The concept was first shown at the 1988 Paris Salon as the "Super car for living".
This is what Renault’s press release said about it:
"Megane, a double showcase for design and technology, is also a research tool for it’s maker’s next genereation of models.
The Megane was first presented at the Autumn, 1988 Paris Auto Show. Developed over a 5-year period between Renault and French television-broadcasting company, TDF, the Megane was an aerodynamic four-seat sedan with a low drag coefficient of 0.21. With first-class aircraft-style seats, a pull-out trunk, and electronic sliding doors, the Megane was designed with optimum luxury in mind. A 3-liter turbocharged V6 engine also propelled the Megane to a top speed of 160 miles per hour. The Megane's 130-horsepower engine thrusted the car from 0-60 miles per hour in eight seconds. The front passenger seat could rotate to face the rear passengers, as the seat belt traveled along with the seat. The rear bench seat could recline, as the rear window slid back along rails to create more head room. The single front windshield wiper was concealed under a panel until it was engaged. The fully-adjustable driver console consisted of analog gauges, a simple steering wheel, two rear-vision monitors, and easy-to-reach controls. Fixed windows, with partially-movable sections on the front windows limited interior ventilation, aside from the electronic air conditioning system. The rear passengers had use of two retractable ceiling-mounted televisions which could also display the atlas system mounted up front. The rear seats were also divided by a cooler for food and drink storage. The navigational system also provided information on upcoming hotels. restaurants. etc. A hands-free telephone was built into the front section, while the rear section was fitted with a hand-held phone. The transmission was automatic, which could be switched to a clutch-less manual.
A luxury 4-seat saloon, the Megane was designed to provide absolute comfort for its occupants. The doors all slide to reveal an open, easy to access, interior without b-pillars. Electronics were key to the futuristic nature of the vehicle and the original press release is full of references to remote door locking, seats with position memory and other gadgetry now commonplace in modern vehicles.
(Disclaimer: All images were generated with the help of AI tools)
Follow this link to read Chapter 1 first.
The months with Sage had felt like some of the longest of Eli’s life, which was the cruelest irony of all. On paper, it was a dream. She was tirelessly cheerful, physically stunning, and lived in a state of perpetual, breathless excitement, hanging sweetly on his every word. She was even great with his cat, Pixels, even though she did overdo it with the treats sometimes. But dating her had been like eating nothing but cotton candy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Eventually, the sweetness turned to cavities, and the lack of substance left him feeling malnourished.
When he finally broke up with her, she hadn't even been devastated; she’d been "totally understanding" in that high-pitched, vacuous voice Nyx had gifted her. He’d walked away knowing she wouldn’t be lonely for long; with her new look and her proclivity for intense devotion now pivoted toward a general, bubbly availability, she’d have a new suitor at The Daily Grind before her next shift ended.
For three weeks, he had lived like a ghost. Or tried to. He worked from home when he could, and when he couldn't, he moved through the world with utmost caution. He shuffled from his apartment to his car, and from his car to his cubicle, his eyes glued to the floor or his phone. He handled himself like he was a containment vessel for a biohazard, a man whose very gaze could rewrite a woman’s DNA and reformat her soul. He missed the broader world, but he couldn't bear the thought of victimizing another stranger.
The silence of Eli’s apartment was his only sanctuary, a sterile bubble where the air no longer smelled like espresso, or sulfur. He was a man holding his breath, terrified that a single stray thought—a moment of appreciation for a stranger’s gait or the way the light caught someone’s hair—would trigger the next avalanche.
He still thought about Sage. Both Sages, really. The real Sage who had smiled with genuine, intelligent humanity at The Daily Grind, and the other one, too. The one Nyx had crafted from his basest, most juvenile impulses.
His relationship with her had proven to be one of the harder ones. Toward the end, she had become a caricature of devotion. She’d dialed back her shifts at her job, spending more and more of her time in his apartment, wearing progressively smaller outfits, and looked at him with an adoring, vacant intensity that was flattering, but made his mind recoil with guilt. She didn't have opinions of her own on much of anything; she just liked what he liked. She didn't have a favorite food; she just wanted to eat whatever he was craving. Every moment with her that should have been paradise, instead felt like purgatory, a constant reminder of his sins.
Ending it hadn’t been easy, but he knew it was the right thing to do. He genuinely hoped she’d be okay, and it seemed like she would. He just couldn’t stand the thought of being with her, remembering the old her, and knowing it was his fault that she’d been irrevocably changed in this way.
He was starting to lose track of the number of women who’d fallen victim to his curse. And it could only go up. The thought made him want to vomit.
Another seemingly ordinary Monday morning arrived with a grey, oppressive dampness. Eli sat in his boring sedan, the heater rattling as it fought the morning chill. He was driving to the office for a mandatory creative sync, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He’d practiced this: Don’t look. Keep your eyes on the bumper in front of you. Focus on the podcast. Focus on the road.
He was doing well so far. He’d survived twenty-three blocks. Then, he hit the red light at the corner of Wilshire and 4th.
To his left was a city bus, a minefield of faces to avoid; to his right, a sleek, silver convertible with the top down.
He tried not to look there either. He really did. But the human brain is wired to notice beauty, and she was a masterpiece. She had dark, sophisticated features, her hair tied up in a chic silk scarf that fluttered in the breeze. She had a profile that belonged on a Roman coin—sharp, classically elegant, and intelligent. She looked like she belonged vacationing on the coast of France, not stuck in mid-morning traffic. She wore a tailored navy blazer that screamed "executive." She looked important and classy and drop-dead gorgeous. She was looking straight ahead, her hands relaxed on the leather-wrapped wheel, the epitome of grace.
Oh no, Eli thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. She’s beautiful. Eli felt the familiar, sickening lurch in his chest. It was like a spark hitting a trail of gasoline. He jerked his eyes back to the red light. Don't do it. Don't think it.
He forced his head to turn back to the intersection, but the damage was done. His mind was already cataloging her, the way her sunglasses sat on the bridge of her nose, the poise of her shoulders. He felt like a man who had accidentally pulled the pin on a grenade and was now staring at it in his palm. He could do this, he could forget about the beauty in the driver’s seat.
But his eyes betrayed him. He looked again.
He glanced back. Then for just a fraction of a second, like she’d noticed something in the corner of her eye, her head turned. Her eyes, hidden behind those elegant dark lenses, seemed to lock onto his. A small, curious smile played on her lips.
Then, the world sputtered and stopped like an engine running out of fuel.
Eli let out a long, shaky breath, leaning his forehead against the steering wheel.
"You really are a glutton for punishment, aren't you, Elias?"
Her voice was more sympathetic than usual, but he couldn’t tell if she really meant it. He looked up. Nyx wasn't standing on the sidewalk or appearing in his backseat this time. She was lounging across the hood of the silver convertible, her charcoal-grey suit replaced by a sleek, skintight, black and white checkered dress that contrasted with the bright red sulfurous smoke still dissipating around her. She was buffing her nails with a casual, predatory air.
