Tuesday Blunder

Tuesday morning hit like a brick, the alarm clock blaring at 6:45 a.m. RS groaned, flailing an arm to slam it silent, the sound dying with a pathetic beep. He rolled out of bed, boxers twisted, hair a mess, and shuffled to the bathroom, still half-asleep, ready to scrub up for his first day as a senior. The harem dream lingered—girls pawing at him, a smug king’s grin—but he shook it off, splashing cold water on his face. Then he looked up, catching his reflection in the mirror, and froze.

“What the hell?” he muttered, voice cracking. The face staring back wasn’t quite his—same hazel eyes, same freckles, but sharper, handsomer. His jawline had hardened, cheekbones popped like a damn model, acne scars smoothed out overnight. “Who is that? Is that me? When did I—what the hell?” He leaned closer, tugging at his skin like it might peel off, heart thudding. Then he stepped back, glancing down—his body was different too. Still 5’10”, but toned, muscular in a lean, defined way—abs faintly etched, arms taut, no more scrawny nerd flab. “Could this… huh?” Confusion swirled, the wish from last night nagging at him—girls attracted to him more than he was to them—but this? This was something else.

He stumbled back to his room after a hot shower, steam clinging to his new frame, towel around his waist. Opening his closet, he blinked—his nerdy gear was gone. No Flash tees, no X-Men hoodies, just… preppy mobster vibes. Crisp button-downs, slim-fit chinos, leather jackets, shit you’d see on a slick gangster’s kid—laid-back but sharp. “Huh?” he mumbled, rifling through, half-expecting his old stuff to pop out. It didn’t. Freaked but out of time, he grabbed what he could tolerate—a charcoal button-down, dark jeans, sneakers that weren’t too flashy—and threw it on, the fit snug against his new build.

He bolted downstairs, skipping breakfast—Vanessa’s “Late again, dipshit” echoing behind him—and headed out, walking to the bus stop. The morning air bit at his skin, his mind racing: Did the wish do this? Am I tripping? The bus stop loomed ahead, kids already milling, and he braced for whatever chaos he’d just wished into his first day.

RS climbed onto the bus, the doors hissing shut behind him as he snagged a seat near the back, the rumble of the engine vibrating through his newly toned frame. His mind was still a mess—sharper jaw, tighter abs, mobster closet—what the hell was happening? The ride to Boulder High was quick, kids chattering about summer’s end, oblivious to his internal freakout. He stepped off, sneakers hitting the pavement, and froze mid-stride.

Nikki Lorenso stood by the drop-off, a pipsqueak at 4’11” but a goddamn knockout. She’d always been his crush—unnaturally curvy, breasts that could make a grown man cry, wide hips, thick thighs, a classic hourglass that haunted his late-night thoughts. But this year? She’d leveled up—chunkier, plushier, her curves spilling out in a way that screamed more. Her hoodie strained against those enormous tits, leggings clinging to hips and thighs like a second skin, borderline obscene for school. His mind flashed—pinning her against a locker, hands on that ass, her gasping his name—then he shook it off, heat creeping up his neck, and bolted inside to “the corner,” their pre-bell hangout spot.

Jamie, Priya, and Tim were already there, sprawled against the wall. Jamie smirked first, eyeing RS’s charcoal button-down and jeans. “What, you a mob boss now, RS? Where’s the nerd drip?” Priya cackled, “Did you raid a frat house closet?” Tim chimed in, “Yeah, you look like you’re about to sell me a car, dude.” They ripped into him, relentless, but none clocked the cleaner skin, the sharper jaw—too busy clowning his threads to notice the upgrade. RS rolled his eyes, “Shut up, assholes, it’s just clothes,” but grinned, leaning into the wall.

Then it hit—arms snaked around his waist, something warm and soft pressing into his back. His spine stiffened, breath catching as Jamie’s jaw dropped, Priya’s eyes bugged out, and Tim choked on air. RS twisted his head—Nikki Lorenso, her natural brunette hair spilling over her shoulders, was wrapped around him like a koala, face buried in his shirt, sniffing him like he was cocaine. Her hoodie did jack to hide those massive breasts squashing against him, her leggings a scandalous outline of every curve. “RS,” she cooed, voice syrupy and low, “I have a confession.”

His friends gaped, silent for once, as Nikki clung tighter, her scent—vanilla and something feral—flooding his senses. The wish slammed into focus: every girl he’s attracted to, more attracted to him. Nikki, his dirty little fantasy, was Exhibit A, and senior year just detonated into the wildest start imaginable.

Nikki’s arms slipped off RS, the sudden absence of her warmth jolting him as she stepped around from his back to face him. She tilted her head up, her 4’11” frame dwarfed by his 5’9” height, those massive breasts straining her hoodie, brunette hair framing hazel eyes that locked on his sharper, handsomer face. She hesitated, stammering, “RS, I, well—” her breath hitched, cheeks flushing as she fidgeted with her leggings. Then, like a dam breaking, she blurted, “I’ve always wanted to do this—fuck it,” the words tumbling out in a rush.

Before RS could process, she surged up on tiptoes, hands grabbing his collar, and smashed her lips into his. It was the wettest, wildest, tongue-battling kiss he’d ever tasted—sloppy, ****, her mouth hot and hungry as she pressed her curvy body flush against him. Her tongue wrestled his, a chaotic dance of spit and need, her breathy little moans vibrating into him. His hands flailed, then landed on her hips—those thick, plush hips—instinct kicking in as he kissed back, dazed but diving into the chaos his wish had unleashed.

