Just West Of Happy, Part 5 free porn video

Warning: This story contains MATURE THEMES including nudity, sex, sexualization, and vulgar language. Do not read if you are under 18 or if it is otherwise restricted for you to do so. If you wish to share this story, contact me at [email protected]. I will likely agree, I just want to know in advance. The continuing story of Ian and Melinda. I apologize if this one seems a bit aimless (it is), but I have an idea of where I want things to go and I needed a bridge to get there. Plot Synopsis: Ian continues to get used to his new body as a woman and Melinda revs up for a night on the town, dragging poor "Ione" along for the ride. Just West of Happy, Part 5 By: Whimsy "Can you turn me back to normal?" "You look pretty normal to me!" "You know what I mean--" "Nothing unusual about girls, after all. Like, half the world is female. Fifty percent isn't weird. It's pretty much average. Now if you were a guy with breasts--" "Or a vagina." "Then that would be weird." I sighed to myself and sat back in my seat. My new girlfriend, Melinda, was driving like a maniac, but I'd almost gotten used to this--come to expect it even. I expected she had some kind of magic spell protecting herself from being killed horribly in a car crash. But even this, at least, was normal. While I would prefer not to die horribly in the burning wreckage of my girlfriend's car, it was still something that happened to normal people. Having your gender stolen from you is decidedly not normal. Normally, I am a somewhat lanky and plain-looking boy. Just now, I'm a somewhat lanky and plain-looking girl, though my girlfriend claims I'm actually quite pretty (though, in her defense, she must have thought I was good looking as a man or we wouldn't have had sex the first time we'd met, I suppose). For what felt like the hundredth time in the few minutes since we'd left the diner where we'd had an early dinner (or a late lunch), I stole a look at my reflection in the rear-view mirror, not daring to lower the sun visor and use the mirror hidden therein, lest I get some snide remark from Melinda. I could have handled the remark, I suppose, I just preferred she kept her eyes on the road more than anything. Staring back at me was those stunning eyes, large and expressive. My eyes. Almost. It was almost comforting to see them after everything that had happened, and the size of the mirror restricted just how much I could see. I could almost believe I was looking at my normal reflection. I'd always felt my crystal-blue eyes were reasonably attractive, perhaps the only part of me I would admit to being so. But even these were different: larger, more expressive, slightly more almond shaped. Even this draw my attention to the changed that had been wrought on me, and whenever the car bounced, the mirror moved along with it, and I could see other parts of my face: the puffier lips, the high cheekbones, the longer hair. I could see a girl's face. But also a vaguely familiar face, which made it even more disturbing. The features were mine, but softer and more gentle. My face, but a girl's. It was something that my mind, so mundane and ill-equipped to handle true magic, was having an impossible time wrapping itself around. The bouncing and swaying of the car drew my attention to other things as well, namely my chest. I wasn't quite sure whether to be happy or depressed about them, but my breasts actually raised my good qualities from one to two. My mother had always told me that no matter how ugly or reprehensible someone was, they always had at least one good feature. I'd always felt mine were my eyes. But, from a purely clinical and detached standpoint, I had to admit that the female me (which Melinda had told me was what I would look like if I'd been born a woman) had pretty nice boobs. Truth be told, I'd have been happy to stare at them all day...if they were on someone else's chest. As it was, they kept wobbling and bouncing all over the place, distracting me with peculiar sensations and discomfort. Thank God Melinda gave me a bra. If only she hadn't given me the girl's top to go with it, a top that revealed a generous portion of clevage that I couldn't help but see every time I looked down--something I naturally did quite often out of habit alone. They pretty much dominated my entire view. "So you're really going to go through with this?" I asked, looking up swiftly again as my eye caught a lot of bare clevage. "This night club thing?" "You ask as though it's not a fantastic idea!" Melinda beamed at me, swerving to avoid hitting a semi that she'd been gaining on. "I can go to a night club as a boy, you know," I muttered. I would have never even thought about going to a nightclub as a boy, truth be told. But given the circumstances, I was willing to make an exception if it meant I got my penis back. Hell, I would even have taken my previous predicament, an entirely male body with a female's genitalia. But, like many of the uninitiated, I felt like nightclubs were a breeding ground of sex and debauchery. While I could possibly handle the debauchery, my mind