~BBW, M-to-BBW, FFA, Revenge, ~~WG
A man is given a new body (with the outer appearance of a BBW) and a new life as revenge for spurning a woman.
Chapter 1
I wake up feeling groggy in the backseat of a car. I am in one of those large American cars, the type I associate with old or very large people. I feel stiff, hung-over, my body feels heavy and turgid. The light outside the car appears to be morning light and the emptiness of the parking lot fits with it being early in the morning. The parking lot is big, maybe it is for a mall. Yes, there is a large building with sore brands. I don’t recognize it though. Maybe I was out late last night and I passed out in someone else’s car? There are just a few cars, maybe from early employees. Whose car is this? Why am I here? Questions pour through my brain overflowing my ability to really ponder each one. I feel really out of sorts.
My last thoughts are confused and hard to recollect. It is difficult to tell what was what. Are these thoughts, dreams or nightmares. Did these really happen? Everything is a blur. My last clear thoughts were meeting a beautiful woman at a bar. A woman most men could only dream of; these memories do seem somehow real to me. I also seem to remember a dark room. What happened then? What next? I can’t remember. I don’t ever drink to the point of blacking out. I am an athlete, a long distance runner, so I follow strict training regimen. I won the men’s division for my age group in the last race I was in. Drinking too much really throw’s off my training. I don’t remember drinking too much. Do I?
My train of thoughts is interrupted by my stomach rumbling. This brings me back to the sensations of my body. I feel very hungry as if I had not eaten in days. More stomach rumbling. My body is signaling me that I need to eat. I catch a scent that sets off more stomach rumbling. I know that smell. It’s donuts. Definitely donuts. I glance at the front seat, I can just barely see it over the seat back. I can see a white pasteboard box, the right size and shape for donuts. Another inhale, more intense donut smell. More stomach rumbling. I don’t normally eat donuts, but sometimes the body just needs a bunch of carbs and donuts have lots of carbs. The seat back is not too high, so I lean forward and reach out to grab the box.
My body stops way too soon. Something is holding me back, preventing me from leaning very far forward. I hadn’t felt a seat belt on me but something does feel strange in front of me. I push a little harder using my abs and legs. Whatever holds me squishes a little and my head rises up a little. The small amount of motion I am doing with my body feels much more strenuous than I expected. The donut smell seems to be stronger or my body has reacted to the smell as a source to appease my hungry stomach. I can see more of the front seat. I can see the donuts through the thin plastic window of the box. There are two boxes of a dozen donuts each sitting there just beyond my reach.
I need to find out what is keeping me back. I look down to see what the problem is. I see a woman’s cleavage, huge breasts pressed into the seat back, a vast area of skin exposed in a low cut pink dress. Oddly, the soft flesh appears to be originating from me, the skin color matches my wintertime (untanned) skin color. I sit back quickly and feel my body jostle and wobble about. My body has never jiggled before. I bring my hands up to the large breasts to feel the large breasts. I feel the mass of these two breasts straining against the dress and a bra that struggles to keep them in place. The cup size of the breasts are much larger than my hands. I can feel nipples through the fabric. My nipples feel my hands through the fabric. A shocking idea is sinking in. It is obvious but unexplainable. This chest is amazing, beautiful, erotic. I can feel my nipples harden through the fabric. I wriggle and press my hands around and under the breasts. The pressure of my hands and a little soft pain tell me these breasts are firmly attached to me, part of my skin, my body.
My flesh beneath my breasts feels soft. As my hands move downwards they move outwards. My hands circumscribe a large volume of flesh that is a fat belly. My fat belly. This belly flows over and outwards across my lap. I glance over my chest for a glimpse of a large pink curve. I can barely see my hands. My nails are long and painted red. The hands are soft and the fingers are unfamiliar from the strong athletic hands I have. Had, I correct myself. I glance at the back of the left thumb, looking for the scar I got rock climbing a few years ago. It required stitches and was a noticeable scar. There it is on this fat but dainty hand. A slight fold of fat occurs at the wrist. No hair on the arm. The flesh of my forearm wobbles as I lift my arm to examine it. I feel the unexpected weight of my fat arm. My bicep is not firm. My bicep is fat and it flabbily overlaps onto my forearm and I can feel the backside of my upper arm hang down over my elbow. My fat arm is forced outward by the large breasts. Wait. Not the large breasts. My large breasts. I am fat. And… I am a woman?