Jamie, Priya, and Tim stood frozen at “the corner,” jaws unhinged, eyes bugging out at the public display tearing up the hallway. Jamie clutched his chest like he might faint, muttering, “Holy shit, what—” Priya’s hands flew to her face, a choked laugh escaping, “This is insane—what the fuck is happening?” Tim just stared, sketchbook slipping, whispering, “I’m drawing this—nobody’ll believe it.” Kids passing by slowed, some giggling, others gaping, as Nikki devoured RS right there, the wet smack of their lips echoing off the lockers.

RS pulled back a fraction, gasping, her taste—cherry gloss and raw want—lingering as she grinned up at him, unapologetic. His heart pounded, the wish’s fallout slamming home, and his friends’ shock only fueled the wildfire of senior year’s first day.

The hallway buzzed electric as Nikki pulled back from the kiss, her lips glossy and smirking, still pressed close enough that RS felt her curves radiating heat. His heart hammered so loud it drowned everything else—blood rushing in his ears, a thundering drumbeat that muffled the world. He didn’t catch the stares at first, too lost in her cherry-gloss haze, but then he blinked, focus sharpening, and saw it: every kid in the room was staring daggers at him.

A jock in a letterman jacket scoffed, loud enough to cut through the din, “How the fuck did that little nerd achieve that?” His buddy, some lanky dude with a vape tucked in his pocket, snickered, “Maybe he put a spell on her—loser’s got game now?” A girl nearby rolled her eyes, muttering, “Nikki’s lost it,” while another whispered, “No way RS bagged her—what’s he got that we don’t?” The venom and disbelief bounced off lockers, a mix of jealousy and shock rippling through the crowd, but RS didn’t hear a peep—his pulse was a roar, Nikki’s wet kiss still buzzing on his lips.

Jamie, Priya, and Tim were statues at “the corner,” eyes like saucers. Jamie mouthed a silent “What the fuck,” Priya’s grin was half-stunned, half-impressed, and Tim’s pencil twitched, itching to capture it. RS stood there, Nikki’s hands still on his collar, her plush body a hairsbreadth away, and the wish’s chaos hit him square: every girl he’s attracted to, more attracted to him. He hadn’t clocked the fallout—the stares, the hate, the spotlight—until now, and it was a goddamn inferno.

Nikki’s hazel eyes glinted as she slid her hand down RS’s side, bold as hell, and grabbed a firm handful of his ass through his dark jeans. “Love the threads,” she purred, voice dripping with mischief, squeezing just enough to make him jolt. “I’ll smell you later,” she added, leaning in for one last deep whiff—his clean, post-shower scent mixed with a fresh swipe of deodorant, pine and musk hitting her like a ****. Then she spun on her heel, hips swaying in those skintight leggings, her brunette hair bouncing as she sauntered off down the hall, leaving a trail of stunned stares and whispers.

RS barely had a second to process—her handprint still tingling on his ass—before his crew swarmed him like piranhas. Jamie lunged first, grabbing his shoulder, “Dude, what the fuck was that? Nikki Lorenso? Are you shitting me?” His voice cracked, eyes wild with disbelief. Priya shoved in, arms crossed but grinning like a maniac, “Spill it, RS—did you **** her? **** her? What’s the play here?” Tim, sketchbook already open, scribbled furiously, muttering, “This is page one—ass-grab and all—how’d you pull this off, man? Details!”

RS’s heart still thudded in his ears, Nikki’s cherry gloss and that grope frying his brain. “I—I don’t even—” he stammered, hands flailing, mobster-preppy shirt rumpled from her grip. The hallway buzzed louder—jocks sneering, girls gossiping—but his troupe’s barrage drowned it out, questions piling too fast to answer. The wish’s chaos was spiraling, and he was smack in the eye of the storm, ass tingling and friends losing their minds.

RS’s mind steadied, the thudding in his ears easing as Nikki’s scent faded and his crew’s barrage hit fever pitch. How the hell was he explaining this? The wish—girls he’s attracted to, more attracted to him—was his secret, and spilling that would sound nuts. He took a breath, playing possum, and threw his hands up. “Look, you guys won’t believe me,” he said, voice steadying into a convincing lie, “but really look at me. I woke up today—more muscle, my face is clean and sharp, and my closet? All my nerd shit’s gone, replaced with this preppy mobster crap. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on.”

His troupe paused, blinking, then leaned in, squinting like he was a science project. Jamie tilted his head, “Wait, shit—your jaw is sharper. When’d that happen?” Priya circled him, poking his bicep through the charcoal button-down. “Dude, you’re toned—what, you secretly hit the gym all summer? Alien body swap?” Tim flipped his sketchbook shut, eyes narrowing. “No way—puberty 2.0? Magic steroids? Did you find a cursed amulet or some D&D bullshit?”

Their theories spun wilder, each missing the wish’s truth by a mile. Jamie grinned, “Maybe he’s a werewolf—full moon vibes!” Priya smirked, “Nah, he’s a robot now—someone upgraded his firmware.” Tim went full nerd, “Time paradox! Future RS came back to flex on us!” They laughed, piling on ridiculousness, oblivious to the real chaos RS had unleashed.

Then Jamie’s phone buzzed—loud, insistent, Kayla blowing it up. He fished it out, eyes popping as he opened a text: “Happy first day, puppy!” with a slutty pic—her sprawled on a bed, stark naked, blonde hair fanned out, one hand teasingly low. “Holy—guys, look—” he stammered, flashing it before Priya snatched it, smirking, “Damn, she’s all in.” Tim peeked, “Comic fuel,” while RS just stared, Nikki’s grope still burning, now Kayla’s heat adding to the fire. “You’re cursed too, man,” he quipped at Jamie, deflecting, as his lie held and the crew’s theories ran amok.

The first warning bell screeched through the hallway, a shrill jolt cutting off the Nerd Herd’s wild theorizing. Lockers slammed, kids scattered, and the crew groaned in unison—time for first period. They grabbed their bags, but not before one last round of teasing RS, their grins sharp and relentless.

