Jake stood frozen, keys still dangling from his fingers, eyes scanning the wreckage. Couch cushions tossed, a broken lamp in the corner, picture frames shattered face-down on the hardwood. It looked like a hurricane had spun through their apartment.
Who in the hell are you?” Jake asked the woman on the couch.
She sat on the couch, cross-legged in one of Matt’s shirts, cradling a mug of tea in both hands. Blonde hair spilled over one shoulder and her bare legs folded neatly under her. She didn’t look up.
She finally glanced over. “Hey.”
His jaw dropped. “Wh..wait, what the fuck? Who are you? Where’s Matt?”
“It’s me,” she said, voice low but steady. “It’s Matt.”
Jake took a full step back, hand half-reaching for the door again. “No. No, no. Don’t mess with me. Who the fuck are you….really?
“I told you,” she replied.
“This is—this is a prank or something.”
“It’s not.”
Her voice had a softness to it, a subtle warmth. She brought the mug to her lips and took a slow sip, like she’d been expecting this conversation for the last ten minutes.
“I don’t know how,” she said. “One second I was just in the kitchen. Then there was this sound, like a… pop? And heat, everywhere. I couldn’t breathe. Then my knees gave out. Everything twisted.”
She paused. Another sip.
“And when I came to, I was like this.”
Jake stared. “That doesn’t… that’s not…”
She let the silence hang.
Then, gently, “You can look. I know you want to. Just try not to freak out. I already did enough of that for both of us.”
Jake’s eyes flicked down her body before he could stop himself. The way the shirt clung to her chest, the curves pressing against the fabric. Her bare thighs where the hem ended.
“I trashed the apartment,” she added. “Threw a chair. Screamed at the walls. Smashed the mirror. Then I calmed down, sat down, and made tea. I decided I’d rather chill than keep losing my mind.”
Jake opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
“I’m not expecting you to believe it,” she said, setting the mug down carefully on the coffee table, or what was left of it. “But I need you to not freak out. Because I’m still me. I still know your Spotify password, I still hate your cologne, and you still owe me for the last three electric bills.”
Jake just stood there, breathing shallow. Then he rubbed a hand down his face and muttered, “Okay. Let’s say I believe you.”
She snorted. Then laughed.
It started small, just a puff of air through her nose but built into something warm and full and unguarded.
“Oh my god,” she said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “That is such a Jake thing to say. I’m sitting here, tits out in this shirt, drinking tea after leveling the living room, and you’re over there pulling the ‘Let’s say I believe you’ card?”
“Well I’m trying not to have a stroke,” he shot back. “I walked in and found Barbie sipping Earl Grey like this is normal. What do you want from me?”
Her grin widened. “I am trying to be normal. Hence the tea.”
Jake shook his head, still half in a daze. “You sound like him. Like you.”
“I am me.”
“Yeah, but you look like…” His eyes traced over her again before darting away. “I mean, Jesus. You’re like some weird hybrid of Instagram and porn.”
She raised her mug in mock toast. “Cheers to that.”
He moved toward the couch, still slow and gestured vaguely at the destroyed furniture. “So this all happened… right after it happened?”
“I freaked out,” she said plainly. “It was raw panic. Then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and lost what little was left of my sanity.”
Jake stared at her.
“And now…?”
She shrugged. “Now I’m tired. And weirdly thirsty. Hence… tea.”
He hesitated. Then finally sat on the arm of the couch, eyes still scanning her like he was trying to fit the pieces together. “Okay. So what now? You gonna stay like this? Is it permanent?”
Her smile faded, just a bit. “I don’t know. I didn’t do anything to make it happen. So I don’t exactly have a way to undo it.”
Jake scratched the back of his neck. “Jesus, Matt…”
“Maddie.” She said it without thinking, then paused, blinking. “Shit. That just came out.”
Jake tilted his head. “You changing your name now?”
She looked down at herself. “I mean… Matt doesn’t exactly fit anymore, does it?”
Jake gave a low whistle. “This is so fucking weird.”
She just nodded, then sipped her tea again. “You’re telling me.”
They sat in silence for a long moment. The kind that didn’t feel awkward.
Jake finally exhaled. “Okay. So, yeah. I believe you.”
She blinked, then looked over at him. Her lips twitched into something small, genuine. “You do?”
“Yeah. I mean, I shouldn’t. But this?” He gestured to her, then the wrecked apartment. “I’ve known you too long. No one fakes this.”
Maddie set her mug down, quiet for a second. “Thank you.”
Jake shrugged, a little awkwardly. “You’d do the same for me.”
“Still,” she said. “Means a lot. Especially right now.”
She stood.
Jake straightened slightly, eyes flicking up. She stepped away from the couch, her bare legs unfolding with grace. She walked until she was standing in front of him, looking down.
“That tea was the first thing that felt normal,” she said softly. “But it’s not enough.”
Jake looked up at her, brow tense. “What do you mean?”
She took a breath, then grabbed the hem of the shirt.
“Maddie…,” he spoke.
She pulled it up and over her head. The fabric hit the floor behind her.
Jake’s eyes widened.
She stood there, bare, her skin flushed, her new form unapologetically on display. Her breathing was steady.
“I’m not just different on the outside,” she said, voice low. “I feel things. Need things. I don’t know if this is hormones or instincts or whatever, but I know what I want right now.”
Jake opened his mouth, but she stepped closer, between his knees.
Her hand rested on his chest.
“I’m Maddie now,” she whispered. “And Maddie needs to get fucked.”
Dara sipped her drink slowly, eyes never leaving the man at the end of the bar.
Dana leaned in closer, her elbow brushing Dara’s. “You see the way he commands attention?”
“I see everything,” Dara murmured, her tongue running slowly along the rim of her straw. “You like him.”
“We like him.”
They both smirked.
It wasn’t the first time they’d locked onto the same target. It wouldn’t be the last. But that was the fun of it. Same mind, same hunger, same need to be the center of someone’s world for the night.
Dana watched him with catlike patience. “So how do you want to play it?”
Dara tapped a nail against her glass. “We could fight over him.”
Dana raised a brow. “Risky.”
“Hot.”
“Or,” Dana said slowly, “we don’t make him choose.”
Dara turned to look at her twin. Their eyes locked. Same face. Same wicked grin.
“That’s always more fun,” Dara said.
“Then let’s not waste him.”
They stood at the same time, movements fluid, dresses adjusting in perfect sync. Two wolves in lipstick, gliding through the crowd without looking back.
The man was tall, sharp-dressed but relaxed. He didn’t have to try hard to look good.
Dana and Dara approached as a unit, heels clicking like punctuation.
He noticed them before they spoke, but how could he not?
Dana leaned against the bar beside him, smile playing at her lips. “You look like you’re bored,” she said.
Dara circled behind him, brushing just close enough to be felt but not touched. “Or maybe just lonely.”
He looked between them, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Is this a setup?”
“Not unless you want it to be,” Dana replied smoothly, lifting her drink to her lips.
He chuckled, eyes flicking back and forth between the twins. “You two always work in tandem?”
Dara tilted her head. “Only when it’s worth it.”
He set down his glass. “Alright. So what’s the play?”
Dana stepped in just slightly closer. “That depends,” she said, her voice velvet-smooth. “Can you handle two women who already know what the other wants?”
He smiled.
“Let’s find out.”
The lights were low and music played softly from a speaker on the kitchen counter. A bottle of wine stood half-empty on the coffee table.
Dara leaned back against the couch cushions, legs tucked under her.
“Okay,” she said, swaying the neck of the bottle toward the man sitting across from them. “Your turn.”
He looked nervous and a little tipsy. “Truth,” he said, trying to sound brave.
Dana, curled on the other side of him, smirked. “Boring,” she teased.
“Truth it is,” Dara said, thinking. “Okay. Who do you think is hotter? Me, or Dana?”
His eyes went wide.
“That’s not fair,” he said, laughing nervously. “You’re… identical.”
Dana raised an eyebrow. “Almost identical.”
He looked back and forth. “You’re both gorgeous. I don’t see a difference.”
Dara removed her dress and stood naked in front of the man. Dana quickly followed.
“Now do you see the difference?” Dana teased.
“So Dara has a landing strip,” he laughed.
“And I prefer to be smooth,” Dana continued.
“See,” Dara spoke. “Not identical.”
“Sure,” he continued to laugh. But his eyes would not leave the two women.
“My turn,” Dara spoke. “I choose dare.”
“Good,” Dana added. “I dare you to give him a blowjob.”
“Easy,” Dara smiled.
She strode up to the man and pulled down his pants. He was fully hard and big enough to be interesting. She quickly took him into her mouth and worked his shaft.
Dana started masturbating. Moaning loudly while watching her twin give this man expert head.
Dara could hear his moans growing and quickly backed off.
“Uh uh,” she said. “No cumming yet. You have a lot of work to do still.”
“Yeah,” Dana added, licking the juices off her fingers. “We need to come at least twice each or you’ll be punished.”
“What’s my punishment?” he asked.
“You’ll have to stay and fuck us until we’re done,” they said in unison.
“Fuck me,” he laughed. “That’s a deal.”
“Oh,” Dana giggled. “We intend to.”
Dana and Dara stood at the edge of the bed, still in their soft pajama sets, arms crossed and matching smirks plastered across their faces.
The man groaned from beneath the tangle of sheets. His face was half-buried in a pillow, one leg kicked out.
“Look at him,” Dana said, brushing a hand through her messy morning hair. “Completely wrecked.”
“He should be,” Dara added, grinning as she leaned against the bedpost. “We ran him like a marathon.”
He groaned again.
“Aww,” Dana cooed, stepping closer. “Is the big strong man tired?”
“So tired,” Dara echoed with mock sympathy. “Poor thing didn’t know what he was in for.”
“Do you think he regrets it?” Dana asked, looking down at him like he was a particularly amusing science experiment.
“Not possible,” Dara replied. “Not after round two. Or three.”
The man shifted slightly, mumbling something incoherent.
Dana crouched beside him, whispering close to his ear. “Wake up, sleepyhead. You’re not done surviving us yet.”
“Yeah,” Dara said, twirling a lock of hair. “You made a deal. Remember? You wanted this.”
He cracked one eye open, blinking at the two identical grins hovering above him.
“Mistakes were made,” he mumbled.
Dana and Dara burst out laughing in perfect sync.
“Too late now,” Dana said sweetly. “You’re in our world, babe.”
“Welcome to the chaos,” Dara winked.
Dana sat on the couch, curled under a throw blanket, a half-empty glass of wine in her hand. She stared into it, unmoving, while across the room, Dara stood at the mirror, adjusting her earrings, lips pursed in playful concentration.
She looked perfect. Poised, powerful, radiant. Confident in ways Dana used to fake and now… didn’t have to anymore.
Dara turned. “You’re not getting ready?”
Dana looked up slowly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You go ahead.”
Dara narrowed her eyes, stepping closer. “You okay?”
Dana nodded. “Just tired.”
A pause.
Then Dana added, more quietly, “You don’t need me anymore.”
Dara blinked, confusion passing over her face. “What are you talking about?”
“You,” Dana said, rising to her feet, blanket falling away. “You’ve become exactly who I wished I could be.”
Dara stared, unsure if this was a compliment, a goodbye, or both.
“You’re whole now,” Dana continued. “And I can feel it. Something’s… shifting. Like the universe is correcting itself. Like I’m being pulled away.”
Dara’s voice caught. “No.”
“It was always a wish, Dara. A wish I made and then I wish you made. The wishes are fulfilled.”
A quiet stillness fell between them. Dara stepped forward and took Dana’s hand. “I don’t want to lose you.”
Dana smiled softly. “You’re not. I’ll always be part of you. Because I am you. Just… not needed anymore.”
They held the moment. Fingers entwined.
Then Dana whispered, “You’ll be okay. I promise.”
And in the silence that followed, a soft wind brushed through the room, though no window was open. The air shimmered around Dana, light catching on her skin like dew.
Dara blinked and Dana was gone.
Just the faintest scent of her perfume lingered in the air.
Dara stood alone.
She breathed in slowly, steadying herself.
The mirror across the room caught her reflection, and Dara turned to face it. Her heels clicked softly on the hardwood floor as she walked toward it, stopping just inches away.
She looked at herself.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
She reached up, adjusted one earring, then let her hands fall to her sides. Her smile held, calm and certain.
For a long moment, she simply stood there.
And then, slowly, she turned away from the mirror… and began her next chapter.
“I don’t know, James. It just feels like every year I say I’ll change and then I don’t.”
James and Madeline stood outside in the busy street festival their local town was holding. They decided to venture out this year instead of staying inside to watch the ball drop on tv. Even though they were brave enough to be out in public on New Years Eve, they felt extremely awkward and out of place.
“Yeah. But this year’s gonna be different, right?” James said it like a joke. But he was hoping she’d say yes.
Madeline gave him a look. “How?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we stop being afraid of everything.” His voice cracked, and he grimaced. “We always talk about how we want to be… more.”
“More what?”
James shrugged, the movement stiff in his dress shirt. “Confident. Assertive. In control. Just… not the weird losers everyone looks down on anymore.”
Madeline let that settle. Her fingers toyed with the strap of her too-tight dress. “You really think everyone sees us as losers?”
“Come on Madeline,” he replied. “We’re never invited to anything. Nobody interacts with us at work unless they need something. We’re the bottom rung. If we didn’t have each other, we’d be sunk.”
“Yeah,” she reluctantly agreed. “I glad we do have each other though. Do you think people like us can just change?”
“No.” He laughed once, dryly. “But we say we will. That’s what New Year’s is for, right? Empty promises.”
She smiled. “Okay. Let’s promise. One last time.”
James turned toward her. “Deal.”
They held out their pinkies. Dorky, yeah. But it was their thing.
“This is our year,” he said.
“No more waiting. No more being scared,” she said.
“No more being passive,” he added.
“No more being ignored,” she finished.
They linked pinkies. Cold skin against cold skin as the rest of the town celebrated 2026.
Madeline – January 1st, 2026 – 9:14 AM
Madeline groaned as her head throbbed.
She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, blinking slowly. Her brain felt… tight. Like a pressure behind her forehead that wouldn’t go away.
Did I even drink that much?
She barely remembered having a couple of sugary cocktails at the festival. She’d let James finish his fast, like usual. He always drank more vigorously. She just liked to watch people and sip on hers.
Still, her mouth was dry and her head was heavy. She thought back to the night before. To hanging out with James while everyone around them had a good time.
What kind of loser gets dressed up just to stand around like a scared little girl?
She winced. Where did that come from?
She sat up slowly, rubbing her temple.
You looked pathetic in that dress.
It echoed inside her head, slick and sharp. Cruel, almost. It was her own voice, but not.
And James looked even worse.
“What the hell?” she whispered, hugging her knees to her chest. Her head still pounded. Maybe this was a weird hangover spiral of self doubt.
She reached for her phone and saw a missed call from James.
Let him panic. You’ve carried him long enough.
She almost laughed. Jesus, what is wrong with me?
But she didn’t call him back. Instead, she let herself lie back against the pillows, one arm over her face. Her mind still buzzing.
It’s always been like this, hasn’t it? You’re the one who puts in effort. You’re the one who worries. James just drags along behind you, waiting for someone else to make him feel like a man.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
You don’t need him. You don’t need anyone.
The thought was cold, but not entirely wrong.
And it kind of felt good.
It felt… deserved.
James – January 1st, 2026 – 9:58 AM
“Come on, come on, pick up…”
James lowered the phone from his ear. His thumb hovered over the call button again, but he didn’t press it.
He was breathing fast and his heart was hammering in his chest. Because there was no mistaking it anymore.
He looked down.
