Suddenly there is a voice over.

“Our protagonist thinks that they are beyond the reach of this tale…” a rich voice comments.

“Wait! Who said that?!” You ask as you look about. You’re alone. Not a soul about your house.

“Our poor victim looks about in vain, totally unaware of the fate that is about to befall him… or should we say her!” The rich voice says.

“Unaware. I can hear you dammit. Wait. Is that Morgan Freeman?” You ask. “And what do you mean… her… hey, hang on. My voice sounds higher.” You clutch your throat as your vocal chords constrict not unpleasantly.

“Our unsuspecting protagonist starts to feel the initial changes. Subtly her vocal chords alter and her voice becomes feminine and husky.”

“It is. Fricken Freeman! Why are you-“ you lurch as your hips suddenly widen and a weird sucking sensation focuses in your groin. You feel your crotch.

“‘It’s gone’ she thinks,” the narrator says.

“You think!?!” You ask. It is gone. Replaced in fact.

“‘Replaced in fact….’ She thinks,” the narrator repeats.

“For fucks sake!” You lurch, dropping a few inches to the floor as you loose a foot of height. Your chest balloons outwards.

“Our poor-”

“Shut up! I know what’s happening. I don’t need you to give me a blow by blow summary in real time!” You growl as buttons shoot across the room and lilly white breasts with big pink nipples surge free of your shirt.

“Anger. Confusion. Arousal.”

“I. Am. Not. Aroused…” you snap. “Much,” you amend.