Transform the Dorm - Bonus Content

These are the segments and chapters which went mostly unused for TRANSFORM THE DORM. They contain mature language, situations, and plentiful sexual elements. This is the original text which was modified and used in the narrative for Beverly Marsh’s perspective. This original version used a second-person narrator.

[You Find a Sex Change Flashlight 1]

——

You find yourself strolling through one of those malls around the city that amazingly still have shops, even though most people consider them dead. They’ve been documented in creepy YouTube videos several times. You’re not out to do that. Although it might be interesting to have an unexplained experience.

You’re just going for a walk, and this mall has decent air conditioning against the heat of late summer. You started college not too long ago for another year, and you need to get away for a day and enjoy yourself before diving back into things.

You amble past the food court, which is the most active area. Some Chinese food might be good later, but, for now, you continue down the path and around the curve that takes you deeper and deeper into the shopping complex. No one else walks this part of the mall because the big box stores on all sides have long been shuttered, and the tenacious Sears on the end finally gave up the ghost. You continue past a Spencer’s and an Old Navy to a realm where no other stores remain… or so you think.

Tucked away behind a larger store, with a slim profile and black drapes in the windows that make it look shuttered, is one of those tiny shops like the Tokyo and Korean-themed trinket places surviving on the healthy end of the mall. A simple paper sign advertises it as “Magic Store”. You chuckle and approach out of curiosity, as you haven’t seen a new place in this old mall for ages. Worth checking out.

The interior is narrow and claustrophobic. Shelves just below your eyeline are crudely packed with random products ranging from laundry soap to stress balls. Some are coated in a layer of dust, as though they haven’t been touched in ages. That doesn’t make any sense for a store that just opened. The yellow lights flicker above ominously. Crude, hand-painted signs direct you toward displays labeled “Essentials“ and “Entertainment” but don’t provide any other clarity on what you’re looking at. While scanning the store, your eyes land on a particular object.

It’s a small flashlight, smaller than most of the ones around your house. It looks basically like the kind of thing you would put on the end of your keychain. The outside of the light is candy-striped with bands of pink and blue. The section at the top is a vivid shade of purple. A small instruction book dangles off the flashlight, connected by a bit of plastic.

As you read with incredulity, the booklet explains that it gives off a blue or pink light depending on settings. Frankly and without preamble, the instructions explain that the flashlight changes the sex and sexual characteristics of anyone and anything that falls beneath its light. Blue makes the target more masculine or male, and pink more feminine or female. The intensity of the light determines the strength of the effect. The booklet also alludes to “advanced settings“ and “flashlight duplication”. In its default setting, only the user/wielder of the flashlight will notice anything has changed.

You have to try it, at least to debunk this ridiculousness or see if there are any nuggets of truth. You consider that perhaps there’s a filter on the light that projects feminine or masculine attributes. Perhaps the illusion of lipstick or the impression of a six-pack. Since you are a man, you switch the setting to pink and carefully aim the light towards your chest.

Instantly, a warm fullness spreads across your chest as you vividly feel your nipples pushing against your shirt. Before long, your shirt has shifted into a contour-hugging girl’s top. Underneath, you can feel something like an undershirt developing over your shoulders and around your back. It’s a bra. And it soon fills with developing, soft flesh.

Nervously, you click the light off. The changes to your clothing and your chest remain. Thinking about the instructions, you twist the knob over to the blue option and click it back on. Fanning the light over your small breasts melts them back into your body. The bra dwindles into the ether, and your shirt dangles across your boyish shape. Clicking the light off again, you feel about the same as when you started.

You have to buy this. This is a magic freaking flashlight! The possibilities are practically endless. In the deepest section of the store, flanked by black curtains, you see marvelous little trinkets here and there, but you only have eyes for this flashlight. No one is working the counter, but there’s a setup for you to insert your card or tap your phone to pay. Cautiously, you scan the item and see a price of five dollars pop up on the screen. Why so cheap? Not that you’re going to complain.

You tap your phone against the machine and use your thumbprint to authorize it. An instant later, you key in your pin, and the sale goes through. A black plastic bag releases from a lower section, and the machine prints out your receipt. That’s all there is to it. Tucking the light and receipt inside the bag, you hurry away from the desolate end of the mall.

You return to your dorm at Caldwell Spring University [Original name for Cressman University]. They’re called the Apartments, usually reserved for seniors, but you got lucky this year. This end of campus has a trio of three-story dorms on the end facing the main road and a series of houses owned by the University. Your dorm building is just two stories, but luxurious.

You’re lucky you don’t have a roommate. With a deep breath, you make sure to lock the door to your room and pull aside one of the chairs in front of your study desk. Sitting down, you click the flashlight back on and test its brightness. The carpet changes from a darkly mottled green into a sharp fuchsia. Clicking it off again, you take another breath and strengthen your resolve.

You just had a moment to try breasts. With the burning fire of your restrained sexuality, there’s so much more you wish you could’ve explored in those moments. But that was in public. Now you have a private opportunity to really have some fun. You slip your shirt off this time.

You set the light to neither the brightest setting nor the weakest and gently turn it to spread illumination across your chest. Your nipples expand. The areola soon stretches beyond the width of a quarter, blushing a deeper shade of pink than you have ever seen on your chest. The nipple stretches and stretches with vivid contours and an exceptional point until it can just be covered by your largest finger. You wish you could reach down and suck on it, but the flesh beneath hasn’t yet expanded enough for that.

It doesn’t take long before the breast beneath starts to flow out. Shifting in the chair, you can jiggle them with a scintillating recoil. There isn’t much, barely more than an A-cup you’ve seen in saucy photos online. But the weight starts to gather and pull on your surrounding parts and extremities. Soon, it passes what has to be at least a B-cup. You have as much on your chest as most girls around campus. That world-rocking notion sends an electric tangle of excitement through your entire body.

But you have to be careful. Don’t go for too much of a good thing. You switch off the light as your breast flesh settles into its clear, weighty presence on your chest. Hands shaking, you set the flashlight aside and trace the smooth contours of your new features.

You marvel at how strikingly silky and soft your skin is. You squeeze each boob with a hesitant but insistent grip. You reach under and around them. Gently, you lift their weight and then let them drop with a sensual shock. The sight and feeling of your bouncing boobs are like no other stimulation you can imagine.

You tease your nipples with an electric feeling as your crotch puzzles with but still delights in these unusual sensations. Pinching and twisting them hurts but also feels amazing. Your dick strains against the waistband of your pants. Leaving one hand to continue your ministrations, you reach below and begin to stroke yourself. The mixture of old and new pleasures is an assault on your senses. You redouble your efforts, climbing towards some summit you can scarcely imagine.

When you finally reach that apex, notions you never imagined lick at the edges of your mind. It’s so much, it’s beyond comprehension.

-----

[You Find a Sex Change Flashlight 2]

Wow...wow...you're still reeling, but your mind is contemplating what else you can do with this simple but amazing little thing. Despite the fact you just came, your cock is already pressing against your cum-soaked underwear. Your nipples are still erect and eager for more.

Standing up, you revel in the sensual tugging of your breasts against your shoulders and hop in place. The alluring jiggle encourages you to grab your phone and record the action for later masturbation material. Bouncing your knee, you hold out your phone to capture the sexy shift of your breasts. Peeling off your wet boxers and jeans, you feel a rush as you tease your hard, crinkly nipples. By accident, you slather a gob of drying semen across your sensitive tits.

Usually, getting your own cum on your broad, flat, lightly haired chest calls for a shower, but with smooth, responsive, feminine skin, you can imagine you're just giving those lovely breasts a pearl necklace or you chanced across an exotic clip online. Either way, the combination of ideas and feelings drives you into a frenzy, and you stroke your achy cock a second time and spread your seed over your warm, soft breast flesh. With staggering flashes in your eyes and through your body, you manage a raw, warm trickle from your dick. Smearing what your balls can give across your womanly areolas, you take a breath against the wall and save your unique little sex video.

Still, your body wants more, even as your cock dribbles in exhaustion. While cleaning up, you feel a fresh rush every time you look at the flashlight on your bed. You pick it up and take it with you. Slipping on a fresh pair of underwear and a loose shirt, you peek around for your roommates and sneak over to the bathroom. Instinctively, you know that, because of the power of the light, your breasts shouldn't be unusual to them, but you aren't ready to face them yet, especially with C-cup tits dappled in cum. That sexy notion threatens to awaken your raw meat once again.

Pressing and caressing your tit flesh eagerly, you can't help but imagine what it might be like for silken, feminine fingers to touch and caress these breasts. Already at half-mast again, you feel flush with anticipation as you turn the light back on medium and cover your left and then your right hands in waves of steady, pink light. Your heart racing, you daringly flick the beam towards your shoulders. Your hands aren't rough and bulky, but you can tell an immediate difference in the plush, satiny texture of your thin, delicate fingers. Your nails jut out like slivers of pearl as you return your grasp to your erect, bright pink nipples.

Your altered, girlish hands make a huge difference. Manipulating your breasts like rolling fleshy, warm dough, the feedback leaves you staggered. It's like being with your own girlfriend; only she knows just how you want to be touched, and you can feel all the best parts in vivid detail. Stripping again, you wrap your womanly fingers across the length of your rising cock as you continue to tease your tits. You feel like a ghost woman is giving you the best handjob of your life while you are connected to her wonderful breasts. Soon, spurting once again, you swoon and grip the towel rack.

Not even with the sexiest foreplay or the most alluring lingerie have you felt such desperate, unrelenting arousal and need to get off. Your sexual attraction to your breasts and hands is on an insane level. Surely, you tell yourself, not even a soft, sexy shemale would be this turned on? It has to be the light, you reason. Like a drumbeat in your head, your sexual appetite is hungry for more.

Even dampening a towel to clean off your boobs leaves behind red, radiating pinprick points of ecstatic, raw, knee-buckling pleasure. Considering the depletion of your cock and how it's pushing firmly into exhaustion, your heart thunders over the idea of testing out a wet, hungry pussy. Torn between the memory of how it felt to make your ex-girlfriend scream with just your fingers and the familiarity of your cock, you decide to continue pushing gradually.

Carefully focusing the beam, despite a heady, ravenous desire to cover yourself in its transforming light, you sweep it over your slimming, narrow shoulders. Surrounding your now-trim, tapered waist in soft light, you find yourself lingering on your hips and rear before threading the needle down to your quivering legs. With one final, cautious pass, you marvel at the raw, tender presence of your entire body.

Your skin is genuine, glossy girlish flesh wherever you can caress it. While you didn't cover your head in the light, concerned about what might happen if you looked into the beam, your cheeks feel like they’ve received the closest shave humanly possible. Cupping your supple, sloping ass with both hands, you pant at the heightened smoothness that envelops and consumes you. A high, whimpering moan escapes your throat as you approach the shower. Your broad, womanly hips sway and jostle the flesh of your ass, treating you to deepened sensations you never dreamed of.

You squirm and stifle a shriek as the flash heat of the shower head brings a mind-consuming rush over your body. It's like being intimately tickled, groped, and caressed all in the same moment. While a flare of pain soon passes, you yearn for the spray to touch all of you at the same time, especially your wet, dripping nipples as the water plays with and cascades over their sensitive slopes. God, what you wouldn't give for a detachable wand to pulsate over your needy flesh! Mere seconds of immersion are better than your last few sessions of sex with your ex. The lip of your caution fights with the precipice of your imagination. You still want more, and your rod-straight cock, the last sign of your manhood, calls out for it, like a wet, warm pussy that it needs to embrace as itself.

Turning the knob to quiet the thunder of feeling, you step out of the shower with your entire body shaking, as though from a new form of an all-encompassing orgasm about to strike. You somehow manage to have the presence of mind to wipe your hands so you don't damage or short out the light with water and take a long, deep breath.