Jamie slung his backpack over one shoulder, smirking, “Try not to charm the teacher with your mobster glow-up, RS—don’t need detention day one.” Priya elbowed him, laughing, “Yeah, keep your pants on if Nikki swings by—robot upgrade’s got limits.” Tim, already sketching Nikki’s ass-grab in his mind, added, “If you turn into a werewolf mid-class, save me a seat in the chaos.” They cackled, piling on, RS rolling his eyes but grinning despite the heat still simmering from Nikki’s kiss.

“Fuck off, all of you,” he shot back, voice light, shoving Jamie’s shoulder as they split. Jamie darted toward English, Priya peeled off for AP Calc, Tim loped to Art, and RS headed for History—his new preppy threads swishing, the wish’s chaos trailing him like a shadow. The hallway thinned, first period looming, and he braced for whatever fresh hell his wish would spark next.

RS slid into his seat in History, the classroom still half-empty, the hum of fluorescent lights and distant chatter filling the air. He dropped his bag by his feet, the preppy charcoal button-down itching at his neck as he leaned back, replaying the morning in his head. Waking up to that sharper face in the mirror—clean skin, chiseled jaw—his body toned like he’d secretly been lifting, his closet purged of nerd gear for mobster-preppy threads. Then Nikki—her curves, that wet kiss, the ass-grab—smashing into his life like a horny wrecking ball. Could this all be the wish? he wondered, the pieces clicking. Every girl I’m attracted to, more attracted to me. It fit—her obsession, his glow-up—it had to be tied.

Then it hit him: It’s only for one day. His stomach lurched, panic creeping in like cold fingers. “What if it ends and I regret not making it permanent?” he scoffed at himself mentally, the thought ricocheting. Nikki all over him, girls he’d crushed on turning into putty—gone by midnight? He’d be back to scrawny, acne-dotted RS, invisible again. The idea gnawed at him, a greedy little whisper: Why let it fade?

The room filled up, kids shuffling in, chatter rising—then a high-pitched, ultra-girly “OH MY GAWD, YAY!” sliced through. Nikki burst in, her brunette hair bouncing, hoodie doing fuck-all to hide those massive tits, leggings painted on her thick thighs. She zeroed in on RS, plopping into the seat next to him with a dramatic flop, her bag hitting the floor. “I was hoping we’d have this together,” she cooed, leaning close, her vanilla scent flooding his space as she flashed a grin, eyes glinting with that wish-fueled hunger. The panic spiked—one day—and now here she was, inches away, ready to turn his first period into a battlefield of chaos and temptation.

History class rolled on, the teacher—a graying dude named Mr. Callahan—droning about the Revolutionary War as he scribbled dates on the board. RS sat stiff, Nikki beside him, her presence a live wire he couldn’t ignore. He’d braced for chaos—her groping him under the desk, whispering filthy shit—but it didn’t come, not yet. She was obsessed, sure, her hazel eyes flicking to him every chance, but she played it casual, like any kid chatting up a friend during busywork. Callahan handed out some worksheet—timeline bullshit—and she leaned over, pencil tapping, voice bubbly but tame.

“Seriously, RS, these threads?” she said, nodding at his charcoal button-down and jeans. “You’re killing it. Total glow-up vibes—way hotter than last year.” She rambled on, twirling her hair, “Like, this preppy-badass look? My type all the way. Did you do something over summer? You’re just… different.” Her tone was flirty but not over-the-edge, a steady stream of praise that kept him on tilt. He nodded, muttering, “Uh, yeah, just… switched it up,” still reeling from the wish’s scope—her scope.

Then he caught it—other eyes on him. Across the room, a trio of girls he didn’t vibe with—Jenny, a mousy brunette with braces; Tara, a lanky blonde from track; and Sam, a freckled redhead who talked too loud—kept staring. Not his type, not even close, no spark of attraction from his end, but their gazes stuck like glue, silent and intense. Jenny bit her lip, Tara tilted her head, Sam’s eyes narrowed—checking him out, sizing him up, a quiet hunger he didn’t trigger but couldn’t shake. The wish only hit girls he was into, so this? Just his new face, new body, pulling strays he didn’t want. Nikki didn’t notice, still chattering about his “hot new energy,” but RS felt the weight—wanted and unwanted eyes—piling on the panic of one day only.

The bell rang, cutting off Mr. Callahan mid-sentence about Bunker Hill, and the room erupted into the usual chaos—chairs scraping, bags zipping, kids bolting for the door. RS lingered, packing his worksheet into his bag, Nikki still glued to his side, her voice a nonstop hum that hadn’t let up since they started chatting. Class had been a crash course in Nikki Lorenso Unfiltered—she’d opened like a book, spilling her guts while weaving him into every page, a mix of her dreams and prying questions he barely kept up with.

She’d leaned close the whole time, pencil doodling hearts in her notebook margins, talking about her hopes like she’d rehearsed it. “I wanna be a stylist—like, for movies or celebs, y’know? Making people look badass, that’s my jam,” she’d said, grinning. “What about you, RS? What’s your big dream?” Before he could answer—uh, maybe game design?—she’d barreled on, “And kids? I want three, two girls and a boy, so I can dress ‘em up cute but tough. You look like a dad type—how many you want?” Her eyes sparkled, pinning him, and he’d mumbled, “Dunno, maybe two?” just to keep pace.

She’d rambled about herself—grew up in Boulder, hates math, loves spicy food—then flipped it back: “What’s your favorite movie, RS? You into spicy stuff too? Bet you are with this new vibe.” It was relentless, casual but intimate, her obsession simmering under the surface without tipping into anything wild—not yet. He’d nodded along, thrown off but hooked, her curvy energy and vanilla scent pulling him in deeper, the wish making her a chatterbox magnet he couldn’t dodge.

