Turn 7 of 10

Your libido keeps rising as your past memories become a lot hornier. You were consistently the hottest and sluttiest girl you knew. More changes to the memory of your parents happen

The warm flood of memory revision reaches its peak, and something else comes with it—a heat that starts low in your belly and spreads outward, a buzzing, restless desire that makes your skin feel electric. The new memories that settle into place are vivid, unapologetic, and decidedly NSFW. You remember being the girl who turned heads in every room, the one who wore the shortest skirts and the lowest tops, the one who flirted with the teachers and the coaches, the one who was always the first to kiss and the last to leave the party. You remember a string of boyfriends and girlfriends who adored you, who spoiled you, who couldn't keep their hands off you, and you remember loving every minute of it.

The memories of your parents shift, too, and the change is subtle but profound. They were never the serious, buttoned-up professionals you once recalled. They were fun, flirtatious, and open-minded. Your mother was a former model who taught you how to walk in heels before you could ride a bike, and your father was a charming, easygoing man who never minded when you brought home a new boyfriend or girlfriend. They threw parties, not dinners. They wore glitter, not grey. They encouraged you to be yourself, to be bold, to be unapologetically, gloriously you. The thought of them fills you with a warm, affectionate glow, a sense of belonging that feels right and true.

The heat in your body intensifies, and you shift your weight from one hip to the other, the movement languid and provocative. The sparkly mini skirt rides up a little, and you don't bother to pull it down. Your breasts feel heavy and sensitive, and the tight shirt is a constant, frustrating barrier. You want to feel the air on your skin, to be free, to be seen. Your mind is a fog of giddy, horny, happy thoughts, a stream of consciousness that is entirely focused on the immediate, the sensory, the fun. *God, I feel so hot. Like, literally hot. And also, like, hot. I bet everyone's staring at me right now. I bet they can't stop looking. I should go show off. I should find someone to flirt with. I should find someone to kiss. That would be so fun. I bet Chloe knows someone.*

You look at Chloe, and your eyes are wide and hungry, your lips parted in a breathless, eager smile. Your voice is a soft, breathy purr that makes the air feel thicker.

"Chloe," you say, your voice dripping with a new, sultry confidence. "I feel… so hot. Like, so, so hot. And these clothes are, like, really not enough. I need something more. Something that shows off my body. Something that makes me feel like the total bombshell I am."

You pause, your fingers tracing the hem of your skirt, your hips swaying slightly. The transformation is complete, and the person you are now is a creature of pure, unfiltered desire and joy. The analyst is dead. The bimbo is alive, and she is hungry for more.