Look at yourself in the mirror to fully assess the changes

You stumble toward the bathroom, your new body feeling strangely light and unbalanced. Your center of gravity has shifted dramatically, making each step a strange negotiation with physics. When you push open the door and flip on the light, the mirror reveals a stranger staring back at you.

"Oh my god," you whisper, but the voice isn't yours—it's high-pitched, breathy, with a slight vocal fry that makes everything sound like a question. "That's... me?"

The reflection shows a petite young woman, no taller than 5'2", with a sweet round face dusted with freckles. Your new chestnut hair falls in perfect pigtails that frame your face, highlighting prominent cheekbones and wide, innocent-looking eyes. You lean closer, noticing the slight gap between your front teeth when you open your mouth in shock.

"This is so weird," you giggle—actually giggle—and press your hands against your new face. Your fingers trace the curve of your cheekbones, the softness of your lips, the delicate line of your jaw. Your old t-shirt now hangs loosely off one shoulder, revealing smooth skin and a slender collarbone. You lift the hem to examine your midsection—flat stomach, tiny waist, subtle flare of hips.

Curiosity overwhelming you, you pull down the boxers you'd been sleeping in, which now hang precariously on your narrower hips. Between your legs, all traces of your former anatomy are gone, replaced by smooth feminine folds that make your cheeks flush hot with embarrassment and a strange, unfamiliar arousal.

You're so absorbed in your reflection that you don't hear the apartment door open. A gruff voice makes you jump.

"Hey, kid, just stopping by to fix that leak under the—well, hello there."

Spinning around, you come face-to-chest with a man you recognize as your landlord, Richard—"Big Rick" as he insists on being called. In his late fifties, with a substantial beer belly stretching his faded Def Leppard t-shirt and a gleaming bald head ringed by graying hair, he fills the bathroom doorway completely. His jowly face breaks into a lecherous grin as his small eyes travel slowly from your pigtails down to your exposed thighs where the boxers have slipped dangerously low.

"Don't believe we've met, sweetheart," he drawls, making no attempt to hide the way he's undressing you with his eyes. "You must be Ashley's little friend, huh? Didn't know he had such... cute company staying over."

A rush of heat floods your body, pooling between your legs with an intensity that makes you gasp. Your brain feels fuzzy, thoughts scattering as you stare up at him. Everything about him—his age, his belly, his baldness, even the way he's leering at you—triggers something primal and needy in your reconfigured brain. You find yourself pushing out your chest slightly, your nipples hardening visibly against the thin fabric of your t-shirt.

"I'm, um..." you struggle to form coherent thoughts as your knees grow weak. "I'm Ashley," you finally manage, though the name sounds strange on your new lips.

Rick's eyebrows shoot up, then he laughs, a deep rumbling sound that makes your new pussy clench with desire. "Sure you are, honey. And I'm Brad Pitt." He leans against the doorframe, crossing his thick arms across his chest, making no move to leave despite your state of undress. "Tell you what—Ashley went out and gave me permission to fix that leak, so why don't you just let me get to work? Unless..." his eyes glint with suggestion, "you need help with something else?"

You know you should correct him, explain the impossible situation, but your transformed brain keeps fixating on his meaty hands, his commanding presence, the way he fills the doorway. You imagine those rough hands gripping your tiny waist, lifting you onto the sink, spreading your thighs...

"I..." you bite your lip, shocked at the thoughts flooding your mind. "I'm actually..." The words won't form correctly. Your new body thrums with need, your intelligence dampened, your responses rewired to find this older, unattractive man irresistibly appealing.

"Actually what, cutie?" Rick grins wider, clearly enjoying your flustered state. "Cat got your tongue?"

10:25 | Saturday 2 Aug 2025 | Putney, London