Now, as they stood, she grabbed her bag, still beaming. “This was so fun—catch you later, RS?” she chirped, brushing his arm before bouncing off, hips swaying. He exhaled, head spinning—Nikki’s life story, her questions, the one-day panic—all swirling as he slung his bag over his shoulder, the stares from those other girls fading into background noise.

The next few periods dragged on, a blur of normalcy stacked against the morning’s chaos. Second period—English with Mrs. Harper—had RS slouched over Macbeth, scribbling notes while the teacher rambled about ambition. Third was Chemistry, Mr. Patel droning about molar mass, the Bunsen burners hissing as RS doodled in his notebook. Nothing wild, just standard first-day slog—syllabi, rules, homework threats. But the air felt off, charged, and it wasn’t the lessons.

Girls kept staring. In English, a junior named Callie—long black hair, quiet type he’d always thought was cute—kept sneaking glances from across the room, her eyes lingering on his sharper jaw, a flush creeping up her neck. He caught it, felt the wish’s pull—attraction dialed up—and shifted in his seat, pretending to reread Shakespeare. In Chem, it was Mia, a petite blonde with a cheerleader vibe he’d crushed on last year; she peered over her lab goggles, biting her lip, ignoring her partner to eye him up. Her stare screamed want, and he knew it was his doing, the wish twisting her harder than he’d ever felt for her.

Then there were the others—girls he didn’t vibe with, just curious, rumors already snaking through the halls. A freckled sophomore whispered to her friend, “Heard he hooked up with Nikki Lorenso—that RS?” A loudmouth from the back row in Chem snorted, “Dude looks like a TikTok star now—what’s his deal?” Their eyes darted—some jealous, some baffled—tracking his new threads, his cleaner skin, the gossip snowballing. He kept his head down, heart ticking faster, the one-day limit gnawing at him as the stares piled on—wanted, unwanted, all pinning him in place.

Fourth period hit like a sledgehammer to RS’s brain. He shuffled into Pre-Calc, mind already frayed from the morning’s stares, and dropped into a seat near the back, hoping for a breather. No dice. Nikki strutted in first, zeroing in on him like a heat-seeking missile. She plopped down on his left, her fat thighs squishing into the chair, making her look even chunkier in a way that screamed plush. Her milky white skin glistened under the harsh school lights, flawless and soft, her hoodie and leggings combo straining as she leaned close, vanilla scent wafting. “Hey, RS, we’re math buddies now,” she chirped, grinning, already claiming him.

Then Allison walked in, and RS’s jaw tightened. At 5’6”, she loomed taller than Nikki but shorter than his 5’9”, a total contrast. Her breasts—B, maybe C, D?—hid under a loose tee, elusive, but her body exploded below. Medium waist, flat belly, then those hips—cartoonishly wide, a ghetto booty so massive it needed its own zip code. Her ass? Forget-about-it—round, thick, the kind to make a grown man weep and beg to sniff her farts, hugged by tight jeans that barely contained it. Light tan Italian skin glowed, her dark hair swishing as she spotted RS. “Holy shit, look at you…” she said, voice low and stunned, plopping into the seat on his right. Her thighs and ass engulfed the chair like it didn’t exist, swallowing it whole.

Nikki and Allison locked eyes, daggers flashing—silent war declared. Nikki grabbed his left leg, her warm hand clamping his thigh possessively. Allison countered, snagging his right, her grip firmer, heat radiating from her massive hips. RS sat pinned, both handfuls of warmth sinking into him, his brain short-circuiting as the wish’s chaos doubled down.

Then, sheer fuckery—Melissa walked in. 5’3”, splitting the height gap, she was thin but muscled, a basketball player’s build. Toned calves flexed under short shorts, leading to a perky ass and normal hips, a small waist flaring up to D-cup breasts that popped under overlapping tank tops—pink and white, bra peeking at the edges, midriff bare. Fire-red hair blazed, blue eyes sparkled, freckled pale skin dotted her face and arms. Classic preppy slut—French-tipped flip-flops, nails matching, all confidence and strut. She clocked RS, froze mid-step, then grinned, heading his way.

Nikki’s grip tightened, Allison’s nails dug in, and RS’s brain broke—three girls he’d crushed on, all in one room, the wish turning Pre-Calc into a pressure cooker of lust and rivalry.

Pre-Calc was a battlefield now, RS trapped in the eye of a hormonal hurricane. Nikki’s vanilla grip tightened on his left thigh, Allison’s cucumber-melon heat pressed into his right, and then Melissa—fucking Melissa—upped the ante to unthinkable. She swooped in, dropping her D-cup breasts right over his shoulders, wrapping them around his head like a plush, preppy-slut helmet. Her toned arms hugged his neck, one sliding down to trap his arm, her high-pitched giggle piercing the air. “OMG, you are so adorable now, RS!” she squealed, cotton candy scent flooding his nose, her red hair tickling his sharper jaw.

The **** hit every sense—Nikki’s vanilla sweetness mixing with Allison’s crisp cucumber melon, now clashing with Melissa’s sugary cotton candy cloud. Nikki’s chunky thighs squished against him, Allison’s cartoonish hips engulfed the seat, and Melissa’s breasts smothered his head, soft and warm, her tank tops brushing his ears. His brain flatlined, wish-fueled chaos overloading him—three crushes, all in, drowning him in touch and smell.

