"It's -- it's just -- it's too much," you stammer in the sex fairy's general direction.
She throws up her tiny hands. "Forget it! You must be sick. I'm going to send you home for the day."
"Wha--" In an instant, you're in bed, eyes closed; it's as if you've just woken up from an exceptionally vivid dream. The images still play in your mind: your math teacher transforming into a bimbo; the half-naked fairy taking a personal interest in you; being in a suddenly co-ed locker room as the girls in your P.E. class became porn stars.
You chuckle to yourself. I guess I am sick, you think. You start to roll over onto your back. That was kind of a wild fever dr--
The sheets you're in feel odd -- like silk. Your body feels odd -- too big and bulky.
You open your eyes and raise your head just enough to see yourself. Te sight that greets your eyes is the tanned, muscled body that you'd thought was a dream, clad only in a pair of purple boxer shorts, a large bulge visible inside them. Your first thought is to pinch yourself to see if you're still dreaming. With so little fat in your body, you find it impossible to pinch the first few places you try; finally, you take the web of skin between thumb and forefinger and press it hard between the thumb and forefinger of your other hand. You feel the pain.
With that, you sit bolt upright. You're in a king-size bed covered in dark green silk sheets. The room you're in is several times bigger than your bedroom. The furniture doesn't look familiar -- it's ebony wood in a very contemporary style -- but some of the possessions do, such as the clock radio on the nightstand, and the widescreen computer monitor on top of the desk (you recognize the ridiculous Disney princess stickers your sister put on the bezel to try to annoy you).
You get up and wander around. There's a TV with a leather couch and matching recliner facing it, a couple of video game consoles hooked up. Next to that are a couple of bookcases, one filled with your familiar books, but the other almost totally full of porn DVDs and magazines.
You go through a door that's half-ajar into a walk-in closet stocked with designer men's clothes -- yours, you presume. Past the closet is a bathroom, done up in elegant marble, itself even bigger than the bedroom you remember. The glass-walled shower is large enough to have four outlets, all hand-held, and a bench seat built into the far wall. There's also a bathtub that looks like it could fit a crowd, and might even double as a hot tub. It has a view of the outdoors through a large picture window, and you see that you're apparently on the second floor, with a balcony right outside.
You go back into the bedroom and use the set of glass doors to exit. Once on the balcony, it's obvious that you're still in your same town, but a few miles away from where you lived, in a neighborhood of mini-mansions surrounding a country club. The dwelling in which you find yourself, though, appears to be a maxi-mansion. You look down and see a giant swimming pool in the middle of a patio that's obviously set up for parties; across the backyard is a pair of tennis courts, complete with lighting.