You gasp when you realize that although your skin has become its normal shade, you still have a soccer ball-sized pair of breasts jutting out proudly from your chest, uncovered but with silver rings through the nipples. The rest of you seems to still be in its enhanced female form as well, although you are wearing a short denim skirt and high-heeled sandals instead of a harem outfit.
The note from your parents, you see, is addressed to “Frederique” and calls you a “responsible 14-year-old girl.”
Shaking a bit, you walk to the kitchen window and look outside. No minarets on the houses, the streetlights are the normal concrete monstrosities, everything looks like a typical American suburb -- so what happened to you? You lean against the sink and try to think. You try to remember the wish you made -- and the phrase “all my wishes canceled” comes to mind. Eddie’s wishes were still in effect, so you still had the body of a porn star and didn’t cover your breasts, although your “nothing Arabian” apparently means that his father isn’t a sultan, and you no longer look Arabian.
For the time being, you can only hope that there won’t be anything magically preventing you from covering up, and maybe you’d fit into one of your father’s shirts while you figured out what to do. You head for your parents’ bedroom.
You’re stopped by a family photo in the hallway. Your father looks like his normal self, but you’re not the only platinum blonde topless porn star -- your mother looks like an older version of you (albeit not as old as she “should” have looked), and your sister is almost identical. You all have nipple piercings and navel piercings, with thick makeup and teased-out hair and appear to be wearing skirts, and it almost looks insane to see the three of you carefully posed against a generic photo studio background instead of in a porn magazine.
”Shit,” you say in your sexy female voice. You’d wished to be a “regular person,” and that was as problematic as “normal.”
Instead of your parents’ bedroom, you instead go into yours. The décor is more feminine than what you remember, but fortunately the contents of your bookshelf seem about the same. You pull out your yearbook from last year and flip through to find that everything’s remained as it was, except that all the girls -- and the female teachers -- have porn-star bodies, beautified faces, and are topless but for jewelry.
You notice a collection of Wonder Woman stories. Yes, the drawings show Wonder Woman in only the bottom part of her iconic costume, and she’s not that much more stacked than any of the “civilians” in the comics. There’s a Supergirl collection, too, and she’s only in a red skirt and boots, plus a cape attached at her neck with an “S” logo brooch.
A quick look in your closet reveals, as you expected, pretty much only short skirts, with a few pants -- there are a couple of dresses, but one’s made of fishnet material that widens drastically above the waist, one’s vinyl with large openings for your breasts to poke out of, and one just has a single strap up to an attachment at the neck, so it’s supposed to go between your breasts.
You collapse onto your bed, feeling the weight settle onto your chest. You decide...