I only meant to test the prototype for a minute — a quick demo of the “SB Converter,” not something that would rewrite my reflection. The machine purred, lights pulsed, and suddenly I was staring at a body that absolutely wasn’t mine — tight suit, impossible curves, a voice slipping out of me that sounded like a tease I never meant to make. Someone behind me swore they hadn’t pressed anything, but there I was, breathlessly murmuring, “I love a thick one… a real thick one,” and the whole room froze, half shocked, half entertained.

Panic and curiosity tangled inside me as I reached for the controls, but the converter hummed again, coaxing a warm, distracting flush through my new shape. My friend lifted the remote — guilty grin, total accident — and I told him to stop even as a slow, involuntary laugh escaped me. I lingered in front of the glass, adjusting my stance, experimenting with the way this new body moved. Unintentional or not, the swap left a thrill curling under my skin — like reality had bent just enough to let me play with a version of myself I never knew I wanted.