The tank top clung to small but soft curves he didn’t have yesterday. His nipples were swollen and sensitive and poked through the fabric. Even his legs seemed longer.
“Fuck,” he hissed, pacing through the living room again, phone still clutched in one hand. The hardwood was cold beneath his bare feet.
He caught his reflection in the dark TV screen and froze.
His hair was longer than it had been an hour ago. Blonde streaks were forming near the tips, the color slowly bleeding in. His jawline was softer. His lips were rounder.
He turned away. Couldn’t look.
“What the hell is happening to me?”
He ran both hands through his thick, unfamiliar hair and winced. His fingers tangled near the roots, where it had grown heavier. He stumbled toward the hallway mirror.
“I can’t… I’m not…” His voice cracked. He tried again. “I’m not supposed to look like this.”
The voice that came out was softer than before. It was still his, but melting into something higher and breathier.
He looked down and watched, actually watched, his waist cinching in. It pulled tighter as his hips subtly rolled outward. His ass rounded, pushing back against the fabric of his sleep shorts. His posture shifted, his spine arching without thinking about it.
He stumbled back from the mirror, one hand on the wall to keep steady. Every movement felt off and foreign.
A tingling spread up his thighs, heat pooling at the base of his spine.
Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry.
His phone buzzed. It was Madeline, finally.
Her voice was snarky. “What’s up fucker?”
“Madeline?” he said, surprised at her greeting.
Madeline – January 1st, 2026 – 10:00 AM
“What’s up, fucker?”
There was a beat of silence on the line.
“Madeline?” James said, small and uncertain, like he wasn’t sure he was talking to the right person.
Why did I say that? Why did that feel… kind of good?
“What, did you expect me to answer with ‘good morning, sunshine’?” she said, before she could stop herself. “It’s early and my head feels like it’s trying to kill me.”
“I…” he swallowed audibly. “Something’s wrong. I think something happened to us last night.”
Her grip tightened around the phone.
Okay. So it’s not just me.
“…Us?” she repeated.
“Yes, us. I’m changing, Madeline. Like, physically. Right now. My hair is getting longer and my body is…” There was a brief pause. “I don’t know what’s happening and I need you to come over. Please.”
Oh god. Oh god. He sounds terrified.
She opened her mouth to say okay, to tell him she’d be there, that she’d figure this out with him like always.
Instead, what came out was, “Are you sure you’re not just freaking out over nothing?”
Why did I say that?
“No,” James said quickly. “I know this sounds crazy, but I’m not imagining this. My chest hurts. My clothes don’t fit right. I don’t look like me.”
Her heart started racing.
He’s not lying. He wouldn’t lie about this.
Then why did her next thought feel so… different?
God, he’s always like this. Always falling apart and expecting you to hold him together.
“Wow,” she heard herself say. “Okay. So you’re having, what, some kind of panic attack?”
“Why are you talking to me like this?” he asked quietly.
Because I don’t know what’s happening to me and I’m scared and I can’t control what I’m saying.
“Like what?” she snapped instead.
“Like I’m stupid. Or dramatic. Or…”
“Or like I don’t have the energy to babysit you through every little crisis?” she cut in, the words sharp and fast and way too easy.
That was cruel. Why can’t I control what I’m saying.
“I’m not asking you to babysit me,” James said. “I’m scared.”
He said scared. He said it out loud. He trusts you.
“Don’t be a pussy,” she shot back. “It kind of sounds like you expect me to drop everything the second you start spiraling.”
Stop. Stop. This isn’t you.
“I thought we were in this together,” he said.
Her chest tightened painfully.
We are. We are, we are, we…
“Remember our words from last night?” she asked. “To stop being afraid. To stop being passive. To actually take charge of our lives.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly.
“So maybe instead of calling me to freak out,” she continued, “you should try handling your own shit for once.”
That’s not fair. You know that’s not fair. Why are you pushing him away? Say you’ll go. Say it. Get dressed. Go to him.
Instead, she exhaled slowly. “Look, I’ve got stuff going on too, okay? I woke up feeling like crap and now you’re dumping this on me like I’m supposed to fix it.”
“I’m not asking you to fix it. I just…”
“Just what?” she snapped. “Want me to tell you everything’s going to be okay?”
He didn’t answer.
“I’ll come by later,” she said. “Maybe. When I’ve had coffee and a shower and a minute to not deal with your meltdown.”
Later? Why are you saying later?
His voice was barely audible. “Later?”
“Yes, later. You’re not dying, James.”
I don’t know that. I don’t know anything right now.
“Okay,” he said.
“Good,” she replied. “Try not to freak out too much in the meantime.”
She hung up before he could say anything else.
Madeline stared at her phone, heart racing, stomach twisted into knots.
What did I just do?
For a moment, guilt flooded in. Then another thought slid in right behind it.
He needs to grow up eventually.
And that thought didn’t feel guilty at all.
James – January 1st, 2026 – 10:34 AM
He sat on the floor of his bathroom, legs splayed in front of him, back against the tub. Breathing shallow.
His hands trembled as he touched his expanding chest. His nipples were hard and incredibly sensitive, brushing against the thin fabric of his stretched-out tank top.
He let out a soft whimper.
The sound that escaped his throat wasn’t his anymore.
His legs were smooth. His thighs had filled in, rubbing when he shifted. His hips were wider now, visibly so, forcing his shorts to ride up his ass. His waist had drawn in so tight that the rest of him looked almost cartoonish.
He pushed himself upright, gripping the edge of the sink with dainty, unfamiliar fingers. His arms looked smaller. His hair fell into his face as he leaned forward, brushing against his collarbone.
The girl in the mirror blinked back at him. Her lips were parted.
“Stop,” he whispered, like it would help. “Please, just… stop.”
January 1st, 2026 – 1:23 PM
Maddie tapped her heel twice against the concrete and sighed as she stood outside of James’ front door.
“I forgot how sad this place is,” she muttered, arms crossed tightly over her chest, phone dangling from one hand. Her pink dress hugged every inch of her curves, cut high on the thigh, skin exposed through the strappy sides. Her long dark hair cascaded over one shoulder, shiny and styled to perfection.
She looked like she belonged somewhere better.
I shouldn’t have come.
She glanced at the front door again. Maddie rolled her eyes and banged loud and impatiently against it.
“James! Open the damn door! If you made me get ready for this just to stand around your dumpy little apartment….”
The door creaked open.
And James stood there. Kind of.
This person filled the doorway in a way James never had. She was taller, curvier, a full chest pressed awkwardly beneath a stretched top. Her blonde hair hung down in wet waves, still messy, like she hadn’t figured out how to manage it. Her sparkly nude top and skirt clung to her figure, but the way she stood, like she wanted to disappear, undermined the effect.
Maddie smirked. “Well, shit. Look at you.”
“It’s about time you showed up,” she said. “And I didn’t have anything else to wear. All my stuff just kind of changed.”
Maddie strutted in without waiting, her heels clicking hard against the cheap flooring. She looked around with a wrinkle of her nose.
“God. This place,” she muttered, flipping her hair over one shoulder.
Jamie closed the door and crossed her arms, which only pushed her new chest up even more.
“You could’ve at least dried your hair,” Maddie said flatly.
“You could’ve stayed home,” Jamie shot back, though her voice lacked real heat.
Maddie turned, hands on her hips. “And miss seeing this disaster in person?”
Jamie rolled her eyes. “So glad your ego made the trip. What happened to us?”
Maddie stepped forward, slow, heels sharp against the floor. Jamie didn’t move.
“What happened,” Maddie said, “is we made a resolution.”
Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, and I thought it meant maybe speaking up more. Not turning into Barbie’s evil stepsister.”
Maddie smirked. “You think this is evil?”
Jamie bit her lip. She didn’t answer.
Maddie stepped in close, pressing one finger under Jamie’s chin and tilting it up. Their faces were inches apart now.
“You’re not James anymore,” she whispered. “So stop acting like you’re scared of your own shadow.”
Jamie met her eyes. “I’m not scared.”
Maddie smiled wider. “That’s cute.”
Jamie’s tone dipped, low and dry. “You’re welcome.”
They stayed like that for a beat. The two beautiful, bitchy silhouettes facing off.
“Whatever, bitch,” Maddie conceded. “Lets get out of here.”
Jamie didn’t move.
Maddie turned at the door, hand on her hip. “Well?”
Jamie arched a brow. “Well what?”
“We’re going out,” Maddie said, like it was obvious. “You and me.”
Jamie gave her a skeptical look. “Out out?”
Maddie rolled her eyes. “Yes, out out. Like fun, drunk, get laid kind of out. Maybe not in that order.”
Jamie blinked. “Wow. Subtle.”
Maddie smiled. “I don’t do subtle.”
Jamie crossed her arms again, trying not to smirk. “What if I say no?”
Maddie tilted her head, slow and smug. “You won’t.”
Jamie hesitated, chewing her lip. Then she sighed. “Fine. But I’m not wearing anything that shows my ass.”
Maddie was already walking toward the door. “Oh honey,” she said over her shoulder, “your ass is the outfit.”
Jamie groaned. “Bitch.”
Maddie grinned. “You’re learning.”
December 31st, 2026 – 11:58 PM
The champagne was cold, the lights were hot, and all eyes were on them.
Maddie leaned into Jamie’s side as they posed for yet another photo, their arms around each other, heels clicking as they shifted to show off their perfect curves.
Jamie’s black dress clung to her like it was painted on, her tits practically spilling over the laced-up center, long blonde hair cascading over one shoulder like some kind of Instagram wet dream. And Maddie? She didn’t need a mirror to know she looked fucking incredible. Her red sequined dress caught every flicker of light, especially with the side slits running all the way up to her hips. One smirk from her and guys would trip over themselves to refill her glass.
“Three minutes,” Jamie whispered, biting her glossed lip, eyes glittering with champagne and mischief.
Maddie didn’t look at the countdown. She looked at her best friend. “You think anyone here knows we used to be nobodies?”
Jamie giggled. “If they did, they’d never believe it.”
Maddie swirled the glass in her hand. “Remember last year? That sad little town square, standing around in those ugly-ass clothes, pretending we belonged?”
Jamie rolled her eyes. “Ugh. I try not to.”
“God, we were pathetic.”
“And now,” Jamie purred, “we’re everything.”
The crowd started to chant: Ten, nine, eight…
Maddie turned toward the center of the room, raising her glass. Men watched her. Girls envied her. This was their night. Their year.
“Seven, six…”
She felt Jamie’s hand slide to the small of her back, possessive, familiar.
“Five, four…”
Another flash went off. Another photo. Another perfect memory.
“Three, two…”
Maddie turned, lips brushing Jamie’s cheek.
“One!”
The room exploded into cheers and confetti. Couples kissed. Corks popped.
And in the middle of it all, two bitches—drunk, perfect, untouchable—clinked glasses with matching smirks.
Dana lay sprawled across the sheets, one hand gripping the edge of the mattress, the other tangled in Darren’s damp hair as his body rocked against hers.
His rhythm was better now. It was much less frantic than before.
The first time had been over before it began. He’d been too eager, too overwhelmed. He came within seconds.
For Dana, it was an odd conclusion. On the one hand, she had never had sex as a woman. Her inner mind was nervous and apprehensive. But this woman she had become was needy and hungry. So when he came so quickly, she was disappointed but also a bit relieved.
But she knew what he needed. He needed to feel confident and desired. So she gave that to him. She lay next to him, talking to him until he was ready again.
The second time was better. It was messier, more frantic, with hands everywhere and a kind of desperate energy that made her laugh and moan and whisper in his ear until he shuddered all over again.
That time she actually felt something. Something amazing. The sensations of him penetrating her were odd, then pleasant, then downright amazing. But he still came before she could feel the climax of an orgasm.
But this time… he moved with her. He matched her pace and energy.
He took the time to kiss her, to try and make her feel good. He gave as much as he took.
She guided his hips. Murmured little praises. Moaned his name and watched the look on his face shift from nervousness to pure, blissed-out pride.
Now his arms were tight around her waist, his lips brushing her throat, his breath hot and shaky.
Dana arched up into him, thighs clenching, back curling. This was it. She felt the orgasm coming. She begged him to hold on just a bit longer.
He groaned low in his throat, muffled against her skin, and she felt him pulse inside her followed by a soft, helpless noise that made her thighs tremble.
That groan pushed her over the edge and Dana came with a loud scream of pleasure. She rode out the waves in slow rocks as she felt his dick soften within her.
Dana exhaled hard, laughing breathlessly. Her heart thundered in her chest. She was soaked, sore, and still tingling.
Darren lay next to her, one arm thrown over his eyes, his chest rising and falling with short, stunned breaths.
“That one,” she said, voice hoarse, “was much better.”
He turned his head toward her, and she saw the grin on his lips.
“I didn’t think I had it in me.”
“Oh, you definitely had it in me,” she teased. She was actually kind of proud that he was able to go three times in one night.
He laughed and let his hand drift over her stomach, fingers tracing sweat-slicked skin.
Dana rolled onto her side to face him.
He looked up at her like she was something holy. Like the most impossible wish had come true, and he still didn’t believe it.
His hand rested on her hip, thumb gently stroking.
“You made me feel like…” he said softly. He trailed off.
Dana tucked hair behind her ear, studying him. “Like what?”
“Like I mattered.”
“Darren…”
He shook his head slowly.
“I mean it. You’re so confident. So in control. So… everything.”
She touched his cheek. “You’re getting there.”
“What’s it like being you?,” he asked, voice barely a whisper. “Being confident and sexy. I imagine men throw themselves at you.”
“You’d be surprised,” Dana replied with a soft giggle.
“Still,” Darren added. “It must be nice.”
“Just be happy being you,” she whispered. “Confidence goes a long way in life. Trust me.”
Darren shifted beside her, still flushed, his hand drifting lazily across her stomach, eyes bright and unfocused in that post-orgasm haze.
“I mean it,” he murmured. “Everything about you… it’s just…”
She watched him wrestling with the memories of being him and the current feelings this body and mind were giving her. Hours ago she was an older man. Now she was in the body of a goddess with the mind of a porn star. One that would do anything for this man before her.
“Your waist,” he said. “The way it curves. I could run my hands over it forever…”
His fingers slid across his own skin. Her soft supple skin. Her mind was drifting in a sea of post-orgasm bliss. To think she was horrified of having sex as a woman not that long ago. Her mind wandered, but then Dana’s eyes darted down and saw it.
His waist was tightening inward. The definition she’d just watched him earn through sweat and motion blurred, replaced by smooth, feminine lines. His hips shifted slightly on the bed, arching.
“Darren,” she spoke forcefully. “Stop. Don’t talk. Please.”
But he kept going. He couldn’t stop.
“Your thighs. God, they’re perfect. All soft and warm and, fuck, I love how they wrap around me.”
His legs twitched as the muscle rippled then re-formed.
Dana’s mouth dropped open as his thighs began to swell outward under the covers, the line from hip to knee changing shape to become longer, smoother, more toned. His calves followed a heartbeat later, slendering into something more delicate.
“No,” she said, voice louder now. She reached out, grabbed his wrist. “Stop. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
He turned to look at her, finally hearing the panic in her voice and his eyes widened.
His lips parted.
“Wait… what’s happening to me?”
“You have to stop,” she cried. “The more you speak, the more you’ll change.”
“I…I..” he tried to keep his mouth from forming words, but they kept coming.
“I love your lips,” he gasped, eyes wide, panicking now. “So full. So soft. The way they look when you smile…”
His voice cracked as his own lips plumped outward, the shape of the syllables shifting mid-sentence.
He slapped a hand over his mouth.