As soon as this question enters my mind I reach my hands under the belly flesh to check how much of me is a woman. I can’t get far because of the tight fabric of the dress straining against the volume of my belly. I grab the fabric and pull the hem of the dress upward, releasing the large, smooth hairless belly and reach under it with my hands. I find at least one thing unchanged. I am a man, at least in one physical aspect. I am also somewhat excited from my exploring this woman’s body, despite the realization that it seems to belong to me. I also realize I am wearing low-cut lacey underwear, but there is too much flesh in the way to see this underwear.
My hands can feel my soft thighs, which press against my male organs. My hands caress soft wide thighs that seem to continue far to the sides. Exploring outwards my hands find an outpouring of flesh that must be the portions of my butt and hips that are squished sideways while I am sitting. The rest of me is unreachable while sitting. My chest and belly block any more reaching.
I am full of questions. Why am I fat and dressed like a woman? Why is there no hair on my arm? Or my belly. Breasts? I shift my body and use my hands on the seat backs to rise a little and I can see a pretty woman staring at me in the rearview mirror. A plump face with a double chin and chubby cheeks looks back at me. The eyebrows are arched and dark. The face is framed by long dark well-styled hair. The plump lips have lipstick and subtle makeup accentuates the beauty of this face. This is not my face. I am bald. I have a beard. I have a well-defined chin. But those are my eyes; green with brown highlights and distinctive almost splinter-like dark streaks. I reach up to pull off the wig. I wince with pain. That is my hair. That fat arm obscuring much of my vision is my arm. The fat breasts impinging on that fat arm are my breasts. I could go on, but my stomach brings back my focus. I am hungry. Despite this overfed and large body that I am in, I feel like I am dying of hunger.
I can’t reach over the seat, that much is clear. I need to get out of the backseat and get in the front seat. I move my body to get out of the backseat. I jiggle. I can see waves ripple across the flesh of my breasts. I had moved as if I was my old self, thin and athletic. I don’t think I even was able to lift my butt off the seat by doing that. I need a different approach to movement. My breasts and belly keep my body from going forward very much and my hips and ass sag downward and will still be on the seat unless I raise them higher. I try new movements. I lift and slide myself sideways. Sooner than expected I am stopped. I can feel an obstruction. I glance down under my fat left arm and over my large left breast. My much wider hip firmly presses into the door. I lean my upper body away to the right and find the latch with my hand and open the door. I can feel the fat of my side droop down and out as the pressure of the door disappears.
I slide sideways some more in a few little hops of my body. I reach my left hand out above the door and grab the doorframe; I lift my left leg and step out sideways over the doorsill and down. My foot lands on the ground but I can feel the fat of my large calf being pressed sideways by the car. I move my foot out some more. I slide some more and then while pulling with my left and pushing with my right arm I surge sideways and up to put my weight on my left leg. Swiftly I shift my hips and get my right leg out of the car. I almost lose my balance as my the flesh of my torso droops downward as I stand up and I move my legs out from under my belly. Both my breasts and belly sag downward several inches pulling me forward. I am standing now with my right hip firmly pressed against the side of the car door.
I feel beads of sweat roll down my chins and pour into my deep cleavage. I am breathing hard—end of a marathon hard. I feel a little dizzy, lightheaded. I can feel the weight of my body in my feet and knees. Not painful, but definitely different. I look up and glance around and see that another car has pulled into a parking spot in my row, just a few spaces away. I see a very trim and petite young woman stuck in the act of putting on lipstick while looking in the rear-view mirror. She is holding the lipstick near her face but she is staring at me. Not at my face but at my midsection. I feel a cool breeze caress my thighs. My butt and belly also feel the cool breeze. I reach down quickly with my hands when I realize my dress is still pulled up above my belly. I pull it downward slowly and regain a modicum of coolness as I slowly finish smoothing out the fabric over the bulges of my body. The girl breaks her stare, closes her gaping mouth and quickly exits her car. She rapidly walks toward the entrance door to the mall without looking back.