"I didn't mean to do anything," Eli snapped, his voice echoing in the vacuum of frozen time. "I just looked. It was a reflex. I don't even know her."
Nyx hopped off the hood, her heels clicking on the asphalt despite the frozen physics of the world. She sauntered over, slowly, running a sultry hand across his own car’s hood as she went. She arrived at Eli’s window, leaning down so her face was inches from his. The lingering smell of her sulfurous smoke wafted into the car.
"Oh, it was more than a look, darling. It was a yearning. Lust. The heart wants what it wants," Nyx purred, sliding off the hood and sauntering toward his window. "And your heart is very, very clear. No, no need to blame yourself. I certainly don’t blame you. I mean, look at her. You liked the way the wind caught that scarf, didn't you? You liked that haughty little look of 'I'm better than this traffic' she had going on."
"I'm not doing this, Nyx. I told you last time. I'm not playing your game anymore. Leave her alone. Just let the light turn green and let her go on with her life."
Nyx leaned her elbows on his door, her obsidian eyes shimmering, pouting at him derisively. "But Elias, we have a standard to uphold. And more importantly a contract. It seems like you’re forgetting, you don’t have a choice. What you do have is a type, or rather, a series of types. And this one? I don’t know if she quite fits. She’s a bit too... cold. Too aloof. Too 'I have a 401k and a rigorous Pilates schedule.' She needs a little more vroom, maybe some more va-va-voom, don't you think?"
"No," Eli said firmly. "I don’t think. I refuse to engage. I won't give you a single detail. I won't tell you what I want. If you’re going to ruin her, you’ll have to do it without my input."
“You can lie to yourself all you want, pet, but you can’t lie to me. We both know I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want her,” she gave Eli a sardonic, almost pitying smile. “You saw her, and in a fleeting moment you imagined your life together, you wondered what her laugh sounded like, you wondered what her naked form looked like... and most importantly, you wanted her to look back. And, as you should well know by now, I’m here to give you the answers to all of those questions and grant each and every one of your heart’s desires. This is for you! I really don’t know why you are fighting me on this…”
“Because I don't want this!" Eli shouted, slamming his hand against the steering wheel for emphasis. Time was still frozen, of course, so it didn’t make a sound. "I want you to leave these women alone. I want my life back. I want to be able to meet someone and actually get to know them without you lobotomizing them into my fantasies!"
Nyx let out a peal of laughter that had the frantic energy of wind chimes in a hurricane. "Lobotomizing? Such a dramatic word. I much prefer 'optimizing.' I’m just simplifying the process, Elias. Why spend months on awkward dates and 'getting to know' someone when I can just skip to the part where they already adore you?"
Eli sighed despairingly, his seatbelt feeling tight and uncomfortable. Nyx was clearly not hearing him. “Do what you have to, Nyx, but I just can’t be involved. I don’t think my conscience can take any more of this.”
Nyx let out a sharp, melodic laugh. "Suit yourself, darling. I’ve been reading your subconscious for a decade. I don't need a roadmap to reach this destination."
“No, please don't," Eli warned, reaching for his door handle, though he knew there was likely nothing he could do to stop her.
"Too late," Nyx smiled.
She snapped her fingers with a sound like a gunshot.
A violent plume of crimson smoke erupted from the interior of the silver convertible, swallowing the woman, and then the car, whole. It wasn't like the soft, perfumed smoke at the coffee shop; this was thick, smelling of burnt rubber and high-octane gasoline. The cloud churned, expanding and contracting, accompanied by the clanging of industrial metalwork. Nyx looked on in delight.
Through gaps in the smoke, the woman’s car appeared to be groaning, stretching, and reshaping itself. Eli watched in horror. He saw the silver paint of the car bubble and run, changing into a deep, aggressive cherry red. The elegant lines of the convertible flared out, the fenders widening, the tires thickening into smooth racing slicks. When the red haze started to clear, the silver car was gone. In its place was a lowered, aggressive, cherry-red muscle car, its engine block gleaming through a cut-out in the hood. It looked like it had been ripped right from the cover of a vintage hot-rod magazine.
Inside the car, the red smoke remained, concentrated on the driver’s seat. Again through brief glimpses, Eli could see the silhouette of the woman shifting.
The smoke cleared with a sudden, concussive pop, leaving behind the car and its driver…
The car’s chrome accents gleamed under the frozen sun, and a massive intake manifold had sprouted from the engine block. But Eli’s gaze was immediately drawn to the woman at the wheel.
Eli’s heart sank into his stomach. The woman’s whole vibe had switched from professional executive to pinup girl. The dark, chic silk scarf was gone, unleashing a wild, voluminous mane of dark hair that looked like it had been styled by a wind tunnel. The elegant sunglasses she’d been wearing before were replaced by a pair of oversized, aviator sunglasses with rose-tinted lenses. Her navy blazer had vanished, replaced by a tiny, grease-stained white tank top that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Her chest had been... enhanced, to say the least. It was like her tits had been inflated by a pneumatic pump, stretching the skimpy tank top to its limit. Nyx was clearly favoring a certain aesthetic lately, as the woman’s breasts were creating a canyon of cleavage that rivaled Sage’s. Her breasts strained against the thin fabric of her skimpy tank top, which bore a warped logo for a garage Eli couldn’t be sure actually existed before this moment.
Further down, she wore a pair of denim micro-shorts with frayed edges and high-heeled leather boots. Her once-clean skin was now adorned with several colorful tattoos; wrenches, flaming hearts, and a pair of checkered flags that disappeared beneath the waistband of her shorts.
"She’s a 'Car Chick,' Elias," Nyx said, giddily leaning against the now-red car and striking a pose. “I don’t think we’ve done this one before. A real gearhead. Loves fast cars, loud music, and men who know how to... handle a stick. She’s everything your inner fifteen-year-old ever wanted, especially after discovering a certain street-racing film franchise."
"You’re a monster," Eli whispered.
"I’m a service provider," Nyx countered. She leaned into the convertible and patted the woman’s now-ample thigh. The woman remained frozen, but her face was fixed in a wide, mischievous smirk, her tongue peeking out between her teeth. “She had a name before, obviously, but something tells me it won’t fit the new her. Let’s call her... Roxy. Yeah, she looks like a Roxy."
Nyx stood up and straightened her dress. "My work here is done. She has your number, metaphorically speaking. She’s ready to race. Try to keep up, Elias. She looks like she moves fast."
"I'm not doing this!" Eli shouted as Nyx began to fade into a swirl of red mist. "I don't even know her! I won't talk to her! I can't ruin another one!"
Nyx’s laughter echoed in the air even after her form had vanished. "You say that now. But just wait until she revs that engine..."