Dana was already crawling on top of him, trying to straddle his waist, pin him down. “Don’t speak. Darren, please. You made a wish. You’re triggering it!”
His eyes filled with fear. His hands shook.
But the thoughts kept coming. He couldn’t shut them out.
“Your tits,” he whimpered behind his palm. “They’re so big and warm and, fuck, I love how they bounce when you ride me.”
Dana screamed, “Stop!”
But it was too late.
He arched beneath her with a choked cry, and she felt his chest expand swelling against her thighs, pushing upward into the underside of her breasts.
His shirt clung tightly for a second, then slid up his torso as two new mounds grew heavy on his chest. They were round, firm, and identical to her own.
He was gasping now, shaking, trying to hold his breath but the magic wouldn’t let go.
“Your voice,” he whispered helplessly, tears spilling now. “It’s so sexy. So soft…”
And just like that, his voice cracked again before smoothing into a near match of hers.
Dana’s hands gripped his wrists.
She straddled him, shaking her head.
“You don’t understand,” she said. “It’s not just your body. This… this is going to take everything. Everything from you. Everything from me!”
Darren writhed beneath her, gasping as his cheekbones pushed upward as if sculpted from beneath the skin, lifting, pulling taut. The sharp edge of his chin drew inward, rounding. The last of the stubble vanished like dust on the wind.
“No, no, no…” she whispered. “Not your face. Please…”
His eyebrows thinned, arched, reshaped.
His nose shrank, nostrils lifting delicately, tip narrowing. She knew that nose. She’d seen it in the mirror for hours now.
Then his eyes.
His eyes.
They shimmered for a moment, alive with something new. The shape of his lids shifted. His lashes thickened, flared outward. His irises darkened at the edge, just like hers. She saw her own expression staring back at her.
His lips trembled.
Then plumped again into glossy, soft, perfect lips.
Dana stared down at her own face. Her own body. He had become identical to her.
“Dana…?” he whispered, the voice so perfectly matched it felt like an echo.
Dana let go of his wrists. She sat back, straddling her twin, shaking her head.
“No,” she breathed. “No, no, no…”
She brought her hands to her own face. Then reached forward, cupping the other one’s.
Darren Ellis lay on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling. His television was on in the background, but he lost interest in watching it.
He hadn’t always been this tired. Not physically. Just… worn down.
At age forty‑one he had no kids and no real life experience. He’d just floated through with just years of work and weekends that bled together until they barely felt different.
Even since he was a kid he’d just had no luck. He was barely acknowledged in school. He was never invited to parties. And forget about girls. They all ignored him.
That bled through into his adult life. He graduated college with mediocre grades and a barely useful degree. Sure, he could make ends meet, which was more than some. But he had nothing to really live for. It was like he was just surviving.
Everyone else seemed to figure it out eventually.
He never did.
He sat up, elbows on his knees, shoulders slumped forward. The familiar tightness settled in his chest, the one that always came when he let himself think too long about the way his life had gone.
His t-shirt clung to his stomach in the wrong places. He was soft in that permanent, middle-aged way. His chest sagged slightly beneath the fabric, and he’d long since stopped trying to convince himself he’d start exercising again.
His reflection in the dark screen of the TV told the rest of the story. Hair thinning at the front and going gray at the temples. He kept it short so it didn’t look worse. Patchy facial hair from forgetting to shave that morning, or yesterday. Pale skin from years of long days in office lighting.
He wasn’t ugly, but he was the kind of man people didn’t bother making eye contact with.
And when you grow up like that, when your body never got wanted, touched, chosen… it sank into your bones.
“If only someone had just…” He stopped, shook his head, then laughed quietly. “Jesus, listen to yourself.”
He rubbed his face, dragging his hands down over his eyes.
“If some woman would have thought me worthy,”
He let his mind settle into the thought.
“If some hot, confident woman had just slept with me back then,” he said, voice low and tired, “maybe I wouldn’t be like this. Maybe I would’ve had the confidence to actually live.”
“Just once,” he added. “I bet that’s all it would’ve taken.”
Then, like he felt stupid enough already, he lifted his hand and spoke more clearly, more deliberately.
“I wish a woman like that had met me when I was eighteen. I wish she’d given me the experience I never had.”
It felt good to say it all out loud. Not that it would change anything.
For a second, Darren thought he’d dozed off in front of the TV. But as he looked around he realized he wasn’t in his apartment and he wasn’t in bed.
He was on a bench. A hard plastic seat, the kind you’d find in a food court or a bus terminal. The lighting above him was fluorescent and buzzing.
He looked around and realized he was in a shopping mall.
No question about it. It had wide tiled walkways, fake plants in square planters, and food stalls lining the perimeter. But it wasn’t his mall. Or maybe it was… just not now. This place was alive.
Teens were everywhere, grouped in packs or leaning against railings, some with Discmen clipped to their belts, others flipping through magazines at a newsstand kiosk. The soundtrack overhead was a muffled but familiar synth-heavy pop song he hadn’t heard in years.
Darren blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of it.
His heart pounded. He looked down at himself.
Still in his casual house clothes, worn shorts and a stretched-out tee, and people were already giving him weird looks. A teenage girl in bell bottoms and butterfly clips whispered something to her friend as they walked past.
“What the hell…” he muttered.
His head spun. He gripped the edge of the bench to steady himself, breathing through the fog. His eyes darted across the walkways, trying to find anything that made sense.
Then he saw him.
Him.
Walking just ahead, coming out of the video game store with a plastic bag in one hand and a slouched posture that practically screamed don’t look at me. Baggy jeans, a stretched-out hoodie, old sneakers.
Darren stared at eighteen-year-old Darren Ellis.
His hair was longer and skin was clearer. He was exactly how Darren remembered himself.
And suddenly, it clicked.
The wish.
This was it. He wasn’t just dreaming about the past. He was in it. It was real.
And his younger self was here in front of him.
Darren stood up slowly, not sure why his hands were shaking.
His heart thudded in his chest, adrenaline rushing like he was doing something wrong. He started following, keeping a few paces back. His bare feet slapped against the tile as he tried to keep up.
He watched himself head toward the arcade wing, the quieter part of the mall, passing beneath a faded sign that read “FunZone.”
Darren’s mouth was dry.
It’s happening, he thought. He’s about to meet her. The woman I wished for.
Either that… or he was completely losing his mind.
But whatever this was, he couldn’t look away.
Eighteen-year-old Darren walked with his head down.
Darren remembered being this younger version of himself. Not quite looking at people. Wishing to be noticed but not wanting to be looked at. He kept a few paces behind, trailing his younger self through the mall.
Every now and then he glanced around, trying to spot her. The woman. The one he wished for.
He was confident she’d show up soon. Step out from behind a pillar or the food court or one of the shops. He couldn’t wait to see what she’d look like. His mind was already wandering.
She’d be hot, he thought. Sexy in that effortless way. The kind of woman who drew everyone’s attention.
He imagined her first as a blur. Long hair. Confident walk. Curves that made people stare.
A strange warmth bloomed low in his chest, but he barely noticed it.
Big tits, he thought next, a little embarrassed at himself but unable to stop. The kind that fill out a top and almost look indecent.
The fabric of his shirt brushed oddly against his chest as he walked. Not uncomfortable. Just… noticeable. Like static. Like his skin had gotten more sensitive.
He ignored it, eyes locked on his younger self.
And legs, his thoughts continued, drifting. Long, tan legs. Smooth. The kind that look unreal in shorts.
His stride felt different. Not wrong. Just… wider.
He frowned slightly but kept walking. His mind was so intently focused on this vision running in his head.
His younger self slowed near a pretzel stand, pretending to study the menu while clearly not ordering anything.
Darren smiled faintly. God, he remembered that stand. He loved those pretzels.
Still no sign of the woman. He shook his head once, trying to clear it.
She’d have a great ass too, he thought without meaning to. The kind guys notice even if they pretend not to.
This time Darren felt the pressure pushing out of his backside.
“What the…” he whispered.
He glanced down.
His shorts were riding higher on his thighs. Not by much, but enough that he could see more skin than before. And his thighs looked… smoother. The hair that should’ve been there was thinning, fading like it was being erased.
He blinked hard and looked back up, heart thudding. “No, no, no—what the hell is this?”
His younger self hadn’t noticed him. Still loitering by the pretzel stand, glancing toward the arcade hallway like he was waiting for something… or someone.
Darren’s breath quickened.
He forced his thoughts to stop, to pull back. Don’t think about her. Don’t picture anything. Just walk. Just focus on…
Crop top. Tight. Neon. Something that clings and barely covers her.
“No! Stop,” he hissed under his breath.
But he felt the shirt on his shoulders shift, the seams pulling tighter around his chest, which had continued to swell. His breasts were unmistakable now. Heavy and bouncy.
He tried to grab the collar and tug it upward, but the shirt wasn’t the one he’d gone to bed in. Not anymore. It was something ribbed and stretchy, and the more he fought it, the more it shrunk. Each tug only seemed to tighten it across his chest, drawing the fabric over his swelling cleavage until he could feel his nipples brushing against the inside.
“Shit,” he whispered, stepping back behind a support beam, shielding himself.
Shorts, came the thought next, uninvited. Low-rise. Hugging her hips. Cut off high enough to make you stare.
His shorts began to tighten again. The waistband shrunk against his softening stomach, pulling low. He could feel the cotton changing into denim.
He gasped and spun toward the nearest shop window, heart pounding.
For a moment, his brain refused to process what he was seeing.
Long, tanned legs stretched from frayed denim shorts that clung like a second skin. A toned, narrow waist flared into softly rounded hips. Above that, a neon-pink crop top hugged a pair of massive, jiggling breasts that had no business being on his chest. They rose and fell with every panicked breath, the neckline dipping low enough to make his stomach twist.
His arms were smooth and hairless. His shoulders were narrower and delicate.
But the face staring back at him was still his.
Still his short, thinning hair. His square jaw.
It was horrifyingly absurd.
His face looked wrong up there. Like someone had badly photoshopped a man’s head onto a model’s body.
He staggered back, chest heaving, trying not to throw up.
It needs to match, came the first thought, slithering in.
That body needs the right face.
He shook his head violently. “No—no, no—get out of my—”
Pretty. Soft. Tease those lips out. Big eyes. Glossy. Perfect. She should be beautiful. She’s supposed to be beautiful.
His jaw trembled.
And then, he felt it.
His chin drew in first, sharpening into a more feminine curve. His cheeks puffed slightly as the bone underneath slid upward, lifting the shape of his whole face. His brow smoothed, lines vanishing.
His lips tingled with a buzz spreading from the corners inward. He watched, helpless, as they pushed outward, swelling into full, kissable curves. Gloss appeared like moisture rising to the surface. His mouth now looked like it was always half-ready to pout.
Then his eyes. Oh god, his eyes.
He blinked, and his lashes came back longer and thicker.
Each flutter brought a new weight to them, like mascara had been applied by some invisible hand. His irises brightened, color deepening, whites clearing until they sparkled against his skin.
His eyebrows slimmed in one long, slow twitch of muscle, settling into sculpted, feminine arches.
And above it all, his hair had begun spilling past his ears in waves that were darker, richer, and fuller than it had ever been in his life. The strands slid down his shoulders like silk, swishing with his every panicked breath.
Within seconds, Darren’s face was gone.
The girl in the glass was gorgeous.
Her long, dark hair framed a face that glowed with youth, heat, and perfect curves. Her top strained to contain a chest that looked both impossible and somehow effortless. Her shorts clung like they’d been sewn onto her hips, low enough to hint and tight enough to tease.
That’s me.
Her chest rose and fell. She could see the outline of her nipples pressing against the fabric. Feel the tension in her toned thighs as she shifted her weight. Her stomach was tight and smooth. Her ass bounced with every panicked movement.
Everything felt real and horribly wrong.
“This…this isn’t…” Her voice cracked. Higher. Softer. Sultry.
It didn’t sound like Darren at all.
She turned away from the reflection. From herself.
And that’s when she saw eighteen-year-old Darren. Her past self hovering awkwardly by the arcade entrance, head low, shoulders hunched.
But this time, he looked up.
Their eyes didn’t quite meet, but he saw her and she could feel his lingering gaze.
Her breath caught in her throat as something stirred low in her belly. A tingle. A pulse. A want.
“No,” she whispered. Her thighs pressed together. “No, no, no…”
But her eyes were already drinking him in.
The curve of his shoulders beneath that hoodie. The flush in his face. The stiffness in his posture. The way he stood like he didn’t know what to do with his hands or his eyes or his body.
He looked small and lost. And so ready.
Her lips parted as she felt warm all over. Her chest was tight and aching.
He looked at her like she was everything. And she wanted to be everything to him.
“Oh god,” she whispered.
Dana tore her eyes away from the arcade just long enough to steady her breath. Her chest ached, skin warm with want, her thighs tingling from the pulse that hadn’t gone away since her younger self looked at her.
She didn’t move. She couldn’t move. She felt like she might fall over if she took a single step. The only thing anchoring her was the thud of her heartbeat and the ridiculous heat pooling between her legs.
“Damn,” a voice said behind her. “You trying to kill somebody dressed like that?”
She jumped, spinning.
The guy standing there was tall and toned. He was obviously attractive and dressed impeccably with a confident, self-assured smirk that said I’m used to getting what I want.
He looked her up and down without shame. His eyes paused at her chest, then dropped to her legs. He gave a low whistle.
“You got a name, or do I just call you Trouble?”
She stared at him, mouth slightly open, confused.
Once, Darren would’ve hated this guy on sight. He was everything Darren wasn’t and had everything Darren wanted.
But Dana didn’t feel intimidated. Or flattered. Or anything. She felt disgusted.
The way he looked at her like she was meat. Only Darren could look at her like that.
Or like she was the kind of girl who’d be impressed by a line like that. Her stomach twisted at the thought of Darren saying that to her.
But for this asshole…no.
Her lips curled slightly. “Seriously?”
He chuckled, undeterred. “Okay, okay. I’ll come at it softer. Just thought I’d say hi. You look like you could use some company.”
She didn’t answer because over his shoulder, she looked to where Darren was. But he was gone.
Her heart skipped.
“No,” she whispered, eyes snapping around the arcade entrance, the pretzel stand, the hallway. He wasn’t leaning against the planter anymore. He wasn’t pretending to check his phone. He was just… gone.
Panic flared, sharp and sudden.
She stepped forward without thinking, nearly bumping into the guy still standing in front of her.
“Hey, I’m talking to you…”
“Move,” she snapped, brushing past him. “Asshole.”
She didn’t even hear what he said after that. Her focus tunneled. All she could see was the crowd, the shifting bodies, the maze of stores and kiosks and benches where he could’ve disappeared.
Don’t lose him. Don’t lose him.
Her heart pounded as she scanned faces, hoodies, backpacks, bad haircuts. Then she spotted him near the escalators, standing off to the side like he wasn’t sure if he should go up or down.
Relief hit her so hard her knees almost buckled.
“There you are,” she breathed.
She started toward him, fast, then slowed herself, suddenly aware of the way her hips swayed when she walked, the way people’s heads turned. She didn’t want to scare him off. Didn’t want to look like she was charging at him.
God, her heart was pounding. She was nervous. This body was way out of his league, but she was bound to him in a way she didn’t understand. She couldn’t fuck it up.
She stopped a few steps away, pretending to check her phone she didn’t have. She stole glances at him from the corner of her eye.
He saw her and she could tell he was nervous. She could tell by the way he kept shifting his weight, by how his shoulders stayed tense, by the way he glanced at her and then immediately looked away like he’d been caught doing something wrong.
He wants you, a quiet, dangerous part of her realized. But he’ll never act on it.
Dana took a breath.
