“Does the carpet match the drapes?” a crude phrase (if you could call it that), but Gabe had hoped the pickup line would have a certain old-school charm for the red-headed baddie across the bar. 

The woman’s disgusted face didn’t seem promising at first, but she softened into a cool (perhaps, flirty?) expression before purring out, “Well, let’s find out shall we?”

Gabe didn’t expect things to go so well so fast, but he’d have no time to celebrate. With a wave of vertigo, he watched her grow until she towered over him. Panic set in as she rubbed the outline of a penis over designer trousers. His designer trousers. His legs. His penis.  

“You show me mine, I show you yours?” the woman cackled as Gabe looked down at his own legs, seeing only exposed, pale, feminine replacements. 

Having his first face-to-face with reality-bending magic, Gabe couldn’t run out to the street fast enough. It was a blur getting home, fear only allowing flashes of perception: kitten heels click-clacking against the concrete, miniskirt barely poking past his untucked dress shirt, a wolf-whistle he feared was directed at him. He made it home, stumbling all the way, but what did that solve? Reality was, Gabe would have to learn how to live with a pussy between thighs belonging to a stranger. 

Gabe lost a considerable amount of height, his pants bulged at the hips and thigh and baggy everywhere else, so despite his best efforts, it wasn’t like he could hide his changes to the outside world. He was mostly treated the same, thankfully, though his male coworkers were getting a little too friendly, acting helpful while leaning into his personal space. This extended to strangers as well, having people open doors for him. A ploy to ogle his ass as he walked away, no doubt; he himself used to pull that trick from time to time, after all. But the social ramifications were nothing compared to the compulsions he was developing. If he was too focused on another task- watching TV, for example- he would look down to see his hands move seemingly on their own, touching up his toenails with polish left behind by his ex. Every day without fail he found himself taking a razor to his delicate legs, but never able to shave around the pubic area, receiving a daily answer to his ill-advised question as he was forced to grow his very own ginger bush. Although at the moment he was able to still wear slacks, maintain some level of normalcy, he was drawn to the short skirt that came with his new legs, thinking about how the panties would be more comfortable on his figure than loose-fitting boxers. 'Shame to put so much work into them and NOT show them off,' was a thought that constantly floated around his head. Going completely bottomless at home staved off the worst of it, but it was only a matter of time before he would cave. And since he didn’t exactly have a manual on the thing, it was going to be a lovely mystery as to when he would start his period in the next couple of weeks. Even when the body part thief reached out, she wouldn’t tell him, nor be a help in the way he wanted; something told him when she asked if he “wants his dick back between his legs,” she wasn’t offering to reverse what she had done.