Of course!

If she doesn’t recognize the differences made after the question is answered, then that gives you free reign to ask more questions. But what to ask first? So far it seems that a “would you rather 1 or 2” format is required. If that is indeed the case, then all you need to do is lay out both responses in your favor and ask away. With that in mind, you find yourself drawn to her less than stellar body. Not to say that your mother is ugly, no far from it. Her face and personality make up leaps and bounds for what her body lacks, but she just doesn’t quite have what she used to.

“Mom, would you rather look like you were in your early thirties or how you do now?”

“That’s a silly question with an obvious answer, honey. Who doesn’t wanna look younger?”

And just like that your mother’s features smooth out and tighten up. Years of motherhood and stress melting away as if they’d never happened. Her once tired, worn body now stands before you, soft and renewed.

You find your eyes pulled toward her supple behind. But yet again you think to yourself. It could be so much better. So much bigger.

“How about this: Would you rather have a booty to make the Kardashians jealous or one big enough to use as a shelf?”

“That’s a bit of a trick question. And a weird one. But, if those are my only options, then I’d like to at least have a useful rear. I’ll take the shelf.”

You sit back at the table and watch her rear swell with muscle and fat, spreading out the back of her dress against her cheeks. Her hips widen to keep up a somewhat realistic shape, her thighs doing the same. Soon enough you had a heavily pear shaped mother in a hip hugging sundress.

Something else brings you reeling from your horny stupor, however. She’d recognized that you had been asking the questions and that they’d been strange. Startlingly so as far as your usual conversations go. You’ll have to cover yourself with another question.

“Would you rather think my questions are normal or ridiculously funny?”

“You already make me laugh enough, sweetie. I don’t wanna keel over because you asked if you could have friends over.”

Well that’s that. Time to see if it worked.

“Would you rather have long, blonde hair or a red bob-cut.”

“I would hope I’ve mentioned how much I want red hair before. I’ll take the bob-cut.”

Your mother’s hair begins to change shades, turning from a dull brown to a rosy gloss, shorting to just above her shoulders.