Her hands were trembling. This was it. The wish, the purpose, all of it boiling in her chest like a secret trying to claw its way out.
She took a slow step forward. Then another.
He didn’t look up at first. Still stuck in his awkward limbo near the escalators, shifting his weight from foot to foot, eyes fixed on the floor.
She came to a stop just a few feet away.
He glanced up and his eyes widened. And then darted away again.
Dana smiled nervously. “Hey.”
He blinked, like he wasn’t sure she was talking to him.
She swallowed. “Sorry. That was weird. I just… I saw you over there and thought you looked kinda lost.”
His eyes flicked back to hers. “Me?”
His voice cracked.
“Yeah. You,” she said, biting her lip. “Mind if I stand here for a second?”
He hesitated, then shrugged.
Dana let the silence settle for a beat, watching him from the corner of her eye.
“I’m Dana,” she offered, softly.
He stiffened again. Like he expected someone to jump out from behind a pillar with a camera and yell Gotcha! at any second.
He laughed awkwardly. “Uh. Right. Okay. What is this?”
She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean… nobody like you just walks up and talks to someone like me.”
Dana blinked. “Someone like you?”
“Yeah,” he said quickly. “You know. I mean… you’re, like…” He gestured vaguely to all of her. “You’re you.”
God, she could feel it in him. In her own memories. The fear, the trained instinct to not believe.
She stepped just a little closer.
“I saw you standing here,” she said softly, “and I wanted to talk to you. That’s it. I thought you looked cute.”
He stared at her. Disbelief all over his face.
So Dana leaned in.
Close enough for him to smell her. Close enough to speak lower.
Author’s note: Please be aware this gets dark at the end and could be triggering for some.
The sheets were soft. It’s funny how quickly you can forget something as simple as the softness of quality sheets.
Derrick’s eyes blinked open to a ceiling that wasn’t gray and dark. This ceiling was a pristine white with an ornate light fixture. It was also bright as hell.
He squinted, shifting slightly and everything felt wrong. His body felt oddly proportioned and lighter.
He quickly shot up and realized two things. The first was that he was not dreaming. The second was that he was in a woman’s body.
“What the fuck?” he said gruffly which sounded very out of place with whatever voice was coming out of this mouth.
The room spun for a second before steadying. It was all wrong. Very very wrong.
The walls were white like the ceiling. There was a vanity with a lit ring mirror in the corner. A large and very expensive looking rug. Shit, even the air smelled fancy.
He stood up and looked down at his long, bare legs that were under thin silk shorts. His arms were slender, but toned. His hands were small and feminine. And jutting out from beneath a loose crop top were two perky, unmistakable mounds.
He scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over a pair of fuzzy slippers, and darted to the mirror. He looked at the girl staring back at him.
He reached up and touched his face. Her face. He blinked at himself looking at glossy pink lips and big blue eyes full of disbelief.
He turned his head left, then right, letting the hair fall in waves past his shoulder.
No way. No fuckin’ way.
He pulled up the top and nearly choked on air. Her—his—breasts were perfect. They were firm, round, and topped with light-pink nipples that stiffened instantly at the brush of cool air.
“This is fucked,” he muttered, flinching again at the sound of her voice. He sounded like a phone sex operator.
He couldn’t stop staring. This body wasn’t just hot. It was perfect. The kind of girl you stared at too long in public. The kind of girl that made guys say stupid things. And now, somehow, he was her.
“…Holy shit.”
He turned away from the mirror, the sway in his hips making him pause mid-step. It was effortless. He wasn’t even trying. This body moved like it was made to be watched.
“Caityn,” came a call from just outside the room. “Or should I say Nancy?”
“Huh?” Derrick replied.
“Don’t worry, Nancy,” the voice replied. “They said the transfer is disorienting.”
“Transfer?” Derrick asked.
“Yes,” the commanding male voice replied. “Please try to get your senses. You are in my daughter’s body for three weeks as part of an experimental mind transfer program. I couldn’t have my baby girl’s body subjected to that awful prison.”
“Right,” Derrick replied.
“I’m remembering now,” he lied.
Whatever this man thinks happened. This Nancy chick is not who swapped with his hot daughter.
“Come down for breakfast and remember the rules,” the man added. “Nobody can know except for you and me. As far as everyone else is concerned, Caitlyn didn’t go to jail. She got off from her DUI with a warning. You need to sell this or else.”
“Read the report on the vanity before coming down,” the man ordered. “It explains Caitlyn’s life. Her routine. And try to sound like a privileged nineteen-year-old girl. We can’t have anyone getting suspicious.”
“Gotcha,” Derrick added. “I’ll just get dressed and be down in a flash.”
He heard the man stepping away and quickly assessed the situation.
Three weeks before they send me back into my prison cell. Three weeks to try and figure out how to prevent that from happening.
I’m going to really lean into this if I don’t want anyone to find out about me instead of this Nancy person. Which means I’m going to have to dress and act like a 19 year old chick. A hot, entitled 19 year old chick.
He looked at himself in the mirror again and felt a throb between his thighs he didn’t expect. He reached down, hesitated, then pressed slightly. Even through the shorts, it was warm and responsive.
His eyes fluttered shut for a second. A soft gasp escaped before he even realized it.
“Goddamn,” he whispered.
There was a knock at the bedroom door.
“Caitlyn?” a woman’s voice called through. “Sweetie? You up?”
Derrick froze.
The mom. Right. Caitlyn lived at home so, of course there would be a mom.
“Y-yeah,” he said quickly, pitching his voice up, keeping it casual. “Just waking up.”
“Well hurry down, breakfast is ready. Don’t take forever on your makeup!”
He waited until the footsteps faded, then looked back at the mirror.
“Makeup?” he muttered. “Fuck me.”
The vanity mirror was still lit as Derrick tossed the printout back onto the glass countertop. He couldn’t believe the amount of detail packed into it: her favorite smoothie order, her ex-boyfriend’s name, her fake allergy to shellfish. There was even a list of her skincare products and the days of the week she did yoga.
He didn’t know if this Nancy girl had planned to take notes, but he sure as hell was.
Derrick stood in front of the mirror and gave himself another once-over. He was wearing shorts, a simple tee, and some light makeup.
He still wasn’t exactly sure how he’d pulled it off. A little powder, a swipe of that brow stuff, and gloss. That was it. Nothing heavy. But this face? It didn’t need much.
Caitlyn’s lips looked naturally plump and kissable even without product, but the gloss added a shine that felt dangerously flirty.
The shorts hugged high on his hips, and the way they curved around her looked downright obscene. The tee draped loose across his chest, but every step made her breasts shift underneath, pulling at the thin fabric just enough to make them bounce.
“This body’s a fuckin’ cheat code,” he muttered, pulling the shorts down slightly. Not that it helped.
He took a breath, flipped the hair behind one shoulder, and opened the bedroom door.
The hallway was pristine. White marble floors, polished to a gleam. Art on the walls. Big windows spilled sunlight across everything. It all looked staged.
He padded down the stairs barefoot, each step jiggling a little more than he expected. The oversized chandelier above the foyer looked like it cost more than his entire life.
Then he hit the bottom step and turned the corner into the kitchen.
“Good morning, sweetie!”
The voice was chirpy and enthusiastic. Caitlyn’s mom stood near the island in a soft pink robe, beaming like this was a holiday.
“Hey,” Derrick replied quickly, trying to pitch the voice right. He added a smile, but not too big. Just enough to seem breezy. Like he had no worries in the world.
The mom crossed the kitchen and kissed him on the cheek.
Ugh. Don’t flinch. Just take it.
“You look so fresh this morning,” she said, stepping back and taking him in. “You didn’t even go full-face. Good girl.”
Derrick blinked. “Uh… yeah.”
She giggled. “Honestly, I’m glad you’re not caking it on like some of your friends. You’re so naturally pretty.”
He sat down at the counter and tried not to look too interested in the spread. Fresh-cut fruit, eggs, two kinds of toast, and some weird green smoothie that looked like it came from a spa.
“I made your favorite,” she added, handing him the glass.
Matcha-spinach-coconut bullshit, he remembered from the file. “Yum,” he lied, taking a sip.
It was awful, but he smiled anyway.
Standing watch over the entire scene was Caitlyn’s father. He was wearing an expensive suit that was perfectly tailored. His eyes flicked from Derrick’s face to his posture to the way the shorts clung to his thighs.
Derrick gave him a nod. “Morning.”
“Morning,” the man replied, slowly.
He walked over to the coffee pot and poured a cup, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned on the opposite side of the counter, mug in hand.
“So,” the dad said. “How are you feeling?”
Derrick shrugged. “Little foggy. Like I had weird dreams or something. But fine.”
“You look fine,” the dad replied.
There was something loaded in that. Derrick couldn’t tell if it was judgment or approval.
Caitlyn’s mom ruffled his hair lightly. “My baby always wakes up glowing. You must’ve slept well.”
“Try to take it easy today,” the mom said. “You had a busy day yesterday with all that court nonsense. Glad they were able to see reason and just let you off with a warning. So no rushing off to see your friends. Maybe go out by the pool. Get some sun.”
“She’ll be fine,” the dad cut in, voice clipped. “Life doesn’t stop just because of a little courtroom drama. It’s important to stay active and engaged.”
Derrick took another sip of the smoothie and fought a grimace.
“I can handle it,” he said. “Already checked Insta. I’m still cute.”
That earned a very faint smirk from the dad. Maybe the first sign of respect.
The mom started fussing with a bowl of strawberries, humming to herself like nothing in the world could go wrong.
Derrick sat there, trying to play the part. He had to remind himself to cross his legs at the ankle and look like he cared about anything this woman was saying to him. Then again, he figured a 19 year old entitled daughter probably wouldn’t care all that much either.
It was a performance. Every blink. Every “totally.” Every goddamn sip of green sludge.
But when the dad stepped out of the room to take a call, Derrick knew he was doing just fine.
He reached for a strawberry, bit in, and smirked faintly to himself.
First test? Passed.
The mop bucket sloshed as she pushed it down the hallway, heavy and slow. Her shoulders ached. Sweat dripped down her chest and soaked the collar of the prison-issued jumpsuit that was pulled tight across Derrick’s massive chest and arms.
This isn’t right. I was supposed to be put intoa woman’s body. And at a minimum security prison. Not this body.Not this place.
Caitlyn kept glancing at the guard by the door.
This was the third pass she’d made down the same stretch of hallway. He was watching. She had to be smart.
Her throat was dry. Her huge, strong, masculine hands kept flexing. They didn’t feel real. They weren’t real. Not for her.
She wiped her face and made her move.
“Officer,” she said, her voice deep and smooth, betraying none of her panic. “Can I talk to you?”
Reynolds didn’t even glance up from his post.
She stepped closer. “Please. I need to report something.”
That got his attention, albeit barely. His eyes lifted to her face and stayed there.
“Do I look new to this shit, Kline?”
Caitlyn blinked. “What?”
“You think I don’t recognize the setup? You’re not reporting jack. You’re working some new angle. What is it this time? Gonna claim you found God? Want a transfer to the chapel crew now?”
She stepped forward. “No, I swear, I…”
He stepped toward her, voice lowering, harder now. “No. You listen. I’ve been on this block eight years. I know your file front to back. I know you like to mess with new COs, fake medical issues, play crazy when it suits you. Cry wolf, get attention. The only thing you’ve got going for you is the fact you’ve never seriously hurt anybody in here… yet.”
Caitlyn’s heart pounded. “This isn’t a game, I’m not…”
He pointed. “You’re Derrick Kline. Inmate #44752. You’re not the only manipulative piece of shit in this place, but you’re top three.”
She stared at him, her jaw tight. She could feel her own pulse in her neck. It was overwhelming how strong her new body was, how quickly anger boiled under the surface. Her chest rose and fell. The guard’s eyes flicked to her fists.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said coldly.
Caitlyn took a breath. “I’m not who you think I am.”
That got a laugh. “Yeah right. You some kind of space alien now?”
Her mouth opened slightly.
“I need to speak to someone outside,” she said. “Just one call. Thomas Royce. He’ll explain…”
“Oh, come on,” Reynolds said, grinning now. “Do your fucking mopping, inmate.”
“Please,” she said, voice breaking for the first time. “I can’t be here. This isn’t supposed to happen. Something went wrong.”
He leaned in. “You wanna know what’s wrong?” he whispered. “What’s wrong is you thinking you can talk your way out of a place built to forget people like you ever existed.”
He turned and walked back to his post. “You want to play innocent? Save it for the parole board.”
Caitlyn stood frozen in place. The mop handle trembled in her hand.
She turned back down the hall.
Every step was heavier now. Her thoughts were racing.
He thinks Derrick’s just pulling another con. I can’t talk my way out of this. Not here. Not as him.
She reached the janitor’s closet and shoved the mop inside, slamming the door harder than she intended.
I need to find a way to contact my father. That’s the only way I get out of this.
Mat after mat lined the warm, hardwood floor of the yoga studio. Most of the mats were already claimed by young, flawless women in high-waisted leggings and sports bras that barely contained anything.
Derrick had to fight a smirk as he stretched his new body into a seated pose.
This was absurd.
Caitlyn used to do this several days a week?
His fingers ran down the side of her calf and he still couldn’t get over the smoothness of her skin. It was distracting. Every movement made something shift, tighten, bounce. Just raising his arms sent a tug through her tight top and stretched her chest forward in a way that would’ve had his old self gawking.
And he was in it now.
Across from him, Nicole—Caitlyn’s bestie, according to the briefing—was mid-rant, talking a mile a minute.
“I swear to God, if Jeremy comes home drunk again I am done,” she said, twisting into a side angle pose with one arm reaching to the ceiling. Her ponytail swayed like a metronome. “Like he thinks ‘sorry, babe’ makes up for everything.”
Derrick nodded, shifting back into downward dog. He had to pause.
This position felt… intimate. Ass up, legs stretched wide, back curved.
His eyes flicked between legs. The girl in front of him had mesh panels running all the way down her thighs. The one next to her had a top that looked like it’d give out if she sneezed.
He adjusted his stance and bit his lip.
Nobody noticed. That was the wild part. Nobody saw the way his eyes scanned the room. Nobody caught the way his gaze lingered. They just assumed Caitlyn was focusing on her pose.
Nicole moved beside him, slipping effortlessly into warrior pose.
“I told him, I’m not your babysitter. Like, if I wanted a project, I’d get a dog.”
Derrick turned, letting Caitlyn’s long blonde hair fall off her shoulder as he mirrored the stretch. Mysports bra cut right across the top of her chest, pushing everything just high enough that he had to stop himself from touching her out of pure curiosity.
“You’re totally right,” he said, pitching his voice into that casual, breezy tone he’d been practicing. “He’s a mess.”
Nicole grinned at him, then sighed dramatically.
“I know. And the sex isn’t even that good.”
Derrick raised an eyebrow. “Really.”
“Like… okay. It’s fine. But if I’m doing all the work, then what’s the point?”
He tried not to laugh. These girls say this kind of shit out loud? In public? It was unreal.
They shifted into pigeon pose, legs bent under them, chests low.
Derrick took his time easing into it, stunned at how flexible this body was. Her hips opened with almost no resistance. He felt everything stretch in a way he never could’ve imagined. It was like her body was designed to move like this.
Nicole kept going. “And then, like, right after we finish, he just rolls over and checks Reddit. Like I’m not even there.”
Derrick glanced at her. “Girl, you deserve better.”
That got a loud exhale and a nod of agreement.
Nicole reached for her water bottle. “Thank you! That’s what I keep saying!”