The boys in the class lost it. Jocks at the front—big dudes with buzz cuts—stared daggers, knuckles cracking loud enough to echo, trying to intimidate but failing hard. One muttered, “Fucking nerd’s a pimp now?” while another hissed, “I’d kill for that.” A skinny guy in a Metallica tee just gaped, pencil snapping in his hand. Their glares burned, jealousy thick, but the girls didn’t flinch—Nikki shot a smug look, Allison smirked, and Melissa giggled louder, hugging tighter. RS sat there, pinned, senses fried, the one-day panic now a distant scream under the triple-threat onslaught.

The teacher—a stern, middle-aged woman named Ms. Kessler—finally snapped, her voice cutting through the chaos like a whip. “Enough! Ladies, simmer down and take your seats—now!” She clapped her hands, glasses slipping down her nose, glaring at the trio smothering RS. Melissa pouted but unwrapped her breasts from his head, her cotton candy giggle fading as she slid into the seat in front of him. Nikki huffed, releasing his thigh with a last vanilla-scented squeeze, and stayed glued to his left. Allison smirked, her cucumber-melon grip lingering before she settled on his right, her massive hips still spilling over the chair.

The class settled, desks creaking as kids straightened up, the boys’ jealous glares simmering into grudging silence. Ms. Kessler launched into Pre-Calc—quadratic equations, boring as hell—and the hour zipped by, chalk scratching the board, worksheets rustling. Nikki, Allison, and Melissa actually focused, pencils moving, though Nikki sucked at math hardcore. “RS, what’s x here?” she whispered, leaning close, her hoodie brushing his arm as she squinted at her paper, hopeless but trying. Allison scribbled fast, muttering, “Too easy,” while Melissa doodled a heart next to her work, glancing back with a flirty wink.

RS barely registered the lesson, his mind swimming in endorphins—Nikki’s plush warmth on his left, Allison’s cartoonish curves on his right, Melissa’s perky energy ahead. The wish had him caged, three crushes orbiting him, their scents and touches still tingling on his skin. He scratched answers half-assed, brain drowned in a horny, chaotic high, the one-day clock ticking somewhere under the flood.

The bell rang, snapping Pre-Calc shut, and RS barely had time to stuff his worksheet in his bag before the trio pounced. Nikki jumped up first, wrapping her chunky arms around him, vanilla flooding his nose as her massive breasts squashed against his chest. “See ya soon, RS,” she cooed, squeezing tight. Allison followed, her cartoonish hips bumping him as she hugged from the side, cucumber-melon scent sharp, her grip possessive. “Looking good, stud,” she murmured, smirking. Melissa rounded it out, hopping up to sling her toned arms around his neck, cotton candy sweetness hitting as her D-cups pressed in. “You’re the best,” she giggled, hugging hard. All three squeezed him like a vice, a triple-threat of curves and warmth, then peeled off, giggling and waving as they strutted out.

RS stood there, dazed, catching his breath—then froze. Normally, a hug-fest like that would’ve left him with a throbbing erection, pants tight, face red as he scrambled to hide it. But now? Not a twitch. No heat, no awkward bulge, nothing. “What the hell?” he muttered under his breath, glancing down like his dick might explain itself. The wish—girls he’s attracted to, more attracted to him—had jacked up his glow-up, their lust, but… neutered his own? Confusion pinged, but the next bell loomed—last class before lunch.

He hoofed it to Woodshop, a quiet room down in the basement, mostly dudes. The air smelled of sawdust and oil, the teacher—Mr. Grady, a burly guy with a beard—grunting about safety rules. No Nikki, no Allison, no Melissa—just a dozen guys in flannels and tees, sanding boards or eyeballing lathes. RS grabbed a workstation, the calm a stark shift, his mind still reeling from the hugs, the lack of a hard-on, and the ticking one-day limit he couldn’t shake.

Woodshop hummed with the low grind of sandpaper and the occasional clank of tools, the air thick with sawdust as Mr. Grady barked orders about measuring twice, cutting once. RS hunched over a plank, smoothing it with half-focus, his mind still tangled in the morning’s chaos—Nikki, Allison, Melissa, those hugs, and the weird dead-zone where his dick should’ve reacted. The wish’s rules were screwing with him, and he couldn’t pin it down.

Then a shadow loomed—three guys from the class sauntered over, tools down, eyes sharp. First was Derek, a stocky linebacker type, buzz cut and a faded Broncos tee, cracking his knuckles. “Yo, RS, what’s the deal, man?” he said, voice gruff. “Heard you had Nikki Lorenso all over you—how’d a nerd like you pull that?” Next was Pete, lanky with greasy hair and a smirk, leaning on a workbench. “Yeah, dude, and Allison too? You slipping ‘em something?” Last was Josh, shorter, wiry, glasses smudged, more curious than pissed. “Seriously, you look different—what’s up?”

RS tensed, sandpaper pausing mid-stroke, his sharper jaw catching the light. Full truth—I wished girls I like into me, and it’s fucking up everything—was off the table; they’d think he’d lost it. He opted for half-truths, lies layered to keep them off the scent. “Guys, chill,” he said, forcing a laugh, leaning back casual-like. “I just… cleaned up over summer, y’know? New clothes, hit the gym a bit—guess they noticed.” He shrugged, playing it cool, voice steady despite the endorphin buzz still swimming in his skull.

Derek squinted, not buying it fully. “Gym, huh? You weren’t jacked last June.” Pete snorted, “Bullshit—Nikki doesn’t drool over ‘a bit.’ You got some trick, man.” Josh pushed his glasses up, quieter, “Clothes don’t change that much—but whatever, dude.” They prodded, fishing, but RS stuck to the script. “Look, I don’t get it either—girls are weird, right?” he deflected, sanding again, hoping they’d drop it. They grumbled—Derek cracking a knuckle, Pete scoffing—but drifted back to their stations, unconvinced but out of ammo. RS exhaled, the half-lie holding, reality’s edge still his alone to wrestle.