The world snapped back to life with a jarring, cacophonous roar.
The sound of the cherry-red muscle car’s engine hit him like a shock wave, a deep, rumble that shook the windows of Eli’s sedan. A pigeon in mid-flight finally finished its journey and perched on a lamppost. The traffic noise returned in a rush of exhaust and tires.
The woman, Roxy, turned her head. She lowered her sunglasses just enough to wink at Eli. Her eyes were no longer the intelligent, discerning eyes of the executive; they were bright, wild, and glazed with that familiarly artificial, hyper-focused lust.
"Hey, hotshot!" she shouted over the roar of her engine, her voice husky and playful. "Nice ride! Want to see what this baby can do?" She stroked her steering wheel lovingly, and Eli couldn’t help but picture her stroking… something else.
She blew him a kiss, and then gripped the gearshift with a dextrous hand. She began to rev the engine in a rhythmic, aggressive pattern, the car rocking on its suspension like a caged animal. She was looking at the red light, then back at him, her smile wide and inviting. She was a sex symbol come to life, a fantasy of "the cool girl" who just happened to be obsessed with him.
Eli stared at her, frozen in his seat. He looked at her tattoos, her ridiculous outfit, the way she was practically vibrating with a programmed desire to impress him. He felt a wave of profound sadness. Ten minutes ago, she was a woman with a career, a history, maybe even a family, and a sensible silver car. Now, she was a prop in his personal hell, a teenage sex dream come to life.
The light turned green.
Nyx was right about one thing; she did move fast. Roxy didn't hesitate. She slammed the car into gear, and with a deafening screech of burning rubber, she peeled out. Smoke billowed from her rear tires, obscuring the intersection as she roared through the light, leaving two long, black streaks of melted rubber on the asphalt. She didn't look back; she just sped away, weaving through traffic with reckless confidence.
Eli stayed where he was, stunned. A car behind him honked, but he didn't move for several seconds. He watched the red speck of her car disappear into the distance.
Follow her, a voice in his head whispered. She wants you to. It would be easy. You could have a week of fast cars and easy thrills. She’d do anything you asked of her. Anything at all.
"No," Eli said firmly.
He took a deep breath, shifted his car into drive, and slowly, safely, followed the flow of traffic. He didn't speed. He didn't look for the red hot rod. He just drove toward his office, his heart heavy with the weight of a lifetime of moral dilemmas.
The office was the usual maze of grey cubicles and the smell of low-quality breakroom coffee. It was exactly what Eli needed at that moment; mundane, boring, and safe. He sat in his uncomfortable desk chair, at his desk, in his cubicle, his dual monitors glowing with half-finished logos and typography layouts.
He tried to work, but the image of the silver car turning red kept flashing behind his eyelids. He kept thinking about "Roxy." Was she still driving like a maniac? Would she eventually run out of gas and wonder why she was wearing denim micro-shorts in forty-degree weather? What would happen if they never interacted? Would she gradually regain her old identity? Or was she, like all the others, stuck like that now, a permanent resident of the bimbo universe that Nyx was building around him?
Still sitting at his desk, he opened a search engine and hesitated. He wanted to look up her real identity, but he still didn't even know her real name. He had almost nothing to go off of. He searched for “silver convertible Wilshire and 4th," but of course, there was nothing. He didn’t know what he’d expected. He might as well search “beautiful businesswoman downtown”. The car was gone because she was gone. The executive was erased, replaced by the car chick.
His boss, a slightly harried man named Marcus, walked by and dropped a file folder on his desk. "Eli, you okay? You look like you saw a ghost."
"Just… bad traffic this morning, Marcus," Eli said, his voice flat. "It was... a mess out there."
"Tell me about it. I was seeing on the news just now, some crazy woman in a red Dodge almost took out a bus three blocks away. Cops are out looking for her. People are losing their minds these days.”
Marcus shook his head with well-meaning worry as he walked away. Eli felt a cold shiver run down his spine. She’s going to get hurt. Or worse, she was going to hurt someone else because her entire personality was now geared toward a reckless, "cool" version of femininity that didn't account for things like traffic laws or self-preservation.
He closed his eyes. He had tried to be the "good guy" by not engaging with Nyx, and then again by not following Roxy, but by doing nothing, he had left a demonically modified, high-speed weapon out on the streets with a mind straight out of his teenage fantasies. He’d tried to wash his hands of this, but the curse wouldn’t, maybe couldn’t, leave him alone. This was still his fault.
He spent the rest of the afternoon languishing in a melancholy daze. He avoided the breakroom. As usual, he avoided the cute intern in accounting. He avoided every reflective surface, unable to look himself in the eyes. He was a man trapped in a world where his own appreciation for beauty was a potentially lethal force.
As the sun began to set, casting long, orange shadows across his desk, Eli contemplated the true horror of the contract. Nyx was wrong. It wasn't just that he got what he wanted, even though this really wasn’t what he wanted anymore. It wasn’t even that he was getting what his fifteen-year-old self would have wanted, though he was skeptical that even as a teenage wallflower, he would have actually wanted a real-life knockoff Letty Ortiz. No, the true horror was that he was becoming the villain of every story, the silent, unwilling center of a hurricane of ruined lives.
He waited until the office was quiet, then packed his bag, intent on sneaking out to his car and driving home in the dark. He would talk to Marcus tomorrow. Maybe he could work from home for a month this time. Maybe a year.
He walked out to the parking lot, his footsteps echoing in the chilly air. He reached his car, fumbling for his keys. That's when he heard it.
The low, unmistakable rumble of a high-performance engine.
It was coming from across the parking lot. A slow, rhythmic revving. Vroom. Vroom-vroom.
Eli froze, his keys slipping from his hand and clattering onto the asphalt. The sound grew louder, the vibration shaking through him, right down to his bones. Then, a pair of headlights cut through the gloom of the evening, sweeping across the front of the office building like searchlights.
An instantly recognizable cherry-red muscle car rounded the corner, its racing tires shrieking aggressively as it drifted slightly on the smooth concrete. It slowed to a crawl and stopped ten feet in front of him.
The driver’s side door opened.
Roxy stepped out. She looked even more out of place in the this empty corporate parking lot than she had in his morning commute. She appeared to have changed into an even skimpier tank top, with fewer grease stains, and her hair was a wild mess of dark waves. She leaned against the door, crossing her tattooed arms over her chest, a cool, confident smile still firmly in place.
“I don’t totally know why, but I’ve been lookin’ for you,” she purred, her voice echoing off the concrete and glass of the office buildings behind them. “Spent all day drivin’ around. But then I remembered the parking pass on your windshield. Figured you might be here.”
She walked toward him, her high-heeled leather boots clicking with purpose. She stopped just inches away, the scent of gasoline and cheap perfume filling his lungs. She reached out and traced the line of his jaw with one finger.
