I always thought Eliza's witchcraft was more of a quirky hobby than anything real. Like how some people collect crystals or burn incense to "cleanse bad energy." She had her candles, her weird little vials, and that old dusty spellbook she swore was passed down from "Aunt Lysa the Fertile." I always teased her about it.
So when she called me up one random Tuesday afternoon and said, “Hey, I need your help pranking my ex,” I didn’t even blink.
“What kind of prank?”
“Sexy kind,” she said.
“Eliza…”
“Relax, it’s harmless,” she added quickly. “Ryan’s going on a blind date tonight, and I want you to show up instead. As a girl.”
I nearly dropped my phone. “I’m sorry—what?”
“Just for the night!” she chirped. “It’ll be funny.”
“Eliza, I’m not exactly equipped to pull off a sexy woman impression.”
“That’s where the magic comes in.”
There was a pause. Then I laughed. “You’re serious.”
“Very.”
And before I could even process what was happening, I was standing barefoot in her apartment, shirtless, in front of a makeshift altar surrounded by herbs, candles, and a suspiciously glowing amethyst.
She was already in her witchy mode, barefoot with bangles, muttering under her breath as she flipped pages in her spellbook.
“Okay,” I said, arms crossed. “So, what? You’re gonna zap me and give me boobs?”
“Essentially.”
“This better not be permanent.”
She waved a hand. “Temporary glamour charm. Like a magical Snapchat filter. You’ll be hot for a few hours, go flirt with Ryan, make him squirm, then poof—back to bro-mode by morning.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Hit me with your best shot.”
The second the chant started, the air shifted.
No joke—it thickened. It buzzed with energy, making the hairs on my arms stand up. I opened my mouth to say something snarky, but then it hit me like a wave. My whole body burned, like every nerve ending was re-writing itself.
I doubled over, gasping.
Then came the twisting—deep in my gut, down to my bones. My skin prickled as muscle melted into softness. My waist cinched inward. My hips cracked and widened with a sharp pop that made me cry out.
“Eliza—what the hell—”
My voice shifted mid-sentence, rising in pitch. Higher. Softer.
My chest ached. And then it inflated—two perfect, round orbs swelling outward under my hands until I had a pair of full, jiggly breasts pushing against my chest.
My hands shot between my legs.
Gone.
No cock. No balls. Just smooth warmth and a soft, new presence.
“Oh my god,” I breathed.
Even my breath felt different—lighter, more delicate. My legs gave out and I collapsed to my knees, my now-curvy thighs pressing together as the transformation settled. My hair had grown too, brushing against my shoulders, and when I finally stood and looked in the mirror—
I was stunning.
Long, wavy blonde hair. Soft lips. Perfect skin. Big blue eyes. My body was curvy in all the right places—hourglass figure, full hips, a snug waist, and my breasts… damn.
Eliza stood back with a satisfied smile. “Told you you’d be hot.”
I turned to her, my hands still covering my bare breasts. “You gave me DDs!”
“Ryan likes boobs,” she said, shrugging.
“You better undo this after the date,” I said, though I couldn’t stop staring at myself. I looked… amazing.
We got to work. She gave me a tight plum-purple dress that hugged every inch of my new curves. It took both of us to squeeze me into it. Then she helped me with makeup—foundation, mascara, a swipe of gloss—and curled my hair.
When she stepped back, I didn’t even recognize myself. My face was flawless. My lips plump. My eyes sparkled.
“New name?” she asked, grinning.
I thought for a second. “Jade,” I said. “If I’m going to seduce your ex, I might as well sound like I belong in a Bond movie.”
Eliza giggled. “You’re gonna knock him dead.”
And honestly… when I walked into that restaurant? I believed it.
I couldn’t believe how much my hips swayed naturally. I didn’t even try—it just happened. My heels clicked on the tile floor, and I was suddenly hyper aware of how many men were staring at me.
And then I saw him—Ryan.
He stood from the booth, gave me that same charming smile I remembered from when Eliza used to date him, and said, “You must be Jade.”
God, his voice was low. Warm. Smooth.
I blushed. “Hi,” I said, surprised at the soft purr in my voice. “Nice to meet you.”