couldn't help but linger on the sex part and where I would necessarily fit into it, being who I was now. I didn't much care for the idea that I would be the prey for a bunch of sexual predators. "Ione," Melinda said with a sigh, causing me to wince--did she have to use my female name? "I don't have a lot of friends back home and I never got a chance to do this. I just want to have a fun night on the town," she reached over and ran a hand up and down my leg, "I promise I'll make it up to you tonight." I shuddered, feeling the swelling of a female's arousal quite acutely between my legs, surging up through my body like a warm glow. Whatever she'd done to me, I seemed to have sexual emotions in overdrive now that the initial shock of waking up in a female body had worn off. I idly wondered if all girls felt like this (which might explain Melinda's behavior over the past couple of days) or if she did something to me. But more than that, her expression was almost pleading. After an entire day with her ordering me around in our peculiar sexual master-servant relationship, it was strange to hear her speak so frankly, so pleadingly. And whatever happened, I still cared for her enough to at least consider her feelings. But thinking about those feelings made me feel even more confused about what was going on. She kept talking about me like I was just her friend suddenly, but she continued to make occasional advances on me despite my altered gender. Indeed, she sounded perhaps even hungrier now than she had since she'd arrived, which is saying a lot. "Melinda, I wanted to ask you," I began after a moment of trying to recompose myself. I had tried to ask this a couple times now, but fate seemed determined to intervene so I couldn't. I'd wondered ever since she gave me a vagina, but moreso now that she'd made me completely into a woman. I wondered whether there was more going on with her than I knew--if she was more into women than men. It seemed hard to believe, given how fervently we went at it after we first met and how she oggled my member after she made it magically grow five inches, but I couldn't help but wonder why she would make me a woman at all. "We're here," she said suddenly, screeching to a halt and nearly throwing me into the dashboard. Her tone was casual and light. She didn't sound like she was trying to avoid the issue, even if she knew what I was going to ask. Still, I couldn't help but find it a little suspicious that every time I tried to ask her about her sexuality and her motives for turning me into a woman, she found some way to weasle out of answering. I had hardly realized when we'd driven into Danbury proper, but now that I looked, I saw the small but bustling city around me. Danbury, like Hillsborough, was not what one would consider a thriving metropolis, but both had something that kept them on the map rather than simply another forgettable assortment of Ohio farms and flea markets. While Hillsborough had its college campus to make it a trendy gathering place for yuppies and liberals, however, Danbury had a slightly more inexplicable something. Call it charm, call it mystery, call it a night life, call it what you will, but it was a popular destination for the students of Hillsborough looking for the sort of good time during the weekend that somewhat more wholesome Hillsborough simply couldn't provide. It was a bustling enough little community with enough interesting destinations to encourage students to make the trip, sometimes once a week. Dance Berry was one of those destinations, though I readily admit that I had had no idea the place existed before tonight. This should really come as no surprise, however, given that I am me. I admit myself curious about Danbury now that I was actually here and, in lieu of exiting the car just then, I took a moment to look around the street we were parked on. I immediately spied our destination, Dance Berry, which was somewhat obvious though no one was lined up to enter with it being barely 3:00 in the afternoon. It was a nouveau structure with sharp, austentacious points and a gaping maw in the front for an entrance with its name in neon letters surrounded by all manner of different color berries. At least, I assumed they were different colors for currently, the neon was dull and gray. The rest of the street looked different than I was used to, rather more run down than Hillsborough's trendy, upscale college atmosphere. But there was certainly an air of some mysterious something, perhaps simply the fact that it was different, that gave it its own appeal. Then again, it could have been the XXX video and adult "toy" shop hiding discretely behind the sign "1,001 Wonders" that gave it that same "appeal." Then again, maybe "appeal" wasn't the approrpriate word. I wondered how long I could avoid biting the bullet and remain in the car, but Melinda's beaming face right outside my window shot that particular notion in the foot. "Come on," she said in her familiar sing-songy voice, patting the foot of the car. "Or I'll have to encourage you to come out. And that's something neither of us wants