As the instructor called for them to shift positions again, Derrick let Caitlyn’s body move slowly, fluidly, loving the way her back arched and her ass lifted with the motion. He didn’t even try to hide the smirk this time.
This body’s unreal. Flexible, soft, and everyone just thinks I’m another rich girl doing yoga on a weekday morning.
He glanced around.
Not a single person looked twice. Not at him, not at his wandering eyes. He was invisible in the best way.
He was starting to understand the power of being in this body. He decided to test it.
“You should dump his ass,” he said.
Nicole gave him a look.
“I mean it, Nikky,” he added. “Right after we’re done you’re going to call him up and tell him to go fuck himself because he’s not getting anymore opportunities to fuck you.”
“You’re so bad,” Nicole laughed. “But, yeah. It’s time. I’ll do it.”
She’s doing it because I told her too. This is fucking unreal.
Nicole curled up at the foot of Caitlyn’s bed, eyes puffy from crying. Her makeup was smudged, her hair a mess, and the sleeves of her hoodie were pulled down over her hands like she needed something to hide in.
“He just said it like it was no big deal,” she sniffled. “Like, ‘maybe I was right and we should just take a break.’ Like I didn’t just give him six months of my life.”
Derrick, sitting cross-legged on the other side of the bed, handed her a tissue.
“Men are trash,” he said gently, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You did everything right. You gave him time, you were patient, you even covered for him when he ghosted his sister’s birthday dinner.”
Nicole let out a broken laugh. “God, I’m such a dumbass.”
“No,” he said firmly, shifting closer. “You were just trusting. He’s the dumbass.”
Nicole wiped her nose and leaned her head against his shoulder. The softness of the moment buzzed through Derrick’s whole body. Her warmth, her perfume, the way she exhaled like it was safe to finally relax.
He let his arm drape around her.
He saw Nicole as prey. Hot, sexy prey. And he intended to use her vulnerability to get what he wanted. And right now, what he wanted was to fuck this hot chick in his girl’s body. He had already experimented a few times by himself and was eager to try more things out.
“You’re so good to me,” Nicole mumbled into his shirt. “Seriously, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Derrick leaned his head against hers. “You don’t have to do anything without me.”
Nicole didn’t move right away. Then she slowly pulled back, just enough to look at her. Her eyes were glassy, but there was something else in them too. Something searching.
“You always say the right thing,” she whispered.
Derrick gave her the softest smile he could manage. “It’s easy. I know what you need.”
They were close now. Closer than they’d ever been. Nicole’s breath was shallow. Her lips parted just slightly.
“You really think I deserve better?” she asked.
He nodded. “So much better.”
Their eyes locked.
Then he leaned forward, slowly, like she could stop it at any second. But she didn’t stop until their lips met.
It was soft and Nicole was hesitant. But after a moment, Nicole leaned into it, her hand sliding up to his shoulder, mouth parting wider as the kiss deepened.
She tasted sweet, like cherry lip balm. Her body pressed against his. The moment stretched out in silence.
When they finally pulled apart, Nicole blinked, stunned.
“I… I don’t know if I should’ve done that,” she whispered.
Derrick didn’t miss a beat. “Then don’t think about it. Just feel what you need right now.”
Nicole looked down. Then back up at him. Her eyes searched his face, and he could feel her thinking, really thinking, but not resisting.
She kissed him again.
Nicole’s lips pressed against his again, more certain this time, more certain. Derrick let her take the lead for a few seconds, hands resting lightly on her waist, fingers teasing the edge of her hoodie.
Then he took over.
He pulled her closer, his hands sliding under the oversized sweatshirt, fingertips grazing warm, bare skin. Nicole gasped into his mouth but didn’t pull away. Her arms looped around his neck, and the kiss deepened. It was hungry now, needy.
Derrick shifted his weight, laying her back onto the mattress. Her legs bent instinctively, hips rising to meet his as he moved over her.
This body he was in responded to everything.
His breathing grew shallow as his hand slid up her side, feeling the heat of her skin, the curve of her waist. Nicole arched into him, her mouth parting with a soft moan that sent a jolt straight through him.
She looked up at him, pupils blown, lips red and kiss-swollen.
“Cait…” she whispered.
He kissed her again before she could say more, silencing her with lips and tongue and heat. His hand moved higher now, fingertips tracing the outline of her bra.
Nicole trembled under him.
She wanted this. Or thought she did. And he was going to give her exactly what she thought she needed.
Nicole’s back arched beneath him, her body moving on instinct, all reaction and emotion. Her hands slipped beneath his shirt fingertips brushing the bare skin of her stomach, then higher. It sent a chill through him.
Nicole’s hands found the clasp of the sports bra and hesitated.
Derrick pulled back just enough to lock eyes with her. “It’s okay,” he whispered.
She undid it.
He felt it loosen around him, the tight compression releasing in an instant. Her breasts shifted with the change. They were soft, full, and impossibly sensitive. Nicole’s hands moved slowly, cupping them, thumbs brushing across the nipples.
Derrick shuddered and let out a quiet moan. It was pleasure overload.
Nicole leaned in and kissed down his neck, then lower, her lips trailing fire. Every brush of skin made his back arch harder into her touch.
He returned the favor. His hands were exploring now. learning every curve of her thighs, the way her hips tilted, the softness of her inner leg. He was surprised by how much control he still had… and how fast it was slipping.
Nicole reached down, guiding his hand beneath the waistband of her leggings. He felt the heat of her, and the way she gasped into his neck made his whole body throb with need.
She was trembling and so was he.
Neither of them said anything for a long, breathless moment. Just the sound of skin brushing skin. Of lips meeting. Of quiet gasps and stifled moans.
They were all over each other now. Lost in heat, hunger, and curiosity.
Nicole kissed him again, deeper this time, like she didn’t want to come up for air. Her hand moved back up his chest, fingers tangling in Caitlyn’s long blonde hair.
When Nicole’s other hand reached his wet slit, it was like an intense punch of pleasure.
The first punch landed before Caitlyn even realized she’d moved.
Her fist exploded into the other inmate’s jaw with a crack that echoed off concrete. The man staggered back, eyes wide, surprise flashing across his face just before she drove into him again.
“Back the fuck off,” she heard herself snarl.
Her voice was deep, commanding, and vibrated with authority.
The man had stepped too close. Said Derrick’s name like a challenge. Like he was testing something. Like he thought he could take him.
Her body reacted before her mind could catch up.
Another punch. Then a shove that sent him crashing into the wall. Caitlyn felt the power of it all. She felt how easily this body moved through space, how natural violence felt in these muscles. Her heart pounded, with rage.
Stop. Stop. This isn’t you.
But the body didn’t listen.
The man swung back, sloppy and desperate. Caitlyn blocked it without thinking, forearm snapping up on instinct. She drove her shoulder into his chest and felt ribs give. He grunted, folding.
A circle formed fast. Inmates shouting.
“Don’t fuck with Derrick,” someone said.
The man went down on one knee. Caitlyn stood over him, chest heaving, fists clenched so tight her knuckles burned. For a terrifying half-second, she wanted to keep going.
I could end him right now.
Hands grabbed her from behind.
“That’s enough!”
Guards swarmed in, batons raised, voices barking orders. Caitlyn didn’t resist when they pulled her back. She knew that would end poorly.
Her whole body was still buzzing. Adrenaline flooding every vein. The man on the floor was groaning and clutching his face.
As they dragged her away, someone laughed again.
“Man, his fists are like steel.”
Caitlyn stared down at Derrick’s hands as they cuffed them.
Derrick lounged back on the plush couch, one bare leg draped lazily over the other, foot bouncing with fake impatience. He wore one of Caitlyn’s cropped tees and a pair of high-cut denim shorts that barely passed for real clothing. His glossy lips were pursed in mild boredom, one perfectly shaped brow cocked high.
Across from him, Thomas Royce stared him down like a prosecutor ready to go in for the kill.
“You’re sure you haven’t been off?” the man said quietly. “That nobody has noticed?”
Derrick popped his gum and gave a little shrug. “Okay but, like, people always notice something? That doesn’t mean they think anything’s weird. My Insta comments are full of ‘you look amaze’ and ‘so slay.’ Nobody’s out here accusing me of, like, being secretly swapped with a dude or whatever.”
Thomas stepped forward. “Don’t play dumb.”
“I’m not,” Derrick replied, letting his voice lilt just enough. “I’ve literally done everything you asked. Like, I’ve been such a brat. I complain about yoga, I make fun of my own smoothie, I scroll on TikTok for hours. I even rolled my eyes at Mom yesterday and she didn’t even flinch. That’s how good I am.”
“Your posture’s different,” Thomas said. “You sit like…” He hesitated. “You sit like her.”
Derrick beamed. “Okay, so, thank you? Like, is that not the whole point?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Thomas replied. “You can at least turn off the act around me.”
“No,” He gave a little pout. “Because, like, you said sell it, and I’m, like, doing the most. Nobody’s asking questions. Nicole literally said I’ve been more ‘emotionally available’ lately.” He let that hang for a beat. “We’ve been, like… bonding.”
Thomas’s jaw twitched but Derrick caught it.
“Nicole is the daughter of my best friend,” he chided. “If you’ve done anything…”
“What?” Derrick leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice still airy but with a sharpness underneath. “Like been a good bestie? Let her, like, totally vent and cry and, like, hold my hand or whatever?”
Thomas said nothing.
Derrick sat back again with a little sigh. “Honestly, I think you’re just mad I’m doing a better job at being your daughter than she ever did.”
“I drink the gross green thing. I do yoga all the time. I post to my socials. I like, smile in photos. I say ‘literally’ too much and text in lowercase. I even do the dumb little hair twirl thing when I’m, like, pretending to care.”
Thomas drew in a breath. “Okay, Nancy. You’re right.”
Derrick cocked his head with a sugary smile. “Aww, yay! I love when we have these little chats, Daddy.”
Then Thomas leaned in, voice low and threatening. “Don’t push this. The second this transfer expires, it ends. You fuck this up and I’ll personally make sure you serve every last fucking day of your original sentence.”
Derrick blew another bubble and smiled sweetly, cocking his head.
“Totally,” he chirped. “Daddy.”
Nicole’s leg draped over Caitlyn’s as they lay tangled on Caitlyn’s bed. The room was dimly lit except for the soft pink glow of a salt lamp in the corner. Nicole’s head rested on Caitlyn’s chest, one hand lazily tracing circles just beneath the hem of his crop top.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she whispered, smiling.
Derrick smirked, fingers sliding through her messy ponytail. “Doing what?”
She laughed softly. “Don’t play dumb. You know this is… kind of crazy.”
He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Okay, but like, who’s gonna know? You think your mom and my mom are sitting around gossiping about our late-night sessions?”
Nicole looked up at him, eyes full of warmth. “I don’t want to keep this a secret forever.”
“I know,” Derrick said, voice soft, brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “But you also said you didn’t want drama, remember?”
“I know.”
She didn’t pull away. If anything, she snuggled in closer, her fingers sneaking under the edge of his shorts, teasing along his hip. Derrick bit back a pleased sigh. This body loved being touched.
The moment stretched until a knock came at the door.
“Caitlyn?” came her mom’s voice through the door. “Are you still up?”
Nicole practically jumped off the bed, scrambling to sit up and pull her hoodie back into place.
Derrick was calmer. He stretched, long and slow, and called out, “Yeah, Mom? What’s up?”
“I thought I heard voices. Is someone in there?”
“Just FaceTiming Nikky,” Derrick replied, casually twisting toward Nicole and giving her a quick wink. “She was having, like, a total meltdown about her ex again. You know how she gets.”
Nicole silently mouthed wow, but didn’t argue.
Derrick opened the door a crack to look his mom in the eyes.
“Well, don’t stay up too late,” her mom said. “We have our appointment tomorrow.”
“I know,” Derrick sing-songed back. “Can’t wait to go with you. Love you!”
Footsteps retreated down the hallway.
Derrick waited two beats, closed the door, and then jumped back onto the bed next to Nicole. She smiled, smugly. “See? Chill. Easy.”
Nicole stared at him. “You just… lied to your mom’s face like it was nothing.”
“Babe,” Derrick said, tugging her back into his lap, “she’s so easy to manipulate. Tomorrow we’re going to the spa to get the full treatment. The day after we’re going shopping because I told her I need to update my wardrobe.”
Nicole tried to look disapproving, but her lips betrayed her with a smile. They kissed again, slow and deep, and she let herself melt back into Caitlyn’s arms.
“You’re so bad,” Nicole whispered. “Were you always this way?”
“You make me want to be naughty, Nikky,” Caitlyn teased.
As their bodies pressed together again, it only made him want her more.
Caitlyn pressed the inmate’s back against the wall of the laundry room hard enough to make the shelves rattle.
“Don’t make me ask again,” she growled, her breath hot against his ear. “You’re the one who said your girl writes you, right?”
The guy squirmed under her grip, eyes darting toward the door. “Y-yeah. Yeah. Once a week.”
“Then you’re going to write her back,” Caitlyn said, low and steady. “And you’re going to include my letter inside. You don’t touch the envelope. You don’t read it. You don’t fuck with it. But you make sure you girl gets it sent out.”
He nodded rapidly. “Okay. Okay. Damn. Chill.”
Caitlyn stepped back, but not far. Her heart was hammering. She loved how easy it was to get others to do what she wanted.
This body was a weapon. And she was getting used to pulling the trigger.
She handed him the folded paper, already sealed and addressed.
If her father saw that name on an envelope from prison, he’d open it. He’d have to.
“I’m serious,” she said. “You screw this up, I’ll know. And I will fuck you up.”
She punched him in the gut with a quick jab. It wasn’t hard, but he doubled over in pain anyway.
“That’s just a taste of what happens if you fail,” she warned.
The man clutched the envelope like it was precious. “You got it. I’ll do it. Swear to God.”
She stared at him for one more beat, then turned and walked out, her pulse still buzzing with leftover rage.
The guards didn’t listen. It didn’t matter how calm she sounded. It didn’t matter how carefully she explained. So this was her only option.
So fine.
If that’s what it took to get a message out? Then she’d lean into the fear she could cause.
She crossed the yard with her shoulders squared and chin high, the envelope already out of her hands but heavy in her mind.
He better read it. He better know. If Dad doesn’t get me out of here soon, I’m going to fuck up his whole world.
The lobby of the spa was gorgeous. Caitlyn, sunglasses perched on her head, was already halfway through her second cucumber water by the time Caitlyn’s mom checked them in.
“Honestly,” Caitlyn said with a sigh, flipping through the treatment menu, “if they don’t have the volcanic clay wrap, we’re literally leaving.”
Her mom gave a tight laugh. “Let’s just see what they offer, sweetie.”
“No,” he replied, flat. “This is my only day off this week and I’m not spending it covered in cheap lavender oil while some undertrained intern gives me a ‘refresh facial.’ We’re doing the platinum package or we’re going.”
The receptionist cleared her throat and smiled nervously. “We actually do still have one platinum opening this afternoon. For two.”
“Perfect,” Caitlyn chirped, sliding the menu away and standing. His crop top rose just enough to flash a hint of toned stomach. “Put it under Royce. And tell Felicia I want her this time. The last girl was, like… fine, but not worth four hundred dollars.”
Caitlyn’s mom stepped forward, her smile starting to strain. “Sweetheart, we don’t need to do the most expensive one. I thought this was just supposed to be…”
“Mom,” Caitlyn cut in, lowering his sunglasses just enough to make eye contact. “Do I look like I’m in the mood to settle today?”
She blinked, caught off guard.
“I’ve been showing up to yoga. I’ve been drinking that green sludge every morning. I haven’t even thrown a fit about Dad being literally the worst lately.” Caitlyn leaned in, lowering his voice. “You said I could pick the spa day. I’m picking.”
