Men were all creeps.
Yolanda had known this for as long as she could remember, and nearly every man she met seemed determined to prove her right.
The country's most powerful tycoons had approached her with tributes of diamonds and Italian sports cars, metaphorically kneeling before her just to catch a glimpse of what lay beneath her designer skirts.
Married men flooded her DMs. The unmarried followed right behind. Even men old enough to be her grandfather lined up without shame.
Even now, as she sat with her parents at the long dining table laden with delicacies, their male butler stole a glance at her cleavage while serving her plate.
"Yolanda, dear, aren't you eating?" her mother's voice pulled her out of her thoughts.
She looked up, gripping her fork and stabbing into her food. "I'm eating, Mom," she muttered before taking a bite.
Her father, Adam Brisco, one of the wealthiest men in the district of Eastgate swirled his vintage red wine before giving her a stern look.
"You are nineteen now, Yolanda."
Yolanda felt her heart sink. She knew exactly where this was going.
"As our only child," he continued, "it is expected that you secure a fiancé. Someone of your class. Someone like Derrick, for instance."
"Dad!" she snapped, throwing her fork down. "I told you I don't like him! He's a jerk!"
"You don't like any men, Yolie!" her father roared, slamming his fist onto the table. Plates rattled and cutlery clattered. "Can't you see? Brisco Enterprises needs an heir! And without a fiancé, how exactly do you expect that heir to appear, huh?"
Yolanda shoved her chair back, its legs screeching against the marble floor. "I'm going to bed!"
She stormed upstairs, clicking her tongue, anger burning across her face.
"Dear, maybe you were too harsh on our baby girl," her mother, Irine, said softly once Yolanda was gone.
"Or maybe you're too soft on her," Adam snarled . "She's spoiled! All I want is a grandchild. But girls these days...who knows what they're up to? What if she...."
"Likes girls?" Irine cut in calmly. "No, dear. Our daughter isn't like that. I'm sure she likes boys. She just hasn't found the right one yet. Give her time."
Adam pushed his chair back, leaving his meal half-eaten. "I hope you're right. Otherwise, I'll be forced to arrange a marriage."
With that, he walked away.
**
In her room, Yolanda stripped out of her clothes and reached for her nightwear.
She paused in front of the mirror, admiring the masterpiece that was her reflection.
Her long blonde hair cascaded smoothly down her shoulders, some strands spilling over her chest. Her face was a work of art, beautiful, perhaps more beautiful than anyone else in Eastgate. Her jade eyes only heightened her allure.
And then there was her body, the reason men never stopped staring. Even beneath long dresses, the curve of her heart-shaped hips was impossible to miss, swaying softly and jiggling like jelly whenever she walked by.
Her stomach was flat thanks to the weekly yoga her mother insisted on. She was the definition of healthy and perfect. And above it, her divine E-cup breasts made her the envy of every woman and the obsession of every man.
The thought of a man, a "creep" touching her was revolting. The mere thought almost made her puke.
Men were dogs. Everyone knew that.
They lived for sex. Everything they did, working, hustling, striving was just a means to crawl into a woman's bed by nightfall.
Meanwhile, women carried the real burdens. They gave life. They carried another soul for nine months, endured labor, bled every month, and still bore the deeper heartbreak when betrayed.
Those were the reasons she had stayed single. Stayed pure.
And yet… somewhere deep inside, a small hope lingered. That maybe, just maybe there was a man out there who was different. One who wouldn't approach her with hidden intentions or greedy hands. Someone who would love and respect her completely.
Did such a man even exist?
Despite her disdain, Yolanda was no saint
Though still a virgin, she wasn't unfamiliar with pleasure. She was the type of a girl who chased pleasure in her own terms. Alone, beneath silk sheets, dressed in nothing but a thin nightgown, she allowed herself what she denied others, biting her lip to silence herself, arching her back, eyes shut tight as she imagined gentle hands where none had ever been, and jerked herself to an orgasm.
"I'm so perfect," she whispered with a dry chuckle. "I wish I could marry myself."
**
Morning came with discomfort.
Yolanda woke with a stabbing pain in her neck and a dull ache in her lower back. The air was thick with a heavy, sour stench; a mix of unwashed laundry and something else.
She opened her eyes and shrieked internally. This wasn't her hand-painted ceiling.
Where am I?
This isn't my room.
Was I kidnapped?
Her hand brushed against something soft beside her. She kicked the covers away and let out a blood-curdling scream
Beside her lay a headless, legless silicone torso. A sex doll?
But the scream that left her throat wasn't hers. It was a guttural, gravelly baritone.
"What the hell…?"
She tried to scramble out of bed, but her body felt like it was made of lead. She looked down at her hands. They weren't her slender, manicured fingers anymore. They were thick, greasy, and encased in layers of fat.
She tumbled out of bed, landing hard on a floor littered with used tissues and discarded pornographic magazines. Gasping for air, she hauled herself up and faced the cracked mirror on the wardrobe.
The woman in the mirror was gone. In her place stood a fat bastard; the very definition of the creeps she loathed.
He had a mountain of a face, a double chin that swallowed his neck, and matted black hair that looked like it had never known shampoo. A stained, yellowish undershirt strained against a massive belly.
As she stared in horror, the body betrayed her further, releasing a loud, foul-smelling fart that filled the cramped room.
"No... no, this is a dream!" she cried out, slapping her new, fleshy cheeks. The pain was agonizingly real.
"Shut up, you stinking pig!" a woman yelled through the thin apartment walls. "Go die already!"
"I'm calling the landlady!" another neighbor barked. "I hope she kicks this loser outa here!"
Yolanda—now trapped in the body of a man the world despised—collapsed against the wall. The luxury of the Brisco mansion was gone. Her beauty was gone. She was a prisoner in the skin of her own worst nightmare.
She clenched her fists. If she was here, in this rotting room, then who or what was waking up in her comfortable queen-sized bed back at the mansion?
She had to get back. She had to find herself before her life was stolen forever.
TBC