Effects of John's wish

The woman riding next to John gave him a flirting glance; the man holding her hand didn't seem to notice; his eyes were on the businesswoman in front of the couple, who was repeatedly smoothing her skirt, showing off the curve of her hips in the process. The two college girls off to the side were whispering and giggling. All female attention in the elevator was on him. John was pleased; he could get used to this.

He considered taking the subway out to University Station and walking to his office but decided to drive instead. If some woman got demonstrative he'd want a quiet place to take her and, well, take her. After all, didn't BMW stand for Bed More Women?

The parking lot attendant smiled her usual mechanical smile at him, but unlike every other time he'd driven out she didn't raise the gate. He rolled down the window and stared at her back as she fussed over some piece of paperwork. He lowered the window and tapped the horn lightly.

"Excuse me, is something wrong?"

"You tell me." She turned to face him; her uniform blouse was unbuttoned and open, showing a pair of very large breasts supported but not covered by a push-up bra.

John cleared his throat. "Nothing I can see."

"Do you like mountains, Mr. Stevenson?"

"Y-yes..."

"Great; me and a couple of girlfriends are going hiking this weekend. Want to come with?"

"Sure!"

"Okay, what's your number?"

He gave her his SMS number; a moment later he got a text with a location and time and an attached picture of three buxom women in hiking shorts and tees. One of them was the attendant. Then she pushed the button and opened the gate for him.

This is not so bad, he thought to himself.

The drive to the University was relatively uneventful; several girls blew kisses at him from the sidewalk and the girl at the drive-thru coffee place had scrawled a telephone number on his cup. He felt female eyes watching him whenever he drove past a café or restaurant patio.

On the flyover from his reserved parkade stall to the History building a disheveled and unwashed freshman with an open guitar case in front of him launched into a version of "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy" as John walked by him. The kid's erection was visible. A twinge of worry crossed John's mind; he picked up his pace. As he passed through the common areas toward his office he noticed nearly all the girls looking as he went by, as well as about ten percent of the boys. The worry deepened.

He hurried past his secretary's desk; as he went by he said, "Hold my calls until I tell you, Ananya." What the hell had that genie done? Why were boys looking at him that way? He hadn't specified no men; had she added something to his wish?

There was a small stack of papers waiting on his desk. John needed to calm down, and the ordinary task of the day would probably help. The top item on the stack was a Masters' thesis proposal with a sticky note from Dr. Tusche: "This one may cause a stir; what do you think?"

He opened the folder. The title page read "Determining Gender Identity of Renaissance Artists Though Representations of Sexual Dimorphism." Great, he thought, some millennial with an axe to grind who couldn't really tell if he was a boy or a girl and thought everyone was...

"Oh shit; she didn't!"

But he knew she had. Female wasn't necessarily a physical thing; for some people it was a state of mind.