Krystal Starts to Like Being a Black Ghetto Chick

"What's happenin' to you is dat I change you into a black sista, just like me. Well, you ain't just like me. You still a real woman. But ... whateva," Tiffany said.

"What da hell you be talkin' about?" Krystal asked.

"Just put these on," Tiffany said, grabbing a wad of clothing from the large box she was shipped in, and tossing them to Krystal.

"What is dis?"

"I came wit extra clothes. Can't expect me to wear what I'm wearin' now forever."

Krystal still didn't understand what Tiffany was talking about, but she knew one thing, she wasn't going to wear these clothes Tiffany gave her. "I ain't wearing dis shit," she said defiantly. "Dey gonna make me look like a slut." Holding it up in her hands, she showed them to be a pair of leopard-print stretch pants and a tacky gold tube top. But then she lowered her hands. "Though ... for some reason, I like dem."

"Dat's because you mo like me now den you old self."

Krystal was scared. She wasn't the racist that Tiffany thought she was. She had black friends. But none of them were like this. She detested black people who belonged to the ghettoized culture. People like Tiffany. But now, it seemed, Krystal belonged to that culture too. And the thing that scared her the most about it was that she was starting to like it.

After removing whatever was left of her old conservative clothing, then donning her new ones, she felt even more at home in her new body. She started to wonder why she even liked being that skinny white bitch. She looked over at Tiffany and smiled. "So what now, sugah?"

Tiffany wasn't sure. They could wait until Francis got back with their cigs. Or maybe Tiffany could practice spreading her nanobots again. After all, she didn't want to spread them all the time. If she could master when to do it when she wanted ... but to do that, she'd have to find another person to change. Maybe this time, she could turn a guy into a black woman.