Title: Transformed in Stilettos
0 Points
0
Parker’s small hands held tightly onto his Spider-Man backpack as he waved goodbye to his mom. At 24, she was relatively young and had always been a little overprotective. But today was different. In the year 2020, she had finally allowed him to walk to Mrs. Henderson's house, just a few blocks away. The thrill of this newfound independence made him practically bounce in his red sneakers.
The early summer sun kissed his pale skin, and his blonde hair caught the light as he set off, wearing his favorite blue t-shirt with a dinosaur print and khaki shorts. Parker made sure to glance back one last time, seeing his mom smile at him from their front porch. Clutching the brown envelope containing a thank-you card for Mrs. Henderson inside his backpack, he felt a rush of excitement and a tinge of anxiety.
The familiar neighborhood slowly unfolded in front of him, each house and garden a comforting sight. But halfway down Meadow Lane, Parker made a wrong turn. Distracted by a butterfly, he found himself in an unfamiliar part of the neighborhood, surrounded by streets he didn't recognize.
He spotted a peculiar sight nearby: a large pair of black platform sandals, a pink purse, and a pack of cigarettes scattered on the sidewalk. The sandals had thick, sparkling black straps with silver studs running along the sides, and the platforms were nearly three inches high. The purse was glossy pink with a silver chain strap, slightly open to reveal a compact mirror, a tube of bright red lipstick, a few coins, and a folded note.
Curiosity pulled Parker closer. Trying to avoid the sandals, he tripped on an uneven spot of cement. The next moment was a whirlwind; his shoes and socks flew off, and Parker yelped as his tiny feet stumbled into the enormous sandals. Before he could react, an overwhelming sensation washed over him. His feet began to change, elongating, darkening into a deep black shade, his toenails suddenly gleaming with a bold red polish. Panic coursed through him.
“Mommy, help! I don’t wanna be a girl. Oh, oh my—oh my God!” Parker's voice involuntarily morphed into an exaggeratedly sassy tone.
His legs and lower torso followed suit, maturing, feminizing, and turning a deep brown. His hands and arms transformed next, the nails elongating and turning the same vivid shade as his toes. His chest expanded, and Parker could feel his torso reshape into an unfamiliar form, his skin darkening consistently. His head and hair changed last, face contouring into high cheekbones, full lips painted red, a delicate nose, and almond-shaped eyes. His hair grew long and curly, turning into a cascade of silky black locks.
A skimpy outfit materialized around him—now her—transforming her clothes into a daring sequined mini dress that sparkled in the sunlight. Dangly earrings, bracelets, and a necklace formed around her neck. Black, studded heels replaced the sneakers Parker loved. Confusion and a strange acceptance flooded her mind as remaining memories of being Parker evaporated, leaving only the identity of the sophisticated black woman looking down at her hands.
She strutted over to the purse with a new sense of ownership, swinging it over her shoulder. Checking its contents for reassurance, she picked up the pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Expertly lighting one, she took a drag, letting the smoke drift lazily.
“Ooh, girl, you fine! You amazing!” She admired herself in the mirror, running her hands over her curvy figure.
“I’m Monica Stevens, 28 years old. Born March 15, 1992, in New Orleans, 5'9", 140 pounds,” she recited. She gazed at her luscious long black curls and deep brown eyes. The evening was gradually setting in, and the encroaching darkness made her heart race with a lingering, inexplicable fear.
Strutting down the road, she saw another mirror and paused, memories of an unexplained fear bubbling up. "I’m Monica Stevens, I’m from New Orleans, I’m black, and look at these killer black heels and this fabulous sequined dress," she said proudly, trying to steady herself. "My hair's got that perfect curl, my nails are on point, and Sandra's got my back always."
As Monica continued her walk, the transformation now complete, the former Parker was no more, lost beneath layers of identity, fashion, and an unshakeable confidence in her powerful new self.
