This dress is so slutty I can’t believe this. How could I lose? It was a sure thing. A greatly safe bet. But no… it wasn’t. Now I’m stuck here with tits and I’m lacking a dick. Everything feels so wrong. I have long hair for crying out loud and my face is buried in make up and I’m wearing a dress. Not too mention how slutty the dress is. My breasts are on display to the entire western world. It makes me sicklong nails adorn my fingers and there’s no obstacle between my two legs. My two hairless legs. I can’t wait for tonight to be over.
When I told a genie that I wanted to be a famous celebrity, my wish was granted. However, becoming Lindsay Lohan, a woman, wasn’t my intention.
Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely adore the celebrity lifestyle I now live. However, the female lifestyle I can live without. Heels are uncomfortable. It’s hard to sit in a dress without flashing people, even going to the bathroom is that bit more difficult. And don’t even get me started on hair and make up.
I love being a celebrity and I may love women but I don’t love being them.
Harold and John were two roommates who met in college and had been best friends since. Practically brothers, they always connected through their shared worldviews and hobbies and opinions. They agreed on nearly everything until, the Role Exchanger appeared at the amusement park on the day that Harold and John were there, hitting both of them several times.
Later on I’d continued to argue with my Dad, specifically about him making me buy a bra tomorrow, but he was adamant. My sister Chelsea told me they weren’t so bad, which was the attitude she took to almost everything I had to adapt to since the changes started. She was supportive of me and sympathized with me, but I knew she kind of liked it all too. It gave her the opportunity to be a good big sister. She was the only girl in the family since our mother died. When I had my first period last month, Chelsea actually cried and hugged me before giving me a tampon.