A beat passed. The mom relented with a smile.
“Okay,” she said softly. “You’re right.”
Caitlyn gave her a peck on the cheek. “Love you.”
As they were led to the back, he swayed with every step. Caitlyn’s hips did the work effortlessly, the tiny towel wrap barely covering the curves she’d been flaunting all week.
This body gets what it wants, he thought. Even mom knows better than to argue now.
As they sank into matching pedicure chairs, Derrick smirked, stretching out like royalty.
“Ugh,” he groaned. “This is exactly what I needed.”
Her mom reached over and squeezed his hand, mistaking the self-satisfaction for gratitude.
The sound of tearing paper snapped something inside her. Caitlyn lunged forward, but it was already too late.
The guard held the envelope up just out of reach, glancing down at the name written in thick block letters.
“Well, well,” the guard said, smirking. “Look at that. Somebody’s feeling important today.”
“That’s not yours,” Caitlyn snarled. “Give it back.”
The inmate she’d coerced stood frozen against the wall, eyes wide, shaking. “I didn’t. I swear, man, I didn’t say nothin’…”
Caitlyn rounded on him instantly.
“You lying piece of shit,” she roared, shoving him hard enough that his head cracked against the bars. “I told you I’d kill you if you fucked this up.”
The guy slid down the wall, sobbing. “Please. I didn’t know they were watching. I didn’t…”
“Shut up!” Caitlyn screamed.
Her voice boomed through the corridor, raw and animal. Other inmates backed away fast. Everyone knew that tone. Derrick’s tone.
The guard stepped closer. “That’s enough, Kline.”
Caitlyn spun on him.
“You think this is funny?” she barked. “You think you’re clever? You don’t know who that letter was for.”
“Oh, I know exactly who it was for,” the guard said, waving it. “Some rich asshole who thinks he owns the world.”
That was it. Caitlyn’s fist came out of nowhere.
It slammed into the guard’s jaw with a sickening crack, snapping his head sideways. He staggered, barely keeping his feet.
The entire block erupted.
“What the fuck!”
She was on him instantly, grabbing his collar and yanking him close.
“You think taunting me is safe?” she hissed in his face. “You think Mr. Royce is just gonna forget this? You just fucked up your whole life.”
Guards rushed in from both ends of the hall with batons.
“Down! Get him down!”
Caitlyn fought them, harder than she ever thought she could. She threw fists and elbows. Pure rage driving every movement. It took four of them to pin her against the wall.
Her chest heaved. Her vision tunneled.
“You hear me?” she screamed as they cuffed her. “That letter was my way out. You just buried yourself!”
A baton cracked into her ribs.
“Solitary,” someone barked. “Now. One week for him.”
They dragged her down the hall as the inmate she’d threatened curled into himself on the floor, sobbing. No one looked at her. No one dared.
The door to solitary slammed shut behind her with a final, echoing clang.
The cell was dark, cold, and silent.
Caitlyn slid down the wall, breathing hard, staring at Derrick’s massive hands locked in cuffs.
I lost it, she thought. And part of her had enjoyed how scared they were.
And now she knew the letter wasn’t going to get to her father. No one was going to help her.
“Fuck!” she screamed.
The door groaned open and light spilled into the cell.
Derrick didn’t move.
His eyes were locked on the floor, half-lidded, unfocused. He was crouched in the corner, back against cold concrete, knees bent, arms loose over them. His shirt was soaked with sweat and dirt, stained under the arms and at the collar. The stale air stank of body odor and piss.
He hadn’t spoken in days. No one came by except to toss in a tray and leave.
Now, the door clanked open and stayed that way.
“Let’s go, Kline,” a voice barked.
His head tilted slowly. This wasn’t Reynolds. Not any of the regulars. Some fresh guard trying to keep his tone steady.
He rose slowly, barefoot on the icy floor. His joints cracked as she stood. His frame was massive, broad and hulking, but her movements were a strained calm.
The guard hesitated before presenting the shackles. Derrick could see the nerves in his fingers.
He thought she might lunge.
He let them put on the shackles and take her out of the cell. The metal scraped against the ground as she moved.
His eyes scanned. Everything looked brighter than it should’ve. The hallway lights stabbed at her skull. His body twitched with barely contained energy.
Seven days alone with no one to talk to. Just anger and the feeling of power curling in her fists. He had spent three days pacing, two more punching the wall, and the rest in silence.
This isn’t me.
That had been her mantra at first.
But now, he couldn’t even remember how her old voice sounded. He just remembered how it felt to punch a man until he begged. To have everyone get out of your way.
The door at the end of the hallway opened.
“You’re being processed for return to gen pop,” the new guard said.
Still, he said nothing. He stepped through the threshold for the first time in days and smiled.
It was a predatory smile because tomorrow, he’d be gone. Back in that pretty little body of hers. And he couldn’t wait to get his revenge.
The sheets were silk. The room was warm and regal. Everything was perfect.
She was perfect.
Caitlyn turned her head lazily, hair splayed like a halo across the pillow. Nicole sat on the floor nearby, legs crossed, phone forgotten in her lap as she watched Caitlyn. Watched her like she was made of glass and stars.
“I don’t want this to end,” Nicole whispered, her voice tight.
Caitlyn gave a soft, dramatic sigh and rolled onto her back. The crop top rode up over her toned stomach, and she made no effort to fix it.
“It doesn’t have to,” she said, tracing a finger slowly down her bare thigh. “We could just… stay like this. Us. Safe. Away from him.”
Nicole flinched. “You really think he’d do something?”
Caitlyn hesitated. Just long enough.
Then: “I don’t want to talk about him tonight.”
Nicole crawled onto the bed, wrapping an arm around her, pressing her cheek to Caitlyn’s chest.
“I hate him,” she whispered. “I barely even know him and I hate him.”
Caitlyn stroked her hair. “Good.”
They stayed quiet for a moment. Then Nicole said, “Tell me again. What he did.”
Caitlyn closed her eyes, letting the lie flow like breath. “It wasn’t, like, all at once. It started with weird comments. Then, like, ‘accidental’ walks in. Asking if I was still a virgin. Buying me stuff and then saying I owed him.”
Nicole tensed, shaking.
“He’s sick,” she whispered.
Caitlyn let the tears come this time. It wasn’t overdone, but it was enough to look raw.
“I didn’t know who to tell,” she said. “I still don’t. But if the wrong person finds out about everything… he’ll tell them I’m lying. And he’s so powerful. I don’t have a chance. He will send me away.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Nicole said fiercely. “I won’t let him take you away.”
Caitlyn bit her lip, letting it tremble.
“Promise me.”
“I promise,” Nicole whispered. “He can’t hurt you ever again.”
Caitlyn pulled her into a slow kiss, tender and full of heat. Then she leaned back, her voice like honey.
“You’re all I have, Nikky.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said again.
Caitlyn smiled faintly, brushing a thumb along Nicole’s jaw.
Tomorrow, the clock was supposed to reset.
But Derrick wasn’t going anywhere.
Caitlyn kept her voice low, almost gentle.
“You know what scares me the most?” she said quietly.
Nicole lifted her head. “What?”
“That he’s going to wake up tomorrow and decide he’s done taking the risk of me. That he’ll walk in here like nothing’s wrong and smile at and act like the perfect dad.” Caitlyn swallowed, eyes shining. “And then he’ll kill me.”
Nicole’s jaw tightened.
“And he’ll get away with it too” Caitlyn continued. “He’ll tell everyone I was unstable. That I was going to hurt him.” She shook her head slowly. “People like him… they always get believed.”
Nicole sat up straighter. “He wouldn’t.”
“He would,” Caitlyn said softly. “And he’ll do it calmly and get his lawyers to clean it all up.” A pause. “He’ll just make me disappear.”
Nicole’s hands curled into fists.
“I can’t go back,” Caitlyn whispered. “I can’t be alone with him again. Not ever.”
Nicole stood abruptly. “I won’t let that happen.”
Caitlyn reached for her wrist. “Nikky… I don’t want you to do anything stupid.”
Nicole looked down at her, eyes bright and furious. “I’m not stupid.”
“I just need to know you’re on my side,” Caitlyn said. “That if he tries something… you won’t freeze.”
“I won’t,” Nicole said immediately. “I swear I won’t.”
Caitlyn let go.
Nicole grabbed her phone from the floor, fingers shaking as she unlocked it. “I just need a minute,” she said. “I need to…”
She didn’t finish the sentence. She turned and rushed out of the room, footsteps pounding down the hallway.
Caitlyn lay back against the pillows, heart steady, listening.
There was shouting downstairs. She could hear Nicole’s voice. It was high and raw.
She heard her dad’s voice next. Confused then angry.
She heard something crash and then a sharp, metallic bang echoed through the house.
Caitlyn closed her eyes and smiled.
Derrick sat on the edge of the cot, elbows on his knees, staring at the blank concrete wall.
Today was the day.
She’d replayed that line in her head for the past six nights, whispering it to herself like a prayer.
Today’s the day. One more night. One more shower with cold water. One more tray of slop. Then I go home.
But the morning had come and gone and nothing. Then the afternoon. Nothing.
Now the sliver of sunlight from the high, barred window was sliding further down the wall, long and golden.
The shadows were growing.
Caitlyn—trapped in Derrick’s huge, brutal frame—sat still. Bare-chested, sweat-slick, muscles coiled like wire.
But no one came. No message. No transfer. No anything.
He stood, paced. His bare feet thudded against the cracked concrete floor. His callused knuckles flexed involuntarily, twitching with rage.
“Okay,” he muttered, deep voice alien in his throat. “They’re just late. That’s all.”
He looked at the door.
He banged on the door. “HEY!” His voice boomed like thunder in the hall. “It’s time! I’m supposed to be transferred today!”
No response.
Again. Louder. Fists slamming the steel until it rang.
“I did my time! You promised I’d go back! YOU PROMISED!”
A guard approached, one she hadn’t seen much before. His boots echoed down the hall with lazy confidence, like he wasn’t in any rush. In his hand, a folded sheet of paper.
He stopped just outside the bars.
“Inmate Kline,” he said flatly. “Got something for you.”
The guard held it through the bars. She snatched it without a word.
It was a printout.
Header:Law Office of Thomas Royce – Royce Technologies Legal Division Subject:RE: Services Timestamp:4:32 PM Today
Her eyes darted to the center of the message. It wasn’t long.
To Whom It May Concern,
We regret to inform you that the council, Thomas Royce, has passed away due to unforeseen circumstances. We know this will come as a shock to you. Please understand this is the last you will hear from us.
Regards, Caitlyn Royce
She read it twice. Then a third time.
His hand started to shake. The paper crumpled between her fingers. His vision blurred and the walls closed in.
He stumbled back, breath ragged, hands twitching at her sides. A low sound rose from his chest. It was a laugh at first, broken and short. Then it turned into a scream.
He grabbed the nearest thing and hurled it across the cell. It crashed against the wall, ricocheted, and clanged to the floor.
He kicked the cot. Punched the wall.
Again. Again. Again.
Blood splattered. His knuckles split open, raw and pulsing. He didn’t stop.
“FUCK YOU!” he bellowed. “FUCK ALL OF YOU!”
The guard stepped back, hand twitching near his baton, but he didn’t intervene.
Derrick collapsed onto the floor, panting. Laughing again. Dry, bitter laughter that sounded nothing like her.
He looked down at his broken hands and whispered, hoarse and shaking:
“This was never supposed to be forever…”
But it was.
And something inside her cracked open wide and didn’t close again.
The sun kissed her skin as she reclined poolside, one leg dangling lazily over the edge of the chaise lounge. Caitlyn sipped a cucumber-lime spritzer through a glass straw, her freshly manicured nails glinting in the light.
The world was perfect and the past was forgotten.
The cold tile beneath her, the shimmer of the infinity pool, the gentle hush of the breeze rustling through palm trees was all hers. Her name, her body, her life.
She’d won.
“Miss Royce?” A voice called from the sliding glass door. One of the house staff. “Your trainer is here.”
She waved without looking. “Give me ten. I’m finishing my letters.”
The man nodded and disappeared.
Caitlyn uncrossed her legs and sat up slowly, the silk robe sliding off one shoulder. She plucked a lavender envelope from the small stack beside her. Each one sealed neatly. Each one signed with a looping, dramatic C.
Letters to Nicole.
She still wrote once a week.
Sometimes longer ones. Sometimes just a postcard.
They never said much. Just little nothings. Memories that Caitlyn knew would keep Nicole obsessed. Strings tugged with surgical precision.
I miss your skin. I think of your hands. How safe I felt. How brave you were for me. They’ll let you out early. I know it.
The lies came easily now. They always had, but now they flowed through soft pink lips and a sugar-sweet voice no one ever doubted.
Nicole was doing nine years.
The real Caitlyn was trapped inside his old body, buried alive inside steel and concrete. Not that Derrick thought about her much anymore.
She tucked the last envelope into her monogrammed clutch and rose from the chair, stretching luxuriously. Her robe fluttered as she walked inside, hips swaying naturally now, perfectly, like they’d always belonged to her.
Tomorrow was yoga. Then brunch. Then a brand shoot for her wellness line.
She had freedom. She had influence. He had youth. She had beauty. It was all power.
And no one, not a soul, knew the truth.
Because the truth was just a story, and Caitlyn Royce was very good at telling stories.
With a smile that never faltered, she dropped Nicole’s letters in the outgoing mail tray.
“Dude, just open it already.” Toby was practically bouncing with anticipation.
Jason raised an eyebrow but took the gift anyway. It was wrapped in fancy red-and-green tartan paper, creased at the corners, topped with a plastic red bow. It was wrapped immaculately.
“Did you wrap this yourself?” he asked, giving it a little shake. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”
Jason peeled the paper back and was blinded by a bright, white flash of light.
He staggered, blinking. His ears rang, and his skin tingled like he’d been hit by static.
“What the….”
He immediately felt cold and realized his clothes were gone.
“What the hell?!” he yelped, jerking backward and nearly stumbling into the coffee table.
Instead of his clothes, the tartan wrapping paper was on him. Wrapped tightly around his chest, shoulders, waist… everywhere. Crinkled red paper clung to his skin, holding fast.
He looked down at himself. “Toby… what the fuck is this?”
Toby’s eyes were huge, his mouth half-open like he was trying not to laugh.
Jason spun, still clutching the now-empty box. “Seriously? Is this some kind of disappearing clothes gag? You thought this was funny?!”
“I think it’s hilarious,” Toby responded. His eyes darted to Jason’s legs and his grin shifted.
Jason followed his gaze down and froze.
His thighs were thicker. Not like gym-thicker, they were softer.
“What the hell?” he whispered.
The wrap tightened across his hips. He could feel his waist drawing inward, bones shifting, skin tingling. His balance wobbled.
Jason’s hands flew to his chest. It felt soft. And then, unmistakably, full. A pressure bloomed under his palms.
His heart started to race. “No. No, no, no. Toby!”
His nipples pushed against the paper. His arms trembled. His breathing got quicker.
This wasn’t just a prank. Something was changing him.
“Make it stop,” Jason hissed, voice rising with panic. “Make it stop!”
But inside, beneath the fear, a flicker of warmth bloomed low in his belly. He tried to ignore it.
He tried to pretend it didn’t feel… good.
Jason gasped as the paper squeezed tighter around his hips. He grabbed at it, trying to tear it off, but it wouldn’t budge. It clung to him like skin. Every tug just made the pressure worse.
His legs were changing. He could feel bone shifting, muscle reshaping. His thighs pressed together in a way that felt foreign, wrong. His calves slimmed, feet tingled as they narrowed.
