun's rays that fateful day. He could still vividly remember the feeling of intense weirdness, wrongness, as his body contorted and his flesh shifted.
He was driving down the dirt road, Turner Street, tall grass shielding the road from the farmland on either side. His lights cut through the predawn gloom, an oldies station playing on the radio. Turning the corner at State Rd his could just make out the first rays of light trickling through the tree line. Then his world changed.
When he came to, the first thing he noticed was the weight on his chest. Slumped over his chest was smooshed against the steering wheel of his 78' Buick Regal. Sitting up, disoriented, he brought a three fingered hand to his head. Smoke was pouring out from his hood, the acrid scent stinging his nose; idly a broad thick tongue emerged and licked his nose as if warding away the scent, his ears twitched. Something was wrong.
Eyes wide in disbelief he stared into his rearview mirror. Staring back at him was an equally bewildered Bovine face. He took in the features feeling as if he'd been punched in his gut. A short muzzle tipped with a wide leathery nose, large brown eyes pupils dilating in panic, long raven hair flowed down to his shoulders from which protruded two floppy tapered ears which hung by the sides of his head, the whole face covered by a light dusting of fur in an all too familiar pattern. This creature couldn't be him; it was too alien, too female. He shifted nervously, his watermelon-sized breasts bounced. The unusual feeling prompted a startled 'mmmooo' from his lips the voice throaty and undeniably feminine.
It had been about 6 weeks since then. Alan had gone from a slightly overweight, weathered 55 year old man to a very buxom twenty-something cow-woman-thing. Her heaving chest could barely be contained by a HHH cup. Even with a heavy-duty bra her breast swayed whenever she walked. Each weighty globe was tipped by a four inch teat as thick as a bratwurst. Contrasting this, between her legs dangled a pendulous udder roughly the size of a pumpkin equipped with 4 fat teats as well. All of her mammaries were in a perpetual state of lactation, needing to be relieved several times daily, much to her mortification. Wide child-bearing hips and a full round derriere flowed into long sturdy legs ending in hoofs. Holstein patterned fur covered her from hoof to head except on her breasts and udder.
She hated her new appearance. She had become some over-feminized monster to be lusted after by boys less than half her age. Her problems were exacerbated by the way her endowments swayed whenever she walked. Daily tasks had become all the more difficult because her hands had been reduced to two thick fingers and a thumb all tipped by a black hoof-like nail. This combined with her excessive curviness caused her to be far clumsier than before. Despite her difficulties however, she soldiered on still waking well before dawn and doing her mail route as she had before. The world still needed its mail after all. It hadn't stopped so why should she?
So Alan pulled up to the next stop on her route, an ordinary two story ranch house in a sleepy neighborhood. Many of the non-changed had requested that mail be delivered at dusk and directly to the door to avoid solar exposure. Ringing the doorbell, and waiting on the steps for a moment she was greeted at the door by what looked to be some kind of squirrel girl. Staring innocently at her for a moment with big adorable eyes the girl turned into the house and called,
"Mom! The milkman's here!"
Alan's eyes widened at this and she flushed embarrassedly, "I'm the mailman!" she snapped.