He looked amazing—navy button-down, sleeves rolled to the forearms, that jawline sharp enough to cut glass. We ordered drinks. I crossed my legs and tried not to think about how weirdly exposed I felt sitting like this in a dress with breasts literally resting on my chest.
He was funny. Like, genuinely funny. And easy to talk to. I found myself laughing for real, leaning in a little closer, playing with my hair.
I started forgetting I was pretending.
It just… felt natural.
When he complimented my smile, I blushed and looked away. When his hand brushed mine, a flutter ran up my spine. When he offered to walk me back to his place, I said yes before even thinking.
That was supposed to be the end of the prank.
But I went home with him.
His apartment was warm and clean, with a soft leather couch and that musky sandalwood scent I immediately recognized from hugging him earlier.
The door clicked shut behind me. I should’ve said something—should’ve reminded myself this was just a prank. That I had literally been a guy this morning, and Ryan had dated my sister.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I turned around to face him, and for a few heartbeats, we just stood there. The tension in the air was thick, almost electric.
He stepped closer. His hands gently found my hips, fingers grazing the curve of my waist, and suddenly it was like my whole body came alive. My breath hitched. My nipples stiffened against the tight fabric of the dress. I ached.
“You're… really beautiful, Jade,” he murmured.
That did it. That name, coming from his voice, hit me in a way I didn’t expect. I leaned in and kissed him before I could even think.
It started soft—lips brushing, a little hesitant—but then it deepened. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me tight against him. I could feel his body heat, the firmness of his chest, the gentle press of something hard against my lower stomach.
My heart pounded.
Oh my god. Was I actually going to do this?
He led me to the bedroom, our lips still locked, and I didn’t stop him. I didn’t even hesitate.
By the time we reached the bed, he had his hands under my dress, sliding it up over my thighs. I gasped when he squeezed my ass—when his fingers dug into that soft new flesh. I was so sensitive—every touch sent little shivers through me.
Then came the moment.
He pulled the dress up and off entirely, leaving me in just my bra and lacy black panties Eliza picked out—“just in case you end up horizontal,” she joked.
Well. Here we were.
I felt shy for a second, covering myself, but Ryan looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. His eyes roamed over my breasts, my hips, my stomach. I saw his pupils dilate, and god, it made something flutter inside me.
He leaned in and kissed my neck, slowly working his way down.
By the time his lips reached my chest, I was moaning softly. My bra came off with a practiced flick, and then his tongue traced one of my nipples, and I arched my back, gasping.
“Oh… f-fuck…” I whimpered.
My voice didn’t sound like me. It was soft, high, needy. Girly. Every time I made a sound, it turned him on more. And hearing myself like that? Feeling my body respond to him?
I was wet. Soaked, in fact. My panties clung to me.
He slid them down and stared for a second—like he couldn’t believe how turned on I was.
Neither could I.
He lined himself up, eyes meeting mine one last time. “You okay?” he asked, breathless.
I nodded.
And when he pushed into me… oh god.
It was overwhelming. Stretching, filling, deep. My whole body trembled, my nails dug into his back, and my mouth fell open in a moan I couldn’t stop.
“A-ahh… Ryan… oh—”
Every thrust made my breath catch. It was so much. So different from anything I’d ever felt. I felt taken, like my body belonged to him in that moment. And I liked it. No—I loved it.
His hands gripped my thighs, pulling me closer as he drove deeper. My breasts bounced with every thrust. My moans got louder. Higher. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him in as far as he could go.
I couldn’t believe how good it felt.
I couldn’t believe I wanted more.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a tiny voice asked, How the hell did Eliza break up with him?
Because damn, the man knew what he was doing in bed.
When I finally came—legs trembling, eyes rolling back, toes curling—I screamed his name. My whole body convulsed in pleasure.
And when he finished inside me moments later, groaning my name into my neck, I didn’t even care.
No protection. No thoughts. Just heat. Lust. Satisfaction.
We lay there afterward, tangled in sheets, my head on his chest, my heart still racing.
What was supposed to be a joke had turned into the most incredible sex I’d ever had—granted, as a woman. But still.
