There isn't much on tv, so you just flick through the channels, looking for the latest action flick or the like. As you are passing one of those annoying teenage drama shows where every girl is a cheerleader, every guy is a cheater and all they do is party, the remote dies. Trying desperately to flick the channel, you realise it is no use. You could easily get up and press the buttons on the tv itself, but you can't be bothered movie for some reason. So instead, you just curl up on the lounge and put up with the program.
You aren't sure how long you were sitting there for. You watched three back-to-back episodes, so it must have been at least three hours. Deciding that is enough tv, you grab the remote and turn it off, not noticing that it is now working again. You can't help but feel as though something is strange and out of place as you walk up the stairs to your room.
Looking in the vanity now hanging above your desk, you see the problem. Looking back at you, in a pair of sexy black panties and a matching bra, is a gorgeous blonde woman who looks to be about twenty-two.
"What the hell?" You ask, and the woman in the mirror asks it as well, in a soft, sultry voice.
Reaching up, you tentatively grab a breast, and shiver as pleasurable tingle passes through your body. As you fondled your boobs with your right hand, your left slowly slides down your belly and slips underneath the elastic of your underwear. Rubbing your newfound womanhood, you are surprised when a moan escapes your full, red lips. You try to flash a grin at your reflection, but it comes out as a sweet, pearly white smile.
Feeling mischievous, you slip a finger in your mouth and suck in, before slowly drawing it out and tracing it around your breasts, then you wink.
"Wow. I'm sexy." You say, and then giggle. "This is like, so cool!" You chirp, suddenly enjoying your new body. "But who am I?" You wonder, moving over to your desk. Looking through the small leather handbag, you find your drivers license. It reads: Candy Isabel Mitchells. Age: Twenty-two. Occupation: Hair stylist.
A buzzing came from within the bag. After a bit of searching, you find a mobile phone. You had received a text message reading: "Hey babe, I will be home in ten minutes, really tired after work - might just hit the sack. James."
You didn't need to be a genius to figure out that was a boyfriend. Looking in the mirror you wonder what you should do...