“Name’s Roxy, and I can’t ‘xactly explain it, but you make my motor run, if you get what I mean. But you didn't wanna race with me,” she whispered, her eyes wide and hungry, her lips pouting. She pushed her big sunglasses up until they were resting on her forehead, revealing a pair of surprisingly soulful brown eyes. “But that's okay. I like a challenge. I like a man who makes me work for it." She bit her lower lip playfully without breaking eye contact.
Eli looked at her, and for the briefest of moments, he saw the executive again, the woman in the navy blazer who didn't know he existed. He saw the life he had inadvertently stolen from her.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered.
She laughed, a bright, empty sound. "Don't be sorry, handsome. All in the rearview mirror. Promise. You’ll find I get over things fast. And under them, too,” she said with a sultry wink.
She leaned in, her lips, slick with that cherry-red gloss, pressing against his. It was a kiss that instantly felt like a mistake, but he couldn’t stop himself from leaning in himself, and returning the feeling. Who was he to deny her what she so clearly wanted?
As she pulled away, grinning with a joy that he had to keep reminding himself was artificial, Eli looked up at the night sky. He didn't see the moon or any stars. It was a cloudy night. In his head, the gray clouds swirled and warped until he saw the red smoke of his own desires, slowly, surely, swallowing his entire world. Roxy was holding both of his hands in hers, tugging on him earnestly, eagerly.
“Come home with me?” Roxy pleaded, her eyes wide, her curves beckoning, the corners of her lips curling upward hopefully. “I promise I’m one hell of a ride.”
Eli hesitated. He was starting to wonder if he had any choice in the matter anymore. He thought back to Sage, and Sarah, and Cali, and Raquel, and Jade, and every other girl who’d stood in Roxy’s shoes before. Feeling morally drained, he made up his mind.
“Yeah, I’m definitely going to hell," he said, but this time, he said it like a man accepting a life sentence.
“Now we’re talkin’ stud. I’ll take that as a fuckin’ yes,” Roxy giggled, grabbing his hand and pulling him, dragging him towards her red car. "I'll drive."
what if u turnd into a smartcar & u culd still talk thru ur radio/horn, so u got sent to a place that takes care of carpeople
and all the other carpeople were bigger than u, like SUVs and trucks and stuff, and every day u wuld get to be driven around for enrichment, and there was drive-in movies to keep u entertained, and u slowly becam friends with a timid lady who turnd into a Hummer, and youd ask the careworkers to connect ur radio to hers & u start givin eachother emotional support, and slowly u start to forget what its like to be human, u forget what having skin & hair & being soft feels like, but u still luv hummerlady, and the staff hav noticed u & hummerlady are buddies so they drive u together on the road one day, and u just think for a moment "is this what being with a partner was like???? i cant remember but i think this is what it was like" and it all comes rushing back to u all the memories of being human, and u and hummerlady cry & cry & cry, and ur both like "i luv u!!!!!!!!" "i luv u too!!!!!!" "waaauughhh!!!!!!" and u both beg the staff "can u park us next to eachother tonight????????? pls????????" and theyre like _ok just for tnight_ and u get parked and when the staff isnt lookin u somehow open ur passenger door so it juuuuuust touches her bumper, and & u both cry urselves to sleep knowin ur touchin eachothr
(Disclaimer: The initial image was generated with the help of AI tools. The final image was used with generous permission of @philuranus42)
The groan that escaped Victoria’s lips was one of pure annoyance. She’d finished packing her weekend bag after getting off her half-day shift at the museum, done her makeup just so, and she was now settling into the cabin of her old reliable sedan. Five hours of travel ahead of her, from her DC suburb all the way to her boyfriend’s residence in Greensboro, NC. Three hundred minutes of highway drudgery, punctuated only by the lackluster promise of lukewarm gas station coffee and the same rotation of history podcasts she’d already half-listened to twice. She’d only just sat down and the worn fabric of her old Honda Civic’s driver’s seat was already making its objections known, digging into the bony points of her backside with a familiarity that definitely bred contempt.
She shifted, trying to find a new angle, a fresh patch of foam that hadn't yet been compressed into a state of permanent surrender. No luck. The seatbelt, a stern nylon enforcer, sliced across her chest, pinching the soft, comfortable fabrics of her sensible cotton tank and flannel button-down against her entirely average bust.
“I just wish this seat was more comfortable,” she muttered to the empty passenger seat, her voice tight with frustration. “God, I wish this whole thing was just… easier.”
The ‘whole thing’ was her relationship with Landon. She loved him with an ache that made the five-hour drive feel both impossibly long and absolutely necessary. He was brilliant, funny, and the only person who could match her wit in a debate about obscure historical events. They may have been in the same time zone, but the distance was a grind. Flights cost a fortune she definitely didn’t have, but the drive was a special kind of torture for someone who found no joy in the monotonous act of piloting a metal box along an endless ribbon of concrete and asphalt.
A flicker of movement in her peripheral vision, like a mote of dust catching the sun, went unnoticed. Had she looked, she might have seen a tiny, shimmering figure no bigger than her hand, all sharp angles and iridescent wings, hovering just outside her window. It tilted its head, its pinpoint eyes glowing with a mischievous light. A wish. A lovely, heartfelt, and wonderfully vague wish. The sprite grinned, a gesture that was all sharp teeth and delightful malice. Oh, it could make things easier for her. It could make things much more comfortable. It slipped through the barely-cracked window, an inexplicable aroma of fresh grass and clover following behind it, and settled invisibly on the dashboard to begin its work.
The first change was subtle. A pleasant warmth began to bloom deep in the muscles of her glutes. The sharp pressure of the seat against her bones softened, then vanished, replaced by a yielding softness. Victoria shifted again, this time with a small sigh of relief. “Ah, there we go,” she murmured, thinking she’d finally found the seat’s mythical sweet spot. She had no idea that the ‘sweet spot’ was, in fact, her own anatomy, which was currently undergoing a significant renovation. The bony points were being submerged, the lean muscle plumping and swelling, expanding outward and upward into a pair of truly magnificent, pillowy cushions of flesh. The unforgiving seat was now a welcoming throne for her burgeoning, glorious ass.
Next, the sprite addressed the seatbelt. Such a bothersome strap. The problem wasn’t the belt, of course, but the terrain it had to cross. The sprite waved a tiny, sparkling hand. As Victoria merged her way from I-395 onto I-95, she felt a similar warmth spread across her chest, a pleasant, heavy tingling. It felt good, like a satisfying stretch. The seatbelt was no longer pressing flat against her. Instead, it had settled comfortably in the valley between her breasts. A deep, deep valley. Her sensible tank was looking decidedly less sensible, straining against a swell of flesh that hadn't been there when she left her apartment. They grew with a steady, inexorable magic, pushing forward until they were a pair of large, opulent orbs. The sprite, a true connoisseur of form and function, added a final touch. The soft, natural tissue firmed up, becoming dense and perfectly spherical. Huge, flawless silicone implants. They wouldn’t jiggle inconveniently or lose their shape, and they held the seatbelt in its new, much more comfortable position perfectly.
