"The Transforming Sandals"
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# The Wishing Sandals
Connor was a lively seven-year-old with a mop of curly brown hair and big, inquisitive green eyes. He stood a lithe 4 feet tall and weighed about 45 pounds, a sprightly figure in his Spider-Man hoodie, denim shorts, and a pair of bright blue sneakers. He had his slim orange backpack slung over one shoulder, brimming with money his mom had entrusted him to spend on whatever he wished. For the first time, he was going somewhere alone with permission from his 22-year-old mom, who had given him a little blue stone as a good luck charm.
It was his birthday, March 12, 2024, and he'd been born in 2017. His mom had given him the green light to explore the local park's carnival independently. Excited, Connor clutched his good luck charm, the small blue stone his mom had found on a family trip last summer, as he followed the directions she had given him.
Everything was going well as he strolled down Maple Avenue, but the rapidly setting sun cast eerie shadows, and before long, Connor found himself uncertain of his path. The carnival lights flickered enticingly in the distance, but Connor felt the onset of panic. The streets grew unfamiliar, and his heart pounded against his ribcage.
In an alleyway corner, he noticed something strange and slightly unsettling: a pair of platform flip-flops, unlike anything he had ever seen. They weren't pink but instead a soft lavender shade with intricate floral designs etched into them. The platforms brought the sandals about three inches off the ground yet remained flat. Nearby lay a purse filled with feminine essentials, an ORCA card, an EBT card, and a driver's license bearing the name "Dorothy Johnson." The face on the card was that of a 49-year-old woman, born in 1975, weighing 350 pounds, standing 5'3", with no hair and dark brown eyes. Dorothy was homeless, as evident from the humble state of her belongings: an old walker and a frayed blonde wig.
Connorās initial plan was to avoid the strange objects, but as he began to step backward, he tripped over something unseen. His Spider-Man sneakers and socks flew off his feet, his backpack tumbled away, and his good luck charm landed several feet from him. He stumbled, landing his feet directly in the lavender platform flip-flops.
Connor immediately felt a wave of disgust. "Eww, girly sandals!" he exclaimed, trying desperately to pry them off. But something uncanny began to happen. His feet started cracking and aging, gradually feminizing to fit the sandals. His toenails elongated unnaturally and sprouted a vibrant shade of red polish.
"MOMMY!" he screamed, terrified. "I don't wanna be a girl!"
His legs began to swell and feminize, his torso and chest expanding and shaping into a fuller female form. His arms and hands transformed too, his fingernails displaying the same glossy red polish. A jolt electrified his brain, making him wonder momentarily why he had left his walker and purse.
"No, I'm not a girl, I want Mommy!" he cried in a higher-pitched voice. His hair fell out in clumps until he was bald, and his clothes morphed into a revealing lavender dress adorned with ruffles and lace. His memories grew foggy and rearranged themselves until he could only recall being Dorothy.
Dorothy was confused and stumbly as she noticed her belongings. She shuffled to her walker, clutching hold of it before tottering over to the wig. Her hands shook as she carefully placed it on her bald head, smoothing down the synthetic blonde strands with precision.
Dorothy then turned her walker around to the purse, sitting down in the worn seat. She hooked the purse straps on her lap, meticulously standing up before looping the purse onto one of the walker's handles. She shuffled down the street, stopping in front of a dingy storefront window that served as a makeshift mirror.
"I so fucking hate being homeless and weighing 350 pounds and being such an old and weak female. I've always had a health problem, but at least when I was younger, I was stronger. Now I'm 49 years old, and any man could harm me if he wanted to. Just relax, Dorothy, you're 49 years old, you've been homeless for 5 years; you know to always sleep near the shelter and hide your walker behind the dumpster. I just wish I didn't lose my beautiful long black hair to chemotherapy. Glad I got this blonde wig from behind the thrift store and cleaned it up," she muttered to herself, shaking her head.
Her eye caught sight of the small blue stone, which she picked up, contemplating. "I could probably sell this for a quick 10 bucks; I could use another fix of meth."
She opened the fallen backpack, her eyes widening as she found it stuffed with money. "I sure do feel bad for the young man that lost this, but I really need this money. I'm running low on tampons and pads and could get some more makeup and nail polish. Just a few of the only benefits of being a woman that I loveāthe little things that make me forget I have cancer and that I can feel like a goddess or a princess. Princess Dorothy just has a nice ring to it, even though I'm like 30 years older than most females that call themselves that. Just glad my younger sister doesn't have to see me like this."
