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Question: Story: The year is 2024. Write me a story the way I write about a random 6 year old boy home alone for the first time with a description of the boy's appearance, his name, height, birthday, what he's wearing, what state in the US he's in. Have him accidentally slip into an item of clothing his 13 year old sister owns with a description of why he accidentally slipped into the clothing, his older sister's name, height, birthday, what she looks like, how girly she dresses, what item of clothing he accidentally slipped into. Have the boy freak out at his sister's girly clothing and try getting it off and have it be in quoted text. Have there be a special cake he was told not to touch until tonight. Have him slowly grow gaining height as his body started feminizing. Have one of his sister's outfits form on him sandals and accessories included as his eyes feminized and lost innocence and he gained teeth and his voice raised in pitch but deepened and as his hair lengthened and he kicked off the flip flops in disgust. Have his memories start altering scaring him. Have the boy get grossed out at his outfit and sandals and try to yell for help and for his mom and have it be in quoted text and have him call the flip flops and shorts and tank top his like they were his the way his sister would and in a very girly way while he overdramtically pointed at himself and have him say mom instead of mommy which is what his older sister called their mom and have his childlike innocent vocabulary mature slightly to that of a 13 year old girl and have his mind slowly transform the sentence halfway through and have him roll his eyes halfway through. Have the new girl roll her eyes as she looked down at her outfit hoping it didn't make her look fat. Have the girl walk over to her flip flops slipping them on and completing her outfit while posing with her hands on her hips and have the girl clip clop to the mirror frowning. Have the girl not remembering she was the boy walk up to the mirror as she said her name and why is she saying her name like she don't know her own name and does her outfit make her look fat in a teenage girl voice and have it be in quoted text and like a valley girl talks. Have the girl run into the kitchen to the counter. Have the girl look at the cake before taking some frosting and all a small chunk before laughing. Have the girl wash her hands as nightfall approached. Have the teenage girl run upstairs to her room grabbing her phone. Have the girl lay down on the couch still wearing her outfit and her sandals. Have her text her friends about how she hates housesitting and how she loves being a girl and have her look down and admire her flip flops before saying how much of a bad bitch she was and have it be in quoted text and like a valley girl talks. Have her start getting tired as her eyes close as she falls asleep having no memory of being a boy.
In the sunny state of California, there resided a small, sprightly boy named Miguel. His birthday was July 24th, 2018, and although he was a diminutive 3'8”, his blue eyes sparkled with unyielding curiosity. Today, Miguel wore his favorite outfit: a light blue tank top, bright yellow shorts, and matching flipflops; his brown hair tousled from a day of play. His braver, older sister, Lillian, loomed over him at 5'2". Born March 1st, 2011, she carried the sophisticated look of a 13-year-old, with her long honey-colored hair often pulled back with floral accessories. Her style was predominantly girlish, favoring blouses, shorts, skirts, and sandals with all the glitter one could imagine. It all began the day their parents left little 6-year-old Miguel home alone for the first time. His attention was captured by a special cake on the kitchen counter, with the stern instruction: "Do not touch until tonight." Distracted and unsupervised, he saw one of Lillian's outfits -- a tank top, shorts, and her favorite sandals -- lying around and mischievously put it on, slipping unknowingly into a chain of transformation. "EEEWWW...gross!" Miguel cried, trying to peel off the girly attire. Yet, something strange happened. As he attempted to remove the clothes, he felt his body shifting underneath them. His height increased at an alarming rate, his slim boyish figure transitioning into a more feminine one. His tank top and shorts fit perfectly now, complemented by the sparkle of his sister's sandals that now hugged his own feet. His eyes darkened to a shade closer to hazel and his cheekbones grew more defined. His giggles faded into a more impactful laugh as his teeth seemed to have sharpened. "No! Stop it!" Miguel attempted to scream, but found his voice growing higher and softer. "Mom, something's wrong with my...my outfit...and...ewww these flip flops are completely gross!" His words halted halfway as his childlike innocence merged with the refined vocabulary of a teenager, losing his trepidation as he spoke. "These are my flip flops? When did I get such poor taste in...wait, does this outfit make me look fat?" Now standing at her own height, Miguel -- or rather, Lillian -- strutted elegantly to the mirror. The girl who looked back wasn't Miguel; she was a teenage girl in Lillian's outfit, her style, her sandals. Confused yet convinced, she sighed, "I'm Lillian...but when did I start looking so...ugh! Does this outfit make me look fat?" Lillian strode into the kitchen, approached the "do-not-touch" cake, and scooped a large chunk off the frosting. She laughed, her voice echoing the melodious timbre of a typical teen girl, washing her hands without a care in the world as night fell. Upstairs, she found herself in her room, grabbing her phone with ease before making her way towards the couch, still looking every bit the teenage girl she was. In the light of her screen, she began texting her friends: "OMG, I totally hate house-sitting, but like, being a girl rocks! These flip flops are actually kinda cute. I’m such a bad bitch!" And so, Lillian drifted off to sleep, the memories of a little boy named Miguel disappearing with the setting sun. The girl who awoke the next morning had no recollection of ever being a 6-year-old boy, fully embracing her adolescence and the life of being Lillian, with an untouched cake, an outrageous outfit, and a pair of sparkly sandals she’d now grown to admire.
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