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 definitely 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 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 length 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. From that "chiffon" skirt she 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 a fraction its former size. Surrounding her obvious, D-cup cleavage are a series of thin front loops and the teased 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 now 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, glamous 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 in 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 imagining what kissing her would be like. You must've caught more of it than the top one under 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 any 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..."