Senator Miss Pumpkin (Patreon)

Afterword: https://www.patreon.com/posts/93669106

Jacob Franklin stepped onto the stage with a confident stride, his mind racing with the eloquent words he had meticulously prepared to win over the crowd. He adjusted the imaginary glasses on his nose and took a deep breath, ready to deliver a speech that would, in his mind, showcase his intelligence and competence.

But as the host handed him the microphone, Jacob's voice emerged with a drawl that betrayed his intended eloquence. In his mind, he envisioned himself eloquently stating, "Ladies and gentlemen, I stand before you today as a candidate for senator, and I want to express my utmost respect for the values and traditions of this great town."

However, what escaped his lips was, "Howdy, y'all! I'm runnin' for senator, and I just wanna say I love this town, y'know?"

His eyes widened as he realized the incongruity between his thoughts and his words. To make matters stranger, his voice had transformed into a soft, distinctly feminine tone. He awkwardly tugged at his longer hair, feeling the unfamiliar weight of it cascading down his shoulders.

The host, with a bemused smile, turned to Jacob and exclaimed, "Well, ain't you a sight for sore eyes! How did such a beauty get into this competition?"

In Jacob's mind, he planned to clarify his true purpose: "I'm not here for a beauty pageant. I'm running for senator, and I'd appreciate your attention to the serious matters at hand."

Yet, what he uttered in his new Southern belle voice was, "Oh, shucks! I ain't no beauty queen. I'm here for, um, senator stuff."

The audience erupted into laughter, finding Jacob's unexpected transformation amusing. The host joined in, making a few inappropriate jokes about beauty and politics that only fueled the amusement.

The host, trying to switch to a more serious note, decided to quiz Jacob on politics. "Alright, darlin', can you name the last three U.S. presidents?"

In his mind, Jacob rehearsed the correct names: "Barack Obama, Donald Trump, Joe Biden."

However, what came out of his mouth were the names of famous athletes, "Well, ya see, we had, um, LeBron James, Michael Jordan, and, uh, Tiger Woods" The crowd burst into laughter again, convinced that this was part of the entertainment.

Feeling the weight of his chest and still adjusting to the oddity of his situation, Jacob giggled nervously, attempting to steer the conversation back to the political realm. "Heh, y'all, politics is like a game, right?"

The host, determined to keep things light, posed a simple math question. "Alright, sweetheart, what's 2+2?"

Internally, Jacob confidently thought, "4, of course!"

But what he stammered out was, "Well, lemme think... it's, um, 22?"

The audience erupted into laughter once again, finding Jacob's struggle with basic math highly entertaining. Jacob, now fully immersed in the role thrust upon him, couldn't escape the uneasiness that enveloped him. Despite the absurdity of the situation, he found himself bound to the stage, no longer a candidate but a contestant in the Miss Pumpkin pageant. The crowd, blissfully unaware of the mix-up, continued to enjoy the unexpected turn of events, believing it to be part of the pageant's charm.

...

Jacob stumbled off the stage, feeling the unfamiliar sway of his hips and the sensation of his long hair brushing against his shoulders. He couldn't shake the strangeness of the added weight on his chest, constantly aware of the bra's straps and the foreign contours of his new breasts. The discomfort was heightened as he examined himself, wondering how he had ended up in this body.

As he descended into the backstage area, Jacob couldn't ignore the heaviness of the breasts beneath the fabric of the dress. The straps of the bra dug into his shoulders, a constant reminder of the bizarre situation he found himself in. Jacob glanced down at his chest, his fingers brushing over the unfamiliar curves. He couldn't comprehend how these breasts were now a part of him.

His confusion intensified when he reached the closed door of the supposed team room. Panic set in as Jacob fumbled with the handle, his hands feeling clumsy in the delicate, manicured fingers he now possessed. He squinted at the sign on the door, trying to decipher the letters, but they seemed to dance before his eyes, refusing to form recognizable words.

Frustrated, Jacob turned away from the door just as he heard footsteps approaching. He stiffened as a hillbilly guy swaggered up to him, a leering grin on his face. "Well, Abigail, my bride you look mighty fine out there. Them breasts of yours are a sight to behold."

Jacob scowled, his hillbilly drawl laced with irritation. "Now, hold on, mister! I ain't Abigail, and there's no engagement goin' on. Where's my team?"

The man chuckled, seemingly unfazed by Jacob's protest. "Abigail, you're always kiddin'. You said on stage you wanna be a senator, but all I care 'bout is that fine chest of yours. Ain't that right, darlin'?" He winked at Jacob.

Jacob's frustration grew, and he shot back, "I don't know what you're talkin' 'bout. I ain't no Abigail, and I sure as heck ain't in no engagement. Now quit talkin' nonsense and help me find my team!"