This story was generated by user manemansteve with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: A story about 7 year old Parker walking somewhere alone for the first time with permission from his 24 year old mom in the year 2020. Include what he's wearing and have his race be white and have him be carrying something and mention where he's going. Have him get lost as he's making his way to the location when he comes across a large pair of platform sandals with a description of the platform sandals and a purse and a pack of smokes and a description of what was in the purse. Have him attempt to dodge the platform sandals tripping on an uneven spot on the cement causing his shoes and socks to fly off and have his feet stumble into the platform sandals. Have him try to kick off the platform sandals unable to as his feet started feminizing and maturing turning a black shade as his toenails gained a polish with a description of the polish. Have him freak out as his legs and lower torso matured and feminizing turning a dark brown shade as he said mommy help i don't wanna be a girl oh_____ and have it be in quoted text filling in the blanks unwillingly saying oh my god with a sassy tone. Have his torso change and feminize turning brown as his arms and hands changed as he gained the same colored long nails as his toes. Have his head and hair change into a black woman's head and hair with a detailed description of his face. Have a skimpy outfit form on his body with a description of the outfit included as well as jewelry and accessories a brown woman would wear forming on his body as his voice changed. Have his memories change until he only remembered being the black woman minus the purse and the cigarettes. Have the woman get confused as she strutted over to her purse picking it up and throwing it over her shoulder. Have her pick up the cigarettes and a lighter lighting one up and smoking it as she strutted to the mirror and admired herself. Have her hype herself up and say ooh girl you fine you amazing and have it be in quoted text running her hands over herself and hyping herself up. Reveal the woman's name, age, birthday, height, weight, birth year, hair color and style and eye color and what state and city she's from not being Atlanta Georgia. Have her have no memory of who she used to be as she struts down the road to another mirror getting afraid of the dark for some reason. Have her get afraid of the dark and have it be in quoted text trying to calm herself down and saying facts about herself like her age, where she's from, that she's black, the color of her shoes proudly, the color of her outfit proudly, her hairstyle proudly, hair nail color proudly, a close girlfriend of hers proudly.
Response: Parker’s small hands held tightly onto his Spider-Man backpack as he waved goodbye to his mom. At 24, she was relatively young and had always been a little overprotective. But today was different. In the year 2020, she had finally allowed him to walk to Mrs. Henderson's house, just a few blocks away. The thrill of this newfound independence made him practically bounce in his red sneakers. The early summer sun kissed his pale skin, and his blonde hair caught the light as he set off, wearing his favorite blue t-shirt with a dinosaur print and khaki shorts. Parker made sure to glance back one last time, seeing his mom smile at him from their front porch. Clutching the brown envelope containing a thank-you card for Mrs. Henderson inside his backpack, he felt a rush of excitement and a tinge of anxiety. The familiar neighborhood slowly unfolded in front of him, each house and garden a comforting sight. But halfway down Meadow Lane, Parker made a wrong turn. Distracted by a butterfly, he found himself in an unfamiliar part of the neighborhood, surrounded by streets he didn't recognize. He spotted a peculiar sight nearby: a large pair of black platform sandals, a pink purse, and a pack of cigarettes scattered on the sidewalk. The sandals had thick, sparkling black straps with silver studs running along the sides, and the platforms were nearly three inches high. The purse was glossy pink with a silver chain strap, slightly open to reveal a compact mirror, a tube of bright red lipstick, a few coins, and a folded note. Curiosity pulled Parker closer. Trying to avoid the sandals, he tripped on an uneven spot of cement. The next moment was a whirlwind; his shoes and socks flew off, and Parker yelped as his tiny feet stumbled into the enormous sandals. Before he could react, an overwhelming sensation washed over him. His feet began to change, elongating, darkening into a deep black shade, his toenails suddenly gleaming with a bold red polish. Panic coursed through him. “Mommy, help! I don’t wanna be a girl. Oh, oh my—oh my God!” Parker's voice involuntarily morphed into an exaggeratedly sassy tone. His legs and lower torso followed suit, maturing, feminizing, and turning a deep brown. His hands and arms transformed next, the nails elongating and turning the same vivid shade as his toes. His chest expanded, and Parker could feel his torso reshape into an unfamiliar form, his skin darkening consistently. His head and hair changed last, face contouring into high cheekbones, full lips painted red, a delicate nose, and almond-shaped eyes. His hair grew long and curly, turning into a cascade of silky black locks. A skimpy outfit materialized around him—now her—transforming her clothes into a daring sequined mini dress that sparkled in the sunlight. Dangly earrings, bracelets, and a necklace formed around her neck. Black, studded heels replaced the sneakers Parker loved. Confusion and a strange acceptance flooded her mind as remaining memories of being Parker evaporated, leaving only the identity of the sophisticated black woman looking down at her hands. She strutted over to the purse with a new sense of ownership, swinging it over her shoulder. Checking its contents for reassurance, she picked up the pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Expertly lighting one, she took a drag, letting the smoke drift lazily. “Ooh, girl, you fine! You amazing!” She admired herself in the mirror, running her hands over her curvy figure. “I’m Monica Stevens, 28 years old. Born March 15, 1992, in New Orleans, 5'9", 140 pounds,” she recited. She gazed at her luscious long black curls and deep brown eyes. The evening was gradually setting in, and the encroaching darkness made her heart race with a lingering, inexplicable fear. Strutting down the road, she saw another mirror and paused, memories of an unexplained fear bubbling up. "I’m Monica Stevens, I’m from New Orleans, I’m black, and look at these killer black heels and this fabulous sequined dress," she said proudly, trying to steady herself. "My hair's got that perfect curl, my nails are on point, and Sandra's got my back always." As Monica continued her walk, the transformation now complete, the former Parker was no more, lost beneath layers of identity, fashion, and an unshakeable confidence in her powerful new self.
Post your own comment: