Full story (8 500 characters - 2 parts) is open to subscribers here or on Patreon


If you like my art, sketches, stories, transformations you can find  more like this on my Patreon page or in DeviatArt Premium Early Access folder for subscribers here. Every bit of support is truly appreciated, but just having you here means the most to me - without you, none of this would have been possible. Thank you very much!


Check also my shop at DeviantArt for other works


— Fuck this makeup... — Jenny exhaled, pulling the lipstick away from her lips and closing her eyes. She was sitting in front of an old mirror in her room, on a hard wooden chair. The closet behind her was wide open, clothes she'd been digging through for something "appropriate" scattered all over the room, while soft country music played from her phone in the background.

She finally let out a loud sigh and looked at her reflection in the mirror — the blue eyeshadow had smudged just above her right eyelid, giving her gaze a ridiculously dramatic look. She frowned, but even that expression now looked... girly. A small, freckled face, that stupidly pouty mouth outlined in cheap pink lipstick. It all felt so fucking wrong.

— Jesus fucking Christ, — she muttered under her breath, grimacing as if she could wipe off the sickly-sweet lipstick along with whatever was left of her pride.

— Jenny, are you done yet? You've been getting ready for an hour! — That was her mother, Carol, and her voice already sounded like she was about to barge in and start another lecture on “teen identity crises.” — You know we have dinner with the neighbors tonight. No funny business, alright?

— I'm coming, mom, — Jenny flinched at the sound of her own voice: high-pitched, with a brittle edge of irritation.

She glanced at the clothes scattered across the floor, as if trying to find something in that mess that reminded her of her old life. The denim overalls — the ones she finally pulled on over her bare body — seemed like the only tolerable option. But obviously, she knew it was just her clinging to something that still reminded her of before. Back when she was a 52-year-old man named Dan Rivers, who had his own workshop, a couple of dogs, and the blessed absence of makeup, periods, and goddamn family dinners with the neighbors. And that bitch who...

— Jenny, I’m not saying it twice! — Carol’s voice rang out right next to the door — heavy footsteps in the hallway, floorboards creaking, and then — the door flew open.

Her mother, a tall, thin woman with a hard-set face and perfect hair, froze in the doorway for a moment. Her eyes swept over the overalls, the bare shoulders, and the breasts visibly pressing against the thin fabric. Her eyebrows shot up immediately...Full story (8 500 characters - 2 parts) is open to subscribers here or on Patreon