Turn 8 of 19

Jess texts Taylor (her guy friend) in a mild panic, asks him to come over. While waiting she keeps adjusting the tiny outfit and touching her new body. Every glance in the mirror shows less of the old rural girl. Tries to stand normally; posture stays arched and sexy.

Jess stared at her reflection in the cracked bedroom mirror. Her old pale skin was gone completely, replaced by a deep even brown that glowed under the bedroom light. Her face looked softer, fuller, perfectly framed by the heavy makeup and long lashes that had settled onto her skin as if they'd always been there. The curly weave fell past her shoulders, shining and perfect.

She fumbled for her phone with newly long, red-tipped nails, her hands trembling. Her thumbs flew over the screen—what could she even say?—before settling on something simple, something that didn't mention the impossible curves straining against her tiny snakeskin skirt or the red stilettos she couldn't seem to take off.

> hey. u busy? can u come over?

She hit send before she could overthink it. Her only friend in this strange city. Her anchor to her old life.

As she waited she caught herself adjusting the bandeau top, pulling the stretchy red fabric higher over her new heavy breasts. Her fingers trailed over the unfamiliar softness of her thicker stomach, the impossibly round curve of her ass in the tight skirt. Each glance in the mirror showed less of the shy rural girl she'd been yesterday. More of the thick, dark, impossibly sexual woman she was becoming.

She tried to stand the way she used to—in a straight line, feet planted firmly—but her body had other ideas. Her shoulders rolled back, arching slightly. Her chin tilted up. Her new full lips parted just a little.

It wasn't her posture anymore. It was hers.

Jess shivered, torn between the last shreds of panic and a growing, undeniable fascination. She needed Taylor. Now.