Victoria took a deep breath, eyes still on the freeway. The breath felt deeper than usual, fuller. She finally glanced down. The seatbelt dipped dramatically, disappearing entirely within the confines of her new cleavage. “Huh,” she murmured, “this shirt must have shrunk weird in the wash.”
The sprite floated back to admire its handiwork. The comfort issue was solved. Her new assets were spectacular, an extreme hourglass figure emerging from her previously slender frame. But the rest of her… it didn’t quite match. A frumpy flannel shirt and practical jeans on a body built for sin? Unacceptable.
A snap of its tiny fingers. The world shimmered. Victoria blinked, suddenly feeling a cool breeze on her midriff. She looked down. Her flannel shirt and simple tank were gone, replaced by a tight, gray crop top that hugged the underside of her enormous new breasts. Her jeans had vanished, and in their place were a pair of faux-denim jeggings so tight they looked painted on, showcasing the lush, round perfection of her ass. She didn't feel a moment of disorientation. Her mind simply accepted it. Of course she’d worn this. It was her favorite driving outfit; it made her feel hot for Landon.
Now for the details. The sprite flitted up to her head. Victoria’s boring brunette hair, pulled back in a practical ponytail, was all wrong. A wave of magic, and the hair tie vanished. The strands thickened, styled, and bled of all color before being saturated with a bright, dazzling bottle blonde. They fell around her shoulders in perfect, heat-styled waves. Victoria ran a hand through it, a thought floating up lazily. Thank god I touched up my roots last week.
Her nails, previously short and clean, suddenly felt… longer. She glanced at her hands on the steering wheel. Ten perfect, long coffin-tipped acrylics greeted her, painted in a delicate pink-to-white ombré. She tapped one against the gearshift, enjoying the sharp, satisfying click. The same magic was working on her face. Her lips tingled and puffed, swelling into a plump, pillowy pout that looked perpetually ready for a kiss. The bridge of her nose felt finer, more delicate, as if sculpted by a master surgeon. She caught her reflection in the rearview mirror and smiled, admiring her dramatic makeup—the flawlessly filled-in brows, the thick fan of eyelash extensions, the glossy pink lipstick. Large hoop earrings suddenly dangled from her earlobes, replacing the small subtle hoops she'd sported earlier. She looked amazing. Totally ready for a weekend of screwing her boyfriend’s brains out.
She checked her lipstick in the rear view mirror, puckering her full lips. “Perfect,” she thought. “Gotta look my best for my man.” She took her hands off the wheel for just a second to adjust her tits, squeezing the orbs together, entranced by the effect in the mirror, as if it was the first time she’d ever truly seen them before. She almost forgot to put her hands back, but when her car drifted enough to hit the raised lane markers, she giggled in surprise and grabbed the steering wheel, acrylic nails clicking happily on the dash.
With every physical alteration, the sprite’s magic rippled backward in time and outward in space, rewriting reality. Back in her small apartment, a collection of academic journals on museum creation techniques morphed into stacks of Cosmopolitan and Vogue. Her closet, once full of sensible sweaters and blazers, was now a rainbow of bodycon dresses, tiny shorts, and push-up bras. Her bathroom counter, previously home to her basic makeup kit, a single tube of chapstick and some sunscreen, instead overflowed with contouring palettes, setting sprays, and a dozen shades of lip gloss. Even the car around her was changing. The practical silver of her Honda Civic brightened, whitened, and the roof shifted as it transformed into a sporty white convertible.
Victoria turned up the radio, bopping her head as a bubbly pop song she suddenly knew all the words to blasted from the speakers. This drive was so much better than usual. She felt comfortable, relaxed, and incredibly hot.
The “Welcome to North Carolina” sign flashed past. As the miles ticked down, exit by exit, the sprite turned its attention to the second part of her wish: making the relationship easier. Long distance was hard. The solution was simple: eliminate the distance. But why would a bright young woman with a promising career in the city uproot her life? It’s not as if she was living in a Hallmark movie. Ah, but what if she wasn't a bright young woman with a promising career anymore? That pesky, intellectually demanding job at the Smithsonian was her anchor, holding her back. The simplest solution was to make her a little less… anchored. It was a no-brainer, really.
The idea delighted the sprite. It began to delicately snip and prune the intricate pathways of her mind. Her sharp, analytical edge softened, dulled. Detail-oriented? No, more like retail-oriented! Her mental energies switched from managing museum collections to managing her own collection of designer heels. Complex thoughts about artifact preservation and historical provenance dissolved like mist. In their place, simpler, more pleasant thoughts bloomed. I wonder if Landon will like my new nails. I should text him a selfie. Ooh, this song is my jam!
A new memory surfaced, clear as day. She was in her boss’s office a few weeks ago. He was looking at her with a pained expression, gesturing at a spreadsheet on his monitor, her latest budgetary summary. The numbers just looked like squiggles to her. He was talking about “performance issues” and “indecipherable record keeping.” She remembered feeling mostly bored, and then a profound sense of relief when he’d said the words “Tori, we’re letting you go.” Thank God. All those musty dusty exhibits and icky responsibilities were, like, so stressful. It was way better this way.
She glanced in her rearview mirror again, expecting to see the highway stretching out behind her. Instead, she saw the broad, metallic front of a small U-Haul trailer hitched to her convertible. She didn’t even blink. Of course it was there. How else was she supposed to move all her stuff into Landon’s place? Her prized vanity table, her shoe collection, all her cute outfits… it was all packed up, ready for her new life. A life where she didn’t have to think so hard. A life where her handsome, smart boyfriend could take care of all the complicated stuff. All she had to do was look pretty for him, keep his house tidy, and be ready for him whenever he wanted her. It was so much easier. A wave of gratitude washed over her. This move was the best idea she’d ever had.
Once she passed through Durham, the final hour of the drive flew by in a haze of pop music and pleasant, empty-headed daydreams. She felt a familiar thrum of excitement between her legs, a wet heat building in anticipation of seeing Landon. She was practically vibrating with need by the time she pulled onto his street. She was so eager, she playfully honked the horn before she even got out of the car.
Landon came out onto the porch, a momentarily confused look on his face at the sight of the unfamiliar convertible and the U-Haul parked in his driveway. Then he saw her get out of the car. His jaw went slack. This was Victoria, his girlfriend, but a version of her beyond even his most fevered fantasies. The bottle-blonde hair, the pouty lips, the impossible curves poured into that tiny outfit. His intelligent, sometimes-intimidating girlfriend had been replaced by a perfect, pliable bombshell.
“Babe!” Tori squealed, running to him and throwing her arms around his neck. “I’m here! I’m, like, totally ready to move in!”
