"Yo, girl! Is there a cellphone in your backpocket? Cause that ass is calling me!"
That boy just won't quit! With his smug, lame lines like he has a frat brother he wants to high five after each one. His hair looks like a greasy pompador, his jeans nearly dangle off his plaid boxers, and he thinks popping his top button makes him look like a romance cover. 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 creeper, 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 till go and adjust how much cleavage shows on your drawstring side, 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 light. 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 wave of blue light on your body. You regret that the magic prevents him from realizing your skirt is turning into a snug pair of twill pants with the still-strange presence of a penis pushing from your groin. A preppy set of sneakers on your broad feet are 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 snake and 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 still 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 in a bookish way like something 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 for your now-male body.
Despite how much she's changed, she persists, "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 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 which 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 penis. 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 which 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.