Still More Changes to Be Made

Hard to believe you're turning down a no-strings-attached blowjob, but you hear yourself saying, "Sorry, I've gotta get home."

She shrugs. "Suit yourself. But if you change your mind..." She reaches into her purse and pulls out a business card, which she hands to you and then turns around to get another look at herself in the sweater she's trying on. You read the card as you walk away and realize it's not really a business card; it has her photo, name, phone number, and e-mail address. "Kelly Davis?" you think, reading her name. "She doesn't look like a Kelly." You blink, and the name on the card now reads "Shanequah Davis." You're going to have to do a better job of keeping your subconscious from accessing the power, you think.

You head out of the department store into the mall itself. Things seem fairly normal, aside from the fact that all the women look like college coeds dressed as hookers, and the fact that the women's clothing stores are now all catering to their taste in wardrobe. Lady Foot Locker is interesting, with the high-heeled athletic shoes, and you're pretty sure the mall didn't used to have a store that sold sex toys, complete with a nude anatomically correct female mannequin in the front window, a vibrator deep into the hole representing her pussy.

You stop for a second in front of the record store. Nothing's changed about the window display here -- it's enlarged photos of various pop stars, and the female ones were already dressed in slutty outfits before you got your powers. In the picture of Christina Aguilera, she's wearing a necklace with the letters "XTINA" dangling vertically down into her cleavage. You think about Nikki back at Macy's, and how you felt a little bit more powerful because you knew her name from her nametag. You wish women always wore something with their name on it, and before your eyes, the women in the photographs you're looking at all gain a choker around their necks with their names spelled out in capital letters -- "BRITNEY," "JESSICA," "RIHANNA" -- except for the redhead at the lower right, who is now pictured with a necklace like Christina's, spelling out "TORI" down into her cleavage.

You turn around, and there's a cart right behind you where a woman -- no, wait, you can easily tell her name is Shannon -- is sitting and custom-making name chokers. She glances up from gluing on a silver "Z" as you pass.

As you go by the food court, you notice a cute brunette in a tight blue minidress, her breasts threatening to spill out -- Heather -- sitting alone, munching on a small salad. It makes you think about the change you made earlier to the one woman you saw downtown. You shrug and figure you might as well expand it to everyone -- and so now, any woman who comes into contact with semen on a regular basis will remain at her ideal weight, no matter how little else she exercises nor how much she eats, and this is something women know subconsciously. On that note, you increase women's appetites enough that there won't be any such thing as "just a salad," and you grin seeing that Heather is now wolfing down what appears to be a triple cheeseburger, and she still has a large French fries and a piece of pie on her tray. You magically give her a giant strawberry milkshake as well.

A glance around the food court shows similar results: the women all have trays full of food -- more than the men, in most cases. You continue walking and notice that things seem to have changed a bit this time; you see a few men sitting on the mall's benches receiving blowjobs from women kneeling in front of them. You also notice that the sign pointing down the corridor to the restrooms now reads "Restrooms/Telephones/Private Rooms." Heh, just in case people can't wait to get home, or to their cars, or to the mattress department, you think.

Speaking of cars, you're out the door to the parking area you normally use before you remember that you didn't drive to the mall. Well, no bother -- you eliminate the blue paint on a currently-unused handicapped space and create a red Ferrari with the license plate "PWERFUL." As you pull out of the space, you return the handicapped space markings. In your rear-view mirror, you see that an SUV, its driver obviously confused, stopped after turning halfway into the space.

You chuckle. Time to head home.