The bell rang, cutting Woodshop short, and RS bolted from the sawdust haze, the guys’ questions still echoing in his head. Lunchtime—finally. He weaved through the crowded halls, preppy threads swishing, sharper jaw catching stray stares, and hit the cafeteria. The Nerd Herd was already at their usual table near the back—Jamie picking at a sandwich, Priya sipping a soda, Tim sketching between fries—heads swiveling as he approached. Their eyes lit up, grins sharp, and he knew it was coming before he even sat down.

“Dude, spill,” Jamie said, leaning forward, abandoning his food. “Nikki Lorenso—heard she was all over you in History. Like, all over.” Priya smirked, popping a fry in her mouth. “Yeah, and Allison too? Pre-Calc’s the word—her and Nikki fighting over you? What the hell, RS?” Tim looked up from his sketchbook, pencil hovering. “Don’t forget Melissa—heard she boob-hugged you, man. Details, now, or I’m making it up for the comic.”

RS dropped his tray—pizza slice, apple, soda—and slumped into his seat, endorphins still buzzing from the morning’s triple-threat. They’d heard it all, rumors flying faster than he could dodge. He rubbed his neck, half-truths his shield again. “Okay, look—it’s nuts,” he started, voice low, playing it flustered but cool. “Nikki’s in History, yeah, she sat next to me, talked my ear off—dream job, kids, whatever. Then Pre-Calc… Allison plops down, Nikki’s already there, and Melissa—fuck, she just… hugged me with her boobs, said I’m ‘adorable now.’ They’re all acting weird, but I don’t get it either.”

Jamie’s jaw dropped, “Boob-hugged? Bro, how?” Priya cackled, “They’re scrapping over you like dogs with a bone—your glow-up’s cursed or something.” Tim scribbled faster, “This is gold—Nikki’s vanilla vibe, Allison’s hips, Melissa’s preppy slut energy. Spill more—what’d they say?” RS shrugged, biting into his pizza, deflecting, “Just… stuff. Nikki likes my threads, Allison called me hot, Melissa’s all giggly. I’m just trying to survive, man.” He left out the wish, the one-day panic, letting them feast on the chaos while he chewed, their questions piling like the crowd’s stares.

RS leaned into the table, the Nerd Herd hanging on his every word, their eyes wide and greedy for the dirt. He took a swig of soda, keeping the wish locked tight—no spilling that—but dished enough to sate them, a play-by-play dripping with detail, minus the magic. “Alright, fine—here’s the rundown,” he said, voice low, smirking like he was half-embarrassed, half-proud.

“History, Nikki plops next to me—her thighs, man, they’re like… thick, squishing into the seat. She’s all chatty, going off about wanting to be a stylist, three kids, asking me shit like ‘How many you want, RS?’ Kept brushing my arm with her hoodie, smelling like vanilla, saying my new look’s ‘her type.’ Nonstop, but chill—no crazy stuff.” He paused, chewing pizza, letting them picture it.

Jamie nodded, rapt. “Go on—Pre-Calc’s the juicy part.” RS grinned, leaning in. “Yeah, Nikki’s already there, then Allison rolls in—5’6”, hips so wide she barely fits the chair. Her ass? Unreal, like it’s got its own gravity. She sits on my right, says, ‘Holy shit, look at you,’ grabs my leg—warm as hell, just staking claim. Nikki grabs the other, they’re glaring at each other like cats, both digging in. Then Melissa—5’3”, redhead, basketball legs—barges in, drops her boobs around my head, hugging me tight. Said, ‘You’re so adorable now,’ giggling, all cotton candy vibes. Full-on smother, dude—her tank tops were, like, right there.”

Priya choked on her soda, laughing, “Boobs around your head? Jesus, RS.” Tim scribbled furiously, “Vanilla, cucumber melon, cotton candy—touch notes locked in.” Jamie grinned, “They’re fighting over you—touching and all? You’re screwed.” RS shrugged, playing it off, “Yeah, hands on thighs, boobs on head—overwhelming, but I just sat there, y’know? No clue why they’re so into me today.” He left out the wish’s pull, the one-day dread, feeding them the raw chaos—enough to satisfy, their jaws dropping as he munched, the cafeteria hum fading under their awe.

The Nerd Herd soaked up RS’s tale, eyes wide, grins splitting their faces as he wrapped the play-by-play. Jamie leaned back, whistling low, “Bro, that’s insane—three of ‘em, hands all over you? You’re living a movie.” Priya smirked, popping a fry, “Accepted, but you’re still a freak—glow-up or not, this is next-level.” Tim, though, lit up like a firecracker, slamming his sketchbook shut with a triumphant thud. “This is in the comic now—too fucking epic to skip. Day one, senior year, RS drowning in girls? Best-seller, top 10, here I come,” he jested, voice buzzing with hype, already scribbling mental panels—Nikki’s thighs, Allison’s hips, Melissa’s boob-hug, RS at the center of the storm.

RS laughed, shrugging it off, “Yeah, make me look good, Tim—don’t skimp on the chaos.” Inside, the wish’s weight sat heavy—one day, ticking down—but he played it cool, letting Tim’s hype and the crew’s nods carry the moment. They bought it, no questions, the story wild enough to stand without the truth. The cafeteria clattered around them, lunch half-gone, and RS took a bite of his apple, the endorphin buzz still humming under their banter.

The rest of the school day slid by smooth, a rare calm after the morning’s storm. Fifth period—Spanish—was just verb conjugations, no drama, though a girl he’d once eyed, Sofia, kept glancing over her textbook, her stare soft but intense. Sixth—Gym—had him jogging laps with dudes, no girls to trigger the wish, just sweaty grunts and Coach yelling. The final bell rang, and RS filtered out with the crowd, the day ending without a hitch. Jealous stares tracked him—guys cracking knuckles, girls whispering—but nothing exploded. He exhaled, shoulders loosening, heading for the bus, the one-day wish ticking closer to its end.

