Mark was one of your stereotypical old men, hating everything that
was new, practically incompetent with modern technology, and
preaching to the world of the “Good old days.” Except he
wasn’t an old man quite yet. He was only thirty seven. He was a
good looking thirty seven year old, with short cut near black hair,
semi-muscular body, and a good sense of fashion, even if it was a bit
old fashioned, it worked well for him. He stood at a proud six feet
even. He wore an old plaid shirt, white and blue, frayed a bit, but
functional, with casual khakis. His feet were currently covered by
white tennis dress shoes, that looked reasonably good on him.
He hated the shows, mainly that new MLP show that was driving people
crazy. It was for girls, in his opinion, not men. Why were grown men
going googly eyed over talking colorful horses? It just made no sense
However, something that annoyed him more than anything else, was the
music from the latest generation. Katy Perry, Justin Bieber, and his
personal worst favorite, Miley Cyrus. The generation had no taste in
music for elevating people like those to stardom status. It simply
Mark rolled his eyes, realizing he was thinking of the newest
generation yet again. A pile of ignorant whelps without the knowledge
of true music, television, or really anything, in his opinion. He
turned on his television, realizing that one of his children had left
the channel on Disney Channel. The Hannah Montana trash show was on,
and Mark changed the channel quickly, sighing in sadness. He had
hoped he would have raised his children better than this. He flipped
the channel to the news, one of the few people who couldn’t use
the internet for his news needs.
However, less than three seconds after changing the channel, it
flipped back. “What the hell?” He said, annoyed. Stupid
televisions, with their DVRs and crap that automatically changed the
channel for one reason or another. He flipped the channel again,
almost unplugging the televison in rage after it switched back. He
walked forward, pressing the power button, annoyed by the device,
before turning away, determined to find a book to read.
The sound of Hannah Montana’s music began to fill Mark’s
ears as it began again, the televison turned back on. That was
impossible... He had no pets, and his children and wife were out of
The door he was going for slammed shut, as if by an supernatural
force, while the other door, across the room, also shut rapidly, as
Mark grunted, annoyed, and more than a little confused. He pressed
the power button again, to no avail. This time, the TV didn’t
even turn off. He stared, wondering what was going on, as the music
continued to assault his ears.
He pulled the plug, ripping it from the wall, the charge giving him a
small shock as he did it, enough to make him stumble back, staring at
his right hand, which seemed a bit burnt. Faulty wiring. His hand
tingled, but he assumed it was from the electricity that went through
him just moments before.
So Mark went back to checking how to stop the television. It was
blaring in his ears, almost causing physical pain, at least Mark
thought it was. He considered breaking it, but that wouldn’t
make sense, breaking a television because of some electrical glitch.
This was why he hated technology damn it!
His hand still tingled, and it was intensifying... That didn’t
make sense. He looked down, and the small burn mark from the
electricity was completely gone. “Who am I to complain of good
fortune...” He said, smiling wryly. However, that smile
vanished almost immediately.
The spot where there had been a burn mark was changing. The skin was
different than his. Smoother. “Ok, now I am going to
complain...” He muttered, rubbing his hand on it. He turned his
hand over, realizing that the places that had touched the spot were
changed into the smooth flesh as well.
Moments later, the tingling began there too, and began spreading.
“What the hell...” he said, staring as the smoother skin
gradually replaced his own hands, as the hands themselves seemed to
shrink. That wasn’t possible. They looked... Female. They were
girl hands. In less than a minute, Mark’s hands had changed
into girl hands.
He looked them over, shock on his face, as the music stopped. Mark
realized it was a commercial break, or maybe a break in the singing,
either way, he didn’t care, as his hands disturbed him greatly.
He went to one of the doors, trying the handle. It didn’t work.
He was stubborn, and fairly strong, though, so with a heavy shove, he
was able to break it open. It was the bathroom... Why didn’t he
choose the other door?
Nonetheless, he went over to the sink, looking himself in the eye. He
firmly believed you could tell a person by their eyes. He didn’t
have crazy eyes, he was still sane... Except he still had girl hands.