Toby stood there watching intently as his friend and roommate changed.
“Toby. Do something!” Jason snapped, his voice cracking again, higher this time.
“I am doing something,” he said, smiling. “I’m watching.”
“You knew this would happen?”
Toby’s smile twitched wider. “I hoped. I mean I paid enough for it.”
Jason’s chest burned. His hands flew up again just in time to feel two soft mounds swelling beneath his palms. They rose steadily, nipples tightening against the slick wrap, sending a shiver through him.
Her back arched involuntarily.
“F-fuck,” he gasped, lips parting.
Toby took a step closer, voice low and measured. “ It’s… working even better than I thought.”
Jason’s skin tingled everywhere now, buzzing under the surface. Hair was falling off his body and onto the floor.
That’s… fine. I never liked shaving anyway.
The thought came uninvited.
The paper had shifted. The piece around his chest had clean edges and clung like a crop top. The lower half dipped high on the thighs, barely a skirt, with a ribbon cinched over one hip.
“Toby, what the hell is happening to me?” Jason whispered in an increasingly feminine voice.
The hair on her scalp with a tingle, then a tickling rush as thick, dark locks spilled over her shoulders in waves. Her bangs shifted as her face softened. Her cheeks filled out. Her lips plumped. Her lashes curled upward with a slow flutter.
She saw reflection and knew she should be more panicked. Instead, her mind snagged on smaller things.
This paper actually looks kind of cute on me.
Her fingers drifted down to tug playfully at the edge of her paper skirt. It was too short, too tight, and not something Jason would ever wear, but she wasn’t thinking like Jason anymore.
“Toby,” she asked, voice sweet and uncertain, “why does this feel so good?”
Toby stepped closer. “Because you love wearing sexy clothes.”
She blinked slowly. “I… I do?”
He nodded, looking at her like he already knew the answer. “You’ve always been comfortable showing off your body. That’s why you spend so much time at the gym. To have a hot, sexy body you can show off. Especially with me.”
She bit her lip. It made sense in a weird way. Like a half-remembered dream just out of reach.
He touched her hand and she didn’t pull away.
“You’re perfect like this,” Toby added.
Her heart fluttered. “Perfect…?”
He smiled. “You’re everything I imagined you’d be.”
Her cheeks flushed, and the warmth deepened.
Why does that make me feel… proud?
Toby stepped behind her, fingers brushing down her sides as he adjusted the wrap gently, smoothing it down along her hips. “A little crooked,” he murmured, fixing it. “There. You always like things to sit just right.”
Jason frowned. “I… do?”
Toby nodded easily, like it was obvious. “All the time. You pretend you don’t care, but you’re always checking yourself out in mirrors and windows. Or you’re taking selfies when you think no one’s looking.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came out.
Instead, a memory surfaced. Adjusting a tank top before the gym. Pulling a shirt tighter in the mirror. Wondering if her legs looked better today than yesterday.
I do like looking hot.
“You like knowing people look at you,” Toby continued, voice calm, steady. “You like feeling attractive. You enjoy it.”
“You really love it when I look at you,” he added. “It makes you wet just thinking about it.”
She could tell it was true. She was really turned on right now and Toby’s hungry stare just made her more horny.
“I do,” she agreed. “I love it when you fuck me with your eyes.”
She walked over to him suggestively.
“But I like it even more when you fuck me with your cock,” she added.
“Jesus Christ, Jones. Get your head together. That’s a fuckiin’ purge line.”
Ryan Mackenzie didn’t yell often. But when he did, his voice cut through the yard like steel on concrete. He towered over the younger man, arms folded tight across a chest that had spent two decades lifting heavy wares. His face was dusted with grime, a week’s worth of sun-baked scowl etched into every line.
“I—I thought it was—”
“Yeah, you thought. And now half the station’s prepped for vapor flush because your dumb ass can’t read a tag. You got a damn training binder, didn’t you?”
The younger Ryan, that everyone called Jones, winced and looked down at his boots. The nickname stuck the moment he’d stepped on-site last month. Jones was green. Quick to volunteer, yet slower to listen. Ryan had tried being patient, but today tested every last inch of his rope.
They stood in the shadow of the new solvent-processing tank, Unit 9B. The thing had been craned into place last week and piped in over the weekend, courtesy of subcontractors who swore it was “plug-and-play.” The whole rig smelled off to Ryan. Too many hands had signed off without reading the fine print and no one had tested it properly.
Ryan turned toward the gauge panel, squinting at the pressure readout.
“Jones,” he said flatly, stepping forward. “What exactly did you touch?”
“Just the blue valve on…”
Shhhhck!
A hiss of vapor erupted from the seam where two braided hoses met. Then came the hot chemical spray bursting directly across Ryan’s chest.
Ryan stood there with his arms half-raised, blinking through the sudden fog, blinking as his shirt turned dark and wet and steam poured off his body.
“Get back,” he growled.
“But…”
“Back!” His voice cracked like thunder this time, sending Jones scrambling.
The mist clung to Ryan, stinging his skin. He stumbled back two steps, then caught himself on the railing.
Ryan heard more shouting in the distance, but they seemed further away. Or maybe he was losing some sense of the room around him.
He looked down at his hands and felt a tingling sensation. It started at his fingers and toes, but started to draw inward towards his core.
He heard Jones’s voice.
“It was all my fault….”
Ryan’s gloves slipped off his hands as his fingers twitched. They looked… thinner. Like someone else’s hands were on his arms. The calluses he’d carried for years were fading under the sheen of the chemical film.
“Jesus,” he muttered, shaking them out. His voice cracked.
He turned, trying to get clear of the vapor cloud, but every step felt off. He was off-balance as the tingling sensation enveloped his entire body.
The pressure inside his boots felt off, like his boots didn’t fit right anymore. He stumbled and leaned hard against the metal grating.
“Jones!” he shouted.
But it came out tight and squeaky. He clamped his mouth shut.
No. Not my voice. That’s not…
His chest felt strange and swollen. His shirt was pulling at him in a way it never had.
“Emergency showers!” a voice yelled from the other side of the platform. “He’s exposed!”
Ryan staggered toward the safety zone, barely able to see through the mist. Everything felt distorted. The whistle of the wind, the weight of his limbs, the pressure in his joints. It was all off.
He reached the station and grabbed the shower lever with shaking hands. Cold water slammed into him, knocking the air from his lungs. He gasped, chest heaving, then froze.
He knew the instructions. Get under the shower and remove your clothing.
His hands went to the buttons and he nearly ripped them free in a panic, peeling the drenched fabric away from his skin.
Jones appeared at the edge of the fog, wide-eyed. “Boss..shit! What do I do? What do I…?”
Ryan turned to yell something, anything but stopped the second he caught his reflection in the steel panel behind the tank.
It was distorted, warped by the droplets sliding down the surface. But it was clear to Ryan that his face was changing.
What the hell…
Even as he watched, his reflection shifted. His cheekbones climbing higher and stubble smoothing out. His lips seemed to be plumping.
His hard, square jaw that had survived bar fights and close shaves was softening, tapering. His neck looked slimmer.
“Fuck,” he hissed, reaching for his face. His fingers brushed skin that felt… delicate.
And then he felt movement low in his gut. Something shifting, tightening, pulling everything inward.
His pants were loose now. Sliding down his hips.
It wasn’t just his hips. His waist was pulling in, stomach flattening, everything below the beltline reorganizing itself with a deep, unsettling pressure that made him brace against the shower pipe with both hands.
“Boss?” Jones’s voice was closer now, panicked.
Ryan jerked his head toward him, water still pelting his back.
“Don’t come any closer!” he barked.
But it came out shrill and feminine.
Jones starred on in disbelief.
“Are you…oh fuck. Are you okay?”
Ryan looked down at himself. His soaked shirt, now clinging like a second skin, outlined two full, unmistakable curves straining the front. His nipples were darker and perkier, pressing against the fabric. He slapped both hands over his chest, like that would somehow reverse it, fix it, undo it.
He couldn’t even form a sentence. His whole body was still moving.
He stood frozen in the shower, staring at the woman in the reflection. His mouth opened, then closed again, but Nothing came out.
Ryan forced himself to breathe. Each inhale felt wrong. His center of gravity was shifting by the second. Even the way the cold water hit his skin had changed. His body felt more sensitive, more exposed.
“I…” he tried again, but it caught in his throat.
His hands shook as he tore the shirt the rest of the way open, buttons snapping off and clattering across the metal grate. He needed to see.
And there they were. Two full and impossible breasts, rising and falling with each uneven breath. He had a narrow waist and curved hips that flared in a way that didn’t belong on his frame.
He looked like someone else. Felt like someone else. But the person in the mirror was clearly him.
Jones took a slow step forward. “Boss…?”
Ryan backed into the corner of the shower stall, slipping slightly on the slick metal. “Don’t fucking look at me.”
“But. What’s happening to you?”
“I don’t know!” Ryan snapped, voice high and shaking. “Goddammit, Jones. You tell me. You opened the fucking valve!”
Jones flinched at the anger in Ryan’s voice.
Ryan clutched the pipe behind him. His muscles, whatever muscles he still had, trembled under the weight of what was happening.
Whatever was in that spray, it wasn’t just some industrial solvent.
Ryan heard the siren stop as the chemical leak had been contained. He heard a radio buzzing and feet pounding all around him.
Ryan’s heart slammed against his ribs and, suddenly feeling very exposed, she scrambled for what was left of her shirt. The fabric was torn, clinging, useless.
“Jones,” she said through clenched teeth. “You need to get everyone the fuck away from here.”
Jones blinked. “But the medics…”
“Now.”
He nodded, finally, and turned to run.
Ryan leaned against the shower wall, trying to steady her breath. The water was still running, cold and relentless. Her nipples were stiff under the pressure, her skin hypersensitive, almost twitching.
She looked down again. The changes had slowed, but not stopped. Her thighs had thickened. Her feet looked dainty. Even her goddamn feet. The work boots now sat wide and empty near the drain.
She squeezed her eyes shut, one arm clutching across her chest, the other still gripping the pipe behind her.
“I’m okay,” she muttered. “Just shock. This is just shock. This’ll wear off.”
But she didn’t believe it. Not for a second.
She shifted her weight and her thighs brushed together and the jolt that shot up her spine made her gasp.
What the fuck was that?
She let go of the pipe, fingers trembling. Her hand drifted down instinctively, brushing over the flat plane of her new tight stomach.
Her hand moved lower, but she stopped herself.
No. Don’t you fucking dare.
She turned away from the reflective panel, disgusted with the thought. With the urge. But the friction between her thighs when she moved, God, it was insistent. Like it wasn’t going away.
Like her body wanted something her mind wasn’t ready to name.
Ryan tried to push it down, bury it like she would a busted jobsite emotion. But her heart was still hammering, and now her chest, her breasts, ached under the weight of cold water and overstimulated nerves.
Her body was asking for something now. No, Ryan thought, it is demanding it.
A quiet, treacherous voice in the back of her mind started whispering.
Just touch. Just once. Figure out what’s going on. It’s not like anyone can see you.
Her hand twitched lower, brushing the waistband of her soaked cargo pants.
She exhaled through her teeth. The sound that came out of her mouth was soft and wanting.
Goddammit.
The cargo pants were heavy with water, dragging low on her hips. The waistband was only held up because it was resting on curves that hadn’t existed minutes ago. She shifted her weight and they started to fall.
She grabbed instinctively, and as her fingers grasped the pants they also brushed up against her newly formed slit.
A jolt of pleasure shot through her body. She yelped as the pleasure, even from this slight touch, echoed through her body.
She bit down on her lip. She was not going to lose control. Not here and not like this.
But every instinct she had were being overridden. The same instincts that had kept her alive on this job, that had made her a crew lead, that had told her when to get out where now becoming something much more primal.
This body isn’t me, she thought, chest rising and falling in quick little pants. It doesn’t know who I am.
But it knew what it wanted.
She tried to stand still, breathe through it, ride it out like a muscle cramp. But the heat kept building in waves. Every trickle of water down her spine felt like a tongue. Every gust of wind across her soaked top sent her nipples into aching peaks.
Her hand found its way downward now. Her mind unable to stop her instinct. Her hands wouldn’t stay still.
One touch, the voice said. One touch and it’ll pass. Just see what this body is wired for.
Her hand hovered there, trembling. She didn’t want this. She didn’t. But the heat tearing through her already had her body curling inward, tightening, begging.
Her fingers started rubbing against her clit. It was just a brush. Barely anything.
But her whole body buckled.
Her knees nearly gave out as a wave of pleasure slammed into her hard enough to steal her breath. She caught herself against the wall with her free hand, chest heaving, nipples aching under her soaked shirt.
“Stop—” she whispered, but her voice was thin, needy, useless.
Her hips moved on their own. Her hand moved on its own.
Her mind clawed for control, but the chemicals were winning. Her new nerves were winning. Every inch of her body felt wired to react, to want, to chase the feeling spiraling up through her belly and into her chest like it might consume her whole.
She let out a sound she didn’t recognize.
She was losing. She was losing.
Another wave surged through her and she leaned forward with a gasp, forehead pressing to the cold metal, her breath fogging against it.
“Boss? Ryan?! Are you…”
Jones.
Her entire body locked up mid‑shudder, pleasure still coiled inside her like a live wire with nowhere to go. Her breath caught in her throat. She ripped her hand back like she’d been burned, slamming it against her thigh.
Jones rounded the corner into the shower bay and skidded to a stop.
He saw her with her shirt hanging open, cargo pants barely clinging to her new hips, water streaming down her trembling body, her face flushed, lips parted, eyes wild with something she couldn’t hide.
“Oh. Oh shit. Sorry!” Jones whipped around so fast he slipped on the wet grate. “I…I didn’t know you were… I mean… I thought you fell! I wasn’t… I didn’t see anything!”
Ryan’s heart pounded so hard she thought it might burst.
She couldn’t speak.. The pleasure she’d been building toward still throbbed through her nerves with nowhere to go, leaving her shaking, embarrassed, furious at her body for betraying her.
“Just…” her voice cracked, then steadied into something harsher. “Just stay turned around, Jones.”
“Yep! Yes! Already am!”
Jones kept babbling excuses, hands over his face, body turned away, but Ryan didn’t hear a word. The chemicals were still flooding her system. The need twisting through her stomach wasn’t fading. If anything, it sharpened, refocused, hooked hard onto the nearest source of warmth and breath and male scent.
“Jones,” she said.
He froze. “Y‑yeah?”
“Turn around.”
“I really don’t think I sho…”
“Turn around.”
Jones turned slowly, cautiously, like he expected to get yelled at again, or eaten alive.
When he faced her, Ryan stepped forward.
She moved in a fluid, instinctive motion her old body would never have made.
Jones took a half‑step back until his shoulders hit the steel support post. His eyes were wide. His lips parted, unsure whether to speak or breathe.
“Boss…?”
Ryan’s breath caught as she got close enough to feel his heat. Close enough that their chests almost brushed. She could smell him. His sweat, his dust, that cheap soap he used. The scent hit her like a punch and she inhaled sharply, her whole body tightening.
Her hand rose before she even realized she was doing it, fingers trembling as they hovered near his jaw.
Jones’s voice cracked. “Ryan… what are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, and it was the only honest thing she could manage.
She pressed him back against the post, her palm landing flat against his chest. He wasn’t resisting. He wasn’t even breathing right. Just staring at her like he didn’t recognize her, but couldn’t look away.
“Please,” she murmured, barely aware she’d said it.
Jones swallowed hard, eyes dropping to her mouth. His hand twitched upward, like he might touch her hip. Like he wanted to.
“Ryan,” he said softly, “you’re not… thinking straight.”