And worst of all?
I wanted to do it again.
After that night, I told myself it was a one-time thing. A fluke. A wild experiment gone too far.
But the very next day, Ryan texted me.
Had an amazing time last night. Can I see you again?
And somehow, I typed back:
I’d like that.
I was supposed to be a guy. Pretending to be a girl. For a prank.
But somehow, the second time we met up… I curled my hair. I picked out a sundress. I shaved my legs. I sprayed perfume.
We went to a rooftop bar, and he kissed me the moment we stepped into the elevator. By the time we got to his floor, I was already panting.
The second time we had sex was even better.
I was on top.
Straddling him, grinding slowly, my breasts bouncing in rhythm with every move. My moans filled the room. I looked down at him—hands gripping my thighs, eyes drinking me in like I was the only girl on Earth—and for the first time, I wanted to be her.
I wanted to be Jade.
It stopped being a prank. Stopped being a game.
We started seeing each other almost every other day. Lazy brunches, slow walks in the park, date nights with wine and candles—and, of course, sex that kept getting better. Harder. Deeper. Hotter.
I learned how my body worked. What made me squirm. What angles made me gasp. I became addicted to the heat of his hands, the way he whispered in my ear, the weight of his body over mine. There was something intoxicating about being wanted like that—like this.
And I didn’t just enjoy the sex.
I needed it.
But the whole time, I kept Eliza in the dark. I figured we’d had our fun, and she’d undo the spell eventually. No need to bring her in on… well, all this.
At least, until she knocked on my apartment door one evening, pale and wide-eyed, holding her spellbook in shaking hands.
“Jade—uh, I mean—bro—we need to talk.”
I blinked at her from the doorway, wearing nothing but one of Ryan’s T-shirts and a pair of very cute panties. “You good?”
“I used the wrong spell,” she said flatly.
That got my attention.
“What do you mean, wrong spell?”
She flipped open the book and pointed to a section that had clearly been dog-eared in panic. “I thought I used the temporary glamour. But I was on the wrong page. I… I used this one instead.”
I squinted. “‘Form of True Woman’? Sounds dramatic.”
“It is dramatic!” she hissed. “It’s a full biological transformation. You’re not just shaped like a woman—you are a woman now. Down to your hormones. Your DNA. Your ovaries!”
My jaw dropped.
“But—but it’s reversible, right?” I said, suddenly feeling dizzy.
She bit her lip. “...Only if certain conditions haven’t been met.”
“What conditions?”
She looked at me.
“Eliza,” I said sharply. “What conditions?”
She winced. “If you’ve had unprotected sex during the first month… the transformation becomes permanent.”
I froze.
Dead silent.
I wanted to lie. I wanted to say, “Of course not,” and move on with my day.
But the second my eyes darted away, she squinted.
“Oh my god,” she said slowly, her face twisting in disbelief. “You did, didn’t you?”
“Eliza…”
“Multiple times?”
“Eliza, listen—”
“With Ryan?!”
I sighed, flopping onto the couch, my breasts jiggling under Ryan’s T-shirt. “You said it was temporary!”
“You said it was a prank!”
“Yeah, well the prank evolved, okay?!”
She buried her face in her hands. “Oh my god. You got dicked into womanhood.”
“Hey!” I shouted. “It wasn’t just dicking! There were feelings!”
That made her snort.
“Oh my god…” she groaned again, pacing. “You’re stuck. You’re literally stuck like this.”
There was a pause.
I sighed. “...Honestly?”
She looked up.
I rested a hand on my soft belly, which had been feeling a little off for the past few days—tender, bloated, sensitive. I had been peeing more. My boobs hurt. I had nearly thrown up that morning after smelling leftover seafood in the fridge.
“I think I’m already knocked up.”
Her face went blank.
“What?”
I reached into my purse, pulled out the test I’d taken earlier that day, and handed it to her.
She read the two little pink lines.
“Oh my god.”
I rubbed my face. “You want me to say it, or should I?”
“Say what?”
“You’re gonna be an aunt.”
Six months later, I stood in front of the mirror, lifting my oversized sweatshirt with both hands to admire the very obvious swell of my pregnant belly.
