The Breasts Stay

You look at your body and hope and pray that the breasts disappear. But they stay, perky breasts that do not match the rest of your body.

“Shit! I hope this isn’t irreversible,” you say to your reflection.

At this point you look at your misshapen body. The head and legs of a man, but the torso of a buxom woman.

You begin looking around for some way to fix yourself. You remember the old woman. Maybe she could fix this, but you can’t go out looking like a freak.