Looking-Glass Ladyboy

Whoa!

My heart stopped, and I stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, at my reflection in the full-length mirror on my study wall. My hair was no longer brown; before my eyes, it had changed, becoming, in the same instant as I had wondered what I'd look like with light hair, rather than dark, blond, like the hair of the twink on the Internet site. Even my eyebrows were blond. I looked down, and, sure enough, the change in my hair color was complete, with even my pubic hair blond, now, instead of brown.

The change scared the hell out of me, as you can imagine.

What the hell was going on?

What I had just seen was impossible, pure and simple. Shit like this just didn't happen. It couldn't happen. There was no way in hell that it could happen.

Yet, the mirror showed me, whether it could happen or not, it had happened. I was a blond.

Maybe it was a trick mirror, I thought. Hell, yes! That had to be it. It was a trick mirror. A novelty item along the lines of funhouse mirrors. It had to be.

There was an easy way to tell. My erection swaying before me, I hastened from my study, walked down the hall to the bathroom, and got another heart-stopping shock as I saw, in the bathroom mirror, the same sight that I'd beheld in the looking-glass mounted upon the wall in my study: I was a fucking blond!

I happened to notice the mole at the right corner of my mouth. The accursed blemish had been a source of misery since I was old enough to name the thing. As I said, I'm a handsome cuss--false modesty is hypocritical--but that fucking mole mars my looks. It's the one thing imperfect about my countenance. It's not big, and, thank God, it's not hairy, but it draws the eye--or, at least, it draws my eye--like a magnet. It's an insult to the handsome features of my otherwise perfect face, as much a cause for lamentation as the biggest, darkest purple facial birthmark or harelip or scar that ever spoiled a man's otherwise handsome face, and I longed, all my life, to have it removed, but took the advice of plastic surgeons, instead, who counseled against the procedure, saying it could cause complications far worse than the mole's insult to my vanity.