Jenny & Sonia

It was a crisp, golden afternoon in the park—the kind that made the changing leaves feel like fire suspended in the air. John hadn't stepped outside in days, holed up in his cluttered apartment ever since stumbling across the Tablet at that musty pawn shop downtown. At first, he’d assumed it was a novelty item, some kind of weird tech prank. But curiosity had won out. He brought it home, cracked it open, and began tinkering.

His modest one-bedroom, with its kitchenette turned makeshift lab, had become a hub of quiet obsession. The Tablet wasn't just some off-market device. It was real. It worked. Fully powered, completely self-contained, and capable of doing the impossible. Its tagline, boldly embedded on its startup screen, read:
EDIT THE WORLD AROUND YOU.

And it meant it.

John had run dozens of small tests—changing colors of objects, flipping street names, even subtly adjusting strangers' appearances. Each time, reality bent without question. No ripple. No trace. The Tablet was powerful… maybe too powerful. Which was why he found himself here, among the trees, trying to clear his head.

What now? he thought, staring up at the rustling canopy. He needed to know its limits—his limits. What was this thing truly capable of?

Then, as if called by instinct, he made a decision. A more personal test.

He left the bench and wandered deeper into the park, eventually finding a small, rarely-used restroom tucked off a winding path. Checking it was empty, he slipped inside, locking the door behind him. The stale air clung to him as he stood before the mirror.

He stared at his reflection. Slightly disheveled, bags under his eyes, skin pale from isolation. Maybe that’s why he’d ended up in that pawn shop to begin with. A little lost. A little bored. A little broken.

Maybe this can change all that, he thought.

He pulled out the Tablet. With practiced taps, he opened his profile screen—a surprisingly detailed breakdown of his physical and mental stats. He’d already played with minor tweaks, like height and eye color, but now… his finger hovered over the Gender field.

He hesitated, heart pounding. Then, with a deep breath, he pressed it. The change was immediate.

A hot wave of sensation pulsed through him—like lightning, but wet and alive. His hips swelled outward. His chest blossomed with firm, sensitive weight. Shoulders slimmed, waist narrowed, and his body hair melted into velvety skin. His groin twisted, reshaped—his manhood vanishing in a warm rush of tingling pleasure, replaced by soft, slick folds.

He gasped, a higher, breathier voice escaping his lips. A moan followed, unbidden but delicious. The pleasure was brief but intense, a crescendo that echoed through her new body.

She opened her eyes and looked in the mirror.

Staring back was a girl—slender and pretty, with gentle curves and warm brown hair falling just past her shoulders. Her breasts were petite but firm. Her waist dipped into wide, toned hips. Her ass… well, she turned to the side and let out a surprised laugh. Damn.

“Not bad,” she murmured in a silky new voice, running her fingers down her form. Her clothes had shifted too—now a snug, white autumn dress clung to her frame, elegant and modest, yet undeniably feminine. Her body hummed with new sensations—soft fabric on sensitive skin, a breeze against her bare legs.

She washed her hands, marveling at her reflection again. No discomfort. No pain. Just a body that felt right in all the most wrong ways.

“Well,” she said with a smirk, “looks like I’m a girl.”

She stepped out of the restroom, catching the new signage—Women’s on the left, Men’s on the right. It had swapped. Reality had swapped. That rush of power returned, tinged now with excitement.

Walking through the park, she noticed everything differently: how the breeze flirted with her thighs, how her dress clung to her hips, how her new breasts shifted with each step. She was aware of every inch of her body. And she liked it.

The train stop came into view, and she paused to check her new purse—complete with matching phone and ID.

Jenny Van Pelt, age 26. Same address. Different life.

She had memories, too—of living in that apartment. Cooking in that kitchen. Sitting on that couch. Her mind was a blend of old and new. She was still John… sort of. But also not. Jenny was real.

She took a seat on the bench, legs crossed, and admired her reflection in the train station’s glass. Men were glancing her way, subtle but noticeable. She wasn’t interested, but it was flattering all the same.

That’s when the idea came to her again—the one that had been forming since the walk over.

She needed someone to share this with.

Pulling out the Tablet, she tapped into a feature called New Page. A blank text box appeared, asking simply:

“What would you like to add?”

Jenny smiled, typing carefully:
A woman. Age 25–30. Busty. Stylish. Bisexual or lesbian.

The train arrived and she boarded, settling into a window seat. She hesitated before hitting “Enter.” She was, after all, about to create someone. A person. Maybe even a soulmate.

But her thoughts kept drifting—to her body, to the weight of her breasts, to the warmth between her thighs. She shifted in her seat. She was wet. Horny. And alone.

Back at her apartment, she entered the softly lit bedroom. It was familiar yet subtly different—neater, more feminine, hints of lavender in the air. She slipped off her shoes and padded to the bathroom.

The mirror greeted her once more, but this time she lingered.

“I can do better,” she whispered.

Tablet in hand, she adjusted her height, hips, and thighs—every change came with a warm, stretching sensation. Her breasts grew into full, sensitive DDs. Her lips plumped, her cheekbones sharpened, her face softened and matured into radiance. Her reflection looked like a Hollywood starlet.

She gasped as she edited her memories: growing up beautiful, charming, intelligent; graduating from an Ivy League; thriving as a successful accountant; lovers, parties, friends; and always, always knowing she was into women.

She pressed “Apply.”

Jenny swayed where she stood, eyes fluttering as the changes surged through her mind. When they settled, she smiled.

“I’m amazing,” she whispered, admiring her sultry voice. “This body is everything.”

Her libido, now dialed up, pulsed through her like a current. She added just a little more curve to her breasts. A little more charm. More luck. Full lesbian. Done.

Standing before the mirror, she posed—glowing, sexual, alive.

“Ooh, hello Jenny,” she purred. “Jenny with the hourglass.”

She couldn’t take it anymore. Stripping to her lingerie, she laid back on the bed, fingers slipping between her thighs. Her slickness greeted her eagerly. Moaning, she explored every inch of her new sex, reveling in the sensations that bloomed with every stroke. Her body sang with pleasure.

Thoughts of the woman she was about to create—Sonia—flickered through her mind. Beautiful. Confident. Lesbian. Curious.

Jenny’s back arched as her orgasm tore through her, her cry muffled against her arm. Trembling, she lay there, catching her breath, bathed in the afterglow.

Later, wrapped in a soft robe that barely covered her ass, she picked up the Tablet again and began refining the Sonia template. She gave her curves, a sharp wit, a warm smile, and a love of other women.

“She’s going to be perfect,” Jenny said with a giggle.

She filled in the final details, added a few quirks for flavor, and pressed the final button.

A moment later, a knock came at the door.

Jenny’s heart fluttered.

Her new story was just beginning.