As Jon kept walking, his clothes morphed around his body, the plain blue t-shirt he was wearing saw its neckline drastically dip downwards as it became tighter and rode up just enough to expose a tantalizing glimpse at his midriff. His jeans similarly tightened, becoming a pair of shape-enhancing skinny jeans tailored to make his ass appear rounder. His hard cock formed a bulge in the crotch. He was a slut and this outfit was becoming fit for one.
Underneath his jeans, his boxer shorts reformed into an expensive pair of lacey white panties. He had just spent his last paycheck on them. How he got that paycheck, he wasn't sure, but slowly the pieces of information he was learning about himself began to intertwine and tell a story.
Aimlessly wandering through the crowds of people, more snippets of conversations were overheard.
"I just don't get those sorts of movies at all-"
"Let's just stick to watching the Kardashians from now on"
Another connection in Jon's brain - movies - he didn't understand them at all, he'd much rather watch what the Kardashians were doing. They seemed like people who knew how to buy lingerie!
"-yeah, I'm just heading to the gym now, gotta stay fit after all-"
Jon felt his posture lift, his body tightening as if responding to an unspoken goal. His waist slimmed, his legs defined, his muscles shifted themselves to look maintained.
"You gotta treat your man right, honey, or he's gonna leave your ass and you don't want that-"
The obligation Jon felt to be generally responsible became a more tangible goal to treat 'his man' right, whoever ‘his man’ was. He would work that part out later, all he knew was that he didn’t want this man to leave his ass, he needed a man to stay as close to his ass as possible!
"Babe, I'm not wearing anything shorter than a three inch heel and that's final"
The words struck like an instruction. Jon’s shoes shimmered and reformed into delicate open-toed sandals, subtle heels lifting him onto the balls of his feet. He wobbled once, then steadied - this felt right. Natural, even.
He glanced down at the dainty footwear, he liked them, especially since he refused to wear anything without a heel. Plus they made him stick his ass out, showing off his ass was what a slut did, and the better it looked, the more likely his man would want to stay with it.
More voices collided around him, rapid-fire:
“I get talked into things so easily!”
“My hair looks so glam—”
“I spent hours on my makeup this morning—”
“Dude, stop leering at girls, it’s creepy—”
“I’m going to get it today. I know what I want.”
The new aspects of who he was battered his brain. Each sentence snapped into place inside him like puzzle pieces clicking together. His short hair puffed into a voluminous poof; a shiny gloss covered his lips and colour warmed his cheeks. Knowledge of how to apply a full face of make-up filled his empty brain, after all, he spent hours in the morning perfecting it.
He also knew he got talked into things easily and that he has to stop leering at girls! From now on he'd only direct his sluttiness towards guys. The synapses in his brain were connecting the dots between each piece of information, forming into a new person. But the last overheard sentence struck deeper than the rest.
Jon paused. What did he want? The thought hovered just out of reach. He searched through his mind for an answer. He knew what he didn't want - he didn't want his man to leave his ass. So he supposed he needed a man of his own - he was a slut after all, and leering after women was creepy, so it made sense.
He glanced around the mall, filled with responsibility. Where could he find a man?
