TheGenderToy

You stand over your sock drawer with a frown. You won’t pretend to be intimately familiar with the drawer’s contents; as in many households, the back of your sock drawer is where forgotten accessories go to die. 

You’re pretty sure, however, that you’d remember owning a pair of leopard print leggings. 

You tug the leggings out from the back of the drawer. At first you worry you pulled too hard and stretched them out, but no, they’re just big. Larger than anything you wear, even if you wore something this tacky in the first place. You hold the leggings up against your waist, comparing their expanse to your current proportions, your bafflement only growing. When did you get these?

And just like that, you’re wearing them.

One second they were in your hands, the next they were on your legs. No perceivable time in between. The jeans that had previously occupied that space have vanished. 

The leggings don’t fit you of course, but… they do. Your legs, hips, and thighs have filled out into the bottoms. Layers of fat have completely transformed the shape of your lower body, thick legs holding up an enormous dump truck ass and hips wider than some doorways. You can’t see them, but you can feel stretch marks appear around your behind like tattoos.

You take a step backwards, and begin to topple over. No, no, that’s wrong, you aren’t falling. You got shorter. By more than a bit. You’re over five feet, but just barely, maybe. Your stomach bulges out in a slight pudge, love handles rippling at your sides, evidence of your years of good living.

The next change comes to your chest. Flesh swells under your nipples, larger and larger, from clementines to apples to grapefruits. They strain against your t-shirt for a moment, then burst free to the sound of tearing fabric: a pair of well-rounded breasts. You’re almost hypnotized by the way they settle against your torso. You can already feel the difference in weight on your shoulders (which have narrowed slightly without you noticing), but the change is offset by a lacey hot pink bra, one you definitely weren’t wearing under your shirt before. Your nipples, now large and puffy, make tents in the slip of pink fabric.

You begin to panic. This has to be some kind of dream, right? You whip around and stumble towards your closet door. Your first couple steps are made more difficult by the pair of three-inch heels that have appeared beneath your feet, ones made of a glossy pink material that matches your bra. Before you even reach the closet you can walk in them without fail, a confident stride that should’ve taken years to learn.

You throw the closet doors open to look at yourself in the full-length mirror on the inside. You’ve always had that mirror, so you could check yourself out in your cute outfits. Right? The reflection looking back at you is one you don’t recognize. Your face is round, full cheeks and small chin and plump, round lips. Crow’s feet and laugh lines crease your skin (tsk, you’ll have to redo your makeup!), marking years of age you have not yet seen. And your hair! It had been dark before, but now it’s platinum blonde. You had worn it short, but now it’s long. Or it would be, if it wasn’t all piled on top of your head in a beautiful, curling updo. The hairdo bobs with your anxious mannerisms, the weight of it new and mesmerizing.

Where your familiar face had once looked back from the mirror, there is now the face of a beautiful, middle-aged woman! This has to be a dream, you tell yourself, but part of you is unsure. Your new body and face fill you with confusion, but at the same time you feel a confidence welling in your chest that you’ve never felt before. The turmoil settles, gentle now. Not completely gone, but you’ve seen a fair few things in your day. You have years of loves and heartbreaks under your belt! This is nothing to get worried about, right?

But you’re drifting off! You seem to do that so often these days. What were you doing? Right, getting on your outfit to go meet your gal pals! It’s a Friday evening, and that means it's time for the cougar pack to start prowling. Or, no, what do they call ladies like you nowadays? That’s right, milfs! You’ll have to tell the gals that one, they’ll all just love it.