Turning it on once more, you aim it right at its target between your legs. A throbbing, deep wetness sinks into you as you push away a breast to watch. Your cock desperately struggles to ejaculate one last time, with everything it has, but your balls have already pulled flush with your groin. With a strange, muscular pulse, you can no longer feel them dangling between your legs as your dick, still achingly jutting out, recedes from sight.

In one last hurrah, it manages to gush thick gobs of cum all over your changing crotch. Soon, it seals off, becoming a dainty but still blood-engorged punctuation atop the folds of your pussy. But you don't have time to contemplate that, as the crush of your male orgasm spreads over your entire body like a shockwave. The intensity of your climax has gained a relentless length as wet waves of electric pleasure sap your ability to think. You tighten your grip on the flashlight and, with your rational mind banished to breathless, ceaseless delirium, you sweep the medium beam over your entire body.

More. More! You cry.

Eventually, you snap yourself out of the loop, flick off the light, and survive the last waves of ecstasy dripping between your girlish thighs, which just feels like a warning of more to come. Gazing down as you shakily set the light aside, your chest is now undeniably dominated by your boobs. They aren't bolted-on, artificial bimbo breasts but rather broad, supple, and undeniable crests of soft flesh. No matter how you move, you can't mistake their presence pulling on your collarbone and pits. Surveying the alluring spill of your side boob, your wet pussy is as eager for fun as your new, throbbing clit.

You feel certain you must be well beyond a D cup or even a double D now. But you also realize you are several inches shorter than before and petitely smaller. Just comparing your head with the towel rack, you must be just under five feet. Playing with the undulating, pillowy flesh on your chest, you can't restrain an adorable moan or bring it anywhere close to your normal timbre. Sweat-soaked, full hair settles against your shoulders, and your teeth press into your tender lips.

Slipping a finger over the swell of your breasts and between your legs, you return with the last gooey, aromatic remains of your semen. It's like you've been fucked so hard, but by yourself. A fun-sized fucktoy, that's you now.

Feeling more aroused than alarmed at these thoughts, you sashay your feminine body back into the shower for another round of glorious water across your curves. While you again curse the lack of a shower wand, you still manage to bring your still-hot body to a series of pleasant but not quite mind-breaking climaxes. You still have much to learn about your new equipment, and you're excited to practice.

As you step out of the shower...

This is the next section of the original text that was going to be used. It continued a second-person narrative. This was modified/abridged and became the opening section of the first chapter.

[You Find a Sex Change Flashlight 3]

——

You have an epiphany. This feeling is so glorious, so rapturous. It’s this little secret that all the women of the world have kept to themselves. This feels so good, from the peaks of your soft breasts to the slippery shape of your hot pussy. And you have the ability to give it to anyone, at any time. It makes you even wetter to consider it.

Returning to your room, you plop and jiggle down on your bed as you look over the tiny but amazing, life-changing little flashlight you bought for just a few bucks.

Cautiously, you check the battery case to see what kind it takes. Your heart flutters in your heavy chest as it pops loose and you look inside. AA. Several of them, but they look generic. The instructions included with the device didn’t tell you much except to clarify that it was bound to the user. Squinting, you notice there’s a QR code printed inside with the batteries.

With your phone, you carefully scan it and are taken to an online PDF file with a long URL. The company looks Chinese from the text and site information, but the bulk of the document is readable.

It explains that the user can pass permission to anyone holding the flashlight to prevent them from losing memory of the changes. But this only works if the user and the guest are holding the flashlight at the same time. You put that away in your memory for now.

Further down, the document explains that a small section of the flashlight can be turned to enable different modes. A full turn to the right flashes a rough LED presentation of a globe. The instructions explain that this is a setting with global consequences. If you’re reading this right, you realize this means you can effectively rewrite any human attribute if you want. You can make it so men never existed. That’s intimidating and scary, but a little sexy.

Two full turns flash a human figure with what looks like Spidey sense above their head. This means your target is aware of what you have done. With a half turn, a figure holding the flashlight appears with dash lines of transparency. The document explains that people remember being changed with this setting, but they won’t think you have done it. It’ll be like you’re invisible to them when holding the flashlight. That sounds like a good idea to you.

With more turns, you find a specific setting for inanimate objects and clothing depicted with LEDs. There’s also a mental setting that doesn’t affect the outward body, labeled with a human brain. There’s even more stuff after that if you make combinations of turns to the left and right to program different presets, but you have a firm grasp on the main ones you want to have fun with.

As a test, you aim bright, inanimate pink at your closet. The light washes over the area of the sliding door, and the material of the walls seems to drink the illumination in like brilliant water. Smirking, you watch. You caught a little bit of the desk in the beam, and your laptop is soon covered in a bright plethora of stickers with muscular men and fashionable ladies. Pink art and natural forms spread across the rest.

Rising to your feet, you take a minute to survey the laptop before sliding open the closet. Inside, everything is organized as though a professional has done it. Jackets are arranged by tone and size, along with dresses, pants, and skirts in separate sections, and several deep ledges just bursting with heels that both tower and sit low with delicate sparkly straps. Your nipples are hard and vaguely achy in the cool air, so you search quickly for a drawer with your brand new underwear.

The first problem presents itself as you quickly slide on a cool, roomy thong with a pale blue tone and fringes of lace. You like it and how it sits on your new body, but your eye catches something else that might be just as fun to try. Indecision piles on your slim shoulders as you pose with one bra, then another, and then one that hikes your cleavage to delicious levels. So many options. Spinning in a teal skirt, which bounces against your thighs as it suggests and reveals, you assure yourself that there will be plenty of time for trying things on later. Completing your ensemble with a green, button-up blouse that can barely fight against your vast bosom, you leave the top with a few buttons undone for presentation.

The flashlight, once you set it to the mode you want next, rests comfortably inside a purse you grab. Tingles of exultation invade you as you make your way out. You’re going out as a girl, a beautiful lady. A quick glance in the mirror almost makes you swoon but also triggers your hesitancy. You could definitely fix your hair and probably find some makeup to touch up your skin. Not to mention there are probably better clothing combinations… But you stop yourself. Later.

As you expected, none of your roommates are in right now. You wonder if you’ll find them out and about. The threshold of the door is exciting and terrifying. You are walking out with your petite, soft flesh so delicately exposed. Everyone who looks at you will see the cute, busty girl that you are. A slippery feeling between your thighs is inescapable, as you shuffle your feet in a pair of flats. Butterflies spin in all directions through your body. You hope you can stay on your feet.

Your arousal is private, soft, and intimate, yet still feels like it’s being broadcast to the entire world. Your immense, hard nipples are surely showing through the frail bra and blouse. Of all the girls you have seen walking along in your life and spied covertly with a mixture of emotions ranging from lust to envy, you are now in the same sort of skin.

The hallway is clear, to your relief and disappointment. Stepping toward the common room is a slow, heart-racing prospect. Some boys are milling about, but they come and go through the sliding doors. Only when you reach the main common room next to the resident assistants office do you really start to see other people.

The widescreen flat-panel television next to the vending machines is showing some cowboy program from the 1990s. Four guys stand around the billiards table, taking turns shooting.

The first one you notice keeps returning to a black-and-white guitar set off to the side. His feathered hair seems to be somewhere between a dark yellow and a messy brown. Clear-framed glasses adorn his face, and he wears a generic, wrinkled tan shirt along with jeans.

Leaning back with his pool cue wrapped in his arms like an exercise bar, the guy to his right has a lean, long face with a half-finished brown beard. His messy hair rises like a pack of crumpled tissues. A gray Star Wars shirt with some anonymous spacecraft adorns his flat chest, and black, matching shorts dangle to his bony knees.

On the other side of the table from him, a small guy with dark brown hair, that appears nearly pitch black, levels a hundred-yard stare at some position ahead of him. He’s small, and his wildly askew locks look like he’s never brushed them in his life. He has bright pink, bow-like lips drawn into a practically pained expression.

The last guy is setting up the next shot. He has on a red t-shirt with some math formula joke that probably only ten people on campus will get. His movements appear antsy, as though he’s ready for a restroom run. His blonde hair looks good but is also swept to the side unevenly, as though he just got it cut and forgot to trim that end. A swift hand brushes it out of his left eye as he slides his stick back-and-forth. A pair of loose black pants still can’t fully disguise his prominent rear.

You judge the four of them and feel a pang of conflict. A few of them are real cute in ways you hadn’t considered before. You might want them to wrap their firm arms around you as they walk you back to your room for a little private fun. The temptation tightens your nether regions until you take a single, quiet breath and remember what you came out here to do.

Turning on what you consider the stealth mode, while keeping that Spidey sense awareness, you aim for the dark-haired guy who appears so dismal. He could definitely use a bright beam of girlness in his life. Carefully aiming the light so you just catch him, you lay a focused beam on his body.

The first thing that happens is the narrow shape of his head compresses into a round, full form with broad cheeks. His wild hair falls back, like a sleek, brushed curtain, spreading from his shoulder to his chest on one end. His immediate reaction is to bat at it, like some fallen bug or sliver of debris from the ceiling. He only has an instant to look up before the wave of all the other changes crash into him. His dark shirt spirals out like a short dress, dipping to his thighs while his whole body drops several inches in height. A tiny black leather skirt just pokes out of the bottom, with a garter belt striking and merging with a pair of silken black thigh-highs. A black velvet spiked choker laces around his tiny throat.

A tiny girl squeak, loud enough to shatter glass if it had the energy, bursts out of his soft mouth. By now, the other guys have looked up and see that something is amiss, but they all stand in frozen shock. The new girl‘s eyes are traced by Egyptian black eyeliner, and her broad, pouty lips are matte obsidian. The pool cue slips from her black fingernails (and rolls around on the carpet) as she gasps in surprise.

“Ohmygosh!” Her petite hands race around and also dart away from the shape of her body as she looks to her compatriots for an explanation.

The only response is by the antsy dude, as he finally settles in place and can only offer, “Dude…what?”

It doesn’t take long before the new girl desperately scampers towards the nearest hallway, while shifting her stride from loping frantically to restrained, as though discovering new sensations every few seconds to make her reassess how she wanted to walk.

You’re not deterred by her panic. You know she’ll find joy and beauty in this shape soon enough.

[The next section was adapted with Shifting the Sci-Fi Guy for Connor and Zach changes and was essentially identical to the published version except that their original names were Matt and Ty. Otherwise, references to the flashlight and its abilities are the only differences between the draft version and what was posted.]

[This is the continuation of the original second person branch from the shower segment]

[You Find a Sex Change Flashlight 4]

———-

You still can't get over the way simply walking feels like a sexual come-on. Stray droplets trickle down your bare shoulders and slide past your hard, jutting nipples. The constant jiggle and weight sometimes get lost in the rush of water in the shower, but now you are alone in the chill air.

Grabbing the most comfortable towel from the side closet, you marvel at how towels that once barely covered your body now envelop you. At least, aside from trying to conceal your bust. Sitting briefly to pee, you feel it gush out of you like a rushing stream. The analogy seems laughably on-point, but you imagine a garden hose spreading a constant flow over a yard. Now, you feel as though you've been trimmed back to the faucet, back to the source. It sputters all over your womanly groin but finishes without delay or dibbles. You never realized the mere act of peeing could feel so foreign.

At the same time, triggered by your shower and excitement, a slippery, sneaking wetness is pressing through your new nether regions. It’s as unstoppable as a tidal wave. Your pussy juices are searching, flowing, yearning for something to play with, even something as simple as your fingers. Idly, you prod your sensitive flesh like a few teases of piano keys, not ready to make music yet but getting a feel for it.