With a sigh, Dorothy shuffled down the street, the lavender floral platform flip-flops echoing hauntingly in the abandoned alleyways.
This story was generated by user manemansteve with assistance by one of OpenAIās large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALLĀ·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: A story taking place in the year 2024 the way I write about 7 year old Connor going somewhere alone for the first time with permission from his 22 year old mom. Include his birthday, birth year, height, weight, hair color and style and eye color and what he's wearing shoes included and where he's going and why. Have him get lost on his way there as nightfall approaches and have him get nervous as he clutched his good luck charm his mom gave him and include in the story what the item is. Have him also have a backpack full of money from his mom to spend on whatever he wants as he came across a strange and weird site. Have him notice a pair of feminine looking platform flip flops with a description of the sandals not being pink and how high they came off the ground while still being flat and what they looked like and have there be a purse full of feminine essentials nearby and an ORCA card and EBT and driver's license with a woman's face on it and include the name of the woman, her age being 25+ years older than his mom, birthday, birth year being 25+ years before his mom, height, weight being very large, hair being none, eye color and where she's from and have her be homeless. Have him also spot a wig of blonde hair and a walker nearby that looks very old. Have him get confused and worried at the sight of the items and have him intend to avoid them when he trips over something causing his shoes and socks to fly off and his backpack to fly off and his good luck charm to fly away cause he dropped it and have him accidentally stumble into the platform flip flops. Have him immediately get disgusted at the girly sandals trying to get them off but be unable to as his feet immediately started cracking and aging and feminizing to fit the sandals with a nail polish color included on his toes and have his feet change slowly and detailed. Have him scream for his mommy and have it be in quoted text saying he didn't wanna be a girl. Have his legs and torso and chest change and feminize with a slow detailed description of him gaining weight as well. Have his arms and hands change and feminize with a slow detailed description of the same nail polish appearing on his fingers. Have a jolt go to his brain as he started looking at the walker and the purse wondering why he left them carelessly before shaking his head and saying no i'm not a girl i want mommy and have it be in quoted text. Have his head and face change and feminize with a slow detailed description of his voice changing and his hair falling out till he was bald and his outfit changing into something skimpy but large and feminine with a detailed description of the outfit. Have his memories start changing until he only remembered being the woman. Have the woman get confused and stumbly before noticing her walker and her wig and her purse. Have her shuffle to the walker grabbing hold of it slowly walking towards her wig and putting it back on with a slow detailed description of her doing so. Have her walk over to her purse turning the walker around and sitting down in it. Have her use her feet to lift the straps of her purse into her lap carefully standing up and putting her purse on one of the handles before shuffling down the road and stopping in front of a mirror. Have her look at herself in the mirror and say i so fucking hate being homeless and weighing ___ pounds and being such an old and ____ female i've always had a ____ problem but at least when i was __ years old i was stronger now i'm __ years old and any man could harm me if he wanted to just relax ___ you're __ years old you've been homeless for __ years you know to always sleep near the ____ and hide your walker behind the ____ i just wish i didn't lose my beautiful long ____ hair to _____ glad i got this blonde haired wig from behind the ____ in the ___ and cleaned it up and have it be in quoted text filling in the blanks referring to herself by the woman's name having no memory of who she used to be. Have her notice the good luck charm picking it up and thinking i could probably sell this for a quick ___ bucks i could use another fix of ____ and have it be in quoted text filling in the blanks. Have her notice the backpack opening it finding it full of money and have her say i sure do feel bad for the young ma_ that lost this but i really need this money i'm running low on tamp___ and pa__ and could get some more make___ and na__ po___ just a few of the only benefits of being a wom___ that i love the little things that make me forget i have ____ and that i can feel like a godd___ or a prin____ prince____ _____ just has a nice ring to it even though i'm like __ years older than most females that call themselves that just glad my younger ____ doesn't have to see me like this and have it be in quoted text filling in the blanks.
