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Question: Story: Write me a story the way I write about a random 5 year old boy with a description of what state the boy is from, what he looks like, what he's dressed in, what he's doing and when he goes to bed. Have him wake up in the body of an adult woman in America in the 1980s with a description of what she's wearing, her hairstyle, where she was and her jewelry and accessories and have him walk to a mirror freaking out at his new reflection. Please have the boy unwillingly do feminine things in his body like admiring himself and putting more jewelry on or putting on lipstick or putting on heels. Please have the boy try to say he's scared and misses his mommy but have him unwillingly say it in the way a woman in the 1980s would with the slang included and have it be in quoted text and have her pull out a cigarette and have him try to freak out but have him unwillingly say it in the way a woman in the 1980s would with the slang included and have it be in quoted text.
Story: On the sunny coast of California, there was a sprightly five-year-old boy named Tommy, adorned in his favorite lime green t-shirt smeared with bits of play-doh, torn denim sorties, and vibrant red sneakers. His skin was tanned from frequent trips to the beach, and his mop of blonde hair glowed under the West coast sunshine. His blue eyes twinkled with youthful imagination and mischief. On a typical evening, Tommy would be found building an impressive Lego fortress, then tuck himself to bed by 8 pm after his mother had read him a story. One night, Tommy drifted into deep, peaceful sleep. However, he woke up not in his soft Spider-man themed bed, but in an unknown room he didn't recognize. No longer was he a little Californian boy. Instead, he was an adult woman, residing in the bustling city of New York during the unforgettable 1980s. She, or rather, he, was clad in a red velvet turtleneck dress that cinched at the waist, revealing a curvaceous silhouette. His suddenly voluminous chestnut hair was teased, typical of the glorious '80s, and was adorned with a glittery hairband. The large, gold loop earrings complemented her shining, freshly manicured nails. Her feet were precariously balanced in high-stiletto black heels—an accessory alien to Tommy's usual footwear. Tommy staggered to a nearby mirror, his heart pounding. The face he found reflected back at him was strikingly beautiful but an alarming stranger. He tried to scream but what came out was an astonished, "Oh my stars! I am a fox!" In panic, Tommy attempted to fling off the gold bracelets encircling his wrist, but he found his actions betray him, unintentionally reaching out to a vanity table stacked with numerous jewelry boxes. He attempted to claw the lipstick off his lips, but instead, found another layered on in a more vibrant shade of red. So too did his feet behave, walking him towards a pair of monolithic stiletto heels, which he ended up slipping on with an unnatural ease. Tommy tried to muster the voice of a scared child, wanting to call out for his mother. But the persona of the woman took over, betraying his thoughts again. "Well, this is totally tubular. But I'm a bit spooked out, sweetie," he said in a woman's sultry voice, the words laced heavily with '80s American slang. With an inexplicable impulse, he reached out for the sleek cigarette case on the corner of the vanity table. The last bit of Tommy left in him wanted to revolt against the very action but found himself overrode by the woman's presence. He lit a cigarette with a timid hand and watched as the smoke curled upwards in twisted gray tendrils. "I don't know what's going on, but this Marlboro isn't half bad," he said, the adult woman's voice slipping from his tongue again, coated with heavy ‘80s New Yorker sass. Albeit a terrified child at heart, the situation he had found himself in was certainly one for the books.
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