to do!" I had to call shenanigans on that. I'm pretty sure whatever bizarre sexual "encouragement" she would think up, she would enjoy it immensely. It was my fear of this encouragement, if I could be said to fear anything Melinda did, that got me to step out of the car. The city was somewhat busy, it being a Saturday afternoon, with people bustling from store to store. Of course, in my hyper-aggitated frame of mind, I half expected them all to turn and gawp, blow cat whistles, jeer, or cry out in horror at the bizarre man-woman that had just exited the beat up old vehicle, but no one even spared us a look save for an elderly couple just walking past us when I stepped out of the passenger's side door. And all they did was smile concernedly when I stumbled and nearly fell flat on my face. I still didn't have the hang of moving in this drastically different body. I tried to tell myself that it was stupid to think anyone would gawk. After all, I looked like a woman to them, they had no way of knowing that I was a man. Unfortunately, my rational mind was not in control just then and I felt like a man, so it was completely incomprehensible to me that everyone wouldn't see me as such. I tried to hide my bare clevage from the world, though it was both futile since was resistant to the idea of touching my smooth skin and more conspicuous to those passing by. In fact, I'm almost positive I got more looks because I was half-touching myself than I would have if I'd just acted normal. Then again, I felt like I was already getting quite a bit of male attention. There were a number of boys wandering around, after all. It was a beautiful autumn afternoon. I was slightly chilled with my bare clevage, but otherwise, it was quite mild, and people seemed to be eating up what could well be one of the last comfortable days of the season. Due to the general business of the street, I felt suddenly jittery. Melinda hardly noticed my plight, too intent on scoping the place out. She grabbed my arm with a playful grin, "Come on Ione," she chirped, again using my female name easily, "we have a couple hours before the club opens up. Let's go for a walk!" "C-Can I just stay in the car?" I whined, shying away from a boy I was sure was checking me out, but really had only checked his watch as he walked past. "Everyone's staring at me." Melinda looked around with an overexaggerated motion, even going so far as to put her hand over her eyes as if she was searching for land over the distant ocean horizon, "Huh? Doesn't look like anyone's staring to me! Except that guy--oop, he looked away." she grinned at me. "But I can make them stare more if you want." "N-No!" I cried. Thankfully, Melinda merely grinned at me, tugging me along. "No one is staring at you, goofy," she said with a light giggle, but she leaned up towards my ear. "We could give them something to stare at if you wanted, though." I nearly toppled over in surprise at her comment, which again threw my addled brain into confusion about her motives for this whole affair. "They're not staring," she said again, falling back to my side and tugging me along to begin walking again. "Some boys are looking at you, though," she beamed, seemingly proud--whether of her magic or me, it was hard to say. "Like that one there. Ok, he was kind of staring at your chest," she muttered as a rather weedy looking boy walked by, obviously craning his neck to look at me in a fashion he probably thought was discrete as he walked by. "Hey!" she called out, shaking her fist at the boy, "she's up here, jerk!" The boy let out a rather pathetic squeak and scampered away as though he'd been caught mastrubating by his parents. Melinda howled with laughter, "I am so jealous!" she laughed, "No boys ever stare at me like that! Well, they do sometimes. But, you know, boys." I blushed profusely. I had stared at her picture for hours the first night I'd gotten it. I tried to comfort myself with the fact that it had only been her face, but it was hard to not feel a bit creepy, especially now that I was beginning to feel what it was like to be on the receiving end. Melinda was quite right about no one staring at me--I wasn't really stare- worthy, after all. But I did get more than a few glances as we walked around town. Most of the boys I would consider to be jocks, those who looked like they spent 90% of their waking hours in the gym and who could benchpress Melinda and I together without breaking a sweat (now there was an uncomfortable mental image), hardly spared either of us a glance. But those like the weedy boy, those I would guess to be repressed nerdy types, geeks who didn't spend much time around girls, or otherwise unpopular guys, gave me and even Melinda more than a few looks. The older ones, ones with women on their arms and without, whether because they felt like I was off-limits or simply preferred women their own age, usually didn't spare me a second glance. But few of the eyes that did turn to me lingered on me long. Either because they thought it rude to stare or I was just too plain for them, the looks I got were fleeting at best with the