Then, chaos struck. He was steps from the bus line when Nikki, Allison, and Melissa barreled out of nowhere, a trio of curvy vengeance. They slammed him against the brick wall, pinning him with their bodies like a scene from Scary Movie—if it swapped killers for horny sirens. Nikki’s plush frame pressed his left side, vanilla flooding his nose, her hoodie brushing his arm. Allison towered on his right, her cartoonish hips and ghetto booty grinding in, cucumber-melon sharp as she gripped his shoulder. Melissa, front and center, shoved her D-cups into his chest, cotton candy sweet, her toned arms caging his neck. Their eyes locked on his, wild and unblinking, a predatory gleam.

“Who do you want more, RS?” Nikki purred, her hand sliding to his chest, poking his pecs. Allison’s nails dug into his arm, voice low, “Yeah, pick—whose vibe’s hitting you hardest?” Melissa giggled, high and teasing, prodding his stomach, “C’mon, adorable, who’s your fave?” They pressed tighter, a wall of flesh and scents—chunky thighs, massive ass, perky tits—assaulting him, their questions a rapid-fire prod, jealousy and lust sparking off each other. RS’s back hit the bricks, heart racing, the wish’s finale turning the bus stop into a pressure cooker of chaos.

RS’s back pressed harder against the brick wall, the trio’s bodies—Nikki’s plush curves, Allison’s massive hips, Melissa’s toned frame—caging him in, their eyes boring into him like lasers. “Who do you want more, RS?” they demanded, voices overlapping, hands poking and prodding. His mind screamed, Safest way out, safest way out!—panic and genius colliding. Then, in a flash, it spilled out, smooth and bold: “Ladies, ladies, ladies—why not share me? Plenty of me to go around.”

The words hung there, a stroke of brilliance, and for a split second, he braced for disaster. Then they erupted—giggles bursting from all three, Nikki’s high and breathy, Allison’s low and sultry, Melissa’s sharp and bubbly. “Oh my god, RS!” Nikki squealed, and just like that, they swarmed him harder—but this time, it was a group hug of intense proportions. Nikki’s vanilla warmth smashed his left, Allison’s cucumber-melon bulk crushed his right, and Melissa’s cotton candy perkiness slammed his front, their arms tangling, breasts and hips squishing him in a chaotic, giggling pile. He could barely breathe, endorphins spiking as they squeezed tight.

Then, one by one, they pulled back just enough to take turns. Nikki went first, grabbing his face and planting a passionate, wet kiss—tongue darting, cherry gloss hot, a quick, fierce claim before she broke off, grinning. Allison followed, her kiss deeper, slower, lips firm as she pressed her massive frame in, a cucumber-melon tease that left him dizzy. Melissa last, tiptoeing up, her kiss wild and sloppy, cotton candy sweetness flooding as she giggled into it. Each one staked her moment, then peeled away—Nikki to her bus with a wink, Allison strutting off with a smirk, Melissa skipping with a wave. They vanished into the crowd, leaving RS slumped against the wall, lips buzzing, heart pounding, the wish’s chaos peaking in a genius dodge he hadn’t planned.

RS stumbled off the bus, legs shaky from the trio’s wall-pinning ambush, the taste of their kisses—cherry, cucumber, cotton candy—still buzzing on his lips. He trudged home, the late afternoon sun dipping low, his preppy threads rumpled from the group hug. Unlocking the door, he dodged the kitchen—Vanessa’s “Late again, loser” barely registering—and bolted straight to his room, slamming the door shut. He flopped onto his bed, heart still racing, the one-day wish’s chaos replaying in technicolor. Then his phone lit up, buzzing like a hornet’s nest—the Nerd Herd had heard.

Jamie’s text hit first, all caps frenzy: “DUDE, TRIO **** AT THE BUS STOP? DETAILS MAN DETAILS—WHAT HAPPENED WITH NIKKI AND THE CREW? I NEED THIS NOW!” Priya followed, sharp and snarky: “Heard you got mobbed by your harem—spill it, RS, or I’m hacking your nonexistent diary. Gimme the play-by-play.” Tim’s came last, calm but insistent: “Bus stop showdown—Nikki, Allison, Melissa? Tell me everything, man, this is comic canon—don’t skimp.” Each pinged their own flavor of “tell me,” the group chat a wildfire of curiosity, demanding every shred of the madness.

RS stared at the screen, grinning despite the overload, fingers hovering. The safest dodge—share me—had worked, but now his crew wanted the blow-by-blow, and he’d have to weave it without spilling the wish.

RS propped himself up on his bed, the buzz of the Nerd Herd’s texts lighting up his phone, their demands for details relentless. He smirked, thumbs flying as he typed out the chaos, sticking to the juicy bits but dodging the weird, creeping truth—no erection, no heat, despite the trio’s ****. That part still freaked him out, a glitch in the wish he wasn’t ready to unpack, so he kept it locked tight.

“Alright, losers, here’s the rundown,” he started, feeding them the play-by-play. “Bus stop, I’m minding my own shit, then bam—Nikki, Allison, Melissa come outta nowhere. Pin me to the wall like it’s a damn horror flick. Nikki’s all vanilla and chunky, pressing my left—grabs my leg again. Allison’s on my right, hips swallowing the planet, cucumber-melon vibe, digging into my arm. Melissa’s front and center, boobs smashing my chest, cotton candy giggling—they’re all, ‘Who do you want more, RS?’ Like, poking me, prodding, eyes crazy.”