He was still speechless, his hands automatically finding their place on her impossibly large, firm ass as she used her juicy lips to shower his face, his neck, his shoulders with kisses. He looked from her face, seemingly airbrushed by God, to the sporty roadster, packed to the brim with boxes of slutty clothing. Questions died on his lips, fading to nothing as the sprite’s magic brought reality into sync.
“Unpacking can wait,” he finally managed to growl, his voice thick with lust.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” she purred, leaning even closer, pressing her huge, fake breasts against his chest.
They stumbled inside, shedding clothes as they went, their libidos a roaring fire that consumed all thought.
Hovering by the eaves of the house, the little sprite watched them go, its work complete. She was comfortable. Her relationship was easier. Every part of her wish had been granted, with a few creative embellishments. Deeply pleased with itself, the sprite did a little loop-the-loop in the air and then zipped off into the fading twilight, its sharp eyes already searching for the next unhappy soul in need of its particular brand of magical assistance.
(Disclaimer: Some images were generated with the help of AI tools)
Jenna was a whirlwind of confidence and energy, the kind of girl who thrived on grease and engine oil rather than lipstick or designer shoes. Today, she sported her favorite loose jeans and a faded flannel shirt, her black hair falling around her shoulders in a carefree mess. She had decided today was a maintenance day for her beloved black Ford F-150, which had been her companion through countless adventures over the years. She loved that truck; it was rugged, dependable, and just like her—no nonsense. There was nothing like the thrill of driving her truck down the open road, only pavement between her and the horizon.
As she pulled her truck into an open bay in the local garage, the scent of gasoline and metal wafted through the cab’s open windows, stirring a familiar excitement within her. Jenna hopped out, her boots hitting the pavement with a confident thud. “Hey, Mark!” she called, waving at the mechanic who was working under the hood of a car.
Mark pulled his focus away from the vehicle’s engine, wiping his hands ineffectually on a rag, his brow raising in surprise. “Jenna! Didn’t expect to see you today. What’s up?”
“I need to replace the fuel pump. Been hearing a sputtering sound every time I accelerate too hard. Just point me to the parts, and I’ll handle the rest,” she replied, rolling up her sleeves.
Mark grinned, admiring her spunk. “Sure thing. I’ll grab what you need.”
After a few moments, Jenna had the new parts and set to work. The engine was familiar territory; she loved the way it hummed to life beneath her skilled hands. After finishing the installation, she hopped back in the cab, her heart racing as the engine roared its approval of her repairs. It was music to her ears. She couldn’t wait to take her ride back out on the highway.
“Nice work, as always,” Mark said, leaning against the truck. “Want me to help clean up?”
“Nah, I’ve got it,” Jenna responded, grabbing a shop vacuum. She spent the next long while thoroughly tidying up the bed and backseat, the vacuum’s roar mingling with the background clang and hum of the auto shop as she reminisced about solo road trips and rugged nights spent camping under the stars.
Suddenly, the universe shivered ominously with a feeling of imbalance, and everything froze for just a moment before resetting.
Jennifer now stood in front of a sleek silver Hyundai Elantra, her appearance transformed. She wore skinny jeans and a bright fitted tee that hugged her curves, her brunette hair cascading in gentle waves over her shoulders. The shift was subtle but significant; she seemed different, prettier, more feminine.
After a quick stop at a popular new independent café, Jennifer had noticed the dreaded check engine light flickering ominously on her dashboard. She loved her car; it was sleek, attractive, and just like her—eye catching. Panic bubbled in her modest chest at the idea that something was wrong with her car. With her heart racing, she had driven straight to the nearest mechanic.
Now she stood inside the garage and outside of her comfort zone. Jennifer approached the counter in her stylish flats, trying to maintain her composure in spite of her nervous energy. “Hi! Um, my car’s check engine light is on. Can you help me?”
“Of course,” the mechanic said, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary. “Let’s take a look.”
She glanced down at his name tag. “Thanks so much… Mark! You’re a lifesaver!” she gushed while tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She couldn’t help but notice his well-defined muscles.
While he worked, Jennifer wandered the shop, fidgeting absentmindedly with the hem of her fashionable shirt. Why was adulting so stressful, she thought to herself. Once the mechanic had finished diagnosing the problem and explained that he could fix it today, she sighed with relief and gratitude, and offered to help clean the car while he worked.
“I can handle the vacuuming,” she said with a light laugh, her cheeks tinged a rosy pink with a hint of embarrassment as she blushed. She wanted to show this handsome guy that she wasn’t totally helpless. The mechanic smiled back, appreciating her eagerness. And the way her blush matched her lipstick.
After a while, he returned with news that her car’s repair was complete. “All done! You can pick up the keys at the front whenever you’re ready to settle up.”
“Thanks!” Jennifer replied, her pretty smile brightening the room. Minutes later, she waved goodbye, feeling accomplished, and confident that she knew how to take good care of her car, at least with Mark’s help.
But the universe still felt discontent, and the timeline froze and reset once again.
The next iteration found Jenny behind the wheel of a bright yellow Toyota Prius, her style now feminine and sporty. She wore tight yoga pants in a light gray gradient pattern and a bright teal sports bra, showcasing her fit physique. Her strawberry blonde hair flowed like silk, cascading in meticulously styled curls.
As she had been driving home from a pilates class, a light had blinked on her dashboard, causing a surge of anxiety to pulse through her. She had no clue what it meant and, in a panic, veered toward the nearest mechanic she could find. She loved her car; it was smooth, stylish, and just like her—adorable. She’d be totally devastated if her car was broken somehow!
“Help! My car’s got a weird light thingy lighting up!” she exclaimed, leaning over the counter, a hint of flirtation in her voice. “I totally don’t know anything about cars.”
The mechanic nodded reassuringly, charmed and taken by her vulnerability, quickly trying to put her mind at ease. “My name’s Mark. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”
While he got to work, Jenny occupied herself with her phone, browsing her social media and perusing some online fashion blogs. She enjoyed the lingering glances she received from the mechanic whenever he was nearby. Her own eyes lingered on his well-defined biceps, and flicked down instinctively to see if anything *else* was well-defined. “Maybe you could help me with a little cleaning while you’re at it?” she asked with a coy smile.
“Sure thing,” Mark replied, clearly smitten.
After a short wait, he finished up and delivered the good news. Her car was clean and in good working order. Jenny jumped up, a burst of excitement propelling her lithe body gracefully out of her chair, her figure moving in a way that drew the mechanic’s eye. She sauntered over in her cute, teal running shoes, and gave him a hug, her hands lingering on his sturdy triceps. “Thank you so much, Mike!” she chirped brightly, her eyes dazzling and her lips curled in a sultry smile.
But the universe was still unsatisfied and reset her and her surroundings once more.
