A flash of an idea.

The world, huh.

That... cast a large net.

Timothy felt himself looking down at his fingers. What would he want to change if he had the opportunity? Himself? Others? Society?

To be fair to himself, he never really gave this much thought. He was, perhaps, just that middle-in-the-road; so busy competing against both sides of the current that he never really thought of flipping the very thing on its head. Of changing the very reality he was already so invested in, at times to his own detriment. He wondered, and inside unlocked some hidden Pandora's box of fantasies, perverted, teeanged, hormonal alike.

He thought of the night before. Now that his mind had touched back down from dejection, he remembered the premise.

The teen groaned, the chair squeaking below,

Candice, he shook his head. His date with the pretty, and busty, dirty brunette was, well, a bust. It seemed like it would have worked out... but due to one tangential eye, everything had crash landed into nowhere.

It started well enough. Going to the movies. Getting dinner at a mid-tier restaurant. Oh, and an alleged creep in their midst. That alleged creep, of course, being him.

"Apparently, all because I was looking at a woman whose tits were practically about to fall out of her top..." Timothy murmured to himself before stopping. He shouldn't be bitter. That wasn't exactly the first occurrence, and after the argument over who should pay for the check, (long story), things were destined to turn sour.

But still. The way she'd blasted him after catching his wandering gaze, she made it seem like it was his fault that woman had been dressed that way. The concubine had been situated at a nearby table, asking for a refill, and that raised arm was nowhere near subtle. Her stubble-chinned companion certainly approved -- with a barely concealed tent in his pants.

Timothy grunted, and leaned forward. Before he knew it, he realized something that could be worth changing. Something 'harmless'.

Still too despondent to accept the notion that, in fact, he probably did hold at least some accountability that night, and could have at least apologized instead of calling her ass a tight Hadron collider, he proceeded to type into this old machine, like it wasn't just some fantasy, or dupe. When he finished, he eyed his work.

0000: Women flashing their desirable body parts or undergarments at men when enough interest is shown and/or as a casual gesture of farewell is seen as a harmless social norm.

Creak, went his chair.

Oh yeah. Now what? Whose fault would that moment from the night before be ascribed to this time?

Timothy paused. Then finally, he shook his head at his own lewdness. Of all the things in the world to change, of course it was something innately self-revolving.

Just as he was about to push on the backspace key, the familiar, matronly voice from below called after him.

"Tim!"

"Coming!" In his distraction, his finger came down and rather than the backspace, or any other notch, pressed the enter key instead. The brief flash that overtook the screen went unnoticed as Timothy looked back to check the time and cursed. "Damn it's late." He washed up in seconds' time (a personal record) and put on a new set of clothes. One hand around the doorknob, he paused to look at the old machine at his desk, noting to get to the bottom of it later. If only it really could change reality -- he would probably make it so he would get to school early somehow.

"I'll deal with you when I get back," he said. And then he closed the door. He rat-a-ta-tatted down the stairs, checked the time for the third instance, and cursed again. He dropped to the living room.

"Hey Mom," he saluted. The woman only looked at him sternly. Two hands at her hips, she spoke up with didactic assertion as he whisked by.

"You're late again. Should I start putting tighter curfews on you like I did your brother, mister?"

Timothy just looked back with a smirk; an apologetic one, but nevertheless wry. His progenitor shook her head as she walked over to the door and placed a hand on the ledge, watching as he put on his shoes.

"The car's still in the shop?" The boy couldn't help but notice the empty driveway.

"Take a guess," his mom remarked with playful severity.

Damn, thought Timothy. That slipped his mind. Looks like this was going to cost him some stamina.

"See ya, Mom," he stood up and began to run off. As he did so, he turned for a final wave. What he saw nearly made him trip over the slightly raised sidewalk block that seemed to always nab the first-comers.

His mother, attractive and eye-pleasing as ever, had turned around and flipped her skirt to the side, jutting out her pantie-strapped buttocks in her son's direction. Up top, she smiled a warm, slightly averse, but still motherly stretch of lips.

"Bye honey!" she shouted, lifting her head slightly to see past the tree out front. "Be good, okay?"

When Timothy was gone, she let the skirt back down, smoothed it against her buttocks, and returned inside the house.

The fazed teen, however, was running down the block to the school, out of sight -- which thankfully was only minutes away -- while his brain did gymnastics in his skull.

What... he couldn't quite process it yet, but he was sure of it. Those eyes couldn't have failed him that absurdly. With an ass that smooth and fine, and those white panties... no, there was no mistake. In his mind, the teen was replaying the image while simultaneously shaking it away.

What was that?!

"Well well well. What is this?"

Meanwhile, back home, Mrs. Shane was picking apart her son's room in the likely case the young rascal had forgotten another packet of homework or the like. It didn't take long for her eyes to come across the hulking computer on his desk. Nary a second, in fact, upon entering the Amazonian bedroom.

"I don't remember getting him this." The woman murmured thoughtfully as she stood before the old machine, wondering where her son could've gotten the antique. Out of a curious whim, she found herself approaching the machine and its auxiliary attachments, and folded her arms. What looked like a blank word processor displaying a blank page stared back at her, a black typing cursor next to a set of digits all there was else to see.