occasional double-take thrown in for good measure. I still felt each look bore into me like a drill, however. Most of the ones I noticed were aimed, of course, at the new pieces of equipment that Melinda had given me--either my bony ass or my breasts, the latter being much more common as, firstly, it was difficult to see my butt in the swishing layered skirt and, secondly, it wasn't a particularly spectacular ass. Melinda seemed intent on playing the tourist, which had us walking up and down the street for what felt like ages. I realized during our walkings that she had thought even to change the sneakers I'd been wearing so that they fit what I believed must have been my now-daintier feet. I'm not sure why, but that small thing made me realize just how thorough Melinda was being with this little game. There was no way I could flop around in shoes that were far too big. I watched her look into each shop in turn, not stopping in any, but seeming intent on looking into every shop while I tried my best to blend in to the scenery. I felt like I was doing a lousy job but, rationally speaking (something I was not prone to be doing just then), I should have known better. Along with the boys wandering around, there were many girls, girls much prettier than Melinda and I. Well, in my state of mind, I really only thought of them as being prettier than Melinda, since I didn't consider myself "pretty" or in the same group as Melinda or the other girls around us. This meant there were plenty of better targets for the boys' attentions than either of us. Melinda, for her part, didn't seem to notice my discomfort, nor the boys or the girls. I realized that she must have been used to whatever looks she did or did not get by now. After all, she had been born a woman. But she seemed far more intent on looking into every window than anything around her, even me. Hours passed and Melinda dragged me around town seemingly just to make me feel uncomfortable, for she didn't even stop and enter any shops where I could have feasibly hidden from the world. She was bubbly during the ordeal, constantly making references to how pretty I was and how the boys were looking at me. Occasionally, they even were when she said. By the time it was coming on to dusk, my feet were sore but, oddly enough, I hardly even noticed each of my awkward steps. I was walking in almost a normal fashion. I probably even looked like a normal girl, albeit a bit clumsy, stumbling every so often when there seemed to be nothing to stumble on. I still wasn't used to my bare legs beneath the skirt, nor the panties riding up in places I didn't care to have them ride up, nor the constant feeling of weight on my chest, but overall, I barely noticed the mundane act of walking anymore. Still, after a few hours, I begged Melinda to let me sit as my back was starting to ache from the unfamiliar weight on my chest. "Not so easy as it looks, is it?" Melinda laughed, not bitterly. "Maybe now you'll think twice about imagining girls with giant breasts!" "I--I never--!" I stammered pathetically as I leaned against a wall to take some of the strain off my back, but it was a relatively feeble protest. Indeed, most of the girls I'd pretended to be with Melinda online were quite miraculously endowed. I idly wondered if this wasn't payback. But her words rang in my ear even as I wondered: "I basically willed the magic to make you into the woman you would have been born as if you'd been born as a woman." So it wasn't so much a "payback" or a punishment, I realized with a mix of envy and embarassment, as simple genetics. This was me, as a girl. Or maybe a sister, if I'd had one. That thought made me start a bit. "Do my parents--" "They are probably wondering what their darling baby girl is up to right at this very moment," Melinda interrupted, preempting my question as she seemed to have a habit of doing with a knowing smile. "There's a reason magic is relatively unknown, Ione. It has a tendency to warp reality with it so people simply don't notice it. "Why do you keep calling me that?" I groaned, rolling my head back. "Because it takes effort to call you Ian," she said casually with a shrug. "You know how you get to know someone by a certain name and trying to call them by any other name, a nickname they come up with or if they change their name or whatever, takes some conscious effort? Well, the magic made your name Ione. So it's natural to call you that." "But I can't even call myself Ione. Ione. I mean, Ione--!" I threw my hands up in frustration, heedless of Melinda's giggle fit that had just erupted from her. It should have bothered me that she found this so amusing, but for some reason, I wasn't angry with her. "That's all me," she said with lingering giggles. "I made it so you can only refer to yourself as Ione, no matter how much you try. Just my little gift to you, baby," she winked at me, my heart sinking a bit. That was devious. "Come on." She suddenly grabbed my hand and pulled me into a shop. This took me completely by surprise. She'd just been walking around for the better part of three hours window shopping and people-watching. But now, all of a sudden and without warning, she was practically tearing my arm off to go into a shop that I realized with a sinking pit in my stomach was a clothes shop. "We're just about closed, dears," an old lady called from behind the counter. Melinda gave her a knowing grin and a wink. "We'll just be a minute," she said as she pulled me into the back of the store, towards the dressing rooms, and pushed me into one. "What are you doing?" I groaned, nearly falling over in the small cubicle as Melinda slipped in and closed the door behind her. "Well we can't very well go to the club as we are," she retorted as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world. I blinked at her and, for what seemed like the first time due to the strangeness of the day, noticed what she'd been wearing: a simple, rather faded pair of jeans and a t-shirt with a picture of some Japanese cartoon character whose name I didn't know on it. It wasn't a particularly glamorous ensemble, but I had barely noticed. I wondered if I should have felt guilty for this or proud that I didn't think so superficially. I took a moment to look around for the clothes we were supposed to be trying on (trying not to think about what trying on clothes entailed), knowing full well we had not brought any with us. Melinda must have sensed my thoughts, for she simply gave me one of her mischevious grins and said "Magic." With a wave of her hand that I believed to be completely superfluous for I had seen her do magic without the need for any such gestures, her clothes rippled and changed before my eyes. The cloth began to crawl and reshape into a finer material, more glossy, that fell like waves down her petite curves. Her shirt became shorter, crawling up and revealing the barest hint of a midriff and, from the top, crept down to leave her shoulders bare and a similar hint of the clevage beneath. She must have been wearing a special bra, for she seemed to actually have clevage, which seemed to me to be difficult with breasts her size. Her jeans underwent a similar change, the coarse denim becoming a breezy and light fabric that swished and swayed with her movements. I realized with a jolt of what must have been jealousy that they remained pants rather than a skirt, but the light, supple fabric was slightly baggier with wider bottoms that gave a hint of femininity, like a skirt but not quite. I realized after I tore my eyes away from the rippling and changing pants that she had gained a few inches in height and noticed, from what I could see of her feet, that she was wearing strappy high heels that arched her legs up slightly. From how she was moving, a bit awkwardly, clumsily even, I could tell she hadn't worn high heels much in her life. "Ugh," she groaned, nearly toppling over. Almost instinctively, I held out a hand to support her, which she responded to with a pleasant smile, "I wish there was a spell to make me walk better in heels." "You look fantastic," I said genuinely with a bit of an awed voice. And it was true. I had never seen Melinda dressed in what I would consider to be glamorous clothes (which wasn't saying much, considering I'd just met her in person yesterday), but I had to say that the overall effect on her was somewhat transformative. I scarcely recognized her, moreso when her face was instantly made up, not in the garish, overly flamboyant nature of some of the girls I'd seen online or in magazines, but rather, in a subtle way that amplified her natural features. I felt that had she been wearing too much makeup, she would have looked like a child playing at being an adult. Rather, the effect made her look more adult than she normally did. I was more surprised to see her blush at my compliment than I was to see her transform her clothes with an unnecessary wave of her hand (a testament to just how strange the day had been), "Thanks," she said with remarkable shyness, "it's a spell my mom taught me when I moved off to college. It's kind of a vain thing, but she called it her 'Night on the town special.' Dad did not approve," she gave me a wry grin and turned rather awkwardly like a model on the runway. She nearly fell over, which actually served to make me feel a bit more comfortable. It was definitely still Melinda, goofy as ever. "Sh-shall we go?" I stammered as I caught her again, feeling a bit awkward with her all dressed up like this. The only time I'd ever dressed up in my life was a couple funerals and my brother's wedding. Neither were particularly enjoyable experiences. I had secretly hoped she would let me get off with just the skirt and girly top. "Uh-uh," Melinda chided, wiggling a finger. "You're not going like that!" she said, tutting and seeming to examine my clothes as though she was a personal fashion consultant. "You look like a cross between a country housewife and a school marm." I thought she was being a little harsh. The skirt was a little hokey I admit, but the top was kind of--then I interrupted my thought process and wondered what the hell I was thinking and told myself to worry about what Melinda was going to do