The man's face fell, and he muttered, "Well, that ain't what I expected to hear. Abigail, you're actin' real strange today." He shook his head, then added, "But you got a good butt, and I wish you luck in the competition."

Jacob, now thoroughly annoyed, retorted, "I've had enough of this foolishness. I need help, not compliments about my butt or engagement nonsense!"

The man's confusion turned to irritation. "Abigail, why'd you go on stage blabberin' 'bout bein' a senator? That ain't gonna win you no Miss Pumpkin competition. You gotta talk 'bout pumpkins and pies, not politics."

Jacob's frustration reached its peak. "Look, I don't care 'bout no Miss Pumpkin or whatever. Just help me open this dang door and find my team!"

The man sneered, "Team? Abigail, you're talkin' crazy. Ain't no team for made-up politicians in the inventory room. Learn to read, and maybe you'll find what you're lookin' for."

Jacob clenched his fists, exasperated. "Fine! Tell me where I can find the key to this room, and I'll figure it out myself."

The man chuckled, eyeing Jacob's chest with a suggestive grin. "Well, darlin', I reckon I could find out for ya. But only if you promise to spend some quality time with your fiancé. I'd love to enjoy the view in that room with you."

Jacob, infuriated by the absurdity of the situation, resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead demanded, "Just tell me where the dang key is, and keep your fantasies to yourself!"

As the man cackled and walked away, Jacob couldn't shake the feeling of unease that accompanied every step. The weight of his new breasts, the swish of his long hair, and the absurdity of the situation weighed heavily on him as he anxiously awaited a solution to the bizarre puzzle he found himself in.

...

Two weeks had passed, and Jacob, now known as Abigail, stood in a bridal dress, the weight of the bouquet in his hands symbolic of the heavy burden he carried. The wedding day, a day that should be filled with joy, only brought indignation and frustration to Jacob's heart. The dress felt like a costume, and the white flowers in his hands seemed to mock his predicament.

Despite his efforts to break free from the role forced upon him, the villagers remained convinced that he had always been Abigail. The attempts to return to his old life as Jacob the senator proved futile. The more he resisted, the more people dismissed him as a delusional girl. Jacob found himself trapped in a bizarre reality where he was now Abigail, a role he loathed.

In these two weeks, Jacob had tried to reach out to his past, to connect with someone who knew him as the senator, but all in vain. It seemed that in this altered reality, Jacob the senator simply did not exist. Even the contact with someone from his previous life yielded no recognition.

The frustration mounted as he realized he couldn't escape the trappings of his new identity. The constant reminder of his transformed body, the heavy chest, and the unfamiliar sway of his hips, infuriated him. The dresses and long hair felt like a costume, a facade he was forced to wear.

Jacob's fiancé, Joel, the same man who once met him backstage, revealed himself to be shallow and infuriating. Instead of engaging in meaningful conversation, Joel's attention fixated solely on Jacob's chest and posterior. Every dialogue, every interaction, seemed to revolve around these physical attributes that Jacob, now Abigail, found uncomfortable and irritating.

"You know, Abigail, them curves of yours are somethin' else. I can't wait to see you in that wedding nightgown," Joel remarked, a lecherous grin on his face.

Jacob seethed internally, formulating intelligent responses in his head but finding his words warped into a rustic twang. In his thoughts, he eloquently crafted, "Joel, my identity is not confined to mere physical attributes. I was a senator, a person of substance. Can't you see past these superficial aspects?"

However, what emerged from his lips was a hillbilly drawl. "Well, shucks, Joel, I reckon them things ain't the only things in this world worth talkin' 'bout."

Joel laughed heartily, oblivious to the internal struggle Jacob endured. "Abigail, you always know how to make me laugh. Your words are as sweet as apple pie."

Their living situation, confined to a small room, only intensified Jacob's frustration. Forced to share a bed due to the lack of space, every night became a struggle against the discomfort of unfamiliar curves and the relentless comments from Joel.

"Abigail, darlin', your chest is like a couple of ripe watermelons. Can't get enough of 'em," Joel remarked one evening.

Jacob, grinding his teeth in frustration, had to bite back the words he wanted to say. In his mind, he formed a diplomatic response about personal boundaries and respecting individual dignity. Yet, the reality that emerged from his lips was a forced chuckle and a mumbled, "Well, ain't that just the darndest thing you ever did say."

Every night became a silent battle for Jacob, yearning for the day when he could break free from this bizarre reality, shed the uncomfortable guise of Abigail, and reclaim his true identity. The weight of his chest, the length of his hair, and the twang in his speech felt like constant reminders of a life hijacked by forces beyond his understanding.