Quietly unlocking the bathroom door, you feel disappointment and relief that no one is in the hallway connecting the dorms. While you were showering, the top you brought with you shifted into a navy blue, woolen women's cardigan. You try it on, but it's just a lewd, button-bursting accent for your boobs. That's probably the point.

Your spare underwear has also undergone a change into panty briefs in a lighter tone of blue. Casually, you slip them on to feel and thrill that women's underwear fits you perfectly. After retrieving the flashlight that has introduced you to so many wonderful feelings, you sashay your way back into your bedroom. It has changed too.

Not immensely though. It’s still messy where it was before, but an entire area is dedicated to women's products, makeup, and more. While you've only glimpsed each of the products in passing at the store, you now have an innate, unconscious understanding of what they are meant for.

While your phone has a sparkling, golden case now, it is otherwise unchanged. Furthermore, your little masturbation video is preserved and unaltered. For fun, you slip on the cardigan and tease your immense, erect tits in a new video. You feel even wetter about the idea of posting it somewhere online. A damp spot, having traveled inexorably through your being to finally slide out between your nervous thighs, traces an oval in the gusset. You're a horny little fuck toy and you want...need something more between your legs.

Placing the light on the bed and checking your drawers, you soon find your earlier suspicions are correct. You wear a 28F bra. Not only that, you have some lacy ones that don't take you too long to figure out how to put on. Technically covered up, you look through the closet for what else to try on.

In the relative quiet of the afternoon, you hear the door to the other bedroom slip open. Your heart thunders in your sexy little body as you realize someone has been nearby this entire time. Who could it be? Brandon usually has classes till late, and Ryan often games competitively in the afternoon. It has to be Ryan, assuming the changes haven't made the dorm non co-ed or granted you different roommates.

Torn between a fledgling exhibitionist influence and a vivid awareness of how anyone and everyone can see how wet you are, you edge over to the closet to slide on a silken, pink robe. Ryan walks past the doorway, and your breath halts in your throat.

He's just wearing his red, flannel boxers, and a clear, looming outline rests against his thigh, like a barely concealed, full-sized candy bar. Before, it didn't matter, and you did your best not to think about it. Now, it's all you can think about as you brush back your shoulder-length, water-matted hair and part your girlish lips with an upwelling of drool surging in your mouth.

Ryan pauses to stand in your open doorway. "Hey, Beverly. What's up?"

Beverly...You've never heard that name used for yourself before, but it feels welcome on your ears and the tongues of others. Your tongue is preoccupied, but you find your slight, high-pitched voice to give a quick answer about buying, "A new toy."

Ryan looks intrigued, and you wonder what you are to one another. While you had a girlfriend—or still have one—Cynthia recently broke up with him, and he's been stuck inside on his computer all the time. Before you went to the store, you thought about asking him to join you. Stepping closer, you feel like you're attempting to seduce him as you bend over to grab the light on the bed.

Flashing the light on the wall produces no special effects that you can see. Spreading the blue light over one of your muscleman posters stretches the figure's shape to absurd levels and pushes you over the top. Slipping the light in your robe pocket, you whisper and slide a delicate hand into Ryan's boxers, as you remark, "But my favorite toy is right here."

Though you felt slippery and wet before, now it's like the dam is breached and an unstoppable wave is flowing through you. You've crossed a line you never imagined you'd cross before, but it feels so right to caress and stroke his blazing-hot, stiffening meat with your dainty hands. You have to work hard to grasp it fully.

You made the first move. Fluttering your eyes, you look up at Ryan for some sign he wants you to stop. All you see in him is lust and pleasure. Yanking down his boxers, his cock bounces rigidly before you, threatening to brush against your drooling mouth. Bending forward, you massage and encircle his dick with the immense swells of your tit flesh. He soon gets into it, thrusting his cock over your sensitive breasts and edging against your chin.

You are his little fuck toy, and you want him to use you in every single way. Your masculine mental remains don't care anymore with the overwhelming ecstasy of how good this feels. You want that long, hot cock anywhere and everywhere it can go. Soon, you cross the next threshold and lick the tip.

Though you're small, you use every inch you have to sink your mouth around and bury his cock into your eager throat. You sink and recede, stroking it and feeling it as it starts to twitch. Swallowing some, you savor it before letting Ryan cum on your face and chest. Cum on your tits, that was how this started, but you don't want it to finish yet. Your pussy has been getting ready.

It would take a little while for Ryan to get hard again, one of Cynthia's complaints, but you know of a magic toy that might be able to help. As he reels, stammering and panting from the way you just went to town on his cock, you turn a dim, blue light specifically on his softening meat.

While it does grow a little girthier, the important thing is that it springs erect as fresh arousal spreads through him. Leading Ryan by the cock, you take him to your bed and strip off your disheveled robe and gusset-soaked panties to reveal your wet pussy.

Riding him is a simple, slippery slide down his hard shaft. You gasp and moan as he pushes inside, tickling and teasing parts you never knew you had. This is what you were made for and what your body needs. He drives a strong, steady rhythm as your ravenous shape threatens to completely envelop him.

Before long, you ride into a crest that feels like your best orgasm yet. With animalistic fervor, you crave every inch, thought, and feeling from Ryan, and he fucks your mind into breathless oblivion. Only this time, it lasts even longer as he rises to his own peak and actually creampies your wet, dripping pussy.

You don't think about condoms or consequences. You just want more. And you feel a flash of inspiration. You got so hard with your breasts. Surely, Ryan will feel the same way.

As he manages to recover from his second orgasm in such a short spell, you urge him to try holding the light on the side, next to your hand. This is risky. The light might not allow more than one person to remember but, so long as he does, the accelerant to his libido should work just the way you want it to, to become a thoroughly used fuck toy.

Fortunately, you see his clear shock as his areolae plump up and spread with deep, dark red across his chest. Soon, they rival yours for size with tight, sharp-red pointed nipples. The flesh beneath barely clears the C-cup you started with, but he has lewd, fun tits you can't wait to wrap your lips around.

Soon, as expected, the mix of feminine and masculine sensations brings his swollen, almost purple cock to a twitching, thought-blanking erection. Your mouth switches between teasing the hard, almost leaking nipples on his chest and the even harder, also almost leaking tip of his glans.

You suck him dry, swallowing his delicious, fragrantly salty seed as he begs, out of breath, for a chance to catch up. Ruled by an accelerating, ravenous libido now, you whisper teasingly, enticingly, "Do you want more?" You slide your hands over your silken but sticky, cum-splashed body.

Despite his mind-numbed confusion and fear, the heartbeat pulsing through his ears and threading through his shaking cock understands an inescapable, gravitational attraction to his hard, obscenely swollen nipples.

He manages just two nods as you guide his hand to the side of the light as you aim a bright, steady beam across his entire body, except for his cock desperately trying to rise again.

Slim, narrow shoulders and a trim, sloping waist soon lead into vast, curvy hips, which will challenge any of the pants he currently has. A shoulder-length sweaty swarm of pretty but unkempt dirty blonde locks dips to his shoulder as his lips plump up and a trickle of drool invites you to imagine where his changing body will lead him.

His face has a stark, feminine allure that no longer seems quite in your sexuality, but you still give it a playful kiss as he bends down to suck on your hard nipples. Lost in the excitement, you forget about the steady beam still aimed at his chest. When you finally remember and click it off, you both marvel at the immense, overflowing boobs that have grown into Ryan's engorged tits. Nothing he might be able to wear could possibly hide them.

With how far they stretch without sagging from his chest, you can only imagine he must be several sizes larger than you. A full-sized, shemale fuck toy.

Just seeding that idea with a seductive whisper is enough to get him whimpering like a horny girl as his aching, red cock rises once again. You wanna give it one more ride before you finish the fun.

Recognizing the rushing wave of his oncoming climax, you time the light so you manage to catch the final, glorious rush of his firm meat in your pussy with the blast of the last of his semen. Unavoidably passing through the spill of pink light, you watch his once-enormous cock slip into a buried, concentrated point above his already slick and semen-soaked pussy.

While Ryan has been screaming with her eyes rolling up in her head in mind-broken pleasure, she still has another note of joy to sing as you bump your sensitive little bud up against hers. You two have gloriously and thoroughly fucked in ways few can even imagine.

You finally shut off the light once it starts to feel like you're getting achingly wet, and Ryan's fingers can no longer grip the side (she held on but also dug her girlish nails into it). Even though she only remembers you as Beverly, you both remember Ryan.

Slipping off the bed, you realize you'll probably need another shower after all that. At the same time, the brief addition of pink light has left your pussy with an ache you want to fill again soon. Perhaps you can return Ryan's penis as a fleshy double-ended dildo, or you can have herm fun while deep inside each other. You want Ryan to at least know the pleasure she's given you. Your mind reels with possibilities, and your wet pussy desperately wants everything.

The full-sized and fun-sized fuck toys aren't done yet.

[You Find a Sex Change Flashlight END]

POV Ryan

You lay there on Beverly's bed as you reel from the shocks of how thoroughly your roommate has rocked your world. That curvy, petite girl often and eagerly teased you with a glimpse of her immense tits and gorgeous ass. How you managed to wind up sharing a dorm with a girl, let alone a girl like her, has long puzzled you since you vaguely sense you had a male roommate with his own room, or at least a shemale one.

But the way she started stroking your massive cock before burying it between her tits and then deep in her mouth makes you wonder. And then the last few minutes in bed. The light, dear God, the light. Clinging to the side felt like holding on during a hurricane eye wall. Your mind wanted to succumb to a flash of feminine sensations, but you managed to endure.

As your ability to think returns, you survey the perky, immense slopes of your breasts. You have a reverse tan in the shape of a skimpy bikini, especially around your hard, sensitive nipples. The areolae are several times wider than anything you ever imagined on your chest but spread perfectly over your vast titties. Scooting up, the encompassing, jiggling weight plays with your head and the cum-splashed space between your legs that you are still getting used to.

Sitting up gingerly, you are still rocked by erotic quakes from your stripper-challenging breasts. Tentatively, you slip your soft, plush girlish fingers over the erogenous bumps of your tits. An alien, sneaking wetness, like an intangible snail made of pleasure, seeks out the drying spot between your thighs. Fucking Cynthia was so simple before she dumped you. Now, you feel like a box of mysteries, more complicated than an airplane console, has literally been dropped in your lap.

Erect nipples on your chest feel amazing, but nothing like your arousal before. The cock you were once so proud of just feels like a fiery, tiny point of lighthouse ecstasy lost between the lips of your pussy. You feel depth, unending depth, that yearns for something inside you as that sneaking, raw arousal seeks to drip out.

How can this be you? How can your thighs be so soft and exposed to every shift of the air? How can your mere nipples feel so alien and so far away that you need to hunt for their pillowy points? How can you be yourself when this feels so different?

Standing like a fragile, newborn animal from the side of the bed, you feel terrified and yet deeply aroused by the absence between your silken thighs as you move. No shifting cock. No manly balls. Only the intimate echolocation of flesh finding flesh tells you what you have beyond your immense tits.

Beverly wraps a teasing, suggestive arm around you as you ask her if you can go to the mirror. She joins you, though she's so small and has to stand on her tiptoes to see much. After heading to her room, she returns in high, wobbly-at-first stilettos.

But you only vaguely notice her as you take in how much your body has changed. Can you even call any part of it "yours" anymore? It's the body of a woman whose shape breathes sex from her supple thighs to her curvy, wide hips that make walking a butt-jiggling affair. Your dirty-blond hair frames a face that looks alluring and alarming.

How can you have plump, rosy lips that just beg to kiss and suck deep on things you never imagined between them? How can your vast, blue eyes appear so innocent yet seductively arousing with every glance? You control this woman. You are this woman. You own everything about her, especially the sticky patch of cum that bubbled out of your cock when it stopped existing.