to me, not her fashion advice. "Well, I--I didn't bring any clothes with me," I offered feebly, knowing full well that she was just going to change my outfit like she did her own. Melinda didn't even bother to respond, seeing my delay ploy for what it was. She waved her hand even more dramatically than before (but equally unnecessarily) and I was suddenly standing in the tiny cubicle in my underwear. Or, rather, in a girl's underwear for I didn't own anything so frilly and girly as this. I flailed somewhat pathetically, but Melinda seemed remarkably immune to my plight, sizing me up with a critical gaze. "We need something that shows off your chest," she said with a sage nod. "Your girls are easily your best feature." I was pretty sure I could have glowed in the dark if the power died just then. "Your legs are nice enough for a dress," she said, "I think one with a low cut top." "You just wanted to put me in that in the first place!" I cried indignantly, trying feebly to cover up with the minimum amount of contact as possible. This proved to be impossible and I only served to bring back that awkward warmth to my crotch that I had been feeling off and on all day--the feeling like I had wet myself. Melinda seemed to sense this or, perhaps, smelled it, for her grin grew even more, "I think I have just the thing," she said, waving her hand once more (honestly, why had she taken to doing this all of a sudden I wondered) and I suddenly felt something wrap around me like a tight fabric glove, squeezing the breath out of me for a moment before my body adjusted. It was a blue number that fell barely to my mid thigh, leaving much of my legs bare and, I noticed, almost all of my clevage, which almost looked to be spilling out. She seemed to have revoked my bra priveledges. I jumped in surprise when I saw this and looked at myself in the mirror almost without thinking. Part of me had no desire to see what I looked like just then--the same part of me that wanted to do nothing more than stick my head in the sand and hide until Melinda went home and gave up on me for the loser that I was. But there was also a small part of me, a quiet part of me that I rarely heeded, the same part of me that had agreed to play this "game" with Melinda, that was curious. It was likely this part of me that usurped my motor functions and turned my body to the mirror before I even realized what I was doing. The blue dress looked rather stunning on the girl in the mirror, I had to admit. Though she had little curves to speak of, being mostly bony and straight, it seemed to cinch and constrict just enough to give the illusion of curves. The extremely low-cut top was rather unremarkable, however, and looked almost sloppy compared to the rest of the dress, which was sleek and supple, perhaps the same material as Melinda's top. However, the top did have the effect of lifting and pressing the girl's breasts together. Like Melinda, this gave the impression of her having more clevage than she actually did, and given that she was already a cup size larger than Melinda, the effect was, overall, a great deal more dramatic. It was easy, in that moment, to consider this stranger in the mirror, this prettied-up girl that Melinda was treating like a doll, as a separate entity. As just some girl I was rude enough to stare at. And stare I did, slack-jawed, on the verge of either breaking down into tears or insane giggles. It was so hard to believe that it was me in the mirror, but I felt the constriction of breath, not painful but just enough to know I was wearing the same tight garment. I felt the weight on my chest that meant those breasts must surely be on my own chest. And every time I looked down, I saw the view that that woman (who also looked down at the same time) must surely have seen. Melinda, surprisingly enough, didn't seem to be eating up my discomfort quite as much as usual. She seemed to be considering my outfit with a critical, appraising air. "I like the dress," she said after what felt like hours of staring at myself in the mirror, "but I don't like the top. It's too rough and plain." Indeed, the dress looked good, but the top looked almost like I was simply wearing a towel around my breasts. I always felt a bit woozy when I thought about "my breasts." This time, Melinda snapped and the dress changed around me. First, it became a full dress, covering my entire upper torso and hiding my clevage. I rather liked this one, as much, I felt, as I would like any dress, but Melinda was not pleased, muttering something about not wanting to hide my clevage. She snapped again and a keyhole opening appeared, showing off my clevage, but not nearly as much as the shoulderless dress had before. "That's better," she said, walking stiffly around me, as much to get used to her own heels as to examine her handiwork, I assumed, "but I don't know if I like it." The upper portion of the dress vanished with the next unnecessary snap, making the dress shoulderless again. This time, instead of a straight, shapeless top, it molded to my clevage, dipping slightly between my breasts. Melinda seemed to