Roger sat silently trying to figure out what to do. He knew he was supposed to have a penis. He remembered liking having a penis. He was a man and he wanted to be a man damnit. But somehow that last sentence had not just given him a vagina. It had made him absolutely love having one. He couldn’t bring himself to change it back.
He stared at his well chiseled body that he took great pride in, admiring his muscles and his hairy chest. He glanced at the mirror on the wall and studied his sharp jawline. The vagina didn’t match up at all.
“Damnit this is frustrating as all fucking he’ll,” he muttered, his hand still gently rubbing his pussy, periodically sending a jolt through his body when he brushed the clit.
He had a sentence on the phone. It said simple Roger Stone has a vagina. One word. Easy as day. He just had to edit in penis and be done. But his brain wouldn’t let him. He couldn’t stand to part with his vagina.
“Fucking app” he sputtered. Finally he tried another sentence, hoping to find a solution. The new sentence read “Your genitals are incongruent with your gender identity.”
Excellent! He replaced congruent, hoping to have his dick back, but nothing happened.
She shook her head and looked down at her body, wishing it were softer, curvier. Her chest was so flat and boring. And the hair disgusted her. She glanced at the mirror and felt a shudder of revulsion when she saw a man looking back.
“Shit” she thought, looking at her body and noting the vagina was the only part she liked. “What am I going to do now?”