You nervously call dibs on the shower as Beverly is still preening. She warns you not to have "too much fun". Flooded with a bright blush, you retreat to the dorm you share with Brandon to at least find a towel. Within, you are stopped in your tracks by how much your end of the room has changed. It has a floral, earthy aroma, like an invisible humidifier is pumping essential oils.

Your PC has become a lavender "grrl power" tower. Hello Kitty and anime pretty boys adorn the case. A pair of fancy, pink headphones with flip-up cat ears rest beside a personalized keyboard. You can't help but notice all the sexy, glamorous shots on your computer and phone.

Layla Rose, you soon find, is your name. You aren't sure if you're a cam girl or what, but your Twitter is buried in hundreds of DMs. Setting your altered life aside for the moment, you grab the best towel you can find and sway your hips off to the shower. While walking still feels alien, you can do it without fear you'll take a fall. Jiggling into the shower, you notice the head is different. It's a detachable wand with pulsate settings. You honestly tell yourself you're just lowering it to your crotch to clean off.

You soon have to brace yourself against the wall as the water blasts away your thoughts and concerns about ever having a penis. The gushing waterfall over your silken breasts just adds fuel to the fire as you ride through waves of orgasms brought on by the bracing water and your teasing fingers. You are achingly, abundantly a woman and, though you linger long in the shower, it feels like less than a few minutes.

Wrapping your tits up suggestively in your insubstantial towel, you strut past Beverly playing dress up in her room, as you consider what you can play. You should be scared that your sex and body have changed so drastically, but the intoxicating allure of this form crushes all other thoughts and doubts.

With your soaked, dripping curves barely contained by the towel, you hunt through your closet for something that excites the ever-present wetness between your thighs. Even when you're dry, you still feel that womanly arousal. Threads of drippy, dangling girlish juices are now a regular feature between your thighs. Bending over with your phone, you feel your arousal mount even higher as you witness your puffy, exposed hairless pussy in a quick picture.

Soon, you find something completely inappropriate for classes or outdoors, but absolutely perfect for your desires right then: a pale blue nightie that reveals the tanned, upper half of your tits in their full scope, with your erect nipples suggested through the see-through silken bands. The bottom flutters loosely and barely reaches past your soaked groin. Slipping on a matching pair of panties, you suck on your fingers as you settle into your mesh office chair and marvel at the adulation and promises of "fucking your cunt senseless" from countless seeming strangers online.

You want to stream just like this and watch the unfiltered dirty talk overwhelm you. Suddenly, the front door creaks open.

POV Brandon

You stagger back from your late class, grateful that the professor finally let you out early. You have so much shit to complete before you can finally relax this weekend. Walking back to the dorm, you puzzle for the umpteenth time why you're in a dorm with two girls who tantalize and tease you with their bodies.

Furthermore, petite Beverly gets her own room, while you have to share with Twitch gamer girl and influencer, Layla Rose. The stuff she does around you would be too much for a monk or a gay man to endure, of which you are neither. Fortunately, you have a large blanket, and Layla often winds up absorbed in voice chat manipulation of mere boys to win bits, matches, and gifts.

You feel like you should've brought this up with the residence hall assistants, but something about all this still feels strangely normal. Pausing by a mirror at the front desk, you fix your disheveled mop of red hair, scratch at your rust-tangled ginger chin with mottled freckles over your jutting nose, and try to give your belly no attention as your loose, untucked shirt does its best to hide it.

For a moment, you consider knocking on the dorm door to your left. Mike might be worth hanging out with for a bit to get away from the nervous atmosphere around your dorm with all the girls. You like Beverly and Layla though. Layla is a fun geek, and Beverly is adorable, but you feel so out of place there. Before you knock, you pull your fingers back and bow your head. Wade...

Your cheeks feel hot just reflecting on him. You used to talk anime about him, but he's such a domineering jerk. If you knock, then you're knocking the wrong way. If you stop by, then you're too loud. If you wanna chat, then he's beneath you. Whatever...you shouldn't let it get to you. You're a dude. But you nearly broke down in tears when Wade lied and said that Michael hated your guts. You apologized to Michael, but he said that while yeah, you can be loud, it's not a big deal.

And you completely broke down when you got roped into Wade's terrible softball team, where he just insulted you, especially when you got a concussion trying to turn a single into a double. You hide your tears from your roommates. You wish you didn't cry so much. Maybe you're meant to be in with a bunch of girls.

Stomping past that door, you reach yours just around the bend. It creaks open as you unlock it. The room you share with Layla is closed, but Beverly's room is open, and she's prancing around in her underwear. Blood surges through your body as you catch a glimpse of her bare pussy as she bends over. Lingering there, just out of sight, your pulse accelerates as she whips off her bra and plays with her oversized breasts on her tiny bod. There's so much that, in the few times you've seen enough of her flesh, it almost seems like it doesn't have enough space on her body, so each boob spills into the other like they're one boob flowing with crests and valleys all the way to her sides.

Before you embarrass yourself, you open the door to your dorm and carefully peek. Layla is sitting in her chair, giving a show to the Internet with a nightgown on and her slim hand down her panties. You attempt to retreat, but she notices you and blushes with a coy grin. "I'm glad you're here."

While you don't have more than an average-sized cock, its excitement at her expression is impossible to hide. "What's going on?" Her eyes flick to your pants, and Beverly catches you from behind with her warm, bare pillowy chest pressed into your back.

"Wanna have some fun?" She asks as her tiny hands dive right for your rising meat. You can only nervously nod as your heavy bag drops by the doorway and Beverly leads you over to your bed. Working together, they strip you in a way you've only imagined in your wildest fantasies. You never knew either one of them was interested in you.

Stumbling back against the dresser, you feel Layla basically inhale your cock with her full, plush lips, her throat surrounding your throbbing dick with animalistic hunger. Meanwhile, Beverly rubs her lovely tits over your chest. Overwhelmed, you feel yourself lose control as you cum feverishly into and all over Layla's lovely mouth. Hot embarrassment mounts as you silently curse how poorly you lasted.

Seemingly reading your mind, Beverly whispers, "I have a fix for that."

She leads your hand to a small, strange flashlight as she muses, "Might three be too much? We'll see..."

Pointed at your dribbling, meager dick, she aims a bright, blue beam right at your crotch. Puzzled for a moment, you gasp as the flesh usually turtling in with your fat unfurls with bulging, uncut majesty. Your dick becomes greater than you could hold in one hand. Before long, Layla has her panties off, trails of slick juices dripping away as she slides smoothly onto your expanded length.

You're fucking her. Oh, God, it feels so good. Your dick has become a veiny, pussy juice-coated monster thanks to that blue light. You have no clue what's going on, and the blood your monster cock now requires is certainly not going to your brain. Layla's tight, welcoming snatch is just one thing as you watch her pendulous boobs pop out of her nightie and jiggle in front of you, joined by Beverly's.

Soon, the girls switch, and you briefly fret that you're going to split petite Beverly in two as she takes your turning-purple dick deep into her pussy. Layla buries your face in her womanly pillows. Giggling, she asks, "Do you like them? Do you want them?"

Not getting the joke between the girls, you can only agree as Beverly continues to bounce on your cock as she leads you three back to the flashlight. This time, the light isn't blue. Rather, a neon-bright pink light washes over your sparsely-haired chest with your embarrassing little moobs.

Instantly, it's like your nipples have come alive, twisting, stretching, and jutting from your body like they were drenched in something ice-cold, but they feel hot, so hot and prominent. The feeling courses deep in your huge cock as you cream inside Beverly's snug pussy. When the light turns off and you pull your hand away, you search your bare chest.

You have breasts. Holy fuck, you have breasts! How? They're only slightly bigger than your moobs were, but the jiggle across your soft, svelte, and toned chest feels like it crossed a surreal boundary. Layla plays with your turgid nipples as her bust presses into your stomach and she sops up the cum which didn't make it into Beverly.

Whispering, the girls entice, "This is just the beginning. You can't imagine how we feel...do you want to? Do you want to know how it feels to get fucked?"

The breasts on your chest already make you feel sexier than any day as a regular man. That pink light. The blue gave you a huge cock, and the pink gave you breasts. You can guess at what more pink light might do. Getting wet...feeling what they feel...With the idea, your blood-flush cock presses against Layla as she grinds the length of it.

You'll soon be doing what she's doing. The idea makes you even harder. Your third climax is coming so fast. If you had the rationale of a few minutes ago, you might run away and cry in a corner, but...the world treats you like a bitch. Why not be a goddess instead?

Before you can doubt yourself, you urge Beverly to bring the light back. "Do it."

She twists your painfully sensitive nipples as Layla rides your aching cock. Under the light, those nipples rise and broaden to the point you can't see anything past their glorious pinnacles. Feeling the light across your face as all three of you hold onto the illumination's bucking broncho length, the tangle of bushy, rusty hair smooths to an ethereal, silken slope. Your new voice gasps out with the purity of feminine softness as red locks spill across your vision.

Submerged and melted away by the girlish light, you feel your fresh, delicate fingers overwhelmed by your still-developing bust. While terrified, you can't help but moan like a horny slut for more.

Only when it almost feels like you're nothing but breasts does Beverly guide the beam to your supple, hairless, tight belly. Your hips and thighs feel so raw, like you've never used them before, and the air across them is an intimate touch. Though Beverly skips your ragging cock, surrounded by Layla's wetness, you feel utterly feminine, unlike you have ever felt before. Tears of pleasure fall from your eyes as you cum once more, and Beverly gives you the sharpest beam across your twitching cock. You feel the waves of a climax with the beat of your best times jerking off, but with a duration that leaves you unable to escape.

Half of your seed splatters into Layla, and the rest coats your new groin in a slick, gooey bath. You feel more aroused than ever but, instead of getting hard, a concentrated tingle of arousal sinks into your pussy as you feel slippery juices wanting to welcome a man between your legs.

Beverly and Layla oblige sooner than you could ever imagine. All together again, they aim a wave of blue light just above their pussies. You soon feel a meaty, hard rod above a dripping hole stroking your sensitive folds. Mimicking what you saw Layla do, you feel an intimate wetness coating your thighs as your body begs for completion it never thought it would need.

Beverly's hermaphrodite cock is ravenously consumed by your drooling lips. Time becomes meaningless as you are their pliant, eager fuck toy on all ends. When even enhanced dicks find their limit, you leave Beverly and Layla to play with their normal anatomy and the help of a double-ended dildo.

On shaky, girlish legs, you inspect yourself in the mirror. As you wished, truly, you are and feel like a Goddess. Your tits appear slightly larger than even Layla's, despite the fair, pink areola framing your sexy nipples. More cum covers you than the results of an online gang-bang sex video. And you love it!

Brushing back your brilliant, alluring red hair, you wonder if you have the energy to keep up with the other girls. You wonder what class will be like now, if you decide not to use the blue light. Why not stay this way? Instead of somber whimpers, you feel the full rush of emotions flowing through you.

You are a woman! Fuck Wade...yeah, no...not even a pity fuck. He can take a hike. Of course, you know he treats girls differently than men. Never a rough word. But you'd much rather find a real man out there. Maybe it's Mike. A quick check of your changed phone tells you that you are as much of a saucy girl online as Layla...and now named Brandi. You have your pick of dick pics and more fanboys than some comic book heroines. You can do anything...

[Here are the other abandoned storylines in no particular order.]

[The following is an alternate branch involving Beverly Marsh turning herself into a girl at the mall and then changing others to be pretty.]

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

[Another Joins the Pretty Ones: You Find a Sex Change Flashlight]

——-

You survey your domain of the mall. The crowds seem to part, as though a tide were swayed by the force of your allure. Krystle, though brimming with confidence, delights in a fresh giggle. She should be used to the raw, feminine charisma she wields, but her recrafted spirit still feels a giddy exaltation at her own beauty. You feel a warm wetness between your thighs.

Stopping near a fountain at the main hub between sections of the mall, you spy a neckbearded young man glancing around idly. His eyes flick to the both of you for a fleeting moment, focusing on the subtle but still striking shape of your bust before lingering on the prominent, detailed shape of Krystle's breasts pressing against her red shirt.

He's easily over 120 kg, wearing his weight on his bulging belly and thick thighs. A pair of Coke bottle glasses cover up his striking, blue eyes. Stringy, unkempt black hair licks at his glossy neck, merging with the pubic-style curls of his facial hair. A worn, blue shirt, bearing a Portal 2 logo, barely covers his rolls of fat and gray, athletic shorts hover past his furry knees.

For an instant, you notice a flash of connection in Krystle's eyes. While you often ignore the tickles of other realities in the back of your head, you can surmise that Krystle and this flabby, furry thing could've known each other in another life. Now, they might as well come from a different species. But that, you know, can be as easily corrected as you corrected Krystle.

As Krystle clings to her soft, supple chin in contemplation, you remove the flashlight from your purse and train a medium-intensity beam on that timid, bloated picture of a man.

With blinking curiosity, Krystle glances over at the light in your hands. A dozen different flashes of thought and memory struggle to gain traction in her mind, but all she can do is watch as the beam transfigures its target.

The broad arc of the light doesn't do much at first, especially against that solid, unyielding mass of the man. But, like a sunbeam on a block of ice, it eventually melts away, sublimating into the air. You sweep the light in a steady, persistent arc, not pausing for a young, mischievous boy who dashes in front of it to escape from a frazzled, raccoon-eyed mother.

When you flick the light off, you take a quick breath and marvel at the transformation you have enabled. Where before sat a pathetic figure, now rises a breathtaking beauty. Her face, once a half-inflated balloon of fat, clings tightly to a sharp, sleek Icelandic curve. Her slim, pert nose gently arches upward, and her pink, pouty lips appear as a constant invitation for a kiss. The unnatural beauty of her blue eyes is striking with her glasses transformed into contacts and her stringy, black hair now platinum blond and framing her soft features.

Below, her Portal 2 blue top has shifted into a clingy, pink babydoll that shows off her trim, silken shoulders, dainty hands, and glossy nails. While her top displays the same scene, the Companion Cube is gently distorted by her B-cup bust. Past a glimpse of her taut, shapely stomach, those cotton shorts have become fleece short-shorts that desperately cling to the hourglass rise of her hips and barely make it beyond her narrow, hairless thighs. A set of pink flip-flops and a lovely, leather bag complete her ensemble.

You feel a flare of actual jealousy this time, if only for a moment, before marveling in your power. A bloated bulk of a man, never given a second thought, transformed into a radiant beauty somewhere between an actress, a model, and a super heroine. In his previous life, this former man might have envisioned his new body cosplaying as Spider-Gwen/Gwen Stacy. But now, she already has a loyal Instagram following for her cosplay modeling from oodles of fanboys who would beg to grovel at her dainty feet.

"Krystle! Did they have pumpkin spice? Who's your friend?"

"Bryce! Oh my gosh, I completely forgot!..." Piecing together her changed life memories as she collects them, Krystle notes how you comforted her when she broke down with a rush of emotions. You can imagine this Bryce might've once been a buddy urging his friend to ask out a girl way out of his league. Now, they are both beauties in a league of your own, gorgeous gals to inspire awe in everyone else.

The collateral bonus of the young boy who crossed your path is a stabilized, calm young girl with sparkles in her eyes, a sweep of shimmering brown hair past her back, and an elfin seed of beauty that will one day blossom into a presence to rival your own. You find yourself tingling at the realization that this boy will never know what it means to be a man. In fact, her altered mind has never known anything but femininity. The relaxed energy of her mother, no longer saddled with a blunt, brutish boy, but rather a refined, precious young lady, convinces you that there is even more you can do to improve the world.

Lovely Bryce eagerly forgives her friend for forgetting her coffee but gently scolds her for not seeking her out as a comforting shoulder to cry on.

After treating your new friends to their favorite caffeinated drinks, you consider the next step in your beauty-making plans.

[This is a branch from the storyline, which was originally going to focus more on Beverly Marsh and changes she did around the mall. In this story snippet, the flashlight is used to transform car lights and other light varieties into active transformation beams.]

[Headlights: You Find a Sex Change Flashlight]

——-

You return to the parking lot, wondering how far you can make car changes. You just changed a parked car. What if you change one that's being driven? Would it change the driver inside?

It's approaching dusk, so some of the cars have their lights on. You choose a silver Hyundai because it's ambling in front of the mall through a pedestrian walkway. Training the beam carefully, you lead it ahead of the car. Despite trying to change the whole car, just the headlights on the front change, turning to a still-usable but stark shade of pink. The wash of the lights is beyond you but directed at a group of teen boys making their way indoors.

With a squealing pump of the brakes, the silver car stops in front of a group of Japanese girls with aquamarine streaks in their black hair, silken tops, and glossy vinyl miniskirts with high heels. Setting the brake, a large black man, who has the muscles of a college linebacker but the shocked presence of Ferdinand the Bull before a flower, steps out of the car and gawks at the sudden appearance of flashy, pretty Japanese girls in front of his vehicle.

Almost to himself, he inquires, "Did ya see that?" You hold your tongue and wonder if holding the wheel counts the same as holding the flashlight for memory, as you fight with your own awareness of what happened. Since you are slightly behind his vehicle, his head doesn't turn in your direction. You make sure your flashlight is turned off and put away in your purse.

He calls out to the new girls, but they are already out of earshot and making their way into the mall. The sweep of the headlights illuminates a sign on a nearby department store, which reads, in fancy script, "Glamorous Women's Kimonos". Searching your memory, you notice it looks out of place beside the other signs, but you aren't sure what it might have said before.

The tender but buff black man walks over to the front of his vehicle to examine the pink tint to his headlights. You blink and puzzle over the echoes of arousal you feel for the driver as you see a dainty, pale young woman with a blend of Caucasian and Japanese features.

Stepping back from the front of her idle car, she fixes her short, fluffy mop of brown hair, revealing the silvery sparkle of ornate studs in her ears. The bubblegum twinkle of her pink lips part as her adorable face gives a frustrated puff. A see-through, black jacket reveals her slim arms as she clicks off her pink-tinted lights. She wears a black, vinyl miniskirt, much like the other girls, and crunches through the sidewalk gravel on hot pink heels.

While her snug, sleeveless black-and-white striped blouse only hints at her subdued bust, the lines of her bra suggest she's bigger underneath than you might expect.

Before she gets into her car and drives off to unknown changes and fates, you raise your arm and ask, "Could you help me?"

With nervous, leaf-like surprise, she notices you. As you strain, you sense she was someone else a minute ago, just like those teens. You aren't sure if the make of the car had some role to play in the appearance of those in the path of the beam, but it is the only idea you have in a mess of confused thoughts.

Trying your best not to sound nervous too, you ask the girl, "Can you give me a lift? I missed my bus."

You're not especially tall, but you still have a full head of height on her, even with her heels. She draws her legs together and dips her head shyly, answering with a faint Japanese accent, "Oh, I dunno. I would like to help. But my car is being...very, very weird. The light is broke. I think."

She bends over to turn on the light and puzzles, open-mouthed, as the light returns to its regular, untinted gleam. Spinning back towards you, she stammers wordlessly like a fish on the shore, looking like she's about to break down in tears and lose control of her bladder at the same time as her legs squirm.

Before she can pass out from embarrassment, you tell her it is fine and set a hand on her shoulder for support. Her hot, nervous embarrassment gives her a slight shiver as she apologizes profusely and unlocks the door to let you in on the passenger side.

[In this story snippet, the second-person character accidentally causes more changes to reality than they ever expected. They take a restroom trip after the flashlight changes things in their bag, especially a water bottle.]

[The Shift: You Find a Sex Change Flashlight]

———

Despite the progress of your changes, you still find yourself momentarily stunned to search and discover your penis all but gone, barely a nub between tight, petal-like folds of flesh you've only ever glimpsed in online photos. You tease the delicate, exotic lips, sweaty with a rush of arousal like nothing you've ever felt. Instead of a rising, rigid peak, you feel an inexorable, slick wave crash through you. You're getting wet, and it's a frantic, urgent ache. Like a drip from a faucet rising up through a pipe, and there is nothing you can do to arrest its determined flow.

You tease your achingly hard nipples before you resolve that the water you've consumed needs to leave. Straddling the bowl, you nervously unclench muscles with only the phantom memory that a male phallus should be there. Feeling like you're at the edge of a cliff with comforting rocks missing beneath you, you take the plunge. An urgent, aching flow, which feels like a sloppy, spraying stream right from your bladder, fills the bowl. When you are done, you feel more feminine than you can possibly imagine, with the sliding wetness of your arousal becoming an impatient ache coupled with the dripping release of your bladder.

Nervously, you expect that surely the water you consumed has passed from your body. What you neglect to consider is how long water remains in the body, slipping into the basic functions of everything and merging with the water already there. What you peed out was merely the leftovers of what you drank before. You could no more filter out this transformative water than track down a single bacteria in all of your blood. To make matters worse, you further solidify your state with a full, automatic swig of your bottle. Only when it's down your throat do you curse what you've done with a high, whispery soprano.

What scuff of facial hair you once felt has vanished, replaced by smooth, sleek skin. An instant later, your hair warms your ears and drapes over your eyes. Nervous to leave the stall and assess how much you have changed, you first attend to the wet spot in your groin. Front to back or back to front? Old sex-ed lessons depart from you as you hope that you won't have to worry long about the consequences of getting it wrong.

Fumbling with your male clothes, you feel as though you've gotten someone else's outfit. Everything is both too small and too desperately big for you. Your boxers strain against your hourglass hips while the flap leaves your new parts awkwardly exposed. Only by cinching the tightest notch on your belt do you have any chance of your pants staying up. Even then, they slide around the wild slopes of your hips and waist. Your top, though sloppy and oversized, at least covers you. However, the flesh on your chest has swollen. Though barely beyond a B-cup, your hard, jutting areolas lewdly announce themselves against the material.

Just seeing them pressing out from your chest renews your arousal, as a slippery feeling finally arrives between your legs. No position saves you from the kind of embarrassment you never thought you would feel, aside from a rogue hard-on. Plus, the sight triggers a feedback loop that only urges the sensitive flesh to become ever more turgid.

Holding your light-transformed bag in front of you as an awkward shield, you manage to stagger your way out of the stall, surely a brightly-blushing oddity for all to see. Fortunately, you are the only restroom goer at the moment. This affords you a private gaze at the long mirror behind the sinks.

You look like a woman who accidentally put on her brother's clothes. You can wear them, but just barely. Gently groomed dark hair reaches down to your shoulders. Your eyes and face are adorable, perfectly smooth, and undeniably feminine. You look so cute. Before you can cry or stagger out of the bathroom, a stall opens and a looming, leggy blond with the presence of a model steps out. Her heels clack a few times before she stops in front of you.

She seems really tall, but can't be much bigger than you were before, especially in heels. Slowly, she approaches from the side and wraps an arm around your shoulder.

"Honey, are you alright? Did you just Shift?"

You notice her sky-blue painted nails and the way the strap of her black leather purse splits her soft, rounded bust in her red-and-blue striped top. So much of her feminine stomach is revealed between the hem and her pleated, jean skirt with a bunched-up fringe of lace at the bottom. You do a double-take as you notice the presence of a masculine bulge pressing against her skirt.

Your tongue dangles for a moment, and you feel yourself salivate before you shut and seal your lips. The pretty...shemale?...still holding your shoulder teases, "See something you like now, sweetie?"

She giggles and apologizes, and you feel as if your face has never been hotter with embarrassment. You soon realize that she isn't a rarity, as other leggy, gorgeous women sporting a subtle but undeniable lump beneath their skirts come and go.

Nervously, you fumble for your flashlight, but your shaky hands drop it into the basin, and, before you can retrieve it, the infrared sensor sprays it with a steady stream. As you whimper, the blond dries her hands and lingers at your side. She helps you dry off the light, but manipulating it produces no illumination, blue, pink, or otherwise.

You curse to yourself, your mind racing with fear about how much you might've screwed up your life and maybe the world playing with this thing. All the while, you feel the blond's long fingers along your sensitive, shapely shoulders. Your arousal feeds into your female shape, and you nearly swoon.

After she helps you out of the restroom, you both sit on a wooden bench off to the side of the mall crowds. Calmly, she asks if you grew up in a "Static" family. Another word you don't understand. You bow your head with genuine embarrassment.

She asks if you have your phone on you. You pull it out of your transformed bag, now a rose-gold iPhone with a Hello Kitty case. She enters a website for you to look at.

It tells you everything you need to know about how the world is now. There are no more boys or men, just one distinguished gender where everyone develops a small penis at birth. At puberty, girls, or "shebirds", develop (the idea of "maleness" seems not to exist). Girls lose their penis for a vagina, and shebirds get bigger and taller, while still remaining feminine with bulging dicks and descending testicles. You notice that the pee hole on shebirds is near the taint, at the base of the balls, explaining why they still need to sit to pee. You peer at the female figure on the restroom sign and realize you missed a rounded protrusion from the bottom of the stick person's skirt.

Just half a bottle of water has changed your life, and just one light on a sign has changed the world. You find Static means someone who tries to resist changing one way or the other due to religious views and often suddenly explodes into full femininity, which is known as the Shift.

The blond gives you time to read and says her name is Chrissy.

With the weight of so many changes, you take time to consider what to do next.

[This was a snippet from a storyline where the transformation did more to alter mind and reality. More grounded consequences follow. The MC is turned trans by use of the light. This was a fascinating snippet that I wish I explored further].

[Out and About Girl: You Find a Sex Change Flashlight]

——-

You decide not to mess with makeup right now, but you do inspect the box with a playful smile. Later.

While you debate whether to go searching for a cute pair of flats, you try the heels on a whim. To your surprise, you move about the room as comfortably as if you were simply wearing sneakers. As a final touch, you slip one of your padded bras on underneath your soft, velvety top with a colorful sketch of a female guitarist.

Inspecting yourself in the mirror, you feel a flash of panic. Not because you've changed but rather because you can still see a boyish presence beneath all these clothes. Sure, you have your padded bra on, but it only gives the slightest hint of a bust. You don't have the manliest shoulders, but they still seem to jut a little too much in that lovely top. At least you shaved your arms and legs in the bathroom before you got dressed up. Still, you can feel prickly little hairs that you can't quite squash.

A flare of uncertainty hits you as you realize you didn't shave your body...did you? Yet your skin looks smoother than usual. This pleases you. You look girlish and pretty. Not delaying with doubt anymore, you step out the door and into the main dorm hall. You hold your breath as a pair of towering football players loom in the hallway.

Before you can take the first step to scoot out of their way, they step back and let you go first. You can feel their eyes on you as a swarm of butterflies leaps through your chest. You nervously check your padded bra to make sure it's not lopsided or anything embarrassing.

The more you walk around in these clothes, the more natural they feel to wear. Even though you need to tuck your manhood up and back to wear the panties, the positioning is surprisingly comfortable to the point you don't even think about it.

Outside, you catch a sudden breeze as you open the door. It ruffles your hair and whacks it in front of your face. With a sigh, you wish you'd brought a tie with you to hold it back but manage to fashion your bracelet into a temporary substitute.

You do your best to stride confidently around campus with your heels striking the pavement. Your pretty skirt flutters in the breeze too. Past the football field, you make your way to the student services building. Checking your box, you find a lovely card from your cousin, saying you're an inspiration to them.

Your heart wells with joy. She has a tough time with her religious parents. They won't even consider letting her see a therapist, and hormones are completely out of the question. You feel grateful your parents recognized the signs early; you all talked it out together, and they made sure you were happy as a girl. Their support has made all the difference.

Giggling to yourself as you take in the emotions of your cousin, you hear a rough, bitter chuckle and a whispered, cruel F-word you dare not contemplate or repeat. Whirling around, you spy the clenched teeth and folded arms of Mitchell Creaver. If you could spray bile on him, you would open up right here. He's defaced the room where the LGBT Support Group meets and especially has it out for the Trans Students Club, of which you're the president.

Instead of a middle finger, which might get you in trouble, you flutter your Venus necklace and stare him down. Since he's a wimp at heart, he backs down but still leaves behind the echoes of a bitter laugh. Fuming, you make your way to the gender-neutral restroom to let loose a quick cry.

Gazing into the mirror, you pause and are struck by your reflection. Your hair, which should be close-cropped, hangs neatly over your shoulder in your roughly-fashioned tie. Your arms look lean and slender. Your skin has a strange luster to it, almost like a girl's. And your nails. They aren't brightly painted, but they have been cared for. Resting your hands on your chest, you realize there is something more being caressed by your padded bra. Peeking, you gape at the development of your nipples, which are broader and fuller than just a few minutes ago. While you aren't especially busty, your padded bra accentuates what you have to make you look more cis.

Under your soft panties, you now have plenty of room, as her manhood has shriveled to a fraction of its normal size. It doesn't even respond to touching your breasts.

You are a transgirl in just about every way, and at the cusp of your consciousness, are the challenges of your life. Coming out to your parents at an early age in fear, only to be met with love. Hormone therapy pushing your body slowly towards girlhood as you howl into your pillow about how slow your boobs are to develop. Mom encouraging you and explaining she was a late bloomer too. Name-calling all through junior high and high school along with dark, bleak thoughts. Then being asked out by boys all through high school and even getting named the Prom Queen. The acceptance of your roommates in college. But Mitchell...

Only, it isn't actually your life. You aren't transgendered. Even though you can remember taking blockers and hormones for so long, it has to be the light—something seeping through your clothes and into your life and body. It left you male but rewrote enough of you into a trans girl. You know you should hurry back to the dorm and blast yourself with the brightest blue beam, but your mind wants more of girlhood.

But if you go too far, then you'll become a full girl. What about your cousin? What about your life? It would all vanish away. And Mitchell, that jerk, would just find someone else to torment...

[This is a fun snippet where the POV character was transformed by the flashlight with a mental rewrite to think they have always been a girl and are then flirted with. A confrontation leads to interesting consequences.]

[Some Just Don't Quit: You Find a Sex Change Flashlight]

———-

"Yo, girl! Is there a cell phone in your back pocket? Cause that ass is calling me!"

That boy just won't quit! Just spilling out his smug, lame lines like he has a frat brother he wants to high-five after each lame comment. His hair looks like a greasy pompadour, his jeans nearly dangle off his plaid boxers, and he thinks popping his top button makes him look like a romance cover star. He's definitely not your type, even though you aren't absolutely certain what your type is with all the changes you've been through. You just know it isn't him!

He hasn't crossed over into the creeper zone, but you pick up your pace and stride confidently to the nearest street corner. You aren't dressed provocatively, not that it should matter one way or the other. The wind flicks your dark curls over your face as your golden, dangly earrings settle. You straighten your gingham miniskirt as far over your hips and thighs as it will go and adjust how much cleavage shows on your drawstring white tank top.

"Hold up, girl. I just wanna talk a bit." If it comes to it, you do have a taser, but it's somewhere around the bottom of your purse. Same with your mace. And, better yet, you have a magic flashlight. You can make yourself into a buff guy or clean up that look of his. Maybe...both.

He watches you for a second as you flash a knowing smile and then turn a wash of blue light over your body. You regret that the magic prevents him from realizing your skirt is turning into a snug pair of twill pants with the strange presence of a penis pushing from your groin. A preppy set of sneakers on your broad feet is a tolerable replacement for your pretty heels. While you miss your fashionable dark curls, you hope that you have a face like your favorite actor. A white, button-down dress shirt is definitely rougher than you prefer but still suitably fashionable.

The distended, snaking swells in your trousers still leave you fighting hot embarrassment and fretful feelings, but at least some of the shock has waned. Regarding the boy, you watch him blink for a moment before a grin returns to his face and he presses, "So, pretty boy, what's your name?"

With an internal scream, you resolve that some libidos just can't be quashed by magic. But you make one last effort with a low pink light aimed over your relentless, romantic pursuer. Making sure you finish the job, you flick the light off, tuck it away in your pocket, and survey the results.

Instead of a frat boy trying too hard, you see a demure redhead with hair not much longer than your slim locks. She's dressed bookishly, like someone out of a John Hughes film. A jean jacket downplays her bust but can't hope to hide it. Underneath, her pink blouse shimmers with little blue rhinestones and yellow, sketchy flowers. The leather strap of her immense purse, which looks like it could and does easily hold several paperback novels, splits her breasts in a way that seems quite adorable.

Glancing down with a blush lighting up her pale cheeks, she fusses with her long, maroon skirt that nearly reaches her silver-sandaled feet with glittery pink nails. Despite certainty in your female heterosexuality through several gender crossings, you have to admit she is triggering something in your now-male body.

Despite how much she's changed, she persists with shy tenacity, "My name is Misty. W-would you like...to get a c-cup of coffee some...somewhere?"

A casual glance at your wallet, disguised as adjusting your snug pants, lets you know your current boy version is named Dylan. Misty gasps as your rogue penis flashes a brief impression through your clothes.

Your raw, masculine energy feels both intoxicating and unsettling. You aren't turned on by this new girl, but the power you exert over her small, frail presence is something else. Tempted and conceding she's earned at least a little of your time by still being into you after a sex flip, you agree to her proposal for coffee, so long as she's buying. She eagerly agrees.

Along the way, passing a forest that adjoins the expansive mall parking lot, she stretches up on her toes to give you a peck on the cheek. Despite the fact you still aren't into girls, your body automatically responds as you watch her give a flirtatious grin and kiss you full on the lips.

You don't fight it but gasp in shock and pleasure as her dainty hand sneaks under your tight waistband and urgently strokes the length of your hardening dick. Despite how weird and unnatural it feels, you are bowed over by the concentrated pleasure. Everything you once felt throughout your body is distilled into a fire poker of an organ.

Leading you into the protective canopy of the forest and away from the prying lights of the roadway, Misty hungrily peels off your pants and underwear. Wrapping her lips around your aching rod, you see and feel no hesitation from her to deep throat your entire length. Have you turned a horny frat boy into a raging nympho?

Rapturous pleasure threatens to overwhelm you as her quick fingers fondle your balls. If you had the experience of a man, then maybe you would've been prepared for this, held your dick along the edge, and made it last, but her sexual fury is just too much for your "new" anatomy.

Gasping and shuddering, you feel a tingling, explosive eruption. Your climax is more violent than you're used to, unleashing a spray that Misty eagerly swallows. The brevity of the wave leaves you tantalized and hungry for more. After cleaning the head of your cock, Misty moans and licks her cum-covered lips.

Maybe you can skip the coffee…

[Here’s another branch example from the flashlight storyline involving a friend named Gene, who is slowly changed by the flashlight]

[Turnabout: You Find a Sex Change Flashlight]

———-

Gene gives an unexpected smirk. "Why thank you. I use a special lotion to keep them silky, but I'm so lucky I don't need to shave them too often. I had the WORST ingrown hairs the summer before college. It hurt just to sit down! Oh my gosh, so bad."