I think about my next moves. I need to get around this door and get into the front seat. I step back consciously, trying to take into account my girth for enough room to close the door. I then take a few waddling steps toward the front. I feel my fat thighs slide around each other as my legs are forced to move sideways and then forward to get past the opposite thigh. I watch my breasts jiggle side to side and feel myself deep beneath the flesh of my belly become excited. I stand sideways to the door and grasp the handle to open the door. My first attempt fails as my hips are in the way of the door opening up. A side waddle fixes this and soon I am in position to lower my body into the seat. I reverse my method of getting out. I have difficulty getting much of my overflowing butt and hips onto the car seat. I try out several things and manage to get part of myself onto the seat. I am sideways to the seat and need to rotate in. I manage to lift my ass and rotate my hips more inline with the seat. I lift my right leg up and over the doorsill. I can feel the much greater weight of my calves and thigh. My thigh presses my belly upwards and it responds to this by heaving leftward to hang over my left thigh. This pressure hinders my attempts at getting my left leg up. I grab my belly with my arm and pull it up and over to my right thigh. I lean right and lift my left leg in. I am all set. I reach out and slam the door closed. It doesn’t close, it hits my hip and thigh hard. I realize that I didn’t account for my much wider seated width. I use the steering wheel to lift and shift myself over. I get the door closed.
Again, I am sweating and breathing hard. Whatever happened to me to get this new body, it didn’t include any fitness activities. Not only do I have more body to move, I feel like I have less muscle to move it. I can feel my dress stick to my flesh where it is already soaked with sweat. I can feel how my underwear has wedged into my butt some more and how my chest has shifted in my bra. I take a second to lift my breasts and shift them to a more comfortable position. I feel how my breasts are perched up on my stomach and I can feel their weight press down on my belly.
My stomach reminds me of why I moved to the front seat with some more loud rumblings. I look sideways and grab the nearest box of donuts. I open the box; glazed, chocolate coated, powdered sugar and sprinkles. I take one in my plump hand and eat it. I almost inhale it. I can’t believe it disappears so fast. More rumblings. My hunger is nowhere near appeased, but it did feel really good to eat the donut. I grab another and eat it. Taking a little more time to enjoy its taste. Then another and another. Each one is the best food I have ever tasted. Each one disappears. I reach for another and realize that I just ate twelve donuts. Twelve. A dozen. The old me thinks ‘how many calories is that? I’ll need to have a long run to work those off.’ I grab the box and rotate it to bring up the nutritional information so I can read it. I spill more powdered sugar on my dress and more crumbs end up covering my sticky breasts and rolling into my cleavage. Serving size equals one. Each serving is 220 calories. That’s two hundred times 12, which equals 2400 plus another 240 calories. Yikes! That’s an entire day’s worth of calories on non-race days.
My stomach still rumbles. My breathing has eased and I feel much better. I still feel hungry though. Not dying hungry, just stomach rumbling hungry. Since I have already overdone it, what would another donut matter? I open the second package and savor the donut. And then another and so on. I get to the end of the second dozen. I feel almost full. Well, at least fuller. Part of me feels sick that I can eat this much in one sitting. What has it been, maybe 20 minutes?
I had been focused on eating all this time. I look up and see that many more cars are parked around me, some nearby. Surely, people have seen me pigging out. A fat, woman, with powdered sugar on her face and chest and sticky chocolate and sugar-covered fingers stuffing her face with donuts. I look to my right and see the woman parked next to me frowning my way. I smile with my lips parted, feeling crumbs fall off my lips onto my chest and then roll into my cleavage. She gets out and walks away quickly.