Response: # The Wishing Sandals Connor was a lively seven-year-old with a mop of curly brown hair and big, inquisitive green eyes. He stood a lithe 4 feet tall and weighed about 45 pounds, a sprightly figure in his Spider-Man hoodie, denim shorts, and a pair of bright blue sneakers. He had his slim orange backpack slung over one shoulder, brimming with money his mom had entrusted him to spend on whatever he wished. For the first time, he was going somewhere alone with permission from his 22-year-old mom, who had given him a little blue stone as a good luck charm. It was his birthday, March 12, 2024, and he'd been born in 2017. His mom had given him the green light to explore the local park's carnival independently. Excited, Connor clutched his good luck charm, the small blue stone his mom had found on a family trip last summer, as he followed the directions she had given him. Everything was going well as he strolled down Maple Avenue, but the rapidly setting sun cast eerie shadows, and before long, Connor found himself uncertain of his path. The carnival lights flickered enticingly in the distance, but Connor felt the onset of panic. The streets grew unfamiliar, and his heart pounded against his ribcage. In an alleyway corner, he noticed something strange and slightly unsettling: a pair of platform flip-flops, unlike anything he had ever seen. They weren't pink but instead a soft lavender shade with intricate floral designs etched into them. The platforms brought the sandals about three inches off the ground yet remained flat. Nearby lay a purse filled with feminine essentials, an ORCA card, an EBT card, and a driver's license bearing the name "Dorothy Johnson." The face on the card was that of a 49-year-old woman, born in 1975, weighing 350 pounds, standing 5'3", with no hair and dark brown eyes. Dorothy was homeless, as evident from the humble state of her belongings: an old walker and a frayed blonde wig. Connorās initial plan was to avoid the strange objects, but as he began to step backward, he tripped over something unseen. His Spider-Man sneakers and socks flew off his feet, his backpack tumbled away, and his good luck charm landed several feet from him. He stumbled, landing his feet directly in the lavender platform flip-flops. Connor immediately felt a wave of disgust. "Eww, girly sandals!" he exclaimed, trying desperately to pry them off. But something uncanny began to happen. His feet started cracking and aging, gradually feminizing to fit the sandals. His toenails elongated unnaturally and sprouted a vibrant shade of red polish. "MOMMY!" he screamed, terrified. "I don't wanna be a girl!" His legs began to swell and feminize, his torso and chest expanding and shaping into a fuller female form. His arms and hands transformed too, his fingernails displaying the same glossy red polish. A jolt electrified his brain, making him wonder momentarily why he had left his walker and purse. "No, I'm not a girl, I want Mommy!" he cried in a higher-pitched voice. His hair fell out in clumps until he was bald, and his clothes morphed into a revealing lavender dress adorned with ruffles and lace. His memories grew foggy and rearranged themselves until he could only recall being Dorothy. Dorothy was confused and stumbly as she noticed her belongings. She shuffled to her walker, clutching hold of it before tottering over to the wig. Her hands shook as she carefully placed it on her bald head, smoothing down the synthetic blonde strands with precision. Dorothy then turned her walker around to the purse, sitting down in the worn seat. She hooked the purse straps on her lap, meticulously standing up before looping the purse onto one of the walker's handles. She shuffled down the street, stopping in front of a dingy storefront window that served as a makeshift mirror. "I so fucking hate being homeless and weighing 350 pounds and being such an old and weak female. I've always had a health problem, but at least when I was younger, I was stronger. Now I'm 49 years old, and any man could harm me if he wanted to. Just relax, Dorothy, you're 49 years old, you've been homeless for 5 years; you know to always sleep near the shelter and hide your walker behind the dumpster. I just wish I didn't lose my beautiful long black hair to chemotherapy. Glad I got this blonde wig from behind the thrift store and cleaned it up," she muttered to herself, shaking her head. Her eye caught sight of the small blue stone, which she picked up, contemplating. "I could probably sell this for a quick 10 bucks; I could use another fix of meth." She opened the fallen backpack, her eyes widening as she found it stuffed with money. "I sure do feel bad for the young man that lost this, but I really need this money. I'm running low on tampons and pads and could get some more makeup and nail polish. Just a few of the only benefits of being a woman that I loveāthe little things that make me forget I have cancer and that I can feel like a goddess or a princess. Princess Dorothy just has a nice ring to it, even though I'm like 30 years older than most females that call themselves that. Just glad my younger sister doesn't have to see me like this." With a sigh, Dorothy shuffled down the street, the lavender floral platform flip-flops echoing hauntingly in the abandoned alleyways.
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