Jon comes clean and tries some radical empathy

The late afternoon glow spilled across the coffee shop’s windows, turning Olivia’s cheekbones golden. Jon stirred the last of his tea, silently debating the impossible.

He didn’t want to ruin it. That moment. Her trust.

But he couldn’t keep it to himself anymore.

“I need to tell you something,” he said, and his voice came quieter than he expected.

Olivia raised a brow, amused. “That sounds ominous.”

“I’m serious,” Jon said. “What if I told you reality could be… altered?”

Her smile didn’t fade, but her eyes narrowed, cautious now instead of entertained.

“Is that your pickup line?” she asked.

“No.” He held her gaze. “I mean it. I’ve been experimenting with something. And I think… I think it made me into something else. A conductor. A kind of... human rewrite tool.”

Olivia blinked. “You’re telling me you can change reality. Like… poof, new version of the truth?” Her posture betrayed her skepticism.

Jon nodded slowly. “With touch. And intent.”

A pause.

“Prove it.” He swallowed. “Okay. Give me your napkin.”

She handed it over without breaking eye contact. Jon touched the folded square gently, whispering, “This is a hundred-dollar bill.”

Snap. A faint flicker of light between his fingers - and there it was. Crisp. Clean. Ben Franklin’s indifferent face staring up from cotton blend paper. Olivia’s breath hitched audibly. Her fingers reached out slowly, taking the bill. Turning it over. Rubbing it. Testing its texture.

She looked up at him. Jon braced himself. But she didn’t run. She didn’t call him crazy.

Instead, she said, “How long has this been happening?”

“Three days,” he admitted. “It started with a soda. Then things around my apartment. Then people. I didn’t mean to do anything. But I… accidentally changed someone’s body. It was subtle. I just thought something… and it happened.”

Olivia set the bill down. “And me?”

“No,” he said firmly. “Not a single cell.”

Her stare softened slightly.

“So you’re telling this to me because…”

“Because I wanted to understand it. But more importantly…” He hesitated. “Because now I need someone to help me stay grounded. Who better than a woman who’s spent her whole life being seen as something she’s not?”

Her laugh was short, disbelieving - but not unkind. “So you’re asking me to guide you? We’ve just met.”

He nodded. “I suppose so. If I wanted to… explore. Learn. I thought maybe you could… help shape the experiment. I could offer you something in return, of course.”

Olivia leaned back, regarding him like an investment she wasn’t sure about - but wanted to be.

“Alright, I think I get the gist of it,” she said at last. “I’ll admit this seems intriguing. One condition.”

“Anything.”

“I’ll say what you won’t: you don’t do it as yourself. You experience it from our side.” Jon blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she smirked slightly, “you become a woman. You get a taste of the body you think you understand. I’ll even give you a role: you’re Joana, my cute and busty little roommate. Twenty-two, bubbly, a little shy, very curious. You’ll still be you inside… but the world will see Joana. And you will see what it feels like to be watched. I can help guide you from there.”

Jon felt the static tingling in his skin again. His heart pounded.

“I, uh, …, ok, I agree.”

“Then do it,” she whispered.

He nodded. Closed his eyes. Focused the energy into his palm.

“I am Joana. Olivia’s cute and busty roommate, just as she described. I live with her. Only she and I remember I was Jon.”

CRACK.

The energy hit him like a tidal wave.

His bones shifted. The bench groaned beneath him as his spine shortened, ribs creaked, and his muscles liquefied under velvet skin. He gasped as his stomach caved inward, softening, pulling tight. His waist narrowed, hips surging outward with a sudden push that made him jolt and moan softly. He clutched the edge of the table as his pelvis popped, bone sliding like wet stone into a new configuration.

His thighs thickened. Ass bloomed, pushing the limits of his joggers as seams stretched. Hair spilled down his shoulders in waves of glossy reddish auburn.

But it was his chest that erupted last - two warm mounds swelling outward, nipples stiffening under his now-tight shirt. He gripped his right pec as it surged into his hand. Sensitive. Heavy. Round.

“Unghh—oh… oh fuck—” the voice that left his lips was high and breathy, silky like warm honey.

He tried to speak again, but the pleasure of the change overwhelmed him.

In the center of the cafe, he passed out.