As punishment for his chauvinist, womanizing ways, Mark was cursed by a witch, being transformed into a female version of himself until he learned respect for the fairer sex. She claimed that he would be returned to normal after a month… provided he didn’t “objectify himself” in the meantime. Mark hadn’t a clue as to what that meant. For example, did he violate the parameters of his punishment as early as the first week by getting a few fresh tattoos? Likely not; Mark was hardly a creep for wanting to make his body his own. There’s no real distinction between having ink on one’s arm versus on one’s underboob. And if anything, going to the nail salon as often as he did for a fresh manicure just meant he was taking his role learning about the female experience seriously. Both points could PROBABLY be also applied to piercing his nipples. And his belly button. And one a little lower. Now, the real question was: had he already sealed his fate to live as a woman for the rest of his life when he scheduled the appointment with the surgeon, or would he actually need to have them put in the breast implants before the curse fully took hold? An interesting question, but not one he was going to get an answer for. He was going through with the procedure, come hell or high water. Mark’s new body was practically perfect, from his luscious hair all the way down to his dainty little feet, but he felt he needed to fill out his chest to balance out his wide, child-bearing hips and dumptruck ass. Besides, Mark was sure his new boyfriend wouldn’t complain about the upgrade. Well, boyfriendS, and there may be one or two that preferred the natural look, but that wasn’t their choice, was it? Mark was his own person, one that wouldn’t let men tell him how to dress or act or present himself.