I look for more donuts, but the boxes are empty. I see a small purse beneath the donut boxes. I grab it and prop in onto my belly. Framed by my massive breasts, the purse is very feminine and seems full of things. I open it and find the usual women’s things. Lipstick, eye makeup, a small folded mirror and some cosmetics I can’t identify a use for. Under these is an envelope. It is blank, but sealed up. I need information, so I go ahead and open it.
I glance at the back and see a map and directions. The drive is about ten miles. This letter has a really good point. I really don’t want to go to the police dressed like this and what if I really am a wanted man? I seems that anyone that could make me into this shape could easily set me up with a criminal record. I can check out things and take it slow. There’s no rush. I need to think about this, everything is so suddenly very different. Why did this happen?
...continued...
A man is given a new body (with the outer appearance of a BBW) and a new life as revenge for spurning a woman.
A new day
By gignv
Chapter 1
I wake up feeling groggy in the backseat of a car. I am in one of those large American cars, the type I associate with old or very large people. I feel stiff, hung-over, my body feels heavy and turgid. The light outside the car appears to be morning light and the emptiness of the parking lot fits with it being early in the morning. The parking lot is big, maybe it is for a mall. Yes, there is a large building with sore brands. I don’t recognize it though. Maybe I was out late last night and I passed out in someone else’s car? There are just a few cars, maybe from early employees. Whose car is this? Why am I here? Questions pour through my brain overflowing my ability to really ponder each one. I feel really out of sorts.
My last thoughts are confused and hard to recollect. It is difficult to tell what was what. Are these thoughts, dreams or nightmares. Did these really happen? Everything is a blur. My last clear thoughts were meeting a beautiful woman at a bar. A woman most men could only dream of; these memories do seem somehow real to me. I also seem to remember a dark room. What happened then? What next? I can’t remember. I don’t ever drink to the point of blacking out. I am an athlete, a long distance runner, so I follow strict training regimen. I won the men’s division for my age group in the last race I was in. Drinking too much really throw’s off my training. I don’t remember drinking too much. Do I?
My train of thoughts is interrupted by my stomach rumbling. This brings me back to the sensations of my body. I feel very hungry as if I had not eaten in days. More stomach rumbling. My body is signaling me that I need to eat. I catch a scent that sets off more stomach rumbling. I know that smell. It’s donuts. Definitely donuts. I glance at the front seat, I can just barely see it over the seat back. I can see a white pasteboard box, the right size and shape for donuts. Another inhale, more intense donut smell. More stomach rumbling. I don’t normally eat donuts, but sometimes the body just needs a bunch of carbs and donuts have lots of carbs. The seat back is not too high, so I lean forward and reach out to grab the box.
My body stops way too soon. Something is holding me back, preventing me from leaning very far forward. I hadn’t felt a seat belt on me but something does feel strange in front of me. I push a little harder using my abs and legs. Whatever holds me squishes a little and my head rises up a little. The small amount of motion I am doing with my body feels much more strenuous than I expected. The donut smell seems to be stronger or my body has reacted to the smell as a source to appease my hungry stomach. I can see more of the front seat. I can see the donuts through the thin plastic window of the box. There are two boxes of a dozen donuts each sitting there just beyond my reach.
I need to find out what is keeping me back. I look down to see what the problem is. I see a woman’s cleavage, huge breasts pressed into the seat back, a vast area of skin exposed in a low cut pink dress. Oddly, the soft flesh appears to be originating from me, the skin color matches my wintertime (untanned) skin color. I sit back quickly and feel my body jostle and wobble about. My body has never jiggled before. I bring my hands up to the large breasts to feel the large breasts. I feel the mass of these two breasts straining against the dress and a bra that struggles to keep them in place. The cup size of the breasts are much larger than my hands. I can feel nipples through the fabric. My nipples feel my hands through the fabric. A shocking idea is sinking in. It is obvious but unexplainable. This chest is amazing, beautiful, erotic. I can feel my nipples harden through the fabric. I wriggle and press my hands around and under the breasts. The pressure of my hands and a little soft pain tell me these breasts are firmly attached to me, part of my skin, my body.
