A panicked shriek carried by an unfamiliar, smooth melodic voice cried out. Seconds ago, Thomas had been absent-mindedly crossing the street and scrolling on his phone, ogling at Instagram thirst images. He comes upon this pic of a blonde woman sitting in a café. Then, like the flip of a switch, his perspective is totally changed.
Manicured nails hold a new phone. Cherry lip balm teases his tongue. Delicately maintained, moisturized hair cascades down from his crown, tickling his bare shoulders and appearing shyly in his peripheral vision. His chest carries new, unknown weight, and a delightful flower aroma follows him.
She too had been browsing Instagram, but not the same way, just looking at inspo for some new outfits, and maybe a couple guys here and there. Thomas looks down at his body, shocked to see inviting cleavage, a girly pink dress, and a distinct lack of bulge. Not believing his eyes, he grabs his bosom and recoils at the sensitivity; an electric jolt from the squeeze.
In a moment of intense vulnerability and fear, he grabs "her" purse and escapes into the café, desperately trying to ignore the new way his hips move and the smoothness of his hairless thighs as they brush together. Almost accidentally entering the men's room, he makes his way to the women's, praying for privacy. Alone now, he stares into the mirror. A beautiful blonde woman gazes fearfully back at him, her eyes wide in shock and surprise. He tenderly touches his face to try to dispel the illusion, but the image responds perfectly. He has somehow transformed into a woman. A really hot woman at that.
"Is this really me? Like, my make-up, my voice ... I'm so fucking smooth."
He rummages through his purse trying to piece together what the fuck is happening. Tampons, make-up, mints, business cards - and a driver's license. Sabrina Miller, 21 years old, and based on his documents, a secretary at a local firm.
"My name is Sabrina? I'm some super hot ... blonde, girly girl. This can't be real, like, no way."
Still in disbelief, he undresses, pulling the dress off and struggling to unclasp his bra. With a click, they are freed, his perky breasts bounce and jiggle, and he feels every little alien sensation. His large, sensitive areolas react to the cold air, and he feels a growing warmth in his crotch. Pulling down his panties, the loamy, sweet fragrance of his pussy fills his nose, his meaty labia dripping with womanly dew, adorned with neatly trimmed soft pubic hair. As a man, he would've done anything to see this woman naked. Now he has no choice.
"Oh my godddd ... there's no way this is really me."
He notices as he speaks, his voice is distinctly feminine; the specific pitch and the way her carries his words is natural. His gestures are girly too - limp wrists, hands on hips, and a confident yet submissive posture. Dressing himself and leaving the café, he sees emergency response vehicles rushing to the scene of an accident. A young man had just been killed by a semi-truck. Some force of the universe must have had other plans.
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