Practical Joke
A Vignette
By Maryanne Peters

I had to make up my mind about how to cope when I woke up looking like this. It was supposed to be the ultimate cruel practical joke, and at the time I had to admit a sneaking admiration for just how cruel it was.

It was not as if I was not expecting something. My own practical joke had gone a little too far. I only wanted the testosterone to give her some whiskers on her face as she said she that my growing a beard was the last straw for us. But when it resulted in acne scars and affected her voice I would have to agree that I had gone too far.

But she bided her time and then I woke up looking like this. I had been drugged of course, and I must have been out for some time. I knew that I had been pumped full of female hormones. That would be justice for which I did to her. But there was so much more.

Somehow, they had managed to add to my hair, and her people had changed my face too. My nose was thinner and my lips plumper, and the eyeliner seemed to have been tattooed on.

It seemed that every hair had been ripped from my body – nothing remained except my plucked eyebrows and the hair on the top of my head, now mainly blonde.

And then there were the breasts – my breasts. Of course, I was horrified at first, but strangely when I cupped them in my hands, I felt oddly happy that they were there. Initially I thought that it was the hormones or some mind warping drug she had used that was causing this strange euphoria, but where is the fun in that? I always said that practical jokes are meant to dislocate the victim, not allow them to realize some hidden fantasy.

So, I pretended to be shocked and seriously pissed. I called her and said that I knew there was a cost of putting me back to the way I was, and she would be paying it.

“You haven’t paid me for the face peel and throat surgery to fix what you did to me, so maybe we can leave at that,” she said. “I won’t be paying after what you did, so fixing yourself will have to come out of your own pocket.”

Or, perhaps, not bother? I mean, whoever she hired did good work. What do you think? I think I look pretty good, and these breasts … well, they look fabulous. Why spend all that money undoing such an effective effort? I mean, all that I need to do is make some small adjustments to my life, and suddenly men have become quite attractive to me.

Am I really a victim here?

Something to think about?

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2023