Her forehead touched his. Her lips hovered, trembling. One breath away.
“I can’t,” she whispered but her body leaned in anyway.
Then she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him down to her. Her lips pressed to his with desperate force, but there was a trembling in it too. It was a hunger she couldn’t hide any longer.
Jones inhaled sharply through his nose, surprised, but his hands found her waist on instinct. She felt the shock in him, the hesitation, and then the moment he gave in. His grip tightened and his mouth opened to hers. The kiss deepened, softened for a moment, then surged forward again, messy and honest.
His fingers slid up her chest, feeling the curves of her body. Heat rushed through her, fierce and dizzying. Their bodies pressed together, water still dripping from her hair onto his neck, each breath they stole from each other growing warmer, shorter, needier.
“Hazmat team incoming! Clear the bay!”
Ryan flinched, breaking the spell, as Jones jerked away. Reality slammed back into her like cold steel. She was mortified. She pulled up her jumpsuit and turned away.
What is going to become of her life now?
The clank of boots on metal echoed through the scaffold walk. Lunch break was winding down, sun high and hot, the crew slow to get moving again.
Ryan didn’t rush. She leaned against the open trailer doorway, one hip cocked, idly twirling a pasta noodle on her tongue while she watched the yard. Her high-vis jumpsuit was half-zipped, just enough to tease a hint of cleavage without breaking site rules. Her collar was popped, hair loose under the hard hat, nails short but polished.
She caught Jones staring again.
“Eyes up, rookie,” she said, not unkindly, raising her eyebrows above her clear-lens safety glasses.
Jones flushed and fumbled with his water bottle. “I…I wasn’t….”
“Sure you weren’t.” She pushed off the doorway with a sway of her hips, walking past him slowly. “You check the 9B lines like I told you?”
She stopped beside him and leaned close enough for him to catch her scent. It was light and clean with just a hint of something floral she’d never worn before. Her voice dropped low, close to his ear.
“Good. I’d hate to get soaked again. You remember what happened last time.”
He swallowed. “Kinda hard to forget.”
She grinned, turned, and walked away, swinging her hips just enough to make it clear she knew he was watching.
She was still Ryan and still in charge.
But if someone wanted to stare a little longer these days… well, she didn’t mind.
Joey paused the game, pulling off his headset. The noises coming from Frank’s room had started as muffled groans. Then they turned into full-on cries. “Frank?” he called out, uncertain.
No answer came from behind Frank’s door.
Joey stood, padding barefoot down the hall. Another cry came that sounded like Frank was in pain.
“Dude, are you okay?” Joey knocked once, then again harder. “Frank?”
A strangled scream shot through the door. Joey’s heart jumped. He grabbed the doorknob, twisted it, but it was locked and didn’t budge.
“Okay, not funny, man. Are you hurt? Say something!”
The next sound stopped him cold. It was a scream, or at least started that way, but turned into a long and deep moan. “The hell?”
Just as he reared back to slam the door open with his shoulder, the knob clicked. Slowly, the door creaked open.
Some girl stood in the doorway, lit by the soft LED glow of Frank’s gaming rig. Platinum blonde hair spilled around a tanned, dewy face. Full pink lips curled up in a clueless grin. Her makeup was perfect. Her massive chest barely fit into a white tank top stretched to its limit.
She tilted her head and giggled. “Joey?”
Joey’s brain locked up. His mouth opened. “Uh… what?”
“It’s me,” she said, biting her lip. “Frankie.”
He stared. “What the fuck?”
Frankie giggled again. “Oh my god, you should see your face right now.” She stepped into the hallway, her hips swaying seductively.
“I was so tired of being Frank, you know? Smart and… ugly. I wasn’t happy.”
Joey stumbled back a step. “What happened to you?”
“I found this spell,” she said, running her fingers through her flawless hair. “It was supposed to, like, make me hot. Just, you know, finally fix things.”
Joey stared. “Wait, like a real spell?”
Frankie nodded, blinking slowly. “It said I had to give something up in return. It didn’t say what. I, um, didn’t really care. It didn’t say anything about turning me into a girl.”
She paused, then gave a clueless little laugh. “Although, honestly? This body’s insane.”
Joey rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re telling me you didn’t mean to do this?”
“Not exactly.” Frankie shrugged, her boobs bouncing from the motion. “I thought I’d just end up, like, hotter. Like muscles and stuff.”
Joey blinked. “But you don’t just look different. You’re talking differently too.”
Frankie gave him a look, then squinted like she was trying to solve a word problem. “Yeah, like, I keep trying to say smart stuff, and it just… isn’t there anymore.” She giggled.
Joey’s mouth opened, then shut again. “Jesus.”
Frankie smiled wide. “I know, right? I can’t even be mad. Being dumb is kind of fun. Like, you don’t even care what people think, because you’re too busy being cute.”
Frankie shifted, tugging her tight tank top down, though it was a losing battle. Her chest just refused to stay covered. “God,” she murmured, catching Joey’s gaze and not letting go. “You keep looking at me like that.”
Joey flinched. “Like what?”
She stepped closer. “Like you like looking at me.” Her voice was soft now. “Like you want me.”
He backed up until his shoulders hit the wall. “Frankie, maybe we should slow down.”
Her hand pressed lightly against his chest. “No, I just figured out I’m horny now. Like… all the time. And I never felt this way before. Never even looked at guys like that when I was Frank. But now?” She leaned in, lips brushing against his ear. “You’re really cute.”
Joey’s heart pounded. “Frankie…”
She bit her lip and giggled. “It’s so stupid, right? I know I shouldn’t be into this. I was a dude. But now I’m… I mean, look at me.” She took a step back and did a little spin, her shorts riding higher. “I’m basically built to be a hot, horny mess.”
Joey swallowed hard. “And you’re okay with that?”
She gave a dreamy smile. “More than okay. I feel amazing. And if I don’t think too hard, which is easy, I just… enjoy it.” Her hand grazed the waistband of his sweatpants. “Wanna help me enjoy it?”
Joey didn’t move for a second. Just stared at her, his former roommate who now stood inches from him, looking like a wet dream in tank-top and gym shorts, blinking up at him like a confused cheerleader who’d just discovered boys.
Then she smiled again. That soft, vacant little smile.
“Frankie…” he whispered.
She tilted her head, her lips parting ever so slightly. “Yeah?”
He kissed her.
The moment his lips touched hers, she melted against him with a surprised gasp that turned into a needy moan. Her fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him closer, pressing her soft, curvy body tight to his.
“Oh my god,” she whispered when they finally broke apart. Her eyes were glazed, cheeks flushed. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”
Frankie’s eyes dropped to his chest, then lower. Her voice went breathy. “Um… can we do it again?”
“Come at me, bro,” Jake said, swaggering forward with a cocky grin and a sharp crack of his knuckles. The fluorescent lights of the hallway shimmered off his sleeveless tank. He was a mountain of a man and with his tank, jeans, and backwards hat he strolled the halls causing torment to weaklings. Weaklings like Harold.
Harold pressed back against the locker. “Jake…”
Jake closed the gap in a second, shoving Harold’s shoulder hard. “What, you nervous now? Gonna cry again?” he sneered. “You got something to say, say it to my face.”
Harold eyed Jake’s bubblegum pink crop top, the tight fabric riding just above his sculpted abs.
It’s starting.
“Say it!” Jake barked, getting in his face. “You got something on your mind, four-eyes?”
God, he’s huge. Harold barely kept his voice steady. “Y-you…uh… I was just wondering if…if you… changed up your gym routine or something.”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “What the hell kind of weird question is that?” He flexed his arm, though the bulge was slightly smaller than before. “You into me or something?”
Jake threw a hard punch into Harold’s stomach. Harold doubled over before giving a nervous shake of the head, buying time.
Jake scratched at his side. His fingers froze at the feel of smooth skin where body hair had once been. He tugged the hem of the crop top up, frowning. His obliques were fading and curving.
He glanced down. His hands hovered for a second, then cupped his chest.
“…Must be that new protein powder,” he muttered, trying to laugh it off.
Harold swallowed hard. “Totally. Probably just a bloat cycle. Y’know, from…uh… estrogen dominance?”
Jake’s head snapped toward him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He threw another punch into Harold’s stomach. It hurt, but wasn’t as bad as the first.
“N-nothing. Just something I read. On Reddit. Fitness sub.”
“You read too much crap.”
But his voice had pitched up. Just slightly. Enough that his brow furrowed when he heard it. His hand went to his throat. “Okay, that’s not funny.”
Jake looked down at himself again. The jeans were clinging tight to his legs, which were visibly softening. His quads were longer and leaner.
“Okay, what the fuck is going on?” he snapped, the aggressive tone still present, but laced with a touch of panic?
“I swear to God, Harold, if this is some kinda prank…”
His voice cracked.
Harold shook his head frantically. “No prank! I swear! Maybe your hormone cycle’s out of whack. Real alpha dudes have, uh… hormonal shifts sometimes. Like a woman does. Natural stuff. ”
Jake glared. “Are you calling me a chick?”
“No! No no no. Not yet… I mean, not ever!”
Jake took a step forward to shove him again, but stumbled. His balance was off as his center of gravity had shifted. The crop top rode higher with his bellybutton now visible and pierced.
“What the…” His hand flew to it. “Why the hell do I have jewelry in my…?”
He trailed off as strands of blonde hair brushed across his forehead. His hand darted up, grabbing at longer locks.
“What the hell is this?!” he snapped, his voice now halfway between masculine bark and breathy indignation. “Is this a wig? Is this a wig?!”
He yanked at the roots but nothing moved.
Harold winced. “I told you to hydrate.”
Jake spun on him, fury and fear swirling behind his eyes. He threw another punch at Harold, but it was slow and uncoordinated. Harold was able to block it.
His legs trembled slightly, knees turned inward. “This isn’t funny, Harold.”
“I know.”
Jake clenched his fists but noticed his nails were longer now, making fists hard to make.
But his eyes narrowed. “You know something. You’re scared but not surprised. So talk. Now.”
Harold opened his mouth, words catching on his tongue. He only needed another a little longer for the mind to start syncing. Just enough time…
“Jake,” Harold said, deciding to play dumb. “Something weird is happening to your body. I don’t know what it is, but you can fight it.”
Jake growled. “What do you mean? Why is this happening?”
His lips were plumper now and his face decidedly feminine. His hat changed from blue to pink as he shifted his stance without thought.
“Look,” Harold said quickly, “whatever you’re feeling right now, I’m sure it’s gonna pass. Just breathe.”
Jake tried to snarl but even the snarl came out higher and softer. It was almost cute.
“I am in charge,” he snapped.
And then his crop top shifted into being just a pink bra.
“…What the hell is this?”
Harold checked his watch. Sixty seconds left.
Jake stared at his body.
“I…” he started, but his voice came out breathy, soft, and very confused.
Harold stepped closer. “You good?”
Jake blinked slowly, pupils dilating like he was processing too much at once.
“I don’t understand what’s happening,” he whispered.
Harold tilted his head. “What’s the last thing you do understand?”
Jake’s lips parted. “I was pissed. I was gonna kick your ass.” He looked down at his hands again. At the glossy nails, the smooth fingers, and the narrow wrists.
“But now I feel like… like I’m not supposed to. Like that’d be dumb or something.”
Harold chuckled. “You’re right. It would’ve been dumb. And honestly? A little unladylike.”
Jake shot him a sharp look, but Harold didn’t flinch. He held his ground now. He was taller by comparison and knew he could control this part of the transformation.
“You’ve changed, Jake. But it’s okay. You don’t need to fight it.”
“I don’t feel like I’m a Jake,” he admitted quietly.
“I know,” Harold said. “Because maybe… you’re not. Not really. Not anymore.”
Jake swallowed, lips twitching. “Then who the hell am I?”
Harold stepped in, brushing a strand of hair behind Jake’s ear, lingering just long enough to let the intimacy settle in.
“You’re hot,” he said. “You’re soft, sexy, and honestly? You’re my girlfriend, silly. You’re Jacky!”
Jake hesitated. “That’s …”
Harold leaned closer, building with confidence. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”
Jacky flushed. The statement from Harold ringing down into his core. Into his soul. Her thighs pressed together subtly, unconsciously, and his chest rose with another shaky breath.
“I’m…yours.”
Harold nodded, pleased. “Good girl.”
Jake’s body shivered with a soft, involuntary response.
Harold glanced down, slowly, taking in every perfect curve. “You’re built to be looked at. To be touched and kissed. You love the attention everyone gives you, but you are only mine to have.”
“Yours to have,” Jacky repeated.
The words felt strange in her mouth, but not wrong.
When Harold took her hand, she didn’t resist.
He ran his thumb across her knuckles, over the gleaming polish. “You’re really cute, you know that?”
Jacky flushed again. “Stop…”
“Why?” He stepped in close, their chests nearly brushing. “You’re blushing. I like that. I like how soft you get when I talk to you like this.”
Jacky tried to look away, but Harold tilted her chin up with two fingers. Her lashes fluttered.
“Look at you,” Harold said in disbelief at how well his plan had worked. “Can’t even make eye contact without getting all flustered.”
She swallowed. “I don’t feel like I’m thinking straight…”
“Because you’re not supposed to think straight,” Harold said gently. “Not anymore.”
“I’m not?”
“You don’t need to think, Jacky. You don’t want to. You want to be happy. Girly. Obedient. You want to be good for me.”
Jacky’s head swam with the new information.
“I…” she murmured, as Harold stepped behind her, placing his hands gently on her waist. His fingers gliding along the curve of her hips.
“You’re mine now, Jacky. And all you have to do is listen. Be pretty. Be sweet. Be the girl I know you are.”
Jacky shivered.
“I want to be sweet,” she whispered.
Harold leaned close, lips brushing her ear. “Then smile for me.”
Jacky turned, slow and dreamy, and gave him the softest, shyest smile he’d ever seen.
Hooked.
Jacky was still leaning against Harold’s arm when a familiar voice cut through the quad.
“Yo, nerd. What are you doing with her?”
Both of them turned. Tyler, Jake’s old gym partner, was standing there in a sleeveless hoodie and the same swagger Jake used to have. His grin faltered as he took in Jacky’s face.
“Yo, hot chick,” he said, stepping closer. “You new here? How about ditching this guy and letting a real man show you around?”
Harold stiffened, but Jacky just smiled. It was the kind of smile that made people forget their next words.
“Real man?” she said with a little laugh. “Um, like, is that what you think you are?”
Tyler blinked. “Excuse me?”
Jacky tapped her lip thoughtfully, then circled him once, her heels clicking on the pavement. “You act all big and stuff,” she said, her voice airy. “But it’s kinda funny. You talk like you’re in charge, but you just sound… scared. Like a puppy barking at the mirror.”
The laughter from nearby students made Tyler’s jaw tighten. “You got a smart mouth.”
Jacky giggled. “Not really. I just don’t like mean boys.”
She slid her arm back through Harold’s, smiling up at him. “This guy? He’s sweet. He gets me.” Her tone was simple, honest, almost childlike in its sincerity. “That’s what strong really is.”
Tyler’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Jacky smiled wider. “Run along, tough guy.”
Tyler muttered something under his breath and turned away, retreating through the small crowd now watching the exchange.
Jacky waited until he was gone, then let out a delighted laugh. “See? I told you you’re the only one for me.” She threw her arms around Harold and kissed him, a quick, joyful kiss that left them both breathless.
“I want more,” she stated and pulled him into a deep, wet kiss. Her hand crept down into his pants to give his penis a soft rub.
“Mmm…yummy,” she said, breaking the kiss. “Let’s go somewhere quieter where we can make some noise.
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