My flesh beneath my breasts feels soft. As my hands move downwards they move outwards. My hands circumscribe a large volume of flesh that is a fat belly. My fat belly. This belly flows over and outwards across my lap. I glance over my chest for a glimpse of a large pink curve. I can barely see my hands. My nails are long and painted red. The hands are soft and the fingers are unfamiliar from the strong athletic hands I have. Had, I correct myself. I glance at the back of the left thumb, looking for the scar I got rock climbing a few years ago. It required stitches and was a noticeable scar. There it is on this fat but dainty hand. A slight fold of fat occurs at the wrist. No hair on the arm. The flesh of my forearm wobbles as I lift my arm to examine it. I feel the unexpected weight of my fat arm. My bicep is not firm. My bicep is fat and it flabbily overlaps onto my forearm and I can feel the backside of my upper arm hang down over my elbow. My fat arm is forced outward by the large breasts. Wait. Not the large breasts. My large breasts. I am fat. And… I am a woman?
As soon as this question enters my mind I reach my hands under the belly flesh to check how much of me is a woman. I can’t get far because of the tight fabric of the dress straining against the volume of my belly. I grab the fabric and pull the hem of the dress upward, releasing the large, smooth hairless belly and reach under it with my hands. I find at least one thing unchanged. I am a man, at least in one physical aspect. I am also somewhat excited from my exploring this woman’s body, despite the realization that it seems to belong to me. I also realize I am wearing low-cut lacey underwear, but there is too much flesh in the way to see this underwear.
My hands can feel my soft thighs, which press against my male organs. My hands caress soft wide thighs that seem to continue far to the sides. Exploring outwards my hands find an outpouring of flesh that must be the portions of my butt and hips that are squished sideways while I am sitting. The rest of me is unreachable while sitting. My chest and belly block any more reaching.
I am full of questions. Why am I fat and dressed like a woman? Why is there no hair on my arm? Or my belly. Breasts? I shift my body and use my hands on the seat backs to rise a little and I can see a pretty woman staring at me in the rearview mirror. A plump face with a double chin and chubby cheeks looks back at me. The eyebrows are arched and dark. The face is framed by long dark well-styled hair. The plump lips have lipstick and subtle makeup accentuates the beauty of this face. This is not my face. I am bald. I have a beard. I have a well-defined chin. But those are my eyes; green with brown highlights and distinctive almost splinter-like dark streaks. I reach up to pull off the wig. I wince with pain. That is my hair. That fat arm obscuring much of my vision is my arm. The fat breasts impinging on that fat arm are my breasts. I could go on, but my stomach brings back my focus. I am hungry. Despite this overfed and large body that I am in, I feel like I am dying of hunger.
I can’t reach over the seat, that much is clear. I need to get out of the backseat and get in the front seat. I move my body to get out of the backseat. I jiggle. I can see waves ripple across the flesh of my breasts. I had moved as if I was my old self, thin and athletic. I don’t think I even was able to lift my butt off the seat by doing that. I need a different approach to movement. My breasts and belly keep my body from going forward very much and my hips and ass sag downward and will still be on the seat unless I raise them higher. I try new movements. I lift and slide myself sideways. Sooner than expected I am stopped. I can feel an obstruction. I glance down under my fat left arm and over my large left breast. My much wider hip firmly presses into the door. I lean my upper body away to the right and find the latch with my hand and open the door. I can feel the fat of my side droop down and out as the pressure of the door disappears.
I slide sideways some more in a few little hops of my body. I reach my left hand out above the door and grab the doorframe; I lift my left leg and step out sideways over the doorsill and down. My foot lands on the ground but I can feel the fat of my large calf being pressed sideways by the car. I move my foot out some more. I slide some more and then while pulling with my left and pushing with my right arm I surge sideways and up to put my weight on my left leg. Swiftly I shift my hips and get my right leg out of the car. I almost lose my balance as my the flesh of my torso droops downward as I stand up and I move my legs out from under my belly. Both my breasts and belly sag downward several inches pulling me forward. I am standing now with my right hip firmly pressed against the side of the car door.
