Promotion at a gas station (Patreon)

It was a typical Tuesday evening when Fred, a sly and opportunistic man, noticed an intriguing promotion at the local gas station. The promotion, seemingly targeted at girls, required participants to wear high heels and have long blonde hair. Always on the lookout for a chance to save money or have a bit of fun, Fred spotted an opportunity to exploit the situation.

With a mischievous glint in his eye, Fred decided to bend the rules. After filling up his car, he made a quick detour to a nearby thrift store, where he picked up a pair of women's high-heeled shoes and a wig with long, flowing blonde locks. Chuckling to himself about the absurdity of his plan, he returned to the gas station.

As Fred approached the cash register, the gas station owner couldn't help but burst into laughter at the sight of Fred in his makeshift ensemble.

Gas Station Owner: Well, well! I guess you've got the spirit, if not the usual attire. High heels and blonde hair, right? I'll give you credit for creativity.

Fred, grinning beneath the blonde wig, handed over the payment for the gas, expecting nothing more than a few laughs. However, little did he know that his audacious move had caught the attention of a witch who happened to be passing by.

The witch, offended by what she perceived as a mockery of femininity, decided to teach Fred a lesson. As Fred walked away from the cash register, feeling victorious in his little stunt, the witch cast a spell with a subtle wave of her hand.

A strange sensation washed over Fred as he approached his car. When he caught sight of his reflection, his triumphant grin faded into shock and disbelief. Staring back at him was a hot blonde girl with a revealing outfit, a reflection that mimicked his own movements. He found himself wearing a tight white top with his midriff exposed, paired with an unusual shorts-skirt in tartan red. The ensemble was held together by suspenders, adding to the overall unconventional and eye-catching appearance.

Fred: Like, OMG! What's going on...?

He touched his chest and felt the weight of breasts that were definitely not there before. Panic set in as he tried to remove the wig, only to feel pain as he realized it was now part of his own hair.

Fred: Ugh, no way! This is, like, totally unreal!

As Fred grappled with his transformed appearance, a stranger nonchalantly approached and climbed into Fred's car. Bewildered, Fred turned to the intruder.

Fred: Oh my gosh, like, what are you doing in my car?

Stranger: (smirking) Your car? Don't you mean my car, dumb blonde?

Fred, now fully embracing the stereotypical dumb blonde persona, blinked in confusion.

Fred: Wait, like, no way! This is totally my car. I just, you know, filled it up and stuff.

Stranger: (laughs) Seriously? Look, sweetheart, I don't know what game you're playing, but this car is mine. So, like, scoot over or something.

Fred, twirling a strand of his blonde hair and batting his eyelashes, continued with his act.

Fred: Silly, like, you must be mistaken. This car is, like, totally mine. I was just, you know, enjoying the high heels and all.

The stranger rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed by Fred's theatrics.

Stranger: Look, I don't have time for this. Get out before I call the cops.

Fred, still maintaining the ditzy demeanor, pouted and stamped his foot.

Fred: Oh, like, you're being so mean! I just, you know, wanted to drive my pretty car. It's like, my favorite color and stuff.

Ignoring Fred, the stranger started the car and drove off, leaving Fred standing there in utter disbelief, surrounded by the echoes of his own dumb blonde persona.

...

As Fred stood there in shock, surrounded by the echoes of his own dumb blonde persona, the witch approached, her presence more pronounced than before. She eyed Fred with a mix of amusement and irritation.

Witch: Well, well, Fred, or should I say... Tiffany?

Fred, still grappling with the shock of his transformation, blinked in confusion.

Fred (in his dumb blonde persona): Tiffany? Like, seriously? What's going on?

Witch: Oh, darling, you thought you could mock femininity for a cheap laugh. Now, you get to experience it firsthand.

Fred, feeling the weight of unfamiliar breasts and the pull of the revealing outfit, tried to formulate a thought in his head. The phrase "This is so not fair" played on repeat, but when he spoke, it came out in true dumb blonde fashion.

Fred: Um, like, you can't just, you know, turn me into a girl. It's, like, so not cool.

Witch: Oh, but it is cool, Tiffany. You wanted to play the dumb blonde, so here you are.

Fred, now known as Tiffany, grew angrier by the second. He attempted to stomp his foot in protest, forgetting about the precariousness of his high heels.