He paused, letting that sink in, then kept going. “I panic, brain’s screaming ‘get out,’ so I say, ‘Ladies, why not share me? Plenty to go around.’ Genius, right? They laugh, then—boom—group hug from hell. Nikki’s squishing me, Allison’s crushing me, Melissa’s **** me with her arms. Then they take turns kissing me—Nikki’s wet and fast, Allison’s deep and slow, Melissa’s sloppy and wild. After that, they just… split to their buses, like it was nothing.”

Jamie fired back instant: “BRO WHAT—SHARE YOU? KISSED BY ALL THREE? I’M DEAD.” Priya’s hit next: “You’re a fucking legend—‘share me’? Smooth as hell. They buy that?” Tim’s capped it: “Comic page locked—wall pin, triple kiss, gold. You’re insane, RS.” RS grinned, leaving out the no-horny glitch—Nikki’s thighs, Allison’s ass, Melissa’s tits should’ve had him raging, but nada. That stayed buried, creeping him out as he typed, “Yeah, wildest shit ever—guess I’m just that smooth now,” playing it off, the wish’s chaos still his secret.

RS tossed his phone aside after the Nerd Herd’s frenzy died down, their awe still pinging in the chat. Day one homework was light—some Spanish vocab, a Chem vocab list, a page of Pre-Calc equations. He knocked it out quick, sprawled on his bed, pencil scratching, the preppy charcoal shirt swapped for a spare tee he’d dug from a drawer. Done in an hour, he kicked back—controller in hand, Elden Ring humming, the night stretching calm and quiet. Vanessa’s snark echoed downstairs, but he tuned it out, sinking into the grind.

Then it crept in—the nagging glitch from the day, that dead-zone where his dick should’ve raged. Nikki’s thighs, Allison’s ass, Melissa’s tits—no twitch, no heat, even with their kisses and hugs. It clawed at him, a sick little itch. He paused the game, locked his door with a click, and grabbed his laptop, pulling up his go-to porn site. Test it, he thought, heart ticking faster, unease mixing with defiance. He scrolled, clicking a vid—chubby pornstar, enormous jiggly tits, getting railed by the longest white cock he’d ever seen, pale and veiny, a goddamn monster.

He started beating his floppy meat, staring at her bouncing curves—nothing. Not a stir. “C’mon,” he muttered, hand working, eyes locked on her tits, her moans filling his headphones. He knew he loved this, but his dick stayed limp, mocking him. Then the scene shifted—camera panning to that cock, slamming in deep—and bam, a twitch. He froze, hand slowing, but it stirred again, hardening as the guy thrust. “No, what? Fuck? What? NO, WHY?” he hissed, livid, panic spiking as he kept jerking, eyes glued to the cock now, not the girl.

It built fast—too fast—his dick rock-hard, pulsing, and then the strongest orgasm he’d ever had ripped through him. Cum shot out, more than he knew possible, splattering his chest, his tee, the bed, a sticky mess that kept coming, wave after wave. He gasped, sick and disgusted, a pukey churn in his gut as he slumped back, hand trembling, the vid still playing—that cock still thrusting. “What the fuck’s wrong with me?” he rasped, voice shaking, staring at the mess, the wish’s glitch twisting him into something he didn’t recognize—or want.

RS sat there, slumped on his bed, the sticky mess cooling on his chest, the laptop still humming with that damn video—those thrusts looping in his head. His breath hitched, disgust and panic clawing as he broke down the wish in his mind. “Every girl I’m attracted to, more attracted to me”—too generic, too broad, he thought, piecing it together. Affecting multiple people—Nikki, Allison, Melissa, maybe more—with raw specificity, cranking their lust past his own, but it fucked him up. A bad reaction, a glitch—his dick dead to their curves, alive to… that. The word gay flashed, and bile hit the back of his throat, a sour puke taste he swallowed hard, gagging. “No fucking way,” he rasped, shaking his head.

The door banged open—Vanessa barged in, zero fucks given, chirping, “Hey, faggot,” completely unfazed by his naked ass, cum-streaked and sprawled. She strutted to his desk, yanked open a drawer, and pulled out a giant vibrator—purple, ribbed, obscene. “I’m borrowing this—don’t worry, I’ll clean it when I bring it back,” she said, wiggling it with a smirk, the buzz of it stirring his cock to life again, a twitch he couldn’t stop. RS’s eyes bugged, freakout spiking. “GET OUT OF MY ROOM!” he yelled, voice cracking, lunging for a blanket to cover himself.

Vanessa just rolled her eyes, strolling out. “Okay, queen, keep your panties on,” she quipped, slamming the door behind her. RS huffed, pissed, chest heaving, the vibrator’s image burned in—his dick stirring again, taunting him. “Good thing my dumbass only wished this for one day,” he growled, fists clenched, blanket tight around him. “Fuck me—horrific.” The wish’s glitch had warped him—girls into him, him into… this—and he was counting the hours ‘til midnight, ready to puke again.

RS sat there, blanket clutched tight, the vibrator’s wiggle still haunting him, his dick’s betrayal a sick twist in his gut. Vanessa’s “queen” jab echoed, the day’s chaos—Nikki, Allison, Melissa, the stares, the glitch—piling into a nightmare he couldn’t shake. Midnight loomed, the one-day wish’s end, but he wasn’t waiting. “Fuck this,” he muttered, chest heaving, panic and exhaustion warring. He squeezed his eyes shut, the thought sharp and ****: “I wish this day would start over, a redo, without the wish from before, as if that wish never happened.”

The words slipped out, a quiet quip, no fanfare—no wind, no hum—just a flicker of intent as he flopped back onto his bed. The cum-stained tee stuck to him, the laptop’s glow dimmed, and sleep crashed in hard, yanking him under. He passed out, sprawled and spent, the redo wish hanging in the void, a reset he wouldn’t know worked ‘til morning—if it did.