Looking-Glass Ladyboy

" Nothing happened. My heart seemed to shrink and my stomach to fall. The effects of the mirror were irreversible. They were permanent. I must be very careful, indeed, what I wished in front of the looking-glass. But then another thought occurred to me. Maybe the mirror hadn't reversed its spell because I already knew what I looked like as a brunette, having had brown hair before I'd wondered what I might look like as a blond. Instead of having said, this time, "I wonder what I'd look like with brown hair," maybe I should simply have wished to be a brunette again.

I tried this approach, and, to my great relief, I saw my hair turn from light to dark again, resuming its original color in the looking-glass. I thought about wishing the mole back, but I couldn't abide the possibility that it would return and that I would then be stuck with the hideous growth at the corner of my mouth forever afterward. Besides, the change in my hair color proved that the mirror's effects were not permanent, that they could be reversed, hadn't they? To be sure, I wished my blond locks back, and my hair, once more, was transformed, going, in an instant from brown to fair.

* * *

It was absurd to suggest, even to myself, that the looking-glass was responsible for my obsession with pornography and my newfound identity as a home nudist. If anything, these changes, unlike the change in my hair color and the loss of my mole, were merely coincidental to my purchase of the mirror. It was odd, though, how I'd changed from a relatively modest man into one who flaunted his nude body, if only to himself, going about, whenever possible, naked, my cock erect, more often than not, and wearing women's panties or a butt plug up my ass when I ventured out to tend to errands or went to work. At home, always naked, often masturbating, I surfed the 'net, more or less continuously, in a never-ending search for more and more images, both still and moving, of the perverse and decadent.

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