Jorge, a lover of big booties

Jorge is hunched over his desk, the harsh fluorescent light of the dorm room making the textbooks look bleak. He's trying to focus on his notes, but the constant noise from the other side of the room makes it impossible. His roommate, Sarah, is lounging on her bed, laughing loudly with some guy she brought over for the third time this week. She's striking, with a sharp, model-like face and a haughty attitude that keeps him perpetually in her shadow, but her frame is as flat as a board—all lean lines and no softness.

As he reaches for a highlighter, his hand brushes against a weathered leather notebook he doesn't remember buying. He pulls it out, flipping through the pages. A strange, electric hum vibrates through his fingertips the moment he touches the paper. He looks over at Sarah, who is currently mocking his "studying" with a sneer, her voice dripping with a condescending tone that usually makes him shrink.

He opens the book to a blank page, the pen in his hand trembling slightly. He looks at Sarah's lean, curve-less silhouette and then back at the paper, a dangerous idea forming in his mind.

Jorge chuckles to himself, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. He scribbles the words quickly, the ink bleeding slightly into the page: "Sarah has a big Kim Kardashian booty." He tosses the pen aside and lets out a scoff, figuring the notebook is just some weird piece of junk he found in the desk. He doesn't expect anything to happen, and he certainly doesn't expect the air in the room to suddenly ripple with a static charge.

Suddenly, a sharp, muffled gasp comes from the other side of the room. Sarah, who had been leaning back against her pillows, lets out a startled yelp as she suddenly jolts upward. There is a distinct, audible sound of fabric straining—the loud, violent rip of denim as her tight skinny jeans give way under a sudden, explosive surge of volume. Her lean, flat frame is violently overwritten; her hips flare out with an impossible, lush heaviness, and her backside swells backward with a massive, rounded weight that sends her sliding off the edge of the bed and onto the floor with a heavy thud.

The guy she was with stares, his jaw dropping as he looks at the sheer, shaking mass of curves that now defines Sarah's lower half. Sarah looks back at her own body in utter confusion, her hands clutching at the massive, soft globes of her new assets that are now spilling out of her ruined clothing.

Jorge's heart hammers against his ribs, his eyes wide with a mix of terror and sudden, intoxicating power. He watches the guy beside Sarah, expecting a scream or a panicked question, but instead, the man simply reaches out and pats Sarah's now-massive hip with a casual, knowing grin. The guy doesn't look shocked; he looks like he's seen those curves every day of his life.

Panicking, Jorge lunges for the notebook, his pen scratching frantically across the paper. He writes with a desperate intensity: "All the changes I write in the notebook are only realized by me; everyone else acts as if things have always been this way." The ink barely dries before a strange, shimmering wave pulses through the room, settling over everyone like an invisible veil.

Sarah is now struggling to pull herself up from the floor, her movements clumsy and heavy. She looks at Jorge, her expression still haughty and mean, but as she stands, the massive, soft weight of her new backside sways provocatively, shaking with every step. She rolls her eyes at him, completely oblivious to the fact that she was a rail-thin girl only seconds ago. "What are you staring at, loser?" she snaps, her voice as sharp as ever, even as her new, exaggerated curves strain against the remnants of her shredded jeans.

Jorge watches the guy reach out to pull Sarah back up, his hand sliding over the massive, soft curves of her hip with a possessive squeeze. A surge of jealousy and a desire for control flare up in Jorge's chest. He looks down at the notebook, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He presses the pen to the paper and writes with a focused, malicious precision: "The guy Sarah is with can't get hard."

Almost instantly, the guy's expression shifts. He looks down at his lap, his brow furrowing in sudden, intense frustration. He shifts his weight, trying to adjust himself, but his face pales as he realizes his body isn't responding to the sight of Sarah's new, lush assets. He looks confused and suddenly insecure, the confidence he had just moments ago evaporating.

Sarah notices his hesitation and scoffs, placing a hand on her wide hip and looking at the man with an annoyed expression. "What's the matter with you?" she demands, her tone biting. "You're usually all over me by now." She glances back at Jorge, her eyes narrow and mocking, completely unaware that Jorge is the one who just stripped the man of his masculinity.

The guy lets out a frustrated sigh, his shoulders slumping as he looks completely defeated. He tries to play it off, mumbling something about being tired from football practice, but the tension in the room is palpable. He looks at Sarah—specifically at those massive, shaking curves—with a look of pure agony, knowing exactly what he's missing but unable to do a damn thing about it.

Sarah isn't having any of it. She huffs, her new, heavy hips swaying as she turns her back on him to face the mirror, checking her reflection with a smirk of vanity. "Unbelievable," she sneers, her voice dripping with disdain. "You're useless tonight. Just get out, okay? I'm bored of you."

The guy doesn't need to be told twice. He grabs his jacket and practically bolts from the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Now, the dorm is silent, save for the sound of Sarah's heavy breathing as she admires herself. She catches Jorge's gaze in the mirror, her eyes narrowing. "Stop gawking, Jorge. It's creepy," she snaps, though she instinctively arches her back, pushing those lush, newly-created globes further out, as if she can feel his eyes burning into her.