Grey text

You jiggle back into your bedroom on high heels, go over to the typewriter and sit down in front of it.

"Huh," you say as you read the first sentence; 'My name is John Smith and I have a 12 inch cock.' Then you read the next sentence; 'I don't have a 12 inch penis.'

That first sentence made you pause. John Smith? Your name was Joanne Smith and you can't remember ever having a cock.

Well, your family was well endowed. Your two brothers slapped you in the face with their footlong sausages at times during your teenage years. Though they stopped doing that once you snapped one of their prank dick slaps and gave him a toothy scar on the side of his manhood. Apparently that earned you the nickname Sharky in certain circles. Which was sort of unfair because you've had plenty of unmolested cocks have a great time in your mouth in your older years.

Either way, you consider the text on the paper again and realize it seems to have gone a little grey. You lean close and wrinkle your nose. Maybe the changes alter reality to avoid any drama when the ink dries?

That could be the answer to why you can't remember turning into a guy with a footlong cock. Or... did you introduce your former self when you wrote that first sentence?

You lean back, eyes closed and rub your temples with two fingers. You look around your room as you spin on your office chair. It's filled with your stuff. Make-up, movie and band posters with hunky boys on them, contraceptive tablets, and tons and tons of clothes.

Bleh. If you used to be a boy, it sure didn't look like it in here.

Well... your gaming station was a sort of blue elephant in your room, but it was neon pink and white with black accents and you had cat-eared earphones. You had a pretty decent following online doing Beat Saber and Tik-Tok dances. Some from your top 500 ranking in a lot of competitive games, but for the male virgins you were a hot girl first and a skilled gamer second. And unfortunately they were still 95 percent of the paying followers online.

You were also studying game development and had some years on your butt creating game assets. Before you had your growth spurt, you'd been a pretty introverted girl that didn't really find common ground with other girls on anything but fashion, which was okay but not soul nourishing. You built up a group of guy friends, which weren't hard to ask for some fuck-friend support when you became mature enough for it.

You shake your head as you catch yourself self-analyzing too much. You glance over at the printer and decide to leave it be for now. You find a thick plastic bag in the box it came in and put it on top of the printer. You pulled the sheet of paper out of it before doing so to avoid crumpling it and put it next to your keyboard.

Hmm, what would happen if you tore the paper apart? You consider the possibility for a moment before your phone dings.

It's one of your friends telling you they are coming over to play a game. Fuck, you totally forgot about that!

"Fuck, you're on fire today," you say with a sigh as Bobby wins another round.

"Nah, you just suck a little more than usual, Jo," Bobby said after an elated laugh.

"I prefer to keep my suckage elsewhere," you say with a pout as you glance up at Bobby.

"Well, let's up the ante then," Bobby said with a smirk and an eyeroll. "Best out of five. If I win you put that suckage to use elsewhere. If you win I'll do chores for you for an hour."

"But what if I don't need chores but to suck on something?" You ask and bite your lip suggestively, catching Bobby's eyes for a long second.

"Then don't win," Bobby said as he started a new game.

"But my ELO..." you whine and select your character.