Ed—well Eddard now—and I didn’t have anyone to run a game for us, so we figured we would use one of those GM-less games to get our D&D fix in. He wanted to play his veteran of a grim war fighter character yet again, and I was just feeling the itch so I let a bunch of random rolls hand me a beautiful, young sorceress-queen to play.
When Rob convinced me of this, it was supposed to be well, classier. Fancy dress really, just a sort of costume. Make a good impression on the coworkers, showing off a bit. I had the neural implants to load up required software and Rob had the means to get me a great reshaping. Great and supposedly reversible.
Nobody’s perfect, but I thought I was a good guy. When I inherited some of my late uncle’s antiques, I got them ready to be auctioned and planned to give a good chunk to charity. And when one of them turned out to hold a djinn who offered the standard three wishes I figured I could use one to free him from having to serve people. So what did it matter if I used some of those wishes for myself?
It started as a conversation. Mike asked me about my dream body and I thought he meant describe my dream girl, he laughed and said he never thought I wanted to be a woman. I tried turning it back on him, about how he was thinking about a hard body instead of a nice, curvy lady. But he kept on about how I wanted to be a woman.
I hated how my body was betraying me, getting older and starting to crap out. I was also concerned about dying and finally paying the devil his due after a life of questionable moral choices and dabbling in the occult.
I agreed to be Jim’s fuck-puppet for cash. I don’t know why he didn’t get an escort; hell I don’t know why he didn’t just get a girl. A sorcerer with cash should be able to land a girl. But I had nothing better to do and needed the money.
I always wanted a beautiful girl next door—not just for peeping and getting with but the whole early romance to last a life time.
I was obsessed with Coralia. She was elegant and beautiful and vanished every day after classes. When my witchy little sister suggested magic to help me find out about her, I figured that it couldn’t hurt.
“No, I’m still fine. Still me.
It was supposed to be all lie back and think of England. Pitching in, even to the point of going to the Pink House and getting the x-strain of the Fertility Virus. One of the y-strain survivors would knock me up, not caring that I used to be a man, and I’d pop out a few kids and get on with life as things stabilized.