Now, Jenni found herself the owner of a bright pink Volkswagen Beetle, a stark departure into the realm of bimbo chic. She wore a glamorous micro skirt and cropped tank top ensemble, all in cotton candy pink, her meticulously straightened platinum blonde hair flowing like a waterfall down her back. Chunky gold hoop earrings hung on either side of her stylishly made up face (pink lipstick, of course). Her tanned figure was noticeably curvaceous, accentuated by her skin-tight outfit. Her long manicured nails sparkled with glitter effects and jewels, and a pink rhinestone navel piercing adorned her midriff.
Oblivious to the flickering light on her dashboard, Jenni had driven around carelessly for days, relishing her stylish lifestyle until the Beetle sputtered and broke down on the side of the road. She totally freaked. She loved her car so so much; it was cute, curvy, and just like her—totally pink LOL! She even had a vanity plate, ‘P1NKGRL’, referring both to her car and its driver. A totally sweet tow truck driver brought her and her beloved Bug to a nearby mechanic, her heart racing with uncharacteristic worry.
“Help!” she cried, exaggeratedly pouting her enhanced lips, as she minced her way to the service counter in her six-inch pink stilettos, “I have, like, nooo idea what’s wrong with my car. Can you fix it, pretty please?” She leaned in closer, letting her ample assets nearly spill out of her skimpy top. “Mine’s the totes adorbs pink Beetle parked, like, right out front.” She batted her eyelashes for emphasis, her manicured eyebrows knitting together in an adorable expression of genuine concern.
The mechanic was instantly captivated, unable to take his eyes off his new customer. “I’ll take care of everything,” he assured her.
Now safe in the thought that a strong hunk of a guy would take care of her car troubles, Jenni’s confidence blossomed as she lounged in the waiting area, scrolling through her phone and snapping selfies. “Oh, by the way,” she said sweetly, “could you, like, clean the trunk for me while you’re at it? I really can’t handle anything with these nails.” She idly twirled a lock of her long blonde hair around her finger, playful and flirty, showing off her two-inch acrylic manicure. “I’ll like, totally make it worth your while! Maybe you can even take a closer look at *my* trunk,” she said boldly with an exaggerated wink. She glanced playfully at her curvaceous posterior, wrapped like a gift in her pink micro skirt.
The mechanic, already entranced, nodded eagerly. As he got to work, he flipped the sign on the front door to ‘CLOSED’ with an excited grin. This job might take a while, he thought to himself eagerly.
As he fixed her car, Jenni leaned back in her chair, fully engrossed in taking the cutest selfies for her Insta, raising her phone to get the most flattering angles, and pouting flirtatiously whenever she caught sight of her flawless reflection in the waiting room windows.
Finally, the mechanic returned, announcing her car was ready. She jumped up excitedly, her enthusiasm palpable. “You’re, like, such a lifesaver! OMG, totally the best mechanic ever!” she exclaimed, planting a quick pillowy kiss on his cheek.
And the universe, at long last, found harmony.
As she unbuckled his belt to take a closer look at his tool, sexy thoughts flooded into her brain. She contemplated how she’d like to thank her car’s savior. Maybe give him a tour of her headlights. Or let him complete a full *interior* inspection, the thought of which nearly made her moan in anticipation. No matter what, she knew she wasn’t leaving without giving him a ride.
Epilogue:
Jenni touched up her pink lipstick, and then drove away in her hot pink Beetle, her favorite pop music thumping from the speakers. She felt a sense of bliss envelop her, as her long fingernails tapped rhythmically on her bedazzled steering wheel cover. The world around her was bright and flashy, and she didn’t have a care in the world—life was good, and she was free to enjoy it without needing to worry about anything complicated or boring.
The universe, satisfied with this timeline, allowed it to unfold naturally.
For Jenni, as she settled her generous rear into the comfy leather seats of her ride, she also settled into her new reality, unwittingly shifting gears into a whole new phase of her existence. One thing remained true; she was a woman who loved the thrill of the ride, no matter the vehicle… or guy.
(Disclaimer: All images were generated with the help of AI tools)
The familiar gravel crunching beneath the tires of my beat-up Subaru always calmed my nerves. Today, the sound was a welcome prelude to our hike, a much-needed escape from the city’s relentless hum. We were pulling into the dusty, unpaved parking lot for the Mount Deseo Loop Trailhead, a hike we’d been meaning to try for ages, and we’d finally set aside the time to make the hour-long drive from the city to check it out. We being me and my girlfriend of four years, Elena. The two of us spent many a weekend afternoon out in the great outdoors, enjoying the sights and sounds of nature. Elena, perched in the passenger seat, was a picture of outdoorsy readiness. Her usual ponytail, brown strands casually pulled back under a well-loved baseball cap, framed a face free of makeup. She had that natural glow that always made my heart skip a beat. I loved her best like this – au naturel.
“We made it. Ready for some mountain therapy?" I asked, turning off the ignition.
"Definitely," she replied, a genuine smile lighting up her face. She grabbed her worn backpack, and we both climbed out.
As we shouldered our packs, I couldn't help but notice how her simple hiking attire – practical cargo pants and a breathable tee – highlighted her athletic build. She looked good. Really good. “You know, you are absolutely radiant.”
She blushed, a delicate pink dusting her cheeks. “Stop it, you’re going to make me self-conscious.” She mumbled while adjusting her straps.
"I just wish you could see yourself the way I see you. You're beautiful, El, inside and out. You deserve to feel confident." I gently cupped her face, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. The trees around us rustled as a strong gust of wind blew down the slopes and gusted through the parking lot.
She leaned into my touch, her eyes searching mine. We shared a quick, sweet kiss – a promise of the day ahead and all the adventures it held. Then, we set off, the trail beckoning us into the embrace of the woods.
At first, the hike was exactly what we’d both needed. The crisp mountain air filled our lungs, and the sun-dappled path wound through a symphony of green. We hiked in comfortable silence, occasionally striking up amiable conversation, pointing out unique foliage and interesting rock formations. I loved how Elena’s face lit up when she spotted a particularly vibrant mushroom, or the focused way she moved over a rocky patch of the trail. We reveled in the tranquility, the rhythmic crunch of our boots against the trail, the feeling of our muscles warming up with each step. It was perfect.
But then, I noticed a subtle shift. Elena, who moments before had been enthralled by the intricate patterns and bright colors of a patch of wildflowers, suddenly pulled out her phone. “Oh my god, babe, can you take like a quick photo of me here? This background would be amazing for the ‘gram. The lighting is perfect.”
I blinked, a little confused. It wasn’t like her to be focused on social media, especially out here in the woods. I obliged, snapping a quick shot, noticing her outfit suddenly seemed a little different. She was now wearing a trendy, form-fitting hiking set, her shirt fitting a little more tightly around her chest, and her cargo pants seemingly having been replaced with cargo shorts. Did she wear her zip-offs today and I just didn’t notice her change? That seemed unlikely. And I could swear there was a slight shimmer on her eyelids. A hint of makeup, barely there, but there nonetheless. Her ponytail was undone, hair falling in soft waves around her face, and the baseball cap was now nowhere to be seen. Did she set it down somewhere and forget about it? To be fair, she looked even more beautiful than before but… different.
I chuckled and tried to shake off the feeling of strangeness, and we continued down the path, but the longer we walked, the more it was undeniable. She had changed. She was still her usual amiable self, but I could sense her enthusiasm for the trail had waned.
"Are you sure we can’t just take a shortcut? I’m kind of tired already," she said, adjusting her now longer, wavy hair with blonde highlights I didn't recall noticing. Her form-fitting outfit had morphed into a stylish yoga set, highlighting a new, curvier shape to her body. A coral pink halter top showed off her whole taught midriff, and teal set of yoga pants clung to her skinny hips and waist. More light makeup now graced her face, enhancing those cheekbones and full lips. She had small stud earrings in her ears that I didn’t think had been there before, and her backpack now perfectly matched her yoga pants.
“What’s going on, El?” I asked, a tinge of concern creeping into my voice.
“What do you mean?” she replied, checking her phone for reception. “It’s just… it’s pretty hot out here, you know? And this trail is way longer than I thought it would be.”
I didn’t say anything, but there was something undeniably unnerving about this sudden shift in her demeanor. It became even more apparent as we continued.
Elena started grumbling openly about her sore feet, and bemoaned forgetting her backup battery. Her yoga attire had shifted again, now consisting of stylish, skin-tight capri pants, a low-cut sports bra, and a cute pink cropped jacket, unzipped to show off her cleavage and flat tummy. Her hair was significantly blonder, styled perfectly in captivating waves that glistened in the sun, and she was sporting false eyelashes and small hoop earrings. She looked like she had just stepped out of a high-end athleisure wear catalog, but she was starting to look out of place on a tranquil hiking trail. She certainly didn’t look like she was enjoying her environment as much anymore. Then, she removed a sleek, metal water bottle from a fashionable leather fanny pack I definitely didn’t recognize, and asked, “Can we at least stop for some water?”
I was officially starting to feel disoriented, so I agreed to her request and we paused in the shade. I noticed my pack was suddenly heavier, no doubt laden with anything that didn’t fit in Elena’s tiny fanny pack. This wasn’t the Elena I knew. Where the hell had my outdoor-loving, low-maintenance girlfriend gone? I glanced at her nervously as she delicately swigged from her name-brand water bottle, her glossy lips looking plumper than I’d ever seen them.
The next stretch of the hike was arduous, not from the physical strain of the terrain, but from the constant barrage of complaints. Elena’s tone had grown sharper, more dismissive. “Ugh, this is just awful. There are, like, a million better things I could be doing right now,” she whined, pushing a strand of perfectly blonde hair behind her ear. “I could be at the mall, shopping, or by the pool, getting a tan. I don’t get why you enjoy these woods so much.”
Her hiking attire was gone, replaced with an outfit better suited for a nightclub: an off the shoulder top that was little more than a glorified bra, impossibly short shorts, high heels, and a full face of makeup, all in a bright eye-catching shade of pink. Her nails were long and manicured in a matching pink polish, and the whole look was jarringly out of place, both for the hiking trail and for the girl I knew. She sported oversized designer sunglasses and several pieces of expensive-looking jewelry. Her body had transformed, now boasting a deep tan, exaggerated curves, and the kind of confidence that came from knowing she looked absolutely stunning.
“I can’t believe there's not even any signal out here,” she griped, pulling out her phone to confirm there was still no service. “What’s the point of going on a hike if no one’s going to see it?”
“Maybe… maybe we could just turn back?” I ventured defeatedly, my voice laced with concern.
“God, yes! Please! This is absolutely miserable," she groaned. "I don't know why anyone would ever want to do this kind of thing. I wish you could see things my way for once!"
And then, just like that, I started changing, too. Another strong gust of wind rattled the trees around us, scattering pine needles and dropping a few pine cones, as the muscles in my arms and chest swelled, my hiking clothes morphed into designer jeans and a fitted button-down shirt, and an expensive watch appeared on my wrist. My worn hiking boots were replaced with stylish leather loafers. All of a sudden I understood. This trail was kind of awful. I really had no idea why we were doing this.
“You’re right,” I said, my voice rougher and deeper than it had been moments before. “This is exhausting. I honestly don’t know why we even came out here.”
“Finally!” El smirked as her eyes ran up and down my transformed figure. She turns taking a few unsteady steps in her stilettos, before uncertainly glancing at me and asking, “Wait, babe, do you think you could like, help me? I don’t know if I can make it alll the way back in these shoes.”
She was right of course, those shoes were as suitable for trail hiking as a pair of diving fins would be for rock climbing, so I walked up to her, catching a whiff of expensive perfume as I scooped her up easily in my newly swollen arms. Enjoying the feeling of her new curves cradled against my new muscles, I began carrying her back down the trail to the car.
We reached the parking lot, and I soon noticed something else was different. My old Subaru was gone, replaced by a shiny, new, luxury BMW convertible.
Elena gave me a lingering kiss on the cheek, and squealed with delight as I set her down, her eyes sparkling as she surveyed the new car. “A convertible! OMG, a convertible! It's... it's beautiful! Oh my god, babe, this is amazing! You look so hot!” She leaned in for another kiss, her full lips and expensive gloss leaving a mark on my cheek. She seemed genuinely turned on by the new me. She flipped open her new golden handbag and pulled out a compact to touch up her lipstick. I fished around in my pocket to find my car keys, my beat-up backpack having vanished into thin air.
“Can we head to the beach while there’s, like, still daylight? I need to work on my tan, and maybe get some more selfies for my Insta.” she said, her voice purring with excitement.
“And after sunset, maybe we can have some even more fun,” she smirked then bit her lower lip, looking me right in the eyes with a suggestive sway in her hips. She was already pulling off her outfit to expose a barely-there bikini beneath. It was a bright, skimpy, sexy thing paired with a stylish, flowy sarong and strappy high heels. She looked like a swimsuit model, and confidently began adjusting her golden crown of hair as it blew in the gentle breeze.
I chuckled, an unfamiliar amusement bubbling up inside me. "Of course," I agreed, looking over El admiringly before pulling her in for a possessive, tongue-filled kiss. “We can go wherever you want, babe.” The old me was gone, and I couldn’t for the life of me remember why I’d ever liked things the way they were before.
And with that, we both piled into the convertible, neither of us sparing a thought for the beautiful trail we were leaving behind. The car roared to life and sped off, leaving the wilderness in a cloud of slowly settling dust, engine noise fading into the distance. The trail stood silent, impassive, a hushed reminder that sometimes the things we think we desire can be the very things that lead us astray.