Tiffany: (screaming) This is, like, the worst thing ever! Change it back right now!

The witch, unamused by Tiffany's outburst, responded with a wicked grin.

Witch: Oh, my dear Tiffany, you don't seem to appreciate the lesson. Maybe I should make it even more unforgettable.

With a wave of her hand, the surroundings shifted, and Tiffany found himself in an unfamiliar apartment. A phone materialized in his hands, and as he glanced into the mirror, he saw his transformed reflection. His chest was now uncovered and he saw a completely naked reflection of his new body, feeling how his long hair touched his shoulders and how his tits pulled his skin down.

The witch's laughter echoed in the air as Tiffany struggled to maintain balance on his high heels.

Tiffany (shouting angrily): You, like, wicked witch! This is, like, so messed up! Change me back, you... you enchanting lunatic!

Witch (smirking): Oh, Tiffany, sweetie, throwing insults won't change a thing. Maybe you'll learn something from this little adventure. Enjoy your new reality.

Voice witch vanished, leaving Tiffany to grumble and fumble with the phone in his hands, desperately hoping for a way out of this magically altered nightmare.

...

Tiffany, still trying to make sense of her magically transformed reality, felt her phone vibrate in her trembling hands. The screen displayed a message from "Cutiee" expressing admiration for the photos Tiffany apparently sent. Bewildered, Tiffany scrolled through the messages, her confusion deepening with every word. At that moment there was a telephone call from the same subscriber

Cutiee: Hey there, Tiffana! Just wanted to say I really liked those pics you sent. More please?

Tiffany, her dumb blonde persona still in full swing, held the phone close to her chest as if shielding her unfamiliar breasts.

Tiffany: Oh, like, I don't know what you're talking about, I don't even, like, know who you are? Seriously, it's like, so confusing!

Cutiee: (chuckles) You're such a tease, Tiff! Keep 'em coming.

Tiffany, feeling a mix of frustration and annoyance, tried to set the straight record.

Tiffany: No, really, I'm not Tiffana. I'm like Fred. This is, like, some crazy spell or something.

Cutiee: (laughs) Good one, Tiff! You always come up with the best jokes. Anyway, I'll be there soon, babe. Send me more pics, okay?

Tiffany, growing angrier at not being believed, argued with Cutiee.

Tiffany: No, like, seriously! I'm not joking. I'm a guy, and I, like, need you to help me get back to normal. It's, you know, really important!

Cutiee, taking Tiffany's protests as part of the game, got offended.

Cutiee: Whatever, Tiff. You're just being weird. If you're not into it, fine. I'm coming over anyway. But seriously, more pics would be hot.

With that, Cutiee hung up, leaving Tiffany fuming. The unfamiliar sensation in her chest and the sway of her new female parts added to the discomfort. Tiffany, now alone in the unfamiliar apartment, couldn't shake the feeling that she needed to take more selfies.

Tiffany (muttering to herself): Ugh, why do I, like, need more pics? This is, like, so messed up. But, you know, maybe I should? It's, like, what I'm supposed to do now, right? Like, totally confusing!

Despite the confusion, Tiffany reluctantly raised the phone to take new selfies, still feeling the strange heaviness of her chest and the constant sway of her long hair, wondering if this bizarre ritual was somehow connected to her quest to return to normal.

But whe Tiffany took selfies, she felt an inexplicable urge to send them to her boyfriend, even though the reason behind it eluded her. It was as if a subconscious instinct guided her actions, compelling her to share these images, though the purpose remained shrouded in confusion.

...

As Tiffany reclined in the bathtub, surrounded by the fragrance of red rose petals floating on the water's surface, her long hair cascading around her, she found herself caught in the midst of a scenario she couldn't comprehend. She absentmindedly straightened her hair, her hand inadvertently touching her forehead in a gesture that resembled a facepalm—though in this magical reality, it truly was a facepalm.

Confusion lingered in her thoughts as she pondered why everything seemed to unfold according to an inexplicable script. She didn't desire this romantic evening with a boyfriend she barely knew, a boyfriend who, in this altered reality, had supposedly always been hers. Tiffany couldn't fathom the inexplicable desire to be nice to him, even though the origin of this sentiment eluded her.

As Tiffany lay in the bathtub, her boyfriend's voice echoed outside the door, indicating his impending entrance.