Maybe I am just dizzy... Delirious. Need to wake myself up... Or
something. He thought, turning on the water, waiting a few
moments for it to be ice cold.
He cupped his feminine hands, splashing water on his face, and
rubbing it in, eyes closed. He repeated this a few times, until he
felt the water practically pour down his face and neck. It tingled
slightly, but Mark missed the connection between this and his hands,
thinking it was just the water.
He looked up again, looking into the very feminine face Mark had seen
less than five minutes before, on Miley Cyrus, more infamously, at
least in Mark’s mind, known as Hannah Montana. “Oh what
the hell...” He said, his voice sounding like a perfect copy of
Miley Cyrus’s. His voice even sounded the same, same accent,
same pronunciation. It was like his speech was taken over by the girl
in the mirror.
Mark then tried to say, “This can’t be fucking
happening,” but it came out as “This can’t be
possibly happening...” Mark practically fell down. It was
changing what he said. That could not possibly be true. Almost at the
same time, the music from the television came back on again, and his
face and neck began to tingle. His hands quickly followed suit, much
to his horror. He turned back to the mirror, looking quickly at his
hands, just in time for purple paint to appear on his nails,
cementing the female look.
He looked back to the mirror just in time to watch his near black
hair lighten to a light brown, before cascading down his body,
stopping at the bottom of his ribs. A ring appeared on his hand, as
the changes spread upwards, smoothing out skin, removing most hair,
and adding a bracelet or two to each wrist. The muscles that he once
commanded in his arms faded to a thin, feminine frames of his former
muscle. With a resounding “Snap” that was more shocking
than painful, his shoulders snapped closer together, befitting a
The tingles met above his chest, before beginning to move downward.
His plaid shirt darkened first, first to a gray, then a solid black.
Then it began changing, a bra forming underneath. He began
hyperventilating, and almost fell over, catching himself by putting
his hands on his knees, and leaning against the wall. The tingles
began on his knees, and he gasped out, “No!” Although in
his current voice, the breathy, gasping sound was more sexy than it
was effective at conveying denial.
His khakis began changing to blue jeans, tight as anything he could
imagine, as he watched them squeeze his legs, starting at the knee.
Despite the near pain this caused, he attention was drawn upwards as
something began to fill the bra that had formed moments earlier.
“What... I am not supposed to have breasts...” He tried
saying, but it came out as, “Shouldn’t my breasts be a
bit bigger?” as they were not at full size yet, but they
stopped moments later at a B-cup.
“There we go...” The female voice said, against Mark’s
He desperate tried to push the door against the frame, but he had
damaged it very well, and the way he was going, his muscles were all
but gone. His legs were compressed into tiny jeans, smaller than his
legs would fit in. He knew they had changed as well. He felt his
underwear tighten, and he struggled to get a hand inside his
ultra-tight pants to stop the inevitable, but by the time he squeezed
a hand in his pants, he wasn’t much of a he anymore.
His feet began to shrink, he knew, as the tingling got to them. He
knew his shoe size at about twelve, but he guessed his new shoe size
at about a six, as he stepped from his old shoes easily. His socks
began changing, however, the last part. They turned black, and
hardened into boots. “At least they aren’t heels...”
He said, relief in his voice, but this soon seemed to change. He felt
as if he was getting taller, and he looked down, seeing the heels.
The music was still playing in the background, and Mark found himself
unconsciously singing along, before realizing what he was doing.
Tears began falling down his face, as he pushed the door he had
shoved against the wall aside, stepping out...
Into an unfamiliar room. It was larger, more fancy. It wasn’t
his. It was like a rich persons! Like a celebrity, or...
Miley Cyrus. He was in her house. “Hey Miley, time for dinner!”
A voice called, and he found himself respond in a sickeningly happy
tone, at least to Mark, “Coming!” And he found himself
running, his body bouncing in all the wrong ways. Miley ate in
company, people that she seemed to recognize, speaking in an
annoyingly lively tone, opposite of what Mark felt inside.
Dinner lasted an eternity, at least for Mark, who quietly excused
herself, before going upstairs. About halfway up, she realized she
referred to herself as a “she” now. She instinctively
found her room, and fell down, crying softly.