like that better, but still made one more change. This time, the swooping neckline fell much deeper, almost to my stomach, revealing much more of the sides of my breasts. This had the effect of not giving me quite so much clevage, but showing off my boobs individually. "Voila!" Melinda cried, clapping her hands delightedly. "The best of both worlds. Now you look classy and I can see your tits!" I hardly heard her, however. I was too lost in my own reflection. It was true that I was a somewhat plain girl, just as I'd been a somewhat plain boy, but with my body encased in supple fabric, supple and revealing, I actually looked like a girl. I might even have been beautiful, had I been able to make such a value judgment. I vaguely noticed that Melinda was standing next to me, twirling around awkwardly and watching her reflection in the mirror, making kissy faces and posing, "I wish I could pull that look off," she said in almost a casual tone, though I recognized the taunt for what it was. "There's no way I have the chest for it, though," she said as she pressed her smallish breasts together, forming a bit more clevage than she had normally, but not quite as much as mine. I flustered and fidgeted. She kept complimenting my figure. I had no idea how to take that considering she'd been born a girl and was my girlfriend. "Now all we need to do is your makeup--" she said. This time, she didn't even bother to snap or wave a hand, letting the magical control she had over my entire reality do its work. My face suddenly felt slightly heavy. I felt like I'd suddenly had a thin gauze put over my features, like my skin couldn't breathe freely. I had to admit, I didn't like it. The girl in the mirror--me, I had to remind myself--suddenly sported a makeup job similar to Melinda's, classy without being over the top. It tastefully done, accenting the female features that had already distinguished me from my male self, making me even further removed from who I had once been. I reached up to gently touch my face, as if I had to have confirmation that my reflection would do the same. The girl in the mirror did the same thing. I nearly tipped over suddenly, practically toppling into the mirror as my legs and ass hiked up. "--and the shoes," Melinda said casually with a cattish grin, enjoying seeing me lean pressed against the mirror. I looked down past my strangely-clothed body towards my bare legs. I could finally see my feet, which were indeed dantier I had to admit. They were wrapped up in similar shoes to Melinda's, strappy high-heel sandals, but they had slightly elevated platform bottoms attached to them which, when I finally managed to stand up, feeling like I was standing on stilts, added a good few inches to my height. "Come on," she finally said after a momentary and brief appraisal of my appearance, grabbing my arm and pulling me again, causing me to stumble. Both of us fell out of the dressing room and toppled into each other. Melinda burst out laughing, but I had to quickly make sure I hadn't popped out of the dress. "We're going to miss the club opening!" she said, dragging me to my feet and adjusting herself so she wasn't so askew. She started for the door, completely ignoring, as usual, the stares we were getting from the matronly old employee, both for our bizarre antics and the fact that we were walking out in different clothes than we came in without taking any into the changing room with us...indeed, the clothes we were wearing certainly weren't the sort one would buy in the quaint little country clothing store. "H-Have a nice day," she stammered pathetically, gawking at us as Melinda waved casually on our way out the door. We stopped on the sidewalk, the sudden halt of momentum causing me to nearly fall over. I had just gotten used to walking as a woman and now she had put me in these awful platform heels. I felt like I was walking on stilts. Melinda turned suddenly and looked me over. I thought I wasn't hallucinating when I saw a bit of a hungry look in her eye, further casting confusion on her motives for changing me into a woman in the first place. I vaguely heard Melinda shoo the boys away before reaching down to help me stand up, "Come on, baby," she said with an encouraging and surprisingly kind smile. "We better get going if we want to be at the front of the line." "We want to be at the front of the line?" I asked dumbly, forced to lean on her as we walked. My shock at seeing my body and face made up like a real girl had once again stolen my ability to walk, even without the high heels. "Of course," she chided playfully. "It's the only place to be, silly. We want to be the first girls the bouncer sees, otherwise, he might not let us in. I might have to magic us up some IDs!" she added with a giddy giggle. I thought on how much of a shame it would be if we weren't let into the club as I stumbled for what felt like the fiftieth time. But I thought to myself with a sigh how depressing it would be to see Melinda's whole night ruined... I realized with a bit of an embarassed sigh that I would do anything in my power to keep that from happening.