I feel beads of sweat roll down my chins and pour into my deep cleavage. I am breathing hard—end of a marathon hard. I feel a little dizzy, lightheaded. I can feel the weight of my body in my feet and knees. Not painful, but definitely different. I look up and glance around and see that another car has pulled into a parking spot in my row, just a few spaces away. I see a very trim and petite young woman stuck in the act of putting on lipstick while looking in the rear-view mirror. She is holding the lipstick near her face but she is staring at me. Not at my face but at my midsection. I feel a cool breeze caress my thighs. My butt and belly also feel the cool breeze. I reach down quickly with my hands when I realize my dress is still pulled up above my belly. I pull it downward slowly and regain a modicum of coolness as I slowly finish smoothing out the fabric over the bulges of my body. The girl breaks her stare, closes her gaping mouth and quickly exits her car. She rapidly walks toward the entrance door to the mall without looking back.
I think about my next moves. I need to get around this door and get into the front seat. I step back consciously, trying to take into account my girth for enough room to close the door. I then take a few waddling steps toward the front. I feel my fat thighs slide around each other as my legs are forced to move sideways and then forward to get past the opposite thigh. I watch my breasts jiggle side to side and feel myself deep beneath the flesh of my belly become excited. I stand sideways to the door and grasp the handle to open the door. My first attempt fails as my hips are in the way of the door opening up. A side waddle fixes this and soon I am in position to lower my body into the seat. I reverse my method of getting out. I have difficulty getting much of my overflowing butt and hips onto the car seat. I try out several things and manage to get part of myself onto the seat. I am sideways to the seat and need to rotate in. I manage to lift my ass and rotate my hips more inline with the seat. I lift my right leg up and over the doorsill. I can feel the much greater weight of my calves and thigh. My thigh presses my belly upwards and it responds to this by heaving leftward to hang over my left thigh. This pressure hinders my attempts at getting my left leg up. I grab my belly with my arm and pull it up and over to my right thigh. I lean right and lift my left leg in. I am all set. I reach out and slam the door closed. It doesn’t close, it hits my hip and thigh hard. I realize that I didn’t account for my much wider seated width. I use the steering wheel to lift and shift myself over. I get the door closed.
Again, I am sweating and breathing hard. Whatever happened to me to get this new body, it didn’t include any fitness activities. Not only do I have more body to move, I feel like I have less muscle to move it. I can feel my dress stick to my flesh where it is already soaked with sweat. I can feel how my underwear has wedged into my butt some more and how my chest has shifted in my bra. I take a second to lift my breasts and shift them to a more comfortable position. I feel how my breasts are perched up on my stomach and I can feel their weight press down on my belly.
My stomach reminds me of why I moved to the front seat with some more loud rumblings. I look sideways and grab the nearest box of donuts. I open the box; glazed, chocolate coated, powdered sugar and sprinkles. I take one in my plump hand and eat it. I almost inhale it. I can’t believe it disappears so fast. More rumblings. My hunger is nowhere near appeased, but it did feel really good to eat the donut. I grab another and eat it. Taking a little more time to enjoy its taste. Then another and another. Each one is the best food I have ever tasted. Each one disappears. I reach for another and realize that I just ate twelve donuts. Twelve. A dozen. The old me thinks ‘how many calories is that? I’ll need to have a long run to work those off.’ I grab the box and rotate it to bring up the nutritional information so I can read it. I spill more powdered sugar on my dress and more crumbs end up covering my sticky breasts and rolling into my cleavage. Serving size equals one. Each serving is 220 calories. That’s two hundred times 12, which equals 2400 plus another 240 calories. Yikes! That’s an entire day’s worth of calories on non-race days.
My stomach still rumbles. My breathing has eased and I feel much better. I still feel hungry though. Not dying hungry, just stomach rumbling hungry. Since I have already overdone it, what would another donut matter? I open the second package and savor the donut. And then another and so on. I get to the end of the second dozen. I feel almost full. Well, at least fuller. Part of me feels sick that I can eat this much in one sitting. What has it been, maybe 20 minutes?
