A year ago, my life was simple. Too simple. I was just a guy—Matt—tagging along with my best friend Ryan. We spent that afternoon wandering an antique shop, laughing at the dust-covered junk, until we saw it: a strange gold medallion labeled The Medallion of Zulo.
I put it on as a joke, and the joke was on me. My body shifted in a rush of warmth and pressure—chest swelling, waist narrowing, my entire frame reshaping until I was staring at a stranger in the mirror. A woman. Me.
Ryan just stood there, eyes wide.
“Holy shit,” he breathed. “Lisa.”
“Lisa?” I asked, touching my new face, my new hair.
“Yeah. You don’t look like a Matt anymore.” He smirked. “You’re Lisa now.”
I thought it would just be a weekend problem. But Ryan had another idea.
“You’ve got the body. Be my date tonight. What’s the worst that could happen?”
The worst—or best—was that one date turned into something more. Dinner led to drinks, drinks led to kisses, and kisses led to me on his bed, trembling as his hands slid over curves I didn’t even know how to handle yet.
“Are you sure?” he asked, hovering over me, like he didn’t want to push me.
I swallowed, my heart pounding, my new body burning with need. “Just… don’t make me regret this.”
And then he was inside me, and I realized nothing about this was pretend. Every thrust lit me up, every moan was real, and when he whispered my name—Lisa—it didn’t feel like play anymore. It felt like me.
That should’ve been it. A one-time thing. But the medallion always reset on Monday, and by the next Friday, I was curious again. So we made it a routine. Every weekend, I became Lisa, and every weekend, Ryan picked me up like I was his girlfriend. Dinner, a movie, then his bed. I started walking different, laughing different, teasing him shamelessly.
“Careful,” he warned one night, hands on my hips as I swayed past him. “You keep moving like that, and I’ll never let you go.”
“Maybe that’s the point,” I shot back with a grin.
Five months in, it happened. We’d been drinking, kissing desperately, his hands gripping my thighs as he drove into me harder than ever. He groaned, “I’m close—should I pull out?”
I should’ve said yes. Instead, I wrapped my legs around him and gasped, “No… stay in me.”
The shock on his face melted into raw pleasure, and then he emptied inside me, filling me in a way that made my toes curl. In that moment, I wanted it. I wanted him, all of him, consequences be damned.
And the consequence came quick, when I tried to use the medallion again… nothing. I was stuck. Then the nausea hit. Then the test. Positive. And The pregnancy had locked me in permanently.
Now here I am, Lisa full-time, seven months pregnant, belly round and impossible to ignore.
This morning, we stood in front of the mirror, me in a tight white dress that showed off every curve, my bump front and center. Ryan wrapped his hand around my belly, grinning like he’d won the lottery. I snapped the photo and laughed.
“Look at me,” I teased. “A year ago, I was your wingman at bars. Now I’m your barefoot, pregnant girlfriend.”
“Correction,” Ryan said, kissing my cheek, “you’re my barefoot, pregnant gorgeous girlfriend.”
I rolled my eyes. “You mean baby mama.”
“Same thing,” he smirked.
The teasing never stops. When the baby kicks, I’ll groan, “That’s your fault, you know. You just had to finish inside me.”
He’ll grin and press his ear to my bump. “Best accident of my life.”
Sometimes I’ll poke his chest and mutter, “You know, most guys give a girl a ring before they knock her up.”
Ryan laughs, kissing me. “You’re happier about the bump than you’d ever be about a diamond.”
I grin. “Maybe. But you know what I’d be even happier about?”
“What?”
“Another one. Ring or no ring, I’m riding you till you knock me up again.”
He chokes every time I say it, but I mean it. The medallion made me a woman. The baby made me permanent. But Ryan? He made me Lisa. His Lisa.
And soon, I’ll be his Lisa with a baby in my arms—and maybe a second one growing inside me, if I get my way.
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