Brad, at a super doctor's, with an unusual problem

You're Brad. Ever since you turned eighteen a week ago, you've had a problem. Your doctor didn't believe you until you deliberately triggered an episode and showed him… and after he got his jaw off the floor, he gave you what you needed to change back, and a recommendation to a new hero team for treatment: The Gibborim.

So here you are, in a little examination room, wearing a dressing gown…

…and trying very hard NOT to think about the woman taking your blood pressure, pulse, and temperature, leaning over you, putting those big, round, soft breasts in your face and on your back as she works…

…and as an eighteen year old man, you fail miserably, having an episode. Your hair grows down past your shoulders, tickling your neck; your shoulders narrow slightly, two huge weights grow on your chest, your hips pop as they spread outwards, your waist pinches in, and there's a sucking sound as your manhood slips inside your body, leaving an aching and dripping wet void begging to be filled in its place. You retie the dressing gown, and the mirror in the room shows you the damage:

The nurse nods immediately after you change, “Hey boss, I got him to react like you asked,” and walks out, tossing the clipboard she was using to take measurements on a counter.

Another woman walks in, much more plain-looking, and modestly dressed, a silvery ring on her finger, “Thank you Barbra,” she nods as the ‘nurse’ leaves, “I have it from here.”

The woman looks you over, “Hmm. I'll need a closer look. Strip, please.”

Cheeks burning, you obey, untying the gown, sliding down and stepping out of your briefs. You catch a glance of yourself in the mirror…

…you'd take a picture to jack off to later, but that would just trigger another episode….

“I see,” the woman looks you up and down clinically, “on the surface it looks like a standard feminatzi punishment curse: Makes you a horny woman any time you think of a woman sexually. It's a stupid curse, it just reinforces the stereotype that women are only good for… well, that's neither here nor there. Let me take a closer look; give me your hand, please….” she reaches over with her left hand.

“My hand?” You react in a surprised, breathy voice as you comply, raising your right to meet her left.

She takes hold of your wrist and flips it around, so your palm is down, as she brings her right hand over; at first it just looks like she's checking your pulse by hand… except that the ring she's wearing hops from her hand to yours, like it's a live thing.

The voice of an old man in your head explicitly confirms that, “Please leave my anchor - the ring - on for a bit, I need a good look at your soul….”

“My soul?" You blink, realizing you are fluttering your lashes when you do, “Church stuff?”

“Yes… the soul is a confirmed phenomenon where I come from. Anyway…” the mental voice sighs, “...this isn't a curse or a disease. There's nothing to cure.”

“Ah, doc… I'm not supposed to be a woman,” you object, looking into the doctor's eyes.

The woman in front of you frowns, “was that to me? He's the doctor,” she points at the ring on your hand, “I'm just working transport today.”

“Oh, I'm aware,” the voice in your head chuckles, “and if your father had come here nineteen years ago, it would have been a curse and something to fix.”

“My father?!” You exclaim, “What do you know about my father? Mom never…”

“You probably know him as your mother,” the doctor interrupts, “he was cursed with a non-contageous form of lycanthropy, probably got stuck when you were conceived. I expect I could fix him up, provided he still wants to be male again after spending over eighteen years as a woman and having a child.”

“So it's an inherited curse?” You consider.

“Was never intended as such, and if it was, it's noy anymore.” The voice takes a breath, “your young soul killed the curse and ate the corpse long ago. Your magic took it as a pattern for growth. You have a very strong soul, you'd be a good candidate for the academy…” he trails off.

“Hey! Everyone knows magic doesn't exist, it's…” you begin.

“‘Just another form of super power’,” you can practically hear the eye roll, “I'm old, when I was young the term we used translates to ‘magic’ in today's language. From my perspective, it's ‘super powers are just another form of magic’, but they're fundamentally equivalent statements once we delve deeply into what I mean when I say ‘magic’ and what you mean when you say ‘super powers’.” He takes another breath.

Before he can continue, you interrupt, “Why does a voice in my head from a metal ring on my finger need to breathe?”

“I don't, not really,” he pauses, “it's a habit from when I was still alive - I suppose ‘still an organic entity’ is more appropriate for your background - that I've had no need to break.” He pauses, and continues, “Interruption aside, you have eighteen years of your soul exercising by changing your physical sex. There's a lot of magical muscle there. To properly use and train it, though, you're going to need to relax your grip on that unnatural form you assumed so we can train you in more useful effects.”

“So I can be a man again and get super powers?” You light up, “Sign me up!”

“Oh. Right, you don't know. You wouldn't. I mean, how could you?” The ring considers, “How do I put this… you've been exercising that one effect, born of your father's curse, since before you were born. This ‘episode’ that you're having is simply a matter of your magical ‘muscles’ relaxing under the thrall of the ancient commandment to be fruitful and multiply.”

“Wait…” you frown, “...if this is the relaxed state, then…” you don't want to say it.

The ring lays it out plainly“Your natural state is female. I can train you to use super powers, but to do that, you're going to need to live in your natural state.” He pauses to let that sink in, “what say you?”