Boyfriend: Hey, Tiff! I'll be joining you in a minute, babe.

Tiffany, feeling conflicted, replied with uncertainty.

Tiffany: Um, no, like, I don't want you to. Seriously.

Boyfriend (amused): You've been saying that all evening, Tiff, but your actions speak louder. What's going on?

Tiffany, her fingers idly toying with the red rose petals in the water, sighed in frustration.

Tiffany: I, like, don't get it. I don't even know you, and, like, I don't want all this romantic stuff.

Boyfriend (teasing): Come on, Tiff, you're playing hard to get. I'll be there soon, okay?

Tiffany, realizing the futility of her protests, muttered to herself.

Tiffany: Ugh, seriously, what is happening?

The boyfriend, now inside the apartment, approached the bathroom door.

Boyfriend: Tiff, babe, anything you want before I join you?

Tiffany, hesitating for a moment, finally spoke up with a genuine desire.

Tiffany: I, um, really want to be Greg again, you know? Like, have my old life back.

Boyfriend (confused): Greg? What are you talking about? You've never been Greg. 

Tiffany, frustrated by the lack of understanding, pleaded with a hint of desperation.

Tiffany: No, seriously! Something happened at the gas station, and I just want my old life back. I regret whatever happened there.

Boyfriend (dismissively): Gas station? I don't get it, Tiff. Anyway, I'll be there in a minute.

As Tiffany continued to grapple with the conflicting sensations in her transformed body, she couldn't shake the feeling that her heartfelt plea had gone unheard. The strange desires and inexplicable actions left her yearning for resolution and an end to the perplexing enchantment that had taken control of her existence.

...

One year later, Tiffany walked down the street with her dog, the discomfort evident in her demeanor as she felt the judgmental gazes of passers-by. Memories of her life as Greg lingered in her mind, and she couldn't shake the disgust she felt for her new life, body, and the clothes she wore. Despite her inner turmoil, attempts to change her wardrobe were always thwarted by an inexplicable force, compelling her to stick to a style that felt alien to her true self.

Tiffany had dated another guy, attempting to move on, but the choices still felt forced upon her. As she strolled, contemplating her constrained existence, she spotted a familiar face— the witch from the gas station. A sudden determination surged within Tiffany as she picked up her dog and headed towards the witch, eager to confront her.

Tiffany (feigning cheerfulness): Oh my gosh! I like, totally recognize you!

Witch (confused): Recognize me? What are you talking about?

Tiffany, unable to contain her frustration, unleashed a tirade of insults.

Tiffany: Seriously, you witch! How could you forget me? You messed up my life, you... you enchanting idiot! Like, do you even know the trouble you caused?

Witch (skeptically): Enchanting idiot? Who are you?

Tiffany: Okay, like, seriously, how could you not remember? The gas station? You turned me into this... this blonde disaster! Don't tell me you forgot!

Witch (innocently): Gas station? Blonde disaster? I meet so many people; you can't expect me to remember every little thing.

Tiffany (frustrated): Every little thing? This is my life we're talking about! You know, the one you messed up with your crazy magic!

Witch (curious): Magic? I do recall a gas station incident, but I didn't think it was that big of a deal.

Tiffany (sarcastically): Oh, it's like, a big deal, seriously! I used to be Greg, living this totally normal life, and now I'm stuck as this dumb blonde, unable to change anything! Can you believe it?

Witch: Oh, Greg! I remember now. How's life treating you, or, um, Tiffany?

Tiffany, seething with anger, poured out her frustrations.

Tiffany: Hate my life! Hate my body! Hate these clothes! I want it all back! Change it now or else! Seriously, like, do it

Witch (interrupting with a laugh): Or you'll what? You're quite entertaining, Tiffany.

Tiffany (threatening): Change me back, or I'll... I'll report you to magical authorities or something! Like, seriously, you don't want them to know about this, do you?

Witch (laughing): Oh, honey, you can't report what you don't understand. Good luck with your fabulous life, Tiffany.

The witch, unfazed, burst into laughter, disappearing into thin air as Tiffany threatened her.

Tiffany (yelling): You can't just laugh this off! Change it back, you... you magical menace!

But the witch's laughter echoed in the air as Tiffany was left standing alone, still trapped in a life that felt like a cruel enchantment.