You've always been a well-respected investigative journalist, the type who could infiltrate the tightest corners of the corporate world, the kind who would dig up dirt from seemingly impenetrable walls of silence. It was a Tuesday afternoon when you received a tip-off about a certain pharmaceutical company running illegal human trials for their unapproved age-reversing serum. You couldn't resist the allure of such a big scoop. <br /><br />You find your way into their testing facility, your disguise as a janitor convincing enough to get you past the security. Sneaking into a lab, you find the serum. You're about to take pictures when a security guard discovers you. With a hasty and nervous movement, you knock over a vial, its contents splashing onto you. <br /><br />There's an instant tingling, almost like a thousand tiny electric shocks that ripple through your body. You feel your body shrinking, your clothes growing larger around you. Your bones creak as they resize, your muscles soften, the excess body mass you had vanishing into thin air. Your hips widen while your waist narrows, your body reshaping itself to a petite, youthful form. A strange tightness engulfs your chest, two small mounds pushing outwards. You instinctively reach up and the touch is foreign yet familiar. They're small, A-cup breasts.<br /><br />You look down at your hands, delicate and dainty, nails neatly trimmed and painted a pastel pink. Your attention is quickly diverted when you feel a peculiar tightness around your teeth. Running your tongue over them, you're met with the strange sensation of metal brackets and wires. Braces. You dash to a reflective surface. Staring back at you is a petite, skinny schoolgirl, no older than 16, with a mouth full of braces, and barely there boobs. Her hair, a tangle of red curls, bouncing around her shoulders, frames a youthful freckled face with bright green eyes peering from behind thick rimmed glasses. <br /><br />Your first day at school is a shock. The workload feels incredibly light compared to your journalistic work. You find yourself introduced as Delilah O&#8217;Reilly, a transfer student from out of town, a 'budding journalist' for the school paper. You're puzzled. Budding? You were a professional, celebrated journalist. Yet, you find yourself in journalism class, the editor of the school paper, writing stories about the cafeteria's new menu or the football team's latest victory. <br /><br />"Hey, Delilah, right?" A voice interrupts your inner turmoil. It's Scott, the school's heartthrob, known for his athletic prowess and charm. He's seeking help to write a piece about his recent football triumph for the school paper. A part of you, the old you, finds this menial task beneath your talent. But another part, a new part, flushes with teenage excitement.<br /><br />The feeling of his hand on yours as you guide him through writing feels different. There's a strange thrill as he gets close, a scent of cologne and a hint of sweat. It feels different. It feels good. <br /><br />Your relationship with Scott grows. He begins to take you seriously, asking for your help with his assignments. As he begins to see you more than just a 'little girl', the bond between you two grows. Your small size no longer bothers you, your tiny breasts or braces no longer seem so annoying. They're just a part of the new you. <br /><br />The first time with him is nerve-wracking. It's not like you're new to this, but, well, actually, you are. You're nervous, giddy, excited. You're wearing the new body that's become increasingly yours, and this is<br /><br /> your first time with Scott. He's gentle and kind, and you find yourself falling for him harder than ever.<br /><br />You are Delilah O&#8217;Reilly now. A petite, skinny schoolgirl with tiny boobs, braces, and a love for Scott. You are the lead reporter of your school newspaper, your stories are read by hundreds, maybe even thousands of teenagers. You've lost your old life, your old identity, but you've gained something else. You've found love, youth, and a life that is uniquely yours. It's not what you've dreamed of, but it's not a nightmare either. It's just... different. And you're beginning to be okay with that.