Sally stood in Tommy’s room—no, her room now. She shut the door softly behind her, leaning against it as her heart raced. She rubbed her palms against her jeans, the rough fabric unfamiliar against hands that felt larger, rougher. Her thoughts buzzed like static, a tangled mix of confusion, disbelief, and something else. Something deeper.
She looked down at herself again, flexing her fingers, then her arms. She brought a hand up to her chest, pressing lightly against the solid muscles beneath Tommy’s old soccer jersey. Her mind raced as she caught her reflection in the tall mirror on the far wall. It was *him*—Tommy. But it wasn’t. It was *her* now. She stepped toward it hesitantly, almost as if she was afraid the image would disappear.
Her breath hitched as she reached out, touching her reflection. The mirror’s surface was cool, smooth, grounding her in reality. “This is real,” she whispered, her voice deep and steady. The sound sent a shiver through her—it felt foreign, yet so natural. She studied her face—his face—every sharp angle, every shadow that wasn’t there before. She tilted her head, running her fingers through her short, brown hair. The sensation was strange but thrilling. There was no long hair getting caught, no ponytail tugging at her scalp. Just the freedom of something she’d only ever imagined.
Sally pulled at the hem of her shirt and paused. Her hands trembled slightly, though not from fear. “This is mine now,” she murmured, a small smile playing at her lips. Her grin widened as she tugged the shirt off, tossing it onto the bed. Her chest—no, *his* chest—was broad, lean, and firm. She couldn’t resist running a hand over the contours of muscle and skin, her amazement growing with each passing moment.
“This is incredible,” she whispered, her voice full of wonder. She flexed her arms again, watching the muscles move beneath her skin. She was stronger. Taller. She felt powerful in a way she’d never thought possible. A laugh bubbled up in her throat as she looked back at her reflection, now clad only in jeans. “This is what I’ve always wanted,” she admitted softly to herself, the words hanging in the air like a secret.
She turned her attention to the jeans, unbuttoning them and stepping out of them until she was standing there in nothing but boxers. They hung loosely on her hips, the fabric soft and unfamiliar. She smirked, spinning slightly to see herself from every angle in the mirror. “Not bad,” she said, her tone playful. She ran a hand through her short hair again, marveling at how natural it all felt.
Her gaze wandered to the mirror itself. Its ornate frame gleamed faintly in the moonlight spilling through the window, and the strange writing etched at the bottom seemed to shimmer. She frowned slightly, stepping closer. “You did this, didn’t you?” she muttered at the mirror. Her fingers traced the carvings as if touching them would reveal the mirror’s secrets.
For a moment, she hesitated. The guilt crept in again, unbidden but persistent. This wasn’t just her life now—it was Tommy’s too. He was stuck in her old body, and he hated every second of it. She could see it in his face, hear it in his voice. And as much as she loved what she had now, she couldn’t ignore the knot of guilt in her chest.
But then her gaze shifted back to her reflection, and the guilt melted away for just a moment. She couldn’t help but admire it, this new her. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling as she flexed her arms again, feeling the strength ripple through her. “He’s got no idea what he had,” she whispered, almost laughing. “But I do.”
Her smile faltered slightly as she looked back at the mirror. “But I’ll do the right thing,” she said, her voice quieter now. “If he figures out how to fix it, I’ll give it back. I will.” Her eyes lingered on her reflection, and her resolve wavered. “But... maybe not too soon.” seeing and feeling a hardness in now her boxers feeling herself getter her fert hard on.
She sighed, running a hand through her hair again before turning toward the bed. She couldn’t help but smile as she saw the blue sheets and plain pillows. “This is more like it,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of satisfaction. No pink. No frilly details. Just a normal bed in a normal boy’s room, perfect for a normal boy to explore his growing dick. She climbed onto it, stretching out and reveling in how much space there was. Her body felt heavy and ready for what is about to happing.
As she pulled the covers over herself, she glanced one last time at the mirror. Its surface gleamed faintly, almost as if it was watching her. She smirked, closing her eyes as she settled into the soft, boyish sheets, with her now bigger hand slowly going down to her new but now her member.