I had been focused on eating all this time. I look up and see that many more cars are parked around me, some nearby. Surely, people have seen me pigging out. A fat, woman, with powdered sugar on her face and chest and sticky chocolate and sugar-covered fingers stuffing her face with donuts. I look to my right and see the woman parked next to me frowning my way. I smile with my lips parted, feeling crumbs fall off my lips onto my chest and then roll into my cleavage. She gets out and walks away quickly.
I look for more donuts, but the boxes are empty. I see a small purse beneath the donut boxes. I grab it and prop in onto my belly. Framed by my massive breasts, the purse is very feminine and seems full of things. I open it and find the usual women’s things. Lipstick, eye makeup, a small folded mirror and some cosmetics I can’t identify a use for. Under these is an envelope. It is blank, but sealed up. I need information, so I go ahead and open it.
Hello Janet,
I hope the donuts were to your satisfaction, I didn’t know which ones you liked so I got them all.
You might feel a little confused about your situation. You probably have noticed that your current body seems to be different from the body you remember. You have also probably realized that it is your body and that certain things are still as you remember them. We knew you would feel this way and would like to give you some help.
You have several options at this point. You can go to the police and share with them your account of you waking up in a strange car to find out you are a man with a fat woman’s body. I am sure your dress and hair and feminine attributes will be contradicted by the presence of your genitalia. The police might be confused by the driver’s license registered to you and the car and condo you own. You can go them and hope they take things kindly. Then you can go back to your old life with your hairless face, full head of hair, your dainty fat hands, your double-D breasts, enormous belly, full hips and large thighs. You can workout all the time and eat right and you will be thin and in shape again. Unfortunately, the police will see this differently because the old you is a wanted criminal for multiple burglaries, drug dealing and embezzlement.
Your new identity will protect you easily from the police. The name is different and they are looking for a thin, athletic bald man with a beard, not a fat woman. You can adopt this new persona. Your new you is rich, you own this car and a condo in town and you even own a beach house in Florida. Your wealth is such that you don’t work. Your life could be easy and safe. Jail might be an unfortunate place for a man who looks like a woman. A man with a woman’s full bosom, with wide hips and a large ass, an hourglass figure.
It’s your choice. Directions to your condo are printed on the back of this note and the coordinates are already entered into in the car navigation system. Just press go.
-Cheers
I hope the donuts were to your satisfaction, I didn’t know which ones you liked so I got them all.
You might feel a little confused about your situation. You probably have noticed that your current body seems to be different from the body you remember. You have also probably realized that it is your body and that certain things are still as you remember them. We knew you would feel this way and would like to give you some help.
You have several options at this point. You can go to the police and share with them your account of you waking up in a strange car to find out you are a man with a fat woman’s body. I am sure your dress and hair and feminine attributes will be contradicted by the presence of your genitalia. The police might be confused by the driver’s license registered to you and the car and condo you own. You can go them and hope they take things kindly. Then you can go back to your old life with your hairless face, full head of hair, your dainty fat hands, your double-D breasts, enormous belly, full hips and large thighs. You can workout all the time and eat right and you will be thin and in shape again. Unfortunately, the police will see this differently because the old you is a wanted criminal for multiple burglaries, drug dealing and embezzlement.
Your new identity will protect you easily from the police. The name is different and they are looking for a thin, athletic bald man with a beard, not a fat woman. You can adopt this new persona. Your new you is rich, you own this car and a condo in town and you even own a beach house in Florida. Your wealth is such that you don’t work. Your life could be easy and safe. Jail might be an unfortunate place for a man who looks like a woman. A man with a woman’s full bosom, with wide hips and a large ass, an hourglass figure.
It’s your choice. Directions to your condo are printed on the back of this note and the coordinates are already entered into in the car navigation system. Just press go.
-Cheers
I glance at the back and see a map and directions. The drive is about ten miles. This letter has a really good point. I really don’t want to go to the police dressed like this and what if I really am a wanted man? I seems that anyone that could make me into this shape could easily set me up with a criminal record. I can check out things and take it slow. There’s no rush. I need to think about this, everything is so suddenly very different. Why did this happen?
...continued...