My baby bump had grown from a little bulge I could hide with high-waisted jeans to a round, unmistakably pregnant curve that stuck out in front of me like a full moon. My belly button had popped. My hips had widened. My once-perky boobs were now heavier, rounder, and always just a little sore.
And I loved it.
I turned slightly to the side and took a photo—my bare belly round and taut, smooth and glowing, the soft curve dipping low into the waistband of my leggings. I smiled to myself. Ryan was going to lose his mind when I sent this one.
The first time I felt the baby kick, I was watching a dumb baking show with Eliza, eating popcorn on the couch.
I yelped, dropped the bowl, and clutched my belly. “What the hell was that?!”
Eliza laughed so hard she nearly fell off the couch. “That,” she said between gasps, “is your daughter punching your bladder.”
“Oh god,” I groaned, “it’s already got your attitude.”
Ryan had been amazing since I told him.
I expected him to freak out—run, panic, ghost me.
But instead, he hugged me.
For like five minutes straight.
“I’m gonna be a dad?” he asked, stunned.
I nodded. “Yeah… and I’m gonna be this forever.”
He blinked. “What, like… hot?”
“No, like female. Eliza screwed up. This is me now. For good.”
He looked at me, then down at my belly.
Then he grinned.
“I can work with that.”
We started preparing. Prenatal vitamins. Doctor visits. Baby names.
He kept joking that if the baby got his nose, we were doomed.
“She’ll still be cute,” I told him one night, lying beside him, his hand resting over my stomach as the baby kicked.
“I hope she gets your laugh,” he whispered.
I blinked.
“You mean… my new laugh?”
He smiled. “Yeah. It’s adorable. And when you giggle when you’re turned on? It kills me.”
I smacked his shoulder, blushing.
Eliza stayed involved. Very involved.
Too involved.
She came over weekly with spellbooks, herbal teas, enchanted pillows, and unsolicited parenting advice she clearly got from TikTok witches.
One night, while we were watching a movie and I was eating peanut butter straight from the jar, I groaned and shifted on the couch. My back was killing me.
“Ugh, my center of gravity is somewhere between my boobs and my uterus.”
Eliza cackled. “Yeah, pregnancy tends to do that.”
I scowled. “You literally made me like this. With magic.”
“Yeah, but you literally got railed by my ex, like, multiple times in the first week. Don’t put this all on me.”
We both burst out laughing.
Later that night, she stared at my belly, fascinated.
“You know,” she said slowly, “if someone told me a year ago that my brother would be sitting on my couch, pregnant and glowing and eating Nutella with a spoon…”
I glanced down at the sticky spoon in my hand and shrugged. “Yeah, well… jokes on you. I make a pretty hot baby mama.”
She raised a brow. “You really do.”
As the pregnancy progressed, I felt more and more at home in my body.
Sure, there were weird moments. Cravings. Mood swings. Waddling. Sneezing and peeing myself a little. Crying over dog food commercials.
But there were magical moments, too.
Like when Ryan knelt in front of me and kissed my swollen belly.
When we built the crib together and I cried because he let me pick the color.
When he told me he loved me.
And I said it back.
And I meant it.
The photo I took earlier—of my round, bare belly—was one of dozens I’d sent him.
One time I sent one with a note that said, You did this to me.
He replied: Best accident ever.
Another time I sent a pic of myself in a sports bra and maternity leggings with a big grin and wrote: Your girl’s carrying two melons and a watermelon now.
He replied: I’m gonna eat all three when I get home.
I giggled so hard I had to pee. Again.
Lately, the baby had been kicking more. Especially when Ryan talked to her.
He’d press his lips to my belly and say things like, “Hey sweet pea. It’s Daddy. You’re gonna be beautiful and stubborn just like Mommy, aren’t you?”
And I’d just melt.
Sometimes I forgot I used to be a guy. That this all started as a prank.
Because this—this life—felt more real, more me, than anything before it.
I was Jade.
A girlfriend.
A sister.
A soon-to-be mom.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I was pretending.
I felt like I was exactly who I was supposed to be.
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