"Because skirts are for girls!"
But Jon's voice had cracked on the final word of his declaration, and he could feel inside of him that something was not right.
He felt a pressure on the top of his head and on the soles of his feet, like he was being pushed from both points. It was like he was a balloon being squeezed: he could feel himself becoming shorter, but the pressure that built in his middle had to expand somewhere. Some weak point in the wall of the balloon.
For Jon, that weak point started at his hips and expanded out into his thighs. He'd lose about six inches in height, and he'd gain as much on his hips.
He could also feel his feet shrinking. And his hands. His arms became thinner, matching the rounded shoulders he'd already received from Sarah's-- from his own bra. His hair grew out, leaving a trail along the sheets as his head dragged slowly closer to his feet. His torso did not change, but the rest of his body changed to better match the torso.
And, of course, even as Jon lost his six inches of height, he also lost six inches elsewhere. What was once a ripe banana, was now a painting by Georgia O'Keefe.
As the changes wound down, Jon was left panting, stuck in the same spread-eagle position she'd been in for longer than she wanted to think about, grunting through gasps in a higher register than she was used to.
Sarah, for her part, was in stitches. "I guess it's okay for you to have skirts now, Jon."
As she said that, outside of Jon's view once again, even more such garments popped into existence within his closet. Everything on a hanger was now either a blouse or a skirt.
"Sarah," Jon was momentarily surprised by a voice that sounded like Rory Gilmore, "I don't want to be a girl."
"But if you're not a girl, then you can't wear skirts. And if you don't wear your skirts, how will you go out in public?"
Jon felt like she'd been punched in the gut. He'd done this one to herself. Sure, Sarah had pushed her along, but it was her own words, her own logic, which had lead her to this latest change. At least she was wearing her favorite bra.
"Picture yourself outside now," Sarah chided. "Go ahead."
Jon realized that she somehow knew exactly what this new body of hers looked like. And she could picture it at school in a peasant top and a boho skirt. Or at Karyn's house in a tank top and pleated denim skirt. Or at the mall in-- "I really am a girl," Jon breathed, realizing she'd been thinking of herself with female pronouns ever since the change.
"Welcome to the club, Jon," Sarah said, and then frowned. "Well, almost welcome to the club. I think there's one last thing that needs some definite changing."