You notice Gene is chattier than usual, even though you've just changed his...her lower anatomy. And, taking into account her deep voice and upper manly features, you can imagine talking to a strange-looking girl or an unusual gay man. The logic behind the light puzzles you as you try to think of the best way to phrase your next words. You buy some time by using her name as a question.

"Gene?"

"Hmm? What? This material? Not jean. It's chiffon. It's a little rougher than I like, so I was thinking of returning it." She brushes down a patch of her skirt and lifts a silken skirt off a rack to inquire of you, "What do you think of this?"

She didn't recognize her own name, so her identity must have changed. Another puzzle to ponder, as you glimpse her pert rear in the snug shape of her skirt. Despite her only being a woman from the waist down, it excites you.

With a devious thought, you aim your flashlight at her again and state, "I dunno. Let me check." She giggles in that manly but still soft tone as you sweep the light across the skirt, as though you need it to see properly. Instead, you bathe Gene (or whatever her name is now) in a wash of light, except for one thing.

You've always had a thing for short-haired chicks, so you restrain yourself before the light can lengthen your friend's black hair from a close cut with a few strands that slip over their forehead. Teasingly, Gene quips, "And you got it in my eyes. Nice. You do know the skirt isn't up there, right? Should I haul you to the eye doctor at the other end of the mall?"

Flicking the light off after a half-hearted apology, you marvel at the girl before you with Gene's haircut. She now has on a form-hugging, solid-black tank top with straps that reveal her bra straps. The slope of her lean waist is now complimented by a narrow, taut stomach that is a fraction of its former size. Surrounding her obvious, D-cup cleavage are a series of thin front loops and the hinted edges of her lacy, black bra cups. Her breasts aren't obscenely big or exposed, but the fit of her top leaves just enough to your imagination. She doesn't seem like an alt girl or a goth, but she could look like one with a little makeup.

Gene sets the skirt, turned mini by the light, back on the rack, resolving, "I'll try something else. Also, you're totally staring again." Her voice has a smoky, glamorous presence.

You come up with some excuse that you're trying to envision her in the outfits, to which she snickers playfully and answers, "Of course. While blinding me with a little girl's nightlight." Though you don't sense that she's actually upset with you, you slip the light into your pocket and show your empty hands in contrition.

She brings her pouty pink lips up in a quick smile. Her lower lip is big and looks so soft that you can't help but imagine what kissing her would be like. You must've caught more of it than the top one beneath the beam. It still looks natural and sexy. You can't believe that an average-looking guy from your college has become such a gorgeous lady. If only you knew more about her connection to you and why you're shopping together, you might feel confident enough to flirt with or kiss her, but you don't even have an idea of her name now.

Tagging along, you offer up your arms as a clothes rack for her favorites to try on. Intoxicated by a wave of her rose-heavy perfume as she leans close to you, it takes you a moment to realize she has snuck a hand into your pocket and pulled out the light.

Grinning, she pronounces, "Ah HA! Turnabout is fair play. Now, let's see how you look under this silly, pink light..."

[Sadly, this was as far as this branch idea went. But there are other orphan branches with these two characters wielding the flashlight.]

[And here’s a different, alternative branch to the previous with Gene. The MC, unaware, has been changed.]

[What Have You Goth There?: You Find a Sex Change Flashlight]

———-

You chuckle at some of Gene's ideas, especially using the light on people heading into one restroom to see if they turn around and head to the other one and investigating if it works on inanimate objects. Sitting near Gene on a bench, you cross your legs tightly as he gives a suspicious, nervous glance at your crotch for the nth time. God, it's like the fact you're a boy with a pussy is a foreign concept to him. Earlier in the year, you both got a little too drunk, and he went down on you, out of curiosity and experimentation. Despite the fact you mutually agreed to remain friends and not mention it, there is no way he could've forgotten that.

You wonder briefly if maybe his mind might've been altered by wielding the light, but you don't feel any different with it in your hands. Lining up the beam, you question Gene as you continue, "What do you see over there?"

He notices the scruffy teen boy in a messy, Metallica tee and snug, black jeans who looks like he's trying for the world's longest sulk as his punk girlfriend shops at Hot Topic for merch. Gene readily describes, "A wannabe edgelord." You listen to him then repeat, "A goth guy...a guy...a sulking dude...a girl...a goth girl." Meanwhile, you have turned on the beam and aimed it over the scruffy teen.

He doesn't notice any change and readily recites "goth girl" without questioning or skipping a beat. For you, Metallica remains but has shifted into a black tank top with a set of bra straps angling beside the thin straps of the top. Her skin is even paler as a girl but silky smooth. Whereas the boy would've loomed over six feet if he wasn't slouching, the goth chick barely seems to stretch five feet in her glossy obsidian, heeled boots. Thick leggings flow into a set of belt-covered, leather short-shorts. While her hair isn't much longer than his, the difference is between a greasy, crow-like dangle and a pretty, feathery swoop that dips over her right eye and stops short of her neck. Her dense, Egyptian-style eyeliner is accented by a large Ankh on a silver necklace, which rests on her DD-cup bust, drawing attention to the sharp line of her cleavage.

While your pussy has appreciated the pretty girls you've made, this is the first one to get you actually wet. You kinda have a thing for short-haired chicks, and the change from a grungy guy to a cute girl is the best one you've done so far with the light. Gene clears his throat and stumbles over ideas for what changes might've happened. There's something amusing about him trying to suss it out like a mind puzzle. His best effort is "swimmer" before you have to tell him.

"Guess I'm not missing much then. Dang, she looks..." As Gene speaks, he notices the punk girlfriend has returned from shopping. The girlfriend gives the new goth chick a lingering, warm kiss before excitedly showing off her purchases to her smiling partner. Gene glances at his feet and finishes, "She looks happy. Whatever happened to her. Hopefully."

You've noticed this sense of melancholy trailing after Gene, like a sense of guilt, despite the fact that you have been responsible for almost all the transformations, and you stopped him before he altered your pussy. Almost all...you glance at the server on the mall restaurant terrace. He doesn't seem weird to you, but Gene compared it to a circus act where a performer is one side girl and one side guy. Your heart beats swiftly as you make up your mind to ask, holding the light, "Buddy? Is there something you want to do with this?"

For emphasis, you wiggle your head in the direction of the restaurant. He glances quickly between the flashlight and you, making sure this is what you want to do. Gene is a responsible guy, and sometimes stuff weighs on him. But you warn him, "Not on me."

He shakes his head so much that you're worried it might fall off. He invites you to hold the flashlight at the same time but, with everything you've read in the instructions about the user and control, you don't want to risk altering both your memories or doing something else crazy. One user at a time. You urge him, "Just do what you need to do."

So, you watch him shine the pink light on a waitress across the way. You don't understand it, but he heaves a long sigh of relief. "You good now, buddy?"

As an answer, your friend turns the flashlight around on herself. You watch in stunned silence as your college friend, Sera, covers her body in the pink glow of the beam. Her dirty blond hair in a silken fringe around her head looks momentarily darker under the pink-tinted glow. Her soft face quivers with surprise as she switches off the light and cradles it in her lap.

"What the heck!?" You bristle with fear about what Sera has done. Fortunately, she is left somehow unaltered by the light. Her prominent, you sometimes joke "pokey", boobs haven't gotten bigger than their previous D-cup fullness. Her peach, short-sleeved athletic top with a rounded, girl-next-door innocent view of her neck is still neatly tucked into her hip-hugging, high-riding gray-blue jeans. Her oldest, most comfortable sandals dangle off her dainty feet with peach-glossed nails.

The fear doesn't abate as Sera gropes herself with a bright, wide-eyed blush. Her hands fondle her bust, and she gives a sudden whimper. Snatching the light back, you interrogate her, "What's that about?"

Returning to your previous concern about unknown mental effects to using the light, her look at you is not the expression you expect from the girl you want to be more than friends with. Sure, you two got drunk one night and caressed each other for hours, but that was private compared to shining a magic light on oneself then fondling your tits in the middle of a mall!

Swallowing hard, then clearing her throat, Sera says to you, stammering like she's never used her soft, high voice before, "I'm a girl..."

Well, duh. Of course she is, and always has been. You soften your thoughts with calm and explain this to her. Swiftly, she shakes her head and makes wild claims that she was a boy a minute ago and her name was Gene. While you understand that the light can change sex, there is absolutely no doubt in your mind that Sera has been a woman as long as you've known her. Not even a single stray memory says anything different.

Suddenly, Sera bolts from the seat, staggers on her feet with the sway of her hips, and hustles away. You chase after her, confused as to what you said and did wrong.

[This is another alternate snippet of Gene and the POV character.]

[Show Light: You Find a Sex Change Flashlight]

——

You think of all the sexy Instagram stars you see online, the Gone Wild photos on Reddit, and the filtered, posh selfies on Twitter. Those are fun and fantasy-filled but you can't think of Gene like that. Nor do you think you could just hang out with girls and have fun that way. If you use a peak intensity beam, then Gene's liable to wind up as one of those high-maintenance chicks or some sort of empty bimbo. Nah, you guys have been friends for too long. You have to proceed carefully.

As you window shop together, you adjust the beam and point it at Gene so that it encompasses his entire body in a dim but steady pink light. Currently, he's distracted by a flashy-looking JRPG display in the window of the mall's locally owned gaming shop, Infinite 1Ups. A little of the beam crosses through the window and shines on the cover art. Fortunately, no one else is standing near the window, but you feel like the characters in the artwork look a little girlier than before. It's hard to tell with these kinds of games though.

Under your riveted gaze, you witness Gene's extensive changes. Where before you were about the same height, he's now more than a head shorter than you. His normal, well-kept brunette hair spreads like a human Chia Pet in time-lapse, settling over his right shoulder in particular. As well, it acquires a coppery, subtle auburn tint. Turning, she flashes her bubblegum-pink lips in a playful smile and responds to the light on her by singing, off-tune, but in an adorably-cute soprano, "Hello, my buddy, hello, my honey, hello, my ragtime gaaaall, send me a...hug by wire, that'll be total fire." She doffs an invisible top hat in mime, and you're sure she changed some of the lyrics, but you keep the spotlight on her until it's clear she's not changing any further.

Despite the dim quality of the light, girlish softness has saturated Gene's entire body. A trim set of eyebrows accentuates her curly lashes. They aren't done up all the way or flashy, but they highlight her big, silvery eyes in a way that projects gleeful cuteness. Gene had more of his mother's nose. Now, her trim, sloping one evokes her Broadway singer grandmother, whom you only met in old photos he shared with you. It's not the sexiest or most feminine nose, but it looks perfectly cute with the rest of her narrow, feminine features.

Gene used to have a prominent Adam's apple, but now her neck is all Eve—slim and surprisingly tiny. Below, the blue windbreaker he had on has become a tan, woolen cardigan draped loosely over her narrow shoulders and swarming around her slender fingers with nails that match her bright lips.

Beneath the cardigan, you discern a message with white hearts around each letter that spells out "I just wanna be your dream girl" on an otherwise unassuming, gray tee shirt tucked in the girly blue jeans she's wearing. Pink, flat sneakers cover her feet beside a purse decked out in Final Fantasy characters. She slips the strap over her shoulder and asks, "How was that?"

She's an adorable beauty, the very picture of a girl-next-door, clearly not lacking in a figure despite the layers of comfortable clothes that downplay her chest. She feels like a real girl, someone you might actually ask out if you had a shot of confidence in your arm. At the same time, she looks so much like Gene that you can only imagine this is what Gene would've become if he had two X chromosomes.

You answer promptly, "Very nice." You would've said the same, no matter what.

She then asks you what the deal was with the light, and you explain you were just trying it out, adding, "Like a show light."

Unfortunately, this encourages her to excitedly pronounce, "Let me try it on you. Song and dance buddies."

Shoot! If she uses it on you, then you could be in big trouble.

[More mall changes in this focused around the video game store. Parts of this inspired Finley in the first storyline.]

[Infinite Girl Ups: You Find a Sex Change Flashlight]

———

As much as you enjoy indulging in the changes you've made, it's something of a wide swath with too much to take in at once. You're deluged by waves of girls made from the manliest of men into butch tomboys, along with shy ladies yearning to change into slacks and frumpy tops. While you could watch that all day, getting more hands-on appeals to you.

And the place with the highest boy-to-girl ratio you can imagine is Infinite 1Ups, the local gaming store at the far end of the mall complex. It fills four store slots, including a retro arcade curated by the owner. The manager, Ronald, is a cool guy with a YouTube channel on game history that you've seen in passing. He's a big guy with a cordial disposition and one of the densest black beards you've ever seen. His friends nicknamed him "Young Santa".

As fun as it might be to blast him with the light, you wanna see what it can do to his patrons first. Fiddling with the settings, you first take aim at a plain-looking dude in a blue hoodie with an unkempt mop of black hair. Layering him with a light, pink stream of organic light, you then fiddle with inorganic to gingerly adjust her clothing, then bring up her girl sexuality while leaving a trace of boy libido. As far as mind, you leave her more in the blue but unaware of any differences.

Once this series of lights is complete, you observe the results. The mop spreads out in an understated sprawl over her neck. Her lips aren't made up or fancy, and her eyes wear subtle, gray raccoon-tired circles. The closest thing to fashion on her is a blue fleece sweater with a cowl neckline that matches her pants. Her chest is not far from a B-cup, but there is no doubt about her girlhood. If you were mean, you might note how she has an impish, spindly frog-like presence. But you also find her cute in an understated way.

Especially interesting is her shyness as you pass. She's definitely in your league, and you get the impression she might be drawn in by your presence. Inspecting the row of import games she's looking through, you notice her focus on suggestive anime titles. Satisfied with your first round, you set up in a good place off to the side to catch male customers as they enter.

Subsequent results follow in a similar mold to your first, even though not every new gamer girl winds up in the foreign stuff. Soon, the ratio is 90 percent girls to 10 percent guys, and the latter is exclusively fathers and little boys that you've left alone. At least for the sake of supporting local businesses, the new girls seem especially generous with buying up more assorted merch than most guys you've seen in this store in the past.

Despite the fun of watching over a dozen subtle gamer girl changes, you wanna mix things up before you head somewhere else. You pick a dude who practically looks like a girl already from the back, with long black hair over his shoulders. Even his arms are pencil-thin. He's around five and a half feet tall, so he only loses a few scant inches. The key changes involve his thighs plumping up in his blue jeans and a slight change to his arms and hands, so they clearly feel like they've always been under the influence of estrogen.

As the new girl turns with a quick look of confusion, you estimate she must have C-cups with the way her black tee with white-patterned game console outlines slips across her modest bust. She doesn't have a classic hourglass shape but broad hips that flow up like stretched taffy. If you injected the boy from before with a regular dose of estrogen since puberty while not letting a mote of testosterone enter his bloodstream, then this would be the result. She isn't prettied up or a beam of femininity, but she could easily be his sibling.

She brushes a long lock away from enveloping her right eye. You do your best not to appear conspicuous as you put the light away while still waiting for her reaction. An instant later, she looks down and springs right up. The close cut of the black top keeps her from jiggling too much. Still, she fusses with the hem as she marvels at her limbs. As she turns away, you hear a stifled F word as she slips her hands around her groin in an attempt to make it look like she's adjusting her jeans. The subtle flush to her face becomes brightly obvious.

You linger at the corner of an aisle as she scurries from her spot. Moments later, she just about barrels into you, and you both tumble to the roughly carpeted floor. She's basically on top of you, and you can feel her soft thigh pressed right against your crotch. Since you watched all the gamer girlish changes, you're still rather hard, and you can tell she knows it, as she scrambles to get off you. Her breasts only invade your chest area for a moment, but you can feel her nipples are rock hard through her bra.

Unable to form any other words, she just nervously squeaks "sorry" apologies before dashing off and out of the store. You find yourself getting even harder as you get to your feet. She ticks a lot of boxes for you as far as being a cute tomboy and a clear gamer. And her awareness of what happened, while a possible problem easily fixed with the flashlight, somehow turns you on even more.

Hurrying after the escaping girl, you barely hear a comment from store manager, Ronald, as he states, "Thanks for the business." You don't question this as you hurry out. Hustling to the center of the mall near the terraced, fancier sit-down restaurants, you find yourself out of breath and with no idea of where the girl has gone. Plopping down on a mall bench, you admire some of the tomboys you made earlier as you lament the cute new girl who got away.

Checking your pocket, you gasp in alarm as your flashlight is not where it should be. Rushing back to the game shop, you don't see it near where the girl knocked you over. Where could it possibly be?!

[Here’s another snippet dealing with the effects of the flashlight. In particular, lights everywhere are turned into transformative lights throughout the mall.]

[Floored by Transformation: You Find a Sex Change Flashlight]

——-

Your mind reels from the options before you. The gauntlet of lights on the first floor was fun and leaves you curious about how many who enter will leave as the same sex they started with, but you want to do more. It's not until you spy the escalator at the center of the mall that you swoon with inspiration.

Before you begin, you inspect both levels. On the upper level are a men's suit store and other mainly male apparel locations. Sure, there are some places for cute accessories and a few places to eat, along with card shops and whatnot, but even eyeballing the upper level, you see far more men than women shopping. Of course, it could be partly due to the surplus of ladies you've made on the ground floor, but you seem to recall this is usually the case.

Just shining the light on the side of the escalator doesn't work at first though. So, you fuss with it a bit. Eventually, you figure out a plan. Waiting for a lull in the foot traffic, you aim the light just behind you on the reflective metal of the escalator. With a steady but broad beam, the reflection starts to change tone. Instead of a rainbow-like or distorted gleam, the upstairs escalator now carries a blue tint for whatever light falls on it, like it has been strangely polished.

Glad to be at the top with no changes to your girlish self, you camp out on a nearby railing and watch the results. Bare-faced men who get on arrive with scruffy faces, hard six packs, and a chiseled look. Soft and doughy guys also get a masculine buff, although sometimes the results are mixed between football linebackers, romance novel farmhands, and metrosexuals.

While this wide variety fascinates you, the real test comes when the first ladies step onto the escalator. A pair of girlfriends board as you realize the determining factor. Some people hurried up the escalator, and some took it at a leisurely pace. The girls emerge looking like weightlifters in muscle shirts because they took their time. Your eyes flick to a vivid shadow shifting around in their gym shorts as they pass you with a quick, flirty glance. A shiver washes through your womanly body.

You kill a decent amount of time just boy-watching. Some fragment of your original self freaks out, but he's easily nudged aside. Eventually, remembering your plan, you find a lull on the downward escalator and aim a steady beam at the area right behind you. The pinkish tint is similarly subtle to the other, but especially amusing when you inspect the escalators.

Since one end of the mall has an up escalator and there's a down one over by the game shop, Infinite 1Ups, you feel it's fair that anyone riding up has a fifty percent chance of no changes and a fifty percent chance heading down. As there are also two elevators, you decide to pick the nearest one and shine a tight, bright blue beam on the button for level 2, and a pink one for the ground floor. The illuminated part of the button that lights up when pressed now bears a corresponding color tint. Camping out on a nearby bench, you observe your handiwork.

From the second level, you observe a father, and his teenage son getting on the down escalator. While the dad hangs back, the son hustles ahead to the ground floor. His dirty blonde hair flows into a sloppy ponytail. Wearing a comfortable, black graphic tee, and jean shorts, the cute but tomboyish girl turns around to look.

Several paces behind her, another teen girl steps off the escalator. Her black, glittering heels gingerly step over the threshold as she balances several bags in her arms. Instead of a short, balding cut, long, swooping brunette hair falls past her shoulder. Pretty bracelets decorate her slim arms as she passes some of the bags to her friend.

The wide, round neckline of her red blouse is provocative without showing off too much cleavage. Her breasts are slightly bigger than yours, and her dark, jean miniskirt displays her gorgeous legs. Though the dad was slow before, the new teen girl strides at a confident pace with her friend.

Seeing the process before you on the escalator is more fun than the magician's trick, like the swap of a bodybuilder getting on upstairs and a glamour model stepping out on the ground floor. You watch the changes for a while and enjoy the circulation of transformation until you get another idea for what to try next.

[This picks up with the lost flashlight in the video game store.]

[Power Ups: You Find a Sex Change Flashlight]

———

What you don't realize is that while you were away, chasing after that new cutie, the light rolled out from your pocket and past the next aisle. Standing there, by himself, is a big guy in coke bottle glasses, a scruffy second chin, and an XXXL Naruto t-shirt that actually manages to look big on him. His long, flannel shorts dangle past his furry knees as he crouches where the light fell and groans to pick it up.

Before he could call after you, you were long gone. Adjusting his glasses, he inspects the light and included instructions. Snorting with skeptical amusement, he figures it's some sort of gag gift from that one particular store. Setting it to inorganic, he aims a pink beam with mouth-made sound effects at a copy of Red Dead Redemption 2 and wears a look of amusement. The amusement soon flattens into shock as the art of Arthur Morgan turns to a no less steely-eyed blond woman with a silver pistol.

Pulling back, he sees that none of the other copies of the game have been changed, and no one notices what he has done. Trembling, he buries the light in his pocket, and just in time, as the original owner hustles in to look for the lost item. He snatches up the modified game, pays Ronald swiftly, and resolves to get out of Dodge. With an enigmatic grin, Ronald comments, "Enjoy responsibly."

Slipping into the retro arcade next to Infinite 1UPs, he lets out a deep breath. Not only is he glad to be out of there for reasons related to the strange tool in his pocket, but he also felt out of place in that store because it is always full of a vast majority of cute, vaguely approachable nerd girls who often distract him. Little does he know that if he had stayed much longer and didn't pick up that light when he did, he might have joined them.

With the cascade of lights and music in the arcade, he feels anonymous and unseen. Squinting at the full, attached instructions, he considers taking notes. Experimentally, he sets it to normal and aims at a couple of guys gathered around the recent TMNT fighting game.

As he watches, a girl with a pretty face and feathery brown hair wearing a yellow top and jean skirt is now on the left, with a feisty redhead in a tank top and skintight jeans next to her, followed by a black girl with a rising plume of crinkly hair and a pert, cute butt, and, last but not least, a blond with a frail bone structure that evokes a tiny bird or an ethereal elfin creature but with the most bust of any of them. Clicking the light off and stepping away, he casually watches the girls play. They are way more intimidating than the ones at the store, but no less dedicated to the game.

Stomach gurgling as his heart races, he decides to leave the mall. A quick trip on the bus later, and he's back in the neighborhood where he grew up and returned after college. Sprawled out on his bed, with his heart rate finally returning to normal, he wonders what would happen if he turned the beam on himself, either blue or....pink. He swallows hard.

He's an only child, and since his parents left him the house when they moved to a beach bungalow in coastal Mexico, he's lived with his childhood best friend, Jake. Neither of them is the cleanest guy, but they manage the house well enough, even though Jake teasingly claims that he's the real housekeeper.

With the small but miraculous light in his hands, he feels torn between personal experimentation and using the light on Jake. If Jake or he had been a girl, then they easily would've gotten married a decade ago. They just get along so naturally. But he doesn't want to mind-warp his closest friend. Although he could easily reset it with white light, if he made a mistake.

[This eventually evolved into where Zach and Connor went.]

And that's it for the bonus writing. Thank you for reading. Hope